A book about angling for carp. Another about trout. A collection of thrillers by the same author, one missing in the middle – some sort of espionage or special forces stuff. Most are powdered with grey flecks. Dusty CDs: singles and double albums of rock music from decades ago dwell in lacquered towers of true 90s’ style. A cabinet by the TV filled with board games and spare coasters. Dave takes it all in. Touching things here and there. Returning to the fishing guides, flicking through them and putting them back carefully. Trying to shake off the nerves, yet also find some highly valuable fodder: he needs small talk.
On one shelf sits a yellowing photo in a wooden frame of the dad a few decades ago. He’s holding a decent size mirror carp by a murky pond. A big grin on his face as he shows off his catch to the camera. Its neighbour, sporting a bit of tinsel on its shiny silver frame, is a family photo: mum, the dad again but balder, and their two brunette daughters. By the looks of the daughters it was taken almost twenty years ago, maybe. Could be Greece. He might ask later. The dad would answer for the three women. Jessica had warned him of that. Greece, or fishing, those might the required gentle ice breakers tied in with a general compliment about their large home.
Jessica marches in. She has a bright red Christmas jumper on. Dave’s hands go straight to his pockets, “You look so nervous! Relax,” she says, thumping his arm. “Honestly, Christmas is probably the best time to meet my family, at least they’ll be tipsy.”
Dave ambles around the room, not quite sure where to place himself. “You sure they invited me here today, Jess? I haven’t had a drop yet. I could drive home.”
Jessica grabs his hand.
“Sit down, you sausage.”
Jessica’s sister, Joyce, enters without a word and makes herself comfortable on what is apparently her armchair then starts typing on her smart phone.
“Work stuff,” she announces to nobody in particular.
Jessica squeezes Dave’s hand and gives him a wink.
“Relax,” she whispers, “you’re doing great.”
Christmas music plays on the kitchen radio. It’s some sort of generic jazz version of Jingle Bells. It fades out as the door closes behind Jessica’s mum, Betty, who walks in with new earrings on: snowmen with carrot noses. They’re enormous and stretch her earlobes like chewing gum.
“Oh, lovely earrings,” says Dave half-standing. Jessica pulls him back down onto the sofa.
“Thank you, David. I’d almost forgotten about them. I only wear them on Christmas day. Jessica got them for me a few years ago when she popped back to see us for once in her final year at uni.”
Jessica rolls her eyes dramatically and gives Dave a look. He’s been warned of this comment and follows protocol by simply smiling. If it wasn’t for the jaunty muffled music from the kitchen there’d be silence.
“Get the door, Jessica!” yells her father, Geoff.
She rolls her eyes again and makes her way over to the kitchen where Geoff is standing behind the door. Through the large glass panel Dave sees him nod impatiently at the handle while both his hands support a large tray of champagne flutes and a chilled bottle of Prosecco. His teeth are the colour of the bottom of a builder’s mug. He comes in and settles everything down on the coffee table in the centre of the living room. Each glass apparently needs to be rearranged and each movement is supported by a little grunt or exhale.
“Bloody hell, the orange juice,” Geoff moans, “Jess, could you – ”
She rolls her eyes and makes her way to the fridge in the kitchen. The Christmas music briefly fills the room. For the first time that day, Dave is alone with her family. He notices that Geoff has begun staring at him then gestures at the bottle.
“You ever had Buck’s Fizz before, Dave?”
Dave shakes his head a little.
“It’s simple really. Just orange juice and champagne. Well, prosecco, still tastes the same. We always have it on Christmas morning here. Sort of a tradition.”
Dave nods.
Geoff starts fussing with the prosecco bottle and wiping the glasses with a tea towel. Betty leans over and touches Dave’s arm.
“Do you have any traditions in your home, David? You know, stuff you do every Christmas.”
Dave sucks in a bit of air. There are traces of Betty’s apple-scented perfume on his tongue.
“Erm, well, we have turkey for lunch. And sprouts.”
“Everybody does that, Dave,” cuts in Geoff.
Jessica returns with two cartons of orange juice.
“Dad, can you be a bit more polite please? It is Christmas.”
“I wasn’t being impolite. Dave, was I being impolite?”
Dave looks around the room as if he has just witnessed someone drop a Chinese vase in a shop.
“Ignore him, Dave. Dad, there’s the pulp and non-pulp.”
Geoff snatches the non-pulp from her hand and starts shaking it. After twenty seconds of vigorous pumping he opens it up and ceremoniously adds a small amount to the bottom of each champagne flute. Everybody stops to watch. Geoff is methodical and painfully slow. He enjoys the attention. Dave looks around the room. Betty is now staring at him with a big smile. Geoff grabs the prosecco and goes to open it but then stops to reprimand Jessica.
“Jess, orange juice back in the fridge. It’ll go off.”
“Go off? It’s bloody freezing in here. Could you at least put the heating on on Christmas Day? Maybe actually use the fireplace for a bit of a festive atmosphere?”
“Scratch cards,” announces Dave more loudly than anybody would ever plan on speaking in a living room.
“Sorry, David?” says Betty.
“Scratch cards. You know the things you buy at the newsagent where you can win some money.”
“What about them?” says Jessica’s sister without taking her eyes off her phone.
“It’s a tradition in our house. We buy a load of scratchies. That’s what we call them in our family. Then in the morning before breakfast we scratch them together to see who has won something.”
Jessica ruffles Dave’s hair and heads back out to the fridge with the orange juice.
“Oh, that’s, that’s erm different, David,” says Betty.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he replies.
“And have you ever won anything on the scratch cards?”
“Erm, yeah a bit. I mean. A few quid here and there. My dad won about 100 once.”
“Oh that’s nice,” Betty pats Dave’s hand.
Geoff pops the cork from the prosecco and it bounces off the ceiling.
“Geoff!” screeches Betty.
“Scratch cards are a con,” announces Geoff as he pours the booze into the orange juice pools waiting at the bottom of each glass. The bubbles rise quickly to the rim. “The chance of winning anything significant is so slim. They put them at the cash register as an impulse buy. Terrible really.”
Dave adjusts his watch strap so it’s a little looser.
“Well, it sounds like fun to me,” says Betty, rolling her eyes at Geoff who has now begun his second round of prosecco pouring.
Dave considers the fact that eye rolling may well be a Christmas tradition in the Henley family.
Jessica returns and plops herself down on the sofa with an exhale as if she’d spent the day doing hard labour on a pig farm.
“Did you bring any scratch cards for us?” she says, punching Dave on the arm.
“Oh yes! That sounds like fun to me!” says Betty. “Make a bit of a change,” she mutters, glancing at her husband.
Geoff is frowning at the prosecco which has once again bubbled to the rim yet is only half full of liquid. “We’re not having scratch cards in this house on Christmas Day. Sacriledge!”
“Give it a rest, Dad.” says Jessica before turning to Dave. “Did you buy any?”
“Erm, no. We don’t do it anymore. I mean, not since. You know.”
Jessica raises a hand to her mouth. “Oh Christ, I’m so sorry.”
“What is it?” asks Betty, leaning in.
Jessica goes to speak but Dave raises his hand.
“It’s ok, Jess. Mrs Henley, my dad passed away 18 months ago. It was sort of his tradition. We haven’t done it since.”
Betty’s voice manages to go an octave higher. “Jessica! You never said David’s dad was dead!”
“Mum!”
“Sorry, I mean, sorry David, that came out wrong. My condolenscent. I mean condolences. I didn’t know. That’s awful.”
Bubbles overflow out of one of the flutes.
“Damn and bugger it!” shouts Geoff, “I’ll fetch another tea towel.”
