had been a present from an ex-girlfriend. I’d never liked it, but I guess I didn’t get gifts, even sarcastic ones, very often. I retrieved the phone, wondering whether keeping it under the pillow would give me a brain tumour and why my alarm had gone off so early, then realised it wasn’t the alarm.
‘Hope I’m not disturbing your beauty sleep?’
Richard’s voice was too loud for ten in the morning. I said, ‘I was working last night.’
‘I know. Did you have a divine time?’
‘Is that why you’re calling?’
‘Just a friendly enquiry.’
I reached for my gregs, put them on and watched the world come into focus, then got out of bed and walked naked into the tiny cupboard that served as my kitchen. Rich’s interest in my non-existent sex life was starting to grate.
‘Do you want to get to the point?’
‘I’ll take that for a no then.’
‘No, I had a drink with the proprietor though.’
‘Ah yes, young burglar Bill.’
‘You know him well?’
‘Knew his father.’
I filled the kettle and plugged it into the wall. Rich shouted, ‘You’re breaking up.’
‘Sorry.’ I walked back into the small bed-sitting room and asked, ‘What was he like?’
‘A swine. Why’d you want to know?’
‘Just showing a friendly interest.’
The envelope containing the money Bill had given me was on the coffee table. I poured it out; a thousand in twenties, not bad for a couple of hours’ work, but I had a feeling it was money I was yet to earn. Montgomery’s manila envelope lay under the cushion on the sofa. I slid it out and looked at its seal. It wouldn’t be so difficult to break, but somehow I was happy to leave it alone.
Rich’s voice came loud down the wire.
‘Listen, have you got a passport?’
I ruffled the notes through my fingers.
‘Somewhere, why? Someone want to buy it?’
‘I’ve got something for you – Berlin.’
‘Berlin?’
‘Yes, Berlin, capital of Germany, once divided city now happily reunited.’
‘I know where it is. I’m just wondering what about it?’
‘I’ve got a contact, who has a contact there, who knows a man who needs a conjurer for his club. Bijou little place, the Schall und Rauch, means Smoke and Noise, just up your street, William.’
‘Maybe. How much are they offering?’
‘A bit of enthusiasm would be nice. I said Berlin. It’s a top entertainment spot son. The home of cabaret. Remember what Germany did for the Beatles.’
‘If I remember rightly one of them copped it there.’
‘The money’s OK. I managed to squeeze them for 10 per cent over the usual to cover your subsistence, plus they’ll pay for your flight and fix you up with accommodation.’
It sounded like the best offer I’d had in months, but something made me hesitate.
‘I don’t know, Richard. It’s a bit out of the blue.’
‘Remember what they say about gift horses.’
‘Don’t take one from a Trojan?’
‘It’s up to you, but there’s nothing much on the cards for you over here right now.’ There was a short pause while we both silently mourned my early promise. ‘I spoke to the boy in Berlin and it all seems kosher, they’ve got a website and all that jazz.’
‘Your faith in modern technology is touching.’
‘Got to move with the times, Will.’ There was another pause while I took a sip of my coffee and Rich sparked up; I heard him draw the smoke deep down into his lungs and reached for my own pack of cigarettes. When he spoke again Rich’s voice was brisk. I imagined him sliding his next client’s folder, complete with mug shot, onto the desk in front of him. ‘It’s up to you, old son. You’ve got an hour to decide. No skin off my nose either way.’
I looked at my one-room rented flat, the unmade bed, the scattering of books and CDs, the pile of unwashed laundry, the red demands propped on the window ledge. There was only one thing I had to ask.
‘When do they want me?’
‘That’s the attitude. They’re in a rush. Someone let them down. Get yourself there by tomorrow show time and the job’s yours.’
I agreed to let Mrs Pierce arrange my flight then sat for a while looking at Bill’s secret. I decided it was nothing to do with me. Then I did a very stupid thing. I wrote a short letter, went out to the post office, bought an envelope big enough to hold Bill’s, sealed it securely and got it weighed and stamped. Then I addressed it to the safest place in the world and put it in the postbox.
Back home I put the kettle on, smoked another fag and started to pack.
THE MAN WHO ran the cabaret was a German called Ray. He was the opposite of Bill, a soft-bellied doughy-faced rectangle of a man. He had blond hair shot through with grey flecks that looked too artful to be natural. And a tense smile hedged beneath a shaggy moustache I was willing to accept as German fashion, but at home would have made me think he was a gay man on a retro kick.
I put out my hand and he took it hesitantly, giving it the briefest of shakes.
‘How was your journey?’
‘Fine.’
Ray nodded. ‘Good.’ He looked me up and down. ‘I’d hoped you’d be able to perform in our opening number with the rest of the ensemble but …’ He shook his head sadly and smiled like a man who had faced enough disappointments to know that he would face many more. ‘Never mind.’
‘Try me.’
He shook his head.
‘We will manage. So, I guess the first thing is to show you around the theatre.’ I followed him from the tiny ticket office and out into the auditorium. ‘This is our hall.’
Ray paused, waiting for my reaction at my first glimpse of his kingdom.
I’m used to the abandoned atmosphere empty theatres take on during the day. Deserted by audiences they lose their sheen. When the house lights go up the grandest chandeliers can look cobwebbed, the finest gold-framed mirrors age-spotted and marred. The red velvet seats where theatregoers dream themselves onto the stage night after night reveal frayed gold trim and balding nap. But I knew that, like the leading man who arrives grey-stubbled and sour-breathed, or the femme fatale who dares to bare her pockmarked face to afternoon rehearsals, come curtain-up great theatres are ready to wow them all the way to the gods.
Still, I had my doubts about the Schall und Rauch. When I’d called him back to accept the gig Rich had built the revue into something between the Royal Festival Hall and the Hot Club of France. I’d known he was exaggerating, but I hadn’t realised how much.
The auditorium smelt of mildew, tobacco and wet coats. Its dirty pine boards were still littered with the debris of last night’s performance. Small tables, spattered with red candle wax and equipped with bentwood chairs, were regimented across the hall in diagonal rows. The formation was an optimistic attempt to create an unimpeded view of the stage, but it made me think of a desperate army making its final stand.
The