for whoever’s going to take over from Mr Jack to find it like that. Have they got someone yet?’
‘There was talk of trying to get Jim Davidson. But not in time for the matinée. Yours truly’s going to step in. Top of the bill, eh, pet?’
Hadn’t Bunny ever been top of the bill before?
‘Oh, yeah, but you know, shit cabaret, shit gay clubs, shit hen nights. And now – ta-daa! – the shit Palace.’
‘Better than being dead, I suppose,’ Harry said.
‘Not necessarily, pet. Not necessarily.’
The dressing room smelt of cigarettes, even though smoking was strictly forbidden in the theatre, and Harry did indeed find an overflowing ashtray stashed in one of the drawers of the dressing-table, which seemed like the worst kind of fire hazard. A half-empty bottle of Lidl’s own-brand gin didn’t even bother to try and hide itself. Harry took a swig from the bottle in the hope that it might perk him up a bit or settle him down – one or the other, he didn’t really know how he was feeling. He’d never taken drugs, just the odd drag on someone else’s joint at a party (it made him feel sick), but he was beginning to see why so many of the kids in his school took stuff – not the Hermiones, they were as puritanical in their attitude to ‘substance abuse’ as they were towards everything else. Now he found himself craving something to blur the memories of the last twenty-four hours.
His adventures with Pinky and Perky yesterday had left Harry feeling disoriented. And now Barclay’s sudden death, coming hard on the heels of his own kidnapping, made everything seem uncertain and slippery, as if the world had tilted slightly. Every so often he got a flashback to the horror of yesterday. I know what your fucking name is. He was sure he could still taste the Irn-Bru, sickly in his mouth. The next time he heard ‘Let It Go’ there was a chance his head would explode. He probably had PTSD or something. And nobody had even tried to give a satisfactory explanation of what had happened, of why two extremely unpleasant men had plucked him and his sister out of their lives and held them captive in an old caravan. For what reason? Money? Had they asked Crystal or his dad for a ransom? And if so, how much were they worth? he wondered. Or, to be more specific, how much was Candace worth? (‘Priceless, both of you,’ Crystal said.) Why had no one called the police? And who was the man who was hanging around with Crystal?
Just a concerned bystander, he’d said. I helped your stepmother look for you.
You found yourself, Crystal had said. Technically speaking, the man in the silver BMW had found him (Hop in, Harry), but Harry knew what she meant. Would they try to snatch them again? And what would Candace do if they took her on her own, with no one to make it seem as if it was just a harmless game? No one to tell her the story of Cinderella and Red Riding Hood and all the other fairy tales that Harry had entertained his sister with yesterday. No one to provide a happy ending for her.
He sat on the stool at Barclay’s dressing-table and stared in the mirror. It was weird to think that Barclay had been here yesterday, sitting at this very dressing-table, looking in this very mirror, daubing himself with foundation, and now the mirror was empty, which sounded like the title of an Agatha Christie novel. Harry had read them all last summer while at his post in Transylvania World.
Harry didn’t think he looked like himself at all. At least, he consoled himself, he had a reflection. He hadn’t joined the undead like Barclay.
Jackson Brodie had a dog, an old Labrador with soft ears. Harry didn’t know why that dog suddenly came into his mind – thinking about Brutus and Tipsy, he supposed – and even more mystifying was the fact that the thought of the old Labrador caused him, without any warning, to burst into tears.
The magician chose that moment to put his head round the door. ‘Christ, Harry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you liked that bastard Barclay so much. Are you all right?’ he added gruffly. ‘Shall I get one of the chorus girls?’
‘No. Thanks,’ Harry snivelled. ‘I’m fine. I just had a bad day yesterday.’
‘Welcome to my world.’
The magician must have gone off and fetched Bunny to