Jessica smooths David’s hand and glares at her mum. Joyce has stopped typing and is looking over at the scene then dramatically looks at her watch, catching Dave’s eye.
“You didn’t want to have a drink before New Year did you Dave, mate?” she says with a giggle.
The tension lifts.
“Oh, no rush!” he laughs. Jessica mimes a ‘thank you’ to her sister who has already returned to her phone.
“How did your father die?” asks Betty.
“Mum!” cries Jessica.
“Sorry, how did your father pass away?”
“It’s ok,” says Dave before Jessica has the chance to reprimand her again. “It’s ok. Erm, well, quite simply, he was killed in a car crash. Driving at night. The other driver had had a skinful, sorry I mean, he had got really drunk at a work party and had veered onto the wrong side of the road. He’s actually in prison now for causing death by inconsiderate driving. Yeah. So. It was just a horrible thing. We’re all still dealing with it.”
“Who fancies a drink?” yells Geoff as he marches back into the room with a bit of kitchen roll.
“Dad!” squawks Jessica.
“It’s fine, Jess. It was going to come up at some point. Mr Henley, I’d love some of your Buck’s Fizz.”
“That’s the spirit, Dave.”
Geoff tops up the remaining glasses and hands the flutes out, Betty’s last.
“Happy Christmas everybody!” says Geoff and takes a big sip.
They all cheer and Jessica leans into Dave’s ear and whispers, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell them. It’s private. I didn’t think it would come up.”
Dave responds by kissing Jessica’s cheek.
“What did your dad do?” asks Geoff on an exhale whilst topping up his own glass.
“Christ Dad!” says Joyce, “seriously.”
Geoff puts his glass down. “Look, I’m sorry but I’m breaking the ice here. I’m really sorry, Dave, to hear this news. It’s Christmas Day, so maybe you wouldn’t mind talking about him. When my father popped his clogs I was pretty cut up about it but my generation could never say anything and you Jess always go on about how we need to share our feelings so I’m just asking this poor guy what his dad did, there isn’t any harm in it, I’m just – ”
“- He was a magician,” interrupts Dave.
A large full stop descends in the room.
It’s Betty who starts the next sentence.
“What like that David Coppershield?”
Joyce stifles a laugh.
“Erm, well yes, although not to that scale. That’s why he named me David though. He was a big fan of David Copperfield.”
“Oh Copperfield, sorry. Bloody hell!” says Betty.
“It doesn’t matter. Yeah, my dad did shows around the UK, kids’ parties, corporate events. Stuff like that. You know.”
“Could he make himself disappear?!” asks Betty, then opens her mouth in awkward horror, “Oh Christ, no, I didn’t mean that. I mean you know like David Copper-whatever-you-said does.”
Jessica presses her thumbs into the corners of her eyes with significant force.
“Erm, he did do some tricks a bit like that, yes. But nothing on the scale of David Copperfield making the Statue of Liberty disappear!”
Geoff scoffs, “He never made the bloody Statue of Liberty disappear. I’ve seen a video on it. They just moved the audience. Simple really.”
Joyce puts her phone down. “Dad, for the love of God, can you show some respect today?”
Geoff is incredulous, “I’m just saying, these big magicians get all this credit when really what they do is so bloody simple.”
Dave finishes his Buck’s Fizz and wipes his mouth with his loose sleeve, “You’re right Mr Henley. It’s often something very simple that can fool many, but there are a few like yourself who can figure it out.”
“Dad didn’t figure it out, he watched it on a bloody TV show,” says Jessica.
“I’d guessed beforehand,” says Geoff shaking his head.
“Did your dad teach you any magic tricks, Dave?” asks Joyce.
“Oh not really. A few I suppose. I wasn’t as into it as he was, that’s for sure. He was a magician and I’m an accountant. So…” Dave adjusts his watch strap again, this time tighter.
“Oh so you know some?” says Jessica, wide-eyed. “I didn’t know that, that’s kind of cool and well, sexy!”
“Jessica!” reprimands Geoff.
“Oh God, I’m 26 for goodness sake, Dad.”
“Magic is for kids, Jessica. Sorry, Dave, no disrespect to your Dad. I’m sure he was a fine magician. I’m just saying that only kids are fooled by it. It’s a bit of fun at a party before some birthday cake. Now, who wants a drop more?”
Everybody leans forward to top their flutes up with prosecco. It forms an insipid yellow haze due to the remnants of orange juice at the bottom of the glasses. Dave gently bites the bottom of his lip.
“What time’s lunch, darling?” asks Betty.
“When it’s ready,” he replies. “I’ll put the turkey in shortly. A couple of hours. Just relax a bit.”
“You haven’t put the turkey in yet?” demands Joyce, outraged.
“You ladies need to calm down – ”
“- We offered to cook, you shot us down.” Joyce shakes her head and returns to her phone.
Geoff turns to Dave, “I don’t get it. If I ask them to cook I’m sexist. If I do it I’m a chauvinist.”
Dave offers a weak smile. Jessica steps in.
“It’s not that, Dad, it’s just it takes ages and we have to wait around because you insist on controlling every aspect of the day. We can’t even pour our own drinks because you hog the prosecco and glasses.”
“I’m trying to be a good host. I’m trying to make your new boyfriend feel welcome despite you only telling us he was coming two days ago and – ”
Dave stands up quickly as if a superior officer has just walked into the room.
“Mr Henley, do you have a deck of cards? I’d love to see if I can remember one of my dad’s tricks.”
………..
A deck of cards is hunted for and found in the drawer of the cabinet by the TV. It’s somewhat worn and dusty, but Joyce dutifully counts the cards in front of everybody to check it’s a full deck. One joker is missing but Dave said he doesn’t need it so it’s put back in the packet.
“Never seen those before,” announces Geoff.
“That’s because you never bloody play cards with us,” says Betty, “sore loser.”
Geoff is in a huff because his daughters have asked him to clear space on the coffee table for Dave to do his magic trick. He’s been forced to put the turkey in the oven too. The Christmas music is turned off.
“Leave the prozzy, Dad,” says Joyce, grabbing the half full bottle off the tray and filling her sister’s glass.
Geoff marches out to the kitchen with the tray, tense.
“Your father cannot stand it when Christmas Day isn’t going according to his weird schedule,” says Betty with an enormous smile.
“Dad, hurry up!” calls Joyce after him.
“I’m checking the bloody turkey,” he calls back, irritated.
Betty leans forward conspiratorially, “What’s there to check? It’s been in there three minutes. Give us another drop will you, Joyce.”
The bottle of prosecco is passed around. Dave doesn’t touch it.
Geoff calls from the kitchen. “I really better get these spuds on too since you’re all so desperate for me to serve lunch so soon.”
It’s Joyce who responds, “Dad, get back in here and enjoy Dave’s magic show. It’s the least you could do.”
“I wouldn’t really call it a show,” chuckles Dave nervously.
Geoff sits on an armchair opposite Dave. The coffee table with the deck of cards waits between them. Betty claps, “isn’t this wonderful?”
Jessica takes a seat on the floor and leans her head on Dave’s knee.
“Erm right ok,” says Dave and picks up the deck.
“Hang on, hang on,” says Geoff, “let me check the cards.”
“Dad, I checked them already. It’s a full deck with the jokers out. Let Dave get on with it,” says Joyce.
“Look, it’s my house. I’ve never seen these bloody cards before – ”
“- That’s because you never play cards with us. They were in the cabinet,” adds Joyce.
Geoff ignores her and takes the cards out of the packet. He starts counting them. Occasionally he stops to inspect one. “They’re filthy,” he declares.
