He turned to Stella, who was now puffing so hard on her cigarette that she was momentarily obscured by a wall of billowing smoke. ‘Nowhere near as good as you, my pet,’ he said to her.
Stella ground her cigarette into the ashtray in front of her with a ferocity which suggested that she would rather be grinding it into Angus’s forehead. She got up and left the table.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ complained Angus. ‘What’s the matter with her?’
From the other end of the table, Fergus raised his eyebrows and drew a suggestive finger across his neck. Next to him Heather stared silently at her plate, saying nothing.
There was an awkward pause, before Fergus said to Simon, ‘So, er, what do you do? Get propositioned by desperate women in your line of work?’
Simon shook his head, more to clear it than to indicate a negative response. He tried his mouth. It seemed to work. He was aware that Delphine had now turned towards him again, but rather than risking another look at her face, he looked at Fergus instead, and said, ‘Not often, no. I work in a magic shop.’
This was met with a gratifying reaction of disbelief and laughter. Stella came and sat down again at the table. Angus ignored her.
‘So you’re a magician?’ said Delphine.
‘Sort of,’ said Simon. ‘I do tricks. But I sell them rather than perform them.’ His head had begun to spin alarmingly with the effort of producing entire sentences.
‘Gosh,’ said Delphine. ‘I’m impressed.’ She smiled at him. Simon was momentarily pole-axed, and grinned back at her stupidly.
‘Thanks,’ he dribbled.
‘Show us a trick, then,’ demanded Stella sourly. There was a murmur of assent from around the table.
The words echoed around Simon’s head until finally he managed to decipher them. ‘Oh no, couldn’t,’ he mumbled.
‘Why not?’ demanded Fergus.
‘Just…couldn’t,’ said Simon. ‘Too pissed,’ he whispered as an afterthought.
‘Go on,’ said Heather.
Simon shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘Spoilsport,’ complained Angus. ‘Go on.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Simon.
‘Please,’ said Delphine.
‘OK,’ said Simon.
Delphine clapped her hands in delight.
‘Have you got a fag?’ Simon asked the table in general.
‘Here’s one.’ Stella flung a box of cigarettes at him.
Simon took a cigarette out of the packet and held it up in front of him. There was an expectant silence. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Watch closely.’ He turned towards Delphine and beamed at her.
Simon clenched his left hand into a fist and held it up level with his face. Then he slowly inserted Stella’s cigarette into his fist and pushed it in until it was completely concealed. He opened his hand to show the cigarette.
‘Now,’ said Simon, ‘watch again.’
He performed the same movement. This time, however, before opening his fist he waved it in the air a few times. Then he lowered his hand and opened his fingers one by one, palm upwards, over the table.
The cigarette had vanished.
‘Wow,’ said Delphine. ‘That’s amazing.’
Simon’s heart thumped.
‘All right,’ said Stella, ‘now bring it back.’
‘Can’t, I’m afraid,’ mumbled Simon. ‘It’s gone.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Stella. ‘What sort of a trick is that? Where is it?’
‘It’s vanished,’ explained Simon.
‘Of course it hasn’t vanished,’ replied Stella sarcastically. ‘Where is it? I want it back. Give me my fag back. Thief.’
Simon squirmed in his chair. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘Honest. Sorry.’ (The cigarette now lay, out of reach, beneath Simon’s chair, where he had surreptitiously dropped it.)
‘Well if you were a proper magician you could make it come back again,’ said Stella sulkily.
‘Don’t worry, babe,’ said Angus. ‘You can have one of mine.’
‘Oh, sod off, Angus,’ replied Stella.
Simon took another long drink of margarita. He had stopped feeling the drink’s corrosive effect on his larynx some time earlier.
‘I suppose, being a magician, you’ve heard the story about the boy and the magic coin he found,’ said a man on the other side of the table, who up until then had hardly said a word.
There was a collective groan from around the table.
‘God, Joe, not again, please,’ said Heather.
‘I thought Simon might like to hear it if he hasn’t before,’ said Joe.
Simon shrugged. ‘If nobody else minds.’
‘No, I suppose we don’t mind,’ said Angus.
‘Right,’ said Joe. He addressed himself to Simon. ‘There was this young boy called Timmy. He’s walking down the street one day when he spots something gleaming in the gutter. So he goes over and discovers that it’s a foreign-looking coin, one he’s never seen before. So he picks it up and takes it home.’
‘OK,’ said Simon.
‘A couple of days later, Timmy’s sitting in his kitchen, and he puts his hand into his pocket and remembers this old coin that’s sitting there. He takes it out and wipes it on a bit of kitchen paper. And suddenly this voice comes booming out of nowhere. “Timmy, you may have as many wishes as your heart desires.” So obviously it’s a magic coin. Well, Timmy is delighted. He has a think, and then says, “OK, I’ll have three bowls of chocolate ice cream, then.” Just to check out whether this is for real. And sure enough, three bowls of chocolate ice cream appear on the kitchen table. As you can imagine, Timmy can’t believe his luck.’
‘Right,’ said Simon. He noticed that everyone was listening to the story, but that Joe was addressing it to him alone. It felt good to be at the centre of things.
‘Well,’ continued Joe, ‘Timmy is very excited about this, and wants to show off to all his friends. So next day at school he shows them his magic coin and grants them each one wish. Suddenly he’s the most popular boy in the school.
‘That evening he goes home from school, planning all the things that he’s going to ask for. He wants to play football
