for weeks. 'What about if I were to offer you…’ I leaned forward and snapped three 100 euro notes from somewhere behind her ear. It was the kind of cheap move a half-cut uncle could manage after a good Christmas dinner, but for the first time that night I got a round of applause.
It’s hard to convey the look that Sylvie gave me. A smile that acknowledged we were in this together and a glint of sympathy cut through with something else, an urge to please the audience that might amount to recklessness.
'Yes,' she said in her cool, who-gives-a-fuck stage voice. 'Yes, that might make a difference.'
I slid the money into the envelope alongside the maligned picture and sealed it tight.
'Now, Sylvie, examine these envelopes for me please.' I passed all three to her. 'Are they identical?'
She took her time, turning each one over in her hand, scrutinising their seals, drawing her fingers across their edges. At last she turned and nodded.
'Yes, they’re the same.'
'Now…’ I feinted a soft black velvet hood into my hands. 'How do you feel about a little S&M?'
Sylvie made a shocked face and someone in the audience whooped.
Sylvie’s fingers were strong as she secured the hood over my head. She tied the cord in a bow at the nape of my neck, then smoothed her fingertips over my face, pressing them against my eyelids for a second. I felt the prickle of total darkness and breathed in the faint peppery mustiness that the velvet bag always held, pulling the fabric towards me as I inhaled, letting my masked features appear beneath the velvet.
'I want you to take these envelopes and shuffle them in any way you wish.' The audience laughed. I wondered what she was doing and asked, 'All done?'
'Yes.'
'Now, I’m going to ask you which envelope the money is in. You can lie, you can tell me the truth, or, if you choose to be a very unkind girl, you can keep silent. The choice is yours.'
The audience were quiet, willing my destruction. 'OK, Sylvie, I want you to present me with each of the envelopes in turn. But because I can’t see anything you’re going to have to provide me with a commentary, so name them please as you hold them up. Let’s call them…
’ I hesitated as if thinking hard. 'Number one, number two and number three. OK, in your own time.'
Sylvie waited a beat, then in a loud, clear voice said, 'Number one.'
I lifted my head, breathing in again, hoping my covered features looked blunt and dignified, like an Easter Island statue.
'Is it in this one?'
I waited. Sylvie didn’t respond.
'Ah, I thought you might be one of those girls who like to torture men.'
No one in the audience would have noticed, but Sylvie gave a short intake of breath.
She recovered quickly and said in her calm, even voice.
'Number two.'
'Is it in this one?'
This time she answered me.
'No.'
'Aha, you’re not an easy girl to work out, Sylvie. I’ve got a suspicion that you might be rather good at lying.'
The stage was so quiet that I might have been standing there alone. I felt the warmth of my own breath inside the bag, then Sylvie said, 'Number three.'
I waited. This time it was my silence that ruled the stage.
'OK, if I’m wrong you go off with a week’s wages. Is it in this one?'
There was an instant’s hesitation and then Sylvie answered me.
'No.'
It was the hesitation that told me. I took my chance, snatching the hood off then grabbing the final envelope, ripping it in two and drawing out the money and the photo.
The audience applauded and I raised my voice above their clapping, 'Thank you Sylvie, you’ve been a wonderful assistant. People from Scotland have a reputation for being mean, but it’s a cruel slur and to prove it I’m going to make sure that you don’t go off empty-handed.'
I presented her with the photograph of the crown jewels. Sylvie held it close to her head and bowed prettily to the audience. We exchanged a quick kiss, and then I watched her slim figure descend into the darkness and the applauding audience beyond.
I thought that would be the last I saw of her.
Glasgow
THE PAST IS like an aged Rottweiler. Ignore it and it’ll most likely leave you alone.
Stare into its eyes and it’ll jump up and bite you. It was no more than coincidence that an old face came out of the darkness, but it felt that by living half in the past I had invoked old times to slip from the shadows.