“Geoff, pack it in,” says Betty, snatching the cards from the table and passing them to Dave.
Geoff raises his hands in surrender.
Dave gathers the cards and tidies them into a deck. He picks them up and attempts to shuffle them. Several fall to the floor. He picks them up and shuffles again. His shuffle is quite thick and clumsy. He attempts a Riffle Shuffle but drops half the deck.
“Sorry, it’s been a while and I’m a bit nervous,” says Dave.
“You’re doing great,” says Jessica and glances at her sister.
“Right ok, erm, Mr Henley. I think you’d be a good one for this.”
Geoff sneers, “I’ve just said magic is for kids – ”
“- Dad!” yells Jessica.
Dave fans out the deck of cards face down on the table. They look like a mess. Betty looks rather disappointed.
“Right ok, I think that’s good. So, Mr Henley. Pick a card and look at it, but don’t show me or anybody else in the room, ok?”
Geoff stares at the cards for a moment. He reaches towards one, touches it, then glances at Dave. He smirks, changes his mind, and grabs the card at the far end of the deck. He slides it along the table and up to his chest so that nobody can see.
“Erm, right ok. You looked at it. Ok so, remember it.”
Geoff raises his eyebrows impatiently.
Dave gathers up the cards and shuffles them again. Several drop on the floor. He picks them up and then attempts to shuffle them again.
“Oh, Jess, I forgot,” says Dave a little awkwardly, “have you got a pen and paper?”
“A pen and paper? Erm, sure. Mum?”
Betty pops her prosecco on the table and walks towards the kitchen. She’s gone for a few moments during which time Dave shuffles the cards. She returns and puts the paper and pen on the table.
“Thank you Mrs Henley.”
“Ok so Mr Henley. You’ve remembered your card. I’d like you to put it back in the deck anywhere you’d like.”
Dave offers the deck to Geoff. He puts the card in the middle. Dave is about to pick up the deck when Geoff grabs it again and does his own shuffle. He’s better at shuffling than Dave.
“There we are girls. A nice clean shuffle!” he says with glee.
“Dad, for God’s sake!” cries Jessica.
Geoff puts the deck on the table. Dave politely smiles. He takes the pen and paper and leans back into the sofa. He jots something down then folds the paper over so nobody can see.
“What was that shit?” asks Geoff.
“Dad!” cries Joyce.
“I mean, excuse me, what are you writing down?”
“Oh Mr Henley, sorry, it’s ok. I haven’t done this for a while so I need to make a note. Right so let’s continue shall we?”
Geoff looks confused, “Aren’t you going to guess my card or something?”
Dave frowns, “Well how can I do that Mr Henley, you’ve shuffled it in again. How would I know?”
“I thought that was the purpose of the trick, Dave?” says Geoff with a little hostility.
“Oh, sorry I haven’t explained it very well. Erm, right..”
Dave picks up the cards again and starts to shuffle. Several cards drop on the floor again.
“How about I do it?” says Geoff. He snatches the deck and shuffles, even performing a little Riffle using the table. He’s pleased with himself.
“Dad this is so embarrassing, can you let Dave do his trick, please?” says Jessica.
“It’s ok Jess, your father is right, the cards needed shuffling. Mr Henley, when you’ve finished shuffling, which by the way you are very good at, you can fan them out again face down and choose whichever one you like.”
“So it’s the same bloody thing again?” says Geoff.
Dave nods.
“Right ok,” says Geoff as he fans the cards out in front of him. He picks up one of them, this time from the opposite end and holds it close to his chest. “Before you ask, I’ve remembered it.”
Betty refills her glass with prosecco.
“Ok great. I’ll just pick these up.’
Dave gathers the cards and shuffles them. Some are face up and others drop to the floor. Much to Betty’s relief he eventually manages to form a neat pile on the table. He studies them for a moment then takes his pen and paper and, in the same routine as before, writes something down.
“Are you going to guess my card or what?” says Geoff.
“Erm, yes, soon, I hope so, Mr Henley. So, you agree that the cards were shuffled and that I did not in any way influence the cards you chose?”
“Yes yes yes, all that stuff. What card did I choose?”
Dave leans back in his chair. He looks at his bit of paper briefly, “I need to ask you a couple of questions to read you. Is that ok?”
“You can’t ‘read’ me,” snorts Geoff.
“Is it a high value card? Just answer yes or no” asks Dave with some focus.
“Erm, yes. Ok? It’s also red. Does that help?” retorts Geoff.
“Dad, please!” says Jessica.
“Mr Henley, are you holding the queen of spades?”
Geoff laughs, “erm, no, sorry mate. It’s the king of hearts.”
Jessica looks crestfallen.
“Dave, it’s not so easy to fool someone like me. I know how to pick a card and you can’t read me.” He tucks his card back into the deck and shuffles it with a smug look on his face.
Jessica rubs Dave’s knee.
“Ok so how about your first card?”
“What about it?”
“Was that the five of clubs?”
“Nope, the two of diamonds.”
“Ah,” says Dave.
Geoff polishes off his glass. “Well, that was fantastic, sorry Dave. Maybe you should’ve tried it on one of the ladies.”
“Dad!” shouts Joyce, slapping his arm.
“I’m just saying, I’m not so easy to read. I’m not a kid.”
“Are you certain those were your cards?” asks Dave.
“Of course, I haven’t got dementia yet,” laughs Geoff.
“Mr Henley, are you certain you aren’t lying?” asks Dave.
A silence cuts through the room. Dave manages to hold Geoff’s gaze for a brief moment and then looks down. He speaks to the carpet.
“Mr Henley, did you lie about the card you had in your hand?”
“I did not lie, Dave. Certainly not on Christmas Day,” Geoff smirks.
“Dad, I don’t know why you always have to behave like this around my boyfriends,” says Jessica, “sorry Dave, I did warn you but – ”
“- It’s ok, Jess.” says Dave, “So Mr Henley you claim that the two cards you had were in the first instance a two of diamonds and the second a king of hearts? Is that right? That you’ve put them back in the deck here that I have in my hand now.”
Dave holds up the deck like an exhibit to a jury.
“Yes. I just told you that.”
“Erm, Joyce, would you mind taking the cards and fanning them out face up so we can find Mr Henley’s cards.”
Joyce grabs the cards from Dave’s hand. She flips them over and starts spreading them out as if about to play Pairs. “What were they again, Dad? King of what and a two of diamonds?”
“King of hearts! Yes, yes, for the umpteenth time,” says Geoff impatiently.
“I can’t find them!” says Joyce. “Mum, come and help!”
Betty leans forward and starts searching through the cards.
“I can’t find them either!”
Geoff is outraged. “You what? Let me check.”
In moments the whole family is scouring through the spread of cards on the table. They are archeologists searching for an ancient coin. Dave leans back into the sofa.
“They aren’t there!” cries Jessica.
Betty and Joyce burst into applause. Jessica gives him a big kiss.
“Oh for pity’s sake,” says Geoff, “he kicked them under the coffee table or something. See.”
Geoff clambers down on all fours and starts looking. Finding nothing he stands up and checks under the sofa cushions.
“Dave, that’s brilliant, how did you do it?”
“Hang on, hang on a minute,” says Geoff. “Was there a full deck to begin with?”
“Yes Dad I counted it, so did you!” says Joyce, giggling at her father’s outrage.
Betty starts clapping again, “Brilliant David! How clever! You got Geoff. That’s the best Christmas present of all.”
Jessica and Joyce burst out laughing. Geoff is fuming, “Look, enough of this. Two cards are missing from the deck. That’s all.”
