Eilidh scruffed down nicely. Her hair was twisted into a loose half-knot and she wore an old checked work shirt over a pair of jeans that might have seen better days, but hadn’t lost their fit.
'He has that effect on everyone. I’d move him, but we’re being given use of the place as a favour and the management might go off us if we start shifting the furniture around.'
'Aye, you’re right, dear, they management cu– kinds can be an awful trial.'
Eilidh nodded towards the brightly spangled, coffin-sized box that Bruce McFarlane had lent me.
'Is that for the stage?'
'Aye.'
She smiled apologetically.
'Then you’ve another flight to go yet, access is through the back stairs.'
Archie smiled at her.
'Never mind, dear.' He nodded towards me. 'This one could do with the exercise.'
Archie and I manoeuvred the box up the final staircase, and through a door that led straight onto the stage. We lowered it gently to the ground just as Eilidh came in behind us.
Archie ran his hand over his head as if he’d forgotten he no longer had any hair and looked around.
'I remember my grandda talking about the music hall, but I’ve never been in it myself.'
Eilidh smiled.
'What do you think?'
'Aye, some place.'
The Panopticon was small by modern theatrical standards, a long room overhung on its left and right by high wooden balconies that I guessed used to house the cheap seats. Some old fruit machines, casualties from the amusement arcade below, stood sadly along the far wall looking like the Daleks’ more frivolous cousins, their single arms raised in a greeting no one wanted to return. The building’s eaves showed through its fractured ceiling, slanting into a peak that reminded me of an upturned boat. They gave the place a vaguely jaunty feel at odds with the otherwise Victorian atmosphere. The walls were the sallow brown that you find on the naked walls of old flats when you manage to peel back years of wallpaper. The floor was scuffed and unvarnished. There were no seats in place, but some metal chairs that looked like they would begin to pinch after a while were stacked along the back wall next to the fruit machines, waiting to be set in line.
It was clear that the Panopticon had been neglected for some time now, but there were signs that it was coming back to life. A pianola sat below the stage and a couple of glass-topped display tables containing artefacts from the music hall’s heyday were pressed along the entrance wall. Above them hung old posters, playbills and programmes advertising forthcoming attractions that had taken their last bow a hundred years ago. It was far away from the sequinned edginess of Schall und Rauch, but I liked it that way. Something up on the balcony caught my eye; I started, then pointed towards it, saying to Archie, 'Someone you know?'
He followed my gaze.
'Jesus Christ.' Archie turned to me. 'You bugger.' Two more Victorian mannequins, a man and a woman, stood silhouetted in the gloom of the balcony. 'Give me the bloody heebie-jeebies they things.' He looked at Eilidh. 'I bet there’s a few ghost stories about this place.'
'One or two.' She nodded down to the old pianola. 'Apparently George down there has been known to start playing all by himself, and a young soldier in a uniform from the Boer War has been spotted up on that balcony.'
Archie nodded his head sagely.
'Oh, come on,' I said. 'It’s no wonder folk think they’ve seen a ghost with those waxworks up there. They’re like something out of a Hammer Horror. The eye plays tricks on you, especially in an old place like this.'
'When you get to my age you begin to realise there’s more in this world than can be explained.' Archie looked at Eilidh and me as if imparting some ancient wisdom. 'People don’t just vanish when they die, they’re all around us and sometimes we catch sight of them.'
A cold finger pressed into my neck bone then ran the length of my spine.
Eilidh said, 'Do you really believe that?'
'Aye, I do dear. You should go to the spiritualist church up on Berkeley Street sometime. It’s amazing the messages that come through.'
'It’s a pile of mince.'
I was surprised at my own vehemence. Archie bridled.
'We’re all entitled to an opinion. I go there every Tuesday to see if the wife’s got anything to tell me. It’s a comfort.' He gave me a defiant stare, then turned to Eilidh. 'Do you mind if I go and have a look at your display, dear?'
'You’re welcome.'
'Thanks.' He stropped off the stage muttering something that sounded suspiciously like superior wee cunt as he passed me.
When Archie was out of earshot Eilidh said, 'Poor old soul, he’s lonely.' She gave me a compassionate look. 'How are you, William?'
I felt like saying lonely but settled for, 'Fine.'
Eilidh hesitated as if there was something else she’d like to add, then thought the better of it and said, 'I’ll leave you to get on with things, while I make a start on setting up the chairs.'
