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‘It must be all the excitement,’ Frankie said. ‘It’s not every day you get to take your girlfriend out for a baked potato.’

  Before Alan could reply, Rosie drove over a speed bump with enough force that Frankie hit his head on the roof. ‘Ow!’ he said.

  ‘What are you laughing for?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘No reason. I was just thinking of something for my routine.’ Alan replied as Frankie rubbed his head.

  ‘You didn’t say. How exactly did Harry get stuck in a box?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘No idea. Sarah just said that he was stuck and could I go and get him out.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask?’

  ‘No, didn’t think to.’ Alan admitted.

  Rosie sighed and shook her head. It never ceased to amaze her how Alan could accept the most improbable of situations without question. No doubt there was a perfectly reasonable explanation, she thought to herself. After all, normal people lock themselves out of things, not in them. Rosie smiled as she realised this was the most fun she and Alan had had since they broke in to Buggerly Mount School.

  *

  Sarah pushed the last lump of ice cream round the bowl whilst Giles finished off his story.

  ‘…and the woman said “it was a nice trip, but can I take the welding goggles off now?”

  Sarah laughed with a little more enthusiasm than the story deserved.

  ‘That’s so funny. You should tell that story on stage,’ she told him.

  Giles dabbed his mouth with his napkin. ‘I don’t think so. My material is on a different level to that. I leave simple anecdotes to the likes of Alan.’

  Sarah playfully flicked her napkin at him. ‘That’s not fair. Alan is very funny and he knows the circuit as well as anyone.’

  Giles finished his desert while Sarah spoke. He paid no attention to what she was saying. He could see her mouth moving, but the words held no interest to him.

  ‘I’d really appreciate it if you could make an effort to get on with Alan,’ she reached out and touched his arm. ‘I’d be very grateful.’

  Giles produced another false smile. ‘Of course I will. I’m sure that we can get on really well.’

  ‘That’ll be great,’ Sarah said as she reached for her phone. ‘I’ll just give Alan a quick call to see what’s happening.’

  ‘Leave him,’ Giles said softly. ‘