The laughter continues. Geoff stands and raises his voice.
“They weren’t even my bloody cards.”
The laughter stops.
“So you lied, Dad? Dave asked you twice and you still lied.” says Jessica.
“He may well have made two cards disappear from the deck but they weren’t my cards. That’s hardly magic is it?”
Geoff gives Dave a sheepish look, “I’m sorry pal, those weren’t my cards. So whatever happened here I don’t know. Let’s stop silly magic tricks now. Jessica, you need to grow up a bit.”
A familiar tension fills the room and Jessica and Joyce share a glance. Dave notices it.
“Mr Henley, if those weren’t your cards may I ask you to give me an honest answer as to what they were so we can get to the bottom of this?”
Geoff sits down. “Look, I’m sorry, I told you already I don’t like magic. Ok.”
Dave presses, “What were the cards Mr Henley, I’d just like to know. For my own practice. You did mess up my trick after all.”
Geoff chews his tongue for a moment, “Fine, they were both 8s. Black ones. I can’t remember in which order. Look, there they are!”
Geoff reaches to the coffee table and fishes out the two black eights. He holds them up in front of him as if about to win a big pot in a game of Poker.
“Geoff darling, what’s the point in all this silly bloody behaviour? Dave is our daughter’s boyfriend and he’s our guest!” says Betty quite emotionally.
“It’s ok Mrs Henley, really. I’m not offended. In fact, my dad, before he passed, he told me that people’s reactions to magic can actually help a trick. If someone is edgy or nervous then they’re easier to read, for example.”
“I’m not edgy or nervous or easy to read,” states Geoff defiantly.
“Let me show you,” says Dave,
He takes out the paper from his pocket that he’d written on earlier. It is folded in half. He places it on the table and invites Betty to inspect it. She leans forward and opens it up. On it are the words ‘eight of clubs’ and ‘eight of spades’. “Oh my God!” she screeches, spilling some of her prosecco on the floor.
“Wow!” says Joyce, and stands up.
“Baby, that was brilliant! I had no idea you could do magic!” says Jessica before planting a big kiss on his lips.
The applause from the mother and two daughters is relentless. “You got him, David! You got him!”
“Ok, ok everybody, calm down. Stop screeching, you’ll disturb the neighbours,” announces Geoff.
“Oh come on Dad, that was amazing magic, you have to admit that!” cries Jessica.
“I’m going to check the turkey,” says Geoff and exits to the kitchen with enormous strides.
…………….
Geoff is in the kitchen for some time. During his absence the women burst into applause and relay their experience of the magic to one another, their sentences overlapping. “I honestly thought he’d messed it up,” “I can’t believe Dad cheated!” “When he shuffled the cards himself…” “I wondered what he was writing down.”
Dave sits back in his chair. He’s significantly more at ease than when he arrived.
Betty removes herself from her daughters’ chat and places her hand on Dave’s shoulder.
“Your dad would be very proud of you, I’m sure, my love. I’m so sorry about my husband, he gets a bit tetchy at Christmas. I’m sure he’s very impressed really.”
“Thank you Mrs Henley. Really it’s quite all right.”
“That was the most exciting Christmas entertainment we’ve had for ages, David. Thank you!” she follows.
Joyce leans over and tops up Dave’s glass for him, “Bravo! Most interesting boyfriend my sister has ever brought back for Christmas!”
Jessica glares at her, “Jay, for God’s sake, shut up.”
Dave laughs, “Oh have there been many?”
Joyce, a little slurry from the booze nods her head, “Yeah, to be honest I think our dad scares them off. I don’t know. Anyway, cheers.”
They clink glasses and Jessica mouths an apology to Dave who simply shrugs.
The kitchen door opens and Geoff returns, “Little while longer for the turkey I’m afraid and it appears you’ve finished both bottles of prosecco already.”
“Is that all you bought, Dad?” asks Joyce, “two bottles between five of us on Christmas Day?”
“Well I didn’t realise we’d be five until after I’d done the Christmas shopping did I. We’ve plenty of wine for lunch.”
“Darling, surely we can enjoy the white now? It’ll be ages til that bloody turkey is ready. Besides, we need to celebrate that wonderful magic show.” Betty rises and heads out to the fridge. Geoff is motionless.
“Still can’t believe you lied, Dad,” says Jess.
Geoff clenches his jaw, “Right, since you keep complaining it’s cold I’m going to get a fire going. Dave, would you mind coming outside and chopping some wood?”
***
There is much consternation from the daughters at the thought of getting a fire going. Even as Geoff heads out the back door with Dave in tow they are still calling out asking why after so many years he wants to start one. Has the chimney ever been swept? Their feet bend over the cold edge of the doorstep, unwilling to step outside.
Geoff marches ahead towards the shed at the end of his narrow garden. White gutters, a house martin’s nest here or there, a barrel to catch rainwater overflowing with leaves. Dave hangs behind him. His girlfriend’s father now fumbles on a fish-shaped fob for a key to a large padlock. He removes a glove by biting the middle finger and lifting it off. Using his bare hand he works the little key into the tiny slot until it clicks. The paper thin door swings outwards and they’re met with typical shed smells: wood, turpentine, paint and oil.
In the corner is a large sack full of logs. They are quite large and clearly from different trees.
“I pick them up when I go for long walks. Not strictly allowed but I’m not the only one doing it,” he explains.
Dave nods, unsure where this exercise is going.
“They’re a bit big so we need to chop them in half or maybe even a quarter. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No problem, Mr Henley,” says Dave, taking in the apparently unused shed which is as thick with dust as the bookshelf in the living room.
Geoff drags the sack of logs out onto the gravel path. A couple spill out, belly up. Earwigs flee. A moment later he emerges with a bright red axe. It’s comically small.
“They should be dry enough. You can’t start a fire with wet logs. I’ve got some of the barbecue firelighters too. So we should be able to get one going.” He hands Dave the axe, “I’m just going to get something to carry the logs you are going to chop up. You can get cracking.”
Geoff walks back towards the house. The path crunches beneath his Crocs like cereal. Dave stands clutching the axe. His hands are already cold. He looks up and sees Jessica staring at him through the upstairs bedroom window. She raises her hands in disbelief, mouthing ‘so sorry.’
Dave kneels and tries to get some purchase on a log. Then he gingerly brings the axe down. It barely makes an incision let alone splits the thing in two.
“Chop it, don’t tickle it, mate,” calls Geoff, marching back with an empty laundry basket.
“Right,” says Dave. He tries again with a bit more force but is still too cautious.
“All right, lad. Give it to me.” Geoff takes the axe and turns the log around so it’s standing up. Then he brings it down with some force. It goes in, deeply, but gets stuck. Geoff lifts the little axe and the log rises with it. He brings it down again but only sinks the blade in deeper. He raises it one more time to the same effect. It reminds Dave of trying to remove a wellington boot with wet socks on.
“Do you want me to hold the log still, Mr Henley?” offers Dave.
“No I bloody don’t. This thing is sharp and will go straight through your hand and you certainly won’t be doing any silly card tricks with it again.”
Dave steps back and continues to watch Geoff breathlessly raise and drop the log and the axe. Jessica is still observing from the upstairs window. Joyce joins her then Betty follows, passing both daughters a rather full glass of white wine.
“Piss and cock it!” says Geoff throwing both the log and axe on the floor.
David watches the log roll and then come to rest. A second later it splits in two in a rather satisfying fashion. Wordlessly Geoff picks up the bits of log and throws them in the laundry basket. It looks pitifully empty.
