said. The three of them were crammed into Barclay Jack’s small dressing room. The place was a tip. There was the scent of something foetid in the air. Reggie suspected that it might be the chewed-up remains of a burger that was nestling amongst the spillage on his dressing-table, or perhaps it was Barclay Jack himself, decaying from the inside out. He certainly didn’t look the picture of health.
Reggie caught sight of herself in the vanity mirror that was framed by Hollywood-style light bulbs. She looked small and wan, although no more so than usual. ‘Peely-wally,’ her mother would have said in her native dialect. No wonder her handsome ex-boyfriend’s family had looked aghast at her when he brought her home to meet them.
She gave herself a mental shake and continued, ‘We’re conducting an investigation into a historic case, Mr Jack, and this is just a routine interview. We’re looking into several individuals and would like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right? We’re trying to build a picture, fill in some background details. A bit like doing a jigsaw. I’d like to start by asking you if you know someone called – are you all right, Mr Jack? Do you want to sit down? Would you like a glass of water? Mr Jack?’
‘How do you handle a dangerous cheese?’
‘Jesus, kid,’ the magician said, ‘are all your jokes about cheese?’
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘I went into a shop to buy a cake and I said, “I’ll have that one, please”—’
‘Is this a joke,’ the magician asked, ‘or an incredibly boring incident in your life?’
‘A joke.’
‘Just checking.
‘– and the woman behind the counter said, “That’ll be two pounds.” “And how about that one over there?” I said, pointing at another cake on the shelf. “That one’s four pounds,” the woman said. “But,” I said, “it looks like the same cake as the first one. How can it be twice the price?” And she said, “Oh, that’s madeira cake.”’
‘Weeell,’ Bunny said, stretching the word out, ‘it’s sort of funny, if you were maybe ten years old. A lot of it’s in the delivery though, Harry. You sound like you’re making an insurance claim.’
‘Wey aye,’ Bunny said. ‘It’s nothing but pure hate out there. It’s a shit life really, but what are you going to do?’
They were in Bunny’s dressing room, which he shared with the magician. Out of the two of them Harry didn’t know who complained more about this arrangement. (‘You should be grateful it’s not the ventriloquist – then there’d be three of you in here,’ Harry said. ‘That’s a joke,’ he added. ‘Is it?’ the magician said.)
Bunny was in his stockinged feet and his wig was off, revealing the flimsy monk’s tonsure that rescued him from complete baldness. Otherwise he was in full costume and make-up because he didn’t bother leaving the theatre in between matinées and evening performances. Bunny and the magician were playing a complicated card game, the same game that they had been playing since the start of the season. It seemed never to reach a conclusion although money frequently changed hands. Apparently the magician had learned in ‘the big house’.
‘He means prison,’ Bunny said to Harry. The magician cocked his head to acknowledge this fact.
They paused the game so that the magician could pour a measure of whisky into the two smeared glasses. Crystal would have had a fit at the state of them.
‘Want a tipple, Harry?’ the magician asked.
‘No. Thanks, though.’ It was the cheaper, blended sort of whisky. Harry only knew that because his father bought an expensive malt. Encouraged by his father, Harry had tried it, but even the smell made him feel sick. ‘Yeah, you have to stick at whisky until you get the taste for it,’ his father said. Harry thought it might be something it would be better not to get a taste for.
‘What have you done with the bairn?’ Bunny asked.
‘Candace? The chorus girls are spoiling her in their dressing room.’ The last time Harry had checked he’d found that the girls had made Candace up – eyeshadow and lipstick and