“Right, I think two or three more and it should be enough,” he assesses seriously.
There is a pause as Geoff looks down at the axe and then up at Dave. Geoff’s back is to the house. Dave can still see the rest of the family. They wave their arms around cheering him on. The closed soundproof window makes it look like they are celebrating the near-end of a quarantine.
Dave picks up the axe and a fresh log. With less inhibition he brings the axe down. A tiny door wedge sized piece comes off and lands at Geoff’s Crocs. Geoff picks it up and tosses it away, “too small,” he declares.
“Right,” says Dave and starts trying to chop again. Geoff folds his arms and his breath creates little ephemeral clouds in front of his acne-scarred face. He takes a quick look behind and sees his family up at the window. He turns back to Dave.
“How’d you do it, Dave?” he asks in a diplomatic fashion, “don’t worry, the girls can’t hear you.”
“Mr Henley, I’m afraid a magician never reveals his secrets,” says Dave with a little self-conscious laugh, somewhat unsurprised by the line of questioning that has begun.
“Is that something your father said?” asks Geoff.
“No, well, yes. But I also think it’s a phrase generally said about magic though, Mr Henley.”
“It isn’t magic, Dave. I’m well aware of that. It’s a trick. I’m just asking how it was done; it’s not a big deal.”
“The magic is not knowing how the trick is done, Mr Henley. That was something my dad said to me.”
“I’ve never seen those cards before you know. I thought they looked a bit fishy from the start. Have you got some special contact lenses in to see the numbers? You know, like a card shark poker player?”
“Mr Henley. I don’t wear contact lenses. I’m afraid I can’t tell you how the magic was done. It wouldn’t be respectful to my father’s trade,” Dave brings the axe down with some confidence and the log splits obediently.
“It’s Christmas. Come on. I won’t spoil the magic for Jess. I can see she likes you. Don’t want it ruined.”
“It’s card sharp not shark,” says Dave chopping another quarter with ease, “I prefer the older traditional terms like my father did. I think that’s enough logs, no?”
Geoff picks up the cut logs and puts them in the basket. He nods at the sack as an instruction to take out one more. Dave relents.
“There’re a lot of photos on the wall in my living room. I expect you saw the reflection of my cards in one of the panes of glass. What you did with my cards I don’t know, but getting rid of two cards is hardly difficult.”
“Was it Greece you went to Mr Henley?”
“You what?”
“The photo in the living room of Jess and Joyce. I guess she looks about six. Was it Greece?”
“No. Spain. That’s enough wood now. Chuck it in here. The axe and sack of logs can go back in the shed. No need to lock it.”
Geoff heads towards the back door whilst Dave awkwardly drags the half full sack of logs to its winter home and places the axe on the workbench with a clang. He pushes the door to and joins Geoff who has paused with his hand on the backdoor handle.
“I’m sorry Dave. I was rude. I told you I don’t like tricks. You did one. But I was impressed. I’m just keen to know how it was done. It’s a good way to get to know you.”
“I understand Mr Henley. It’s one thing my dad warned me about many times. People will ask and ask and if you ever give in and tell them they are always disappointed. Just enjoy the trick. It really made your wife and daughters happy.”
Geoff scoffs then pushes the back door open. He calls upstairs,
“Your man is a real lumberjack. Let’s get this fire going and I’m pretty sure I’ve got another bottle of prosecco hiding somewhere.”
………..
The first bottle of white wine is finished. The hidden third bottle of prosecco is opened. Geoff refills Dave’s glass with servant-like attention despite the polite refusals. The turkey and spuds will be ready shortly and the whole family are now in the large kitchen. A square dining table is being set with four matching wooden chairs and an office one with wheels a few paces from the oven. Joyce stuffs colourful Christmas napkins into the throats of red wine glasses and asks Dave if he’s ever thought about being a magician.
“Oh no. That’s not the life for me.”
“But it was so fun! You must feel like a star!”
Dave leans against the kitchen counter where Betty has almost finished putting prawn cocktail into frosted glass bowls.
“Not really. Firstly you’re so nervous you’re going to get a trick wrong. Then there’s the other side of it. The maintenance of the props, the costumes, finding gigs. My dad would be up for hours in the garage tinkering with stuff. It was hard work.”
Jessica comes over and pecks Dave’s cheek, “it’s so lovely hearing you talk about your dad. He sounds like he was a lovely man.” Dave lowers his head and swirls his prosecco.
“Can I just say one thing?” asks Geoff, getting up from having looked in through the oven door’s glass for the eighth time that minute.
“For once,” says Joyce without hesitation.
“Thank you. No, I just want to say that I don’t think you, Dave, were nervous for one second. I actually think you know how to shuffle and the whole dropping the cards farce was just a way to peek at the deck and see what cards were left. Dave was not nervous. That’s all I’ll say.”
“For crying out loud, Geoff” cries Betty wiping Marie Rose sauce on her apron. “You don’t have to try and figure it all out. Nobody thinks any less of you because David managed to guess your cards.”
Geoff immediately returns to the turkey. His eyes are hit with a blast of heat as he opens the oven door to get a better look inside.
“God that’s hot!” he cries, pressing his palms onto his eyes and standing. “It’s just banter between men, Betz. Ok? I’ve a lot of respect for Dave and I’m just saying that it wasn’t just sleight of hand or whatever, it’s his whole persona since he arrived. The shy, awkward man. I think it’s bollocks. That’s all. That’s the blunt way to put it. With the greatest respect though. I think Dave knows way more ‘magic’ than he led us to believe at first.”
Jessica’s eyes are closed as if summoning patience from the depths of her bowels.
“Jess, it’s fine,” whispers Dave.
“Dad, you’ve been nothing but rude since Dave got here. You made him park again because you said his car wasn’t straight. You’ve made him feel so unwelcome. Chopping wood in the garden? What the hell was that about? Of course Dave is going to feel awkward – sorry talking about you in front of you Dave – you were all asking him questions about his dad. Why’d you have to do this every time I bring a guy here?”
“Do what?”
“Try and one-up them or whatever.”
“When did I ever do that? What was the name of the last one? Gary? Greg?”
“It was Gavin, Dad.”
“What the bloody hell did I do to him?”
“Well for starters you claimed the wine he had brought was corked and then you questioned the fuel economy of his car for ten minutes when he kindly dropped you at the station.”
“That’s just male-chat. I can hardly be blamed for the fact you broke up.”
“It doesn’t bloody help!” Jessica takes a swig from her glass and gives her sister a look. “Joyce? Help me out here.”
“I think let’s finish setting the table. Dave, you can sit here. Dad, you get the office chair for behaving so childishly today.”
***
The booziness has reached a much higher level than Dave had expected, even for a Christmas Day in frostbitten England. Geoff has been pouring the bubbles with relish. A fourth bottle of prosecco was uncovered by him and opened, apparently in Dave’s honour, providing he neck the first glass. Despite sipping slowly and even magically pouring half into a nearby pot plant, Dave is now also drunk.
The turkey and roast potatoes were a success. No question. And with that success in his hands Geoff deftly steers any new conversation back to the spuds’ crispy coating or the moistness of the turkey leg. The talent spotlight has shifted its focus on him, at least momentarily. As he polishes off his Christmas Pudding by circling his spoon relentlessly around the dish. The noise is really annoying.
“Ok Dad, you’ve finished,” says Jessica.
“What about this fire?” asks Joyce.
“Did you put the logs in the bloody laundry basket?” asks Betty.
Geoff dismisses the three women with a wave and glances at Dave who smiles back in that way you do when you pass a pensioner at night and you don’t want them to think you’re a threat.
“Dave, what do you say we get a fire going?”
“OK Mr Henley – ”
“- Have you ever started a fire before? It’s quite simple. Newspaper first, kindling, we don’t have that but we can use more paper. Then one log on. Make sure it’s dry. We’ll use firelighters to help us.”
Geoff drops his spoon with a clang as if battle plans have been finalised.
“Dad, I’m sure Dave knows how to make a fire,” says Joyce.
“I was being polite by asking. Just sharing a bit of knowledge, that’s all. It’s Christmas.”
Geoff marches to the backdoor to pick up the laundry basket with its collection of log pieces of various shapes and sizes. He disappears into the living room, somewhat unsteady on his feet. Once the door has closed behind him Betty turns to face Dave.
“David, be honest, my love.”
“Yes, Mrs Henley.”
“Did my husband ask you how you did the magic trick in the garden? Is that what this is about?”
Dave fiddles with his napkin for a moment.
“It’s ok, Dave,” says Jessica.
“Yes Mrs Henley, he did.”
“I thought so. For God’s sake don’t tell him,” Betty sighs, unsurprised.
She shrugs at her daughters. Joyce is pretty drunk now and has decided to put her phone away.
“Dave, my sis and I have had a number of boyfriends over the years. Them coming here has always been the first step in the whole thing coming down. We aren’t sure what he says to them when they’re alone, but there is something that drives them away. Literally within weeks.” Joyce tops up her glass and nods at her sister.
“I’m sorry, Dave,” says Jessica, looking at the table, “I should have warned you more.”
“It’s ever since he bloody retired,” says Betty half to herself. “He spends so much time on his iPad, social media, God knows what. He’s like a jealous teenager I swear.”
“He’s also being protective,” mutters Jessica.
The silence that arrives is not uncomfortable but it is obvious Dave is supposed to be the one to speak next. In the background Geoff can be heard whistling quite loudly.
“You warned me plenty, Jess. Don’t worry. That’s all I say. I’m having a great time, honestly. I miss my dad. He had his faults too. But he’d be happy I’m having a few drinks with my girlfriend at Christmas and that I did a bit of magic.”
Joyce reaches over and pats Dave’s hand. Betty touches it too. Jessica’s eyes are moist.
Geoff yells from his knees in front of the fireplace. “Dave, would you mind magicking yourself in here and scrunching up some newspaper with your wizard fingers?”
***
The fire is roaring. It snaps and cracks as three logs burn with intensity. Geoff stands back a metre to watch it with his soot-covered hands on his hips. The sides of his white shirt are filthy. Dave stands nearby. His hands are clasped in front of his groin as if a coffin is being lowered in front of him. What he did to help he doesn’t know. He had simply watched Geoff start a log fire with a running commentary explaining each step. Joyce, Betty, and Jessica sit together on the sofa. They’ve stopped drinking because according to Geoff there’s no more to drink. It’s dark outside already. British winter. Brutal.
“Shall we see what’s on the TV, Dad?” pipes up Jessica.
“We’re watching my fire, Jess,” he replies without blinking.
“We’ve been watching it for a while,” says Joyce.
“Plenty to appreciate. Don’t you think, Dave?” says Geoff without turning to look at him.
Dave mumbles in agreement and glances at Jessica who is now motionless with embarrassment. She makes another plea, her voice is childlike despite the courage behind it.
“Dad, it’s Christmas Day. Can we do something all together? Not watch a fire you’ve made for the first time in two decades.”
Geoff bristles at this and turns.
“I thought today we were all appreciating our individual skills? My fire, my cooking. Dave’s ‘magic’,” Geoff says this last word with palpable derision. He has moved onto a generous cognac which warms on the carpet in front of the fire. “I’m not sure exactly what you three have provided today except girly laughter and applause like fat sea lions.”
Dave knows immediately that a new stage of the Henley Christmas Day has now begun. He chances a look at the three women on the sofa. They say nothing. There’s a familiarity to their numbness in this moment that reaches Dave. This isn’t fireworks about to go off but a small sack of animals being drowned publicly. Only it’s been done before. Betty glances at the clock on the mantelpiece. It’s 6:20pm. Dave imagines her silently calculating whether they’ve made it further than last year or not. Is 6:20pm a new record before Geoff’s coldness becomes hostile and stifling? Joyce, once confident and chirpy with her phone, leans into her mother’s arm. The three are one beating heart, waiting for whatever inevitably comes next.
Dave was warned in somewhat vague terms, “My Dad is a bit of a control freak, but he’s all right really,” or “He’s so protective. It’s quite wearing but he means well.” Then one evening after he’d picked Jessica up from a boozy office party what was it she’d said? “5 o’clock, it’s all over by 5 o’clock. Then it’s a black mood that terrorises until he eventually goes to bed. He always finds something to be angry about.” Something like that. She’d fallen asleep with eyeliner smearing her cheeks; the next day having forgotten she’d said it.
Two weeks later his invitation to spend Christmas Day arrived over eggs benedict at a local cafe. Her eyes gleamed as she asked whilst in the same breath apologising for the tardiness of the idea. It was the 23rd. Christmas music had been playing constantly over the rustle of other customers’ shopping bags and clatter of cutlery. Dave could stay over too. Providing he didn’t mind the sofa, because well, ‘Dad was a bit traditional about some things’. Dave had sipped his coffee before agreeing. He told his mum of his new last-minute festive plans. She’d accepted them. She didn’t want him to feel he’d come home to her sadness. Besides, he had three siblings who’d be there with their partners.
So Dave had prepared for this meeting, for this day, and possibly now this moment. He liked Jess a lot. More than he’d acknowledged to himself. She’d been a real rock in his grief. He hadn’t expected to start dating whilst still so raw in mourning and with the court case going on but she was just so kind and understanding. He’d lost his dad and she still had his cantankerous one. His own father had been so different but had he, like all men around that age, also just been on a continual search for long lost approval? Was that perhaps why his father had kept up the magic career?
Dave makes a final attempt to shift the mood from pitchy black with a light-hearted and ego-boosting comment.
“So, Mr Henley. Why can’t we just light the logs directly? You know, wrap them in paper. Why do we need to put the paper underneath?”
Geoff’s back has returned to face the women in his family. A sight they’re apparently used to.
“You can wrap it in paper if you want Dave, mate. But you’ll have a roaring fire for all of 30 seconds.”
Silence returns. But Dave is running free now. He doesn’t even glance at his girlfriend because he knows she will look so desperately apologetic.
“I see. And the logs, they need to be completely dry or – ”
“ – Do the trick again, Dave.”
It was inevitable.
“Mr Henley?”
“The card trick. The one you humiliated me with. Do it again. If you can ‘read my mind’ again I’ll…I’ll…” Geoff turns a little towards his family, “I’ll pop the TV on and all that.”
Dave knows that Geoff means so much more.
“Mr Henley, my Dad didn’t recommend doing the same trick because – ”
“- Please David,” interrupts Betty, her voice riddled with cavities. “I think it would be a good idea.”
Jessica nods too, unblinking.
***
The lamps are switched on but the fire still provides an orange glow across the room. Joyce grabs the deck of cards and passes them directly to her dad who shuffles them with relish.
Geoff is now all smiles. The women try to muster one up between them too. A bottle of red is fetched by Joyce from her suitcase upstairs. She pours generously for her distraught mother. Geoff doesn’t even complain. The sisters try to find something funny, anything that will draw a titter or a giggle to release them from the relentless pressure their father is exerting on the room as he fiercely handles the cards. Jessica finds it.
“That turkey was so good we finished it all. No turkey sandwiches tomorrow.”
Geoff laughs. It’s a real one too. A door on a plane has been opened mid-flight and everybody is wrenched from the cabin to experience the liberating sense of free fall. They clink glasses. They mutter the joke again in paraphrases and talk about having cereal for lunch tomorrow because the turkey was indeed good. But soon the barbed silence returns.
Geoff passes the deck of cards to Dave. It may as well be a pistol.
“This is a real challenge, honestly Dave. If you get me. You get me. Ok?”
Dave nods.
“Oh David, do you need a pen and paper again?” asks Betty.
Dave looks at Geoff.
“Mrs Henley, that depends entirely on whether Mr Henley follows the rules of my trick.”
Geoff shows his palms in a diplomatic fashion.
“I think no need.”
Dave begins to shuffle. A small smile starts to push on one side of his face and he looks at Jessica. Suddenly the cards are a blur. He cuts and chops and riffles on the coffee table with panache. His fingers are that of a watchmaker or pianist. Jessica leans forward, almost forgetting to swallow her wine. She seems to notice Dave’s fingers for the first time. Their narrow length, the neat nails and thinness of his wrist where his watch hangs loosely. Geoff claps his hands with satisfaction.
“What did I bloody tell you lot!” he cries, “a complete act!”
Jessica is in awe at her boyfriend as his hands mix the cards into absolute randomness. He gives a cheeky shrug and then spreads the cards out in front of him in a beautiful line. They’re almost exactly the same distance from each other. The pattern on the back aligns perfectly like wallpaper in a five star hotel. Dave’s voice is imbued with confidence. He’s no longer a tentative twit with a trick but a hustler on the street earning fast cash from passing tourists. He is on stage in Vegas. His voice is commanding,
“Mr Henley, pick a card and take it. Do not show me.”
Geoff nods, smug at his correct assumptions, then hovers his palm over the obedient cards. He watches Dave closely looking for a tell of some sort. Dave holds his gaze with Clint Eastwoodesque ease. Twenty seconds, then thirty. Geoff’s hand stays over the cards like a puppeteer waiting for their cue. Nobody speaks. As the dying fire crackles with a resounding snap he drops a finger on a card right at the far end and tugs it out face down.
“Dad,” says Joyce, “this time you’re going to show me too. I promise I won’t say anything.”
“Ha! You’re no doubt in cahoots with Dave. If you think that – ”
“- It’s a wise idea.” says Dave decidedly.
A pause hangs in the air.
“Fine. But come and sit next to me,”
Joyce shuffles around and kneels on the floor in front of the coffee table as if a meal in Kyoto is about to be served. Geoff pulls the card to the edge and then lifts it fractionally, trying not to allow any bending that might identify it when back in Dave’s deft hands. He crouches and pushes Joyce’s head down too. They both twist their necks in a bizarre contortion to see which card he has drawn. After a moment, they emerge from almost under the coffee table and share a nod.
“Mr Henley you may place the card back in the deck and shuffle it yourself as much as you like.”
As if handling some sort of sensitive bomb, Geoff gently cuts the deck and inserts his card in the middle then pats the side flat. Then he lifts the whole thing and begins to shuffle, careful not to drop any cards. Joyce remains on her knees at his side knowing better than to offer a helping hand. He shuffles for at least a minute. Dave watches, unperturbed. Jessica bites her bottom lip. The deck is returned to the table. Geoff and Dave stare at one another, the cards sit between them.
“You have a strong poker face,” announces Dave, “men often do.”
Geoff offers nothing in reply.
Dave continues, “Since you’ve been so keen to learn how the trick was done I shall talk you through it. Not something my dad would approve of, but these are special circumstances.”
Geoff doesn’t reject the volunteered information.
“So, I assume it’s a high value card based on how pleased you looked when you came up from under the table. Something that signals power like a king or queen.”
Geoff’s face is stone. If a fly were to land on his eyeball he wouldn’t blink. He adjusts his sitting position very slightly. The way one does on an aeroplane when the passenger next to you is asleep. Dave sees it,
“But I sense some discomfort there. Or was it excitement? The idea that I might be wrong. So very wrong. You see, although your face shows nothing I can see your body emits tension like the skin of a snare drum, Mr Henley. It’s not a high card at all. In fact, based on that huge physical response you’ve just given me I’d be inclined to go the other way. It’s low.”
“Are you going to guess my card or keep talking?” he says but his voice lacks its usual authority.
Betty, Jessica and Joyce are silent.
“Now you want me to hurry. Now you aren’t interested in the process. Is it because I’m close or because I’ve gone so far off that you can’t believe your luck? You want me to think I got it wrong in the first instance so you moved in your chair. Or are you genuinely frustrated at my detective skills? Remember Mr Henley, every single thing you do tells me something. Even saying nothing tells me something.”
“This is wonderful,” whispers Betty to Jessica in ecstasy.
Geoff licks his top lip.
“Ok, I have an idea of the number. But now the suit. There are four to choose from. I’ll say them out loud Mr Henley. You just need to listen.”
Geoff grinds his teeth. He’s at once a boy at his GP, sleeve rolled up, awaiting his first vaccination.
“Heart.”
Nothing.
“ Spade.”
Nothing.
“Club.”
Geoff blinks. Dave stops.
“A nice try Mr Henley. You see, I’ve been with you the whole day. Did you know that most people blink about 15-20 times a minute. But in moments of intensity or attention such as watching a film or reading a letter, blinking is less frequent. At this moment you’re watching me. You don’t need to blink so often. Yet you’ve gone from blinking 8 – 10 times a minute with a similar gap between each blink to a faster rate. A false alarm I fancy. You want me to think it’s a club because you know the next suit I’m going to say is a diamond.”
Geoff blinks again.
Then again.
Soon he is blinking rapidly and randomly and with great exaggeration. It is childishness upgraded to all-consuming petulance. To a passing neighbour it might look like an attempt at communicating in Morse Code across an old coffee table as part of a silly Christmas game.
“Geoff, darling please,” mutters Betty.
Geoff continues to blink with wild intensity. His stained teeth are visible through his gently parted lips.
“I see, Mr Henley,” says Dave. “Joyce, you remember the card?”
“Yes,” she says somewhat perplexed by the bizarre behaviour of her father who is now switching tactics and blinking with the regularity of a broken WiFi router.
Silence stretches out. An elastic band being pulled tightly across the Henley household.
Dave grabs the deck of cards. He runs the fingers up and down the side and seems to listen to them as if cracking the code of a safe. Then he fans the deck out face up. He drops his finger on one immediately and with absolute confidence.
“Jack of spades,” he announces.
Geoff stops blinking. Joyce’s shoulders drop.
“Ha!” shouts Geoff leaping to his feet, “miles off!”
Joyce looks at her mum and sister somewhat crestfallen.
“He didn’t get it right! He didn’t get it right!” chants Geoff turning in little circles.
“I’m afraid he isn’t lying,” says Joyce.
“Ah, oh well.” says Dave, disappointed.
Geoff is clapping to himself with great satisfaction. He picks up his cognac and has a deep sip.
Jess and Betty turn to Dave. He realises they’re expecting a redemptive twist like in the afternoon.
“I’m so sorry. I read wrong,” he says resigned.
“You can’t bloody read me!” shouts Geoff. “Magic my arse.”
Dave tidies the cards politely. Jessica comes to his side and rubs his neck and whispers, “Don’t worry, to be honest I loved the shuffling more than anything. Very sexy.”
Dave laughs.
“Unlucky Dave, seriously. That was fun though,” Geoff extends his hand with a smile. Dave shakes it.
“You’re right, Mr Henley. It was fun. You win. I need to practise a bit more. Shall we pop the TV on now?”
“Sure, put it on,” Geoff turns and grabs the remote, juggles it a bit and throws it to Betty who catches it, then with surprising lightness he walks over and kisses her on the cheek. “Happy Christmas my love,” he smiles and offers her a sip of cognac.
“Oh I can’t stand that stuff. But go on then,” Betty has a sip with a giggle.
Joyce takes the remote and the TV’s bright light fills the room. A variety show is on and the audience are wearing Christmas hats.
“Joyce darling,” says Geoff, “run along to the garage and open my beer fridge. You’ll find a bottle of proper champagne hidden in a cardboard crate of Budweiser. Bring it in.”
Joyce, mouth agape, hurries off to the garage. Geoff kisses Betty again. Jessica observes it all with disbelief. She leans on Dave who kisses her head. The tone of the rest of the evening unfolds there and then. A lightness pervades the room that contrasts the dying flames of Geoff’s fire. He kisses his daughters and holds his wife’s hand. He allows Joyce to serve the champagne and even does a toast welcoming Dave to the family. Home Alone comes on TV and they lie back so relaxed they are seemingly being absorbed by the sofas. Geoff reminds his daughters of the time they tried to make traps for him when they were young and he came home from work. They can’t remember. A few embarrassing anecdotes are shared about Jessica’s childhood, losing socks, getting lost at the beach in Spain, and her first boyfriend Wayne when she was just seven. Apparently he was cross-eyed and had buck teeth. Their grandad had refused to let him in the house for a playdate.
Before long it’s close to midnight. The Henleys are wearing smiles as they mutter their desires to retire to bed. Joyce gives Dave a drowsy high-five followed by a hug before carting herself upstairs. Betty kisses his cheeks four times and waddles off both elated and relieved. She beckons her husband who signals he’ll be a minute.
Dave takes his place on the sofa, stretching out as Jessica covers him in a blanket.
Geoff shakes his head, “You’re 26 and I don’t go to church since my dad died, so up you go.” There’s no argument. Jessica tugs at Dave’s hand.
“Hang on a second, Jess” says Dave. “Let me say goodnight to your father.”
She reminds him where to find her bedroom then kisses her Dad on the cheek and wishes him a Happy Christmas for the final time that evening. She means it.
Geoff is standing by the door observing the space where his daughter had stood.
“Thanks for a great Christmas, Mr Henley,” says Dave, extending his hand, “this evening was wonderful.”
Geoff squeezes Dave’s hand with a mountain climber’s grip. It hurts.
“You be good to her, young man,” he says with more than a hint of his earlier saltiness. “I won’t have her messed about.”
Dave retracts his hand with difficulty then, much to the surprise of Geoff, he walks over to the ashes of the fireplace and turns his back to him. He controls the pause that grows between them.
“What makes you think I’d mess her about Mr Henley?” asks Dave.
“Men do. It happens. But you seem like a good bloke,” says Geoff retracing his steps a little and trying to find some politeness on the way.
“Jessica cried when describing her Christmases here,” says Dave casually.
Geoff scoffs, “Women get emotional. You know that.”
“I think you know why, Mr Henley.”
Dave remains in front of the fire. His back is as firm as an old Oak tree. Geoff stands behind him, hands in back pockets. He won’t speak. The reason he won’t speak is because this is a topic that doesn’t exist in his perception of the world.
“My dad showed me that magic can really bring people a lot of joy. Especially children. Even teenagers. They giggle so much when they’ve been fooled. It’s a kind of release, you know.”
Geoff shuffles on his feet.
“My father told me that the reason he kept doing magic, even though the work came with no stability, was because of how he could conduct a whole room. Making them laugh, sometimes scream or, on occasion, feel tension when his audience thought he’d done a trick wrong.”
Geoff’s spine stiffens.
“Mr Henley, we men can wield that kind of power over a room without that magician’s wand.”
Dave leans to one side and pulls the four of diamonds out of his pocket. He raises his hand with the delicate card held gently between his long fingers.
“This was your card, Mr Henley.”
Wordlessly Geoff takes it.
“What a wonderful evening you all had after I failed to guess your card. I don’t think I’ve seen my girlfriend smile so much.”
Geoff stares at the four diamonds as if they were part of some sort of long lost photo from his youth.
“Mr Henley, a good magician, like a good man, can control the whole mood of a party. A corporate gig where the boss needs to be ridiculed gently to show he’s one of the team too. A child who believes for a moment that a rabbit has come from a hat. A mad group of flirty hen-do ladies screeching at a penis-shaped wand emerging from one of their handbags. My dad did them all. It doesn’t matter if people know how you did it. The point is they have a good time. I love your daughter, Mr Henley.”
“I can see that,” says Geoff.
“I would say I love her so much I’m willing to lose a bit of face to make her happy.”
Geoff bites the inside of his cheek.
“Mr Henley, would you agree with me if I told you that since the card trick this evening that I’ve not left this room once and that you’ve been with me the whole time. You’ve not left to go to the bathroom and that when the hidden bottle of magical champagne was fetched it was by your daughter Joyce.”
Dave turns a little to catch Geoff’s eye. The man is a solid granite statue in the headlights.
“You would agree that I’ve only visited this house today and that you’ve been with me ever since you discovered my father was a magician.”
A reluctant nod, barely visible.
“Mr Henley, look at your shelf of books over there. I want you to pick up any one you like. Any single one. When you’ve chosen it, remove it from the shelf carefully. Then turn to page 4. The four of diamonds, you see.”
Geoff is a bishop on a chessboard, rigid and expressionless. Yet another silence stretches out but Dave is no longer bothered by them.
“Go ahead, Mr Henley. I promise I won’t tell. Any book of your choosing.”
Geoff, as if released from a plaster cast, lets his four of diamonds flutter to the floor like a useless betting slip and walks over to his bookshelf. He observes the titles of his books. He suddenly feels embarrassed by them. After a moment he steps closer. His fingers wander over the spines as he reads the authors’ names as if for the first time. Impressive manly airport thrillers about tall men with turkey-size fists and sniper rifles. A few travel guides so far out of date they wouldn’t even be taken in by charity shops. Then there are the books on angling. The ones his father gave him. He hasn’t been for so long. Not since his father passed. He rests his finger on a plastic covered guide for angling for carp and pulls it out. He holds it under his thumbs for a moment as he hears Dave turn and take a few steps towards the door by the staircase to his daughter’s room.
“Mr Henley, you were right about many things today. I should admit that. The deck of cards was mine. I added the dust myself on Christmas Eve from a box of it I inherited from my father. I put them in the cabinet before you came in with the prosecco this morning. I don’t have special contact lenses. But I did learn some tricks with cold hard practice. So I’ll tell you one more thing. You were always going to pick that four of diamonds. Be in no doubt about that.”
Dave picks up Geoff’s cognac and takes a little sip.
“This is delicious Mr Henley. Thank you. So was the turkey. Really. Thank you. I look forward to having breakfast with you all tomorrow. And don’t worry, I won’t say a word about this to anybody. Not unless I have to.”
Dave’s footsteps creak each step on the staircase as he makes his way to join Jessica in her childhood bedroom. Geoff is still gripping the book. His father gave it to him as a teenager. The photo on the front is so very 70s. He waits until he hears the bedroom door close upstairs then he opens it up fully like a cartoon crocodile’s mouth.
He only needs to get to page four. He does so quickly. Stuck below a subheading about barbless hooks, staring straight up at him, is the face of Father Christmas on the front of a bright red scratch card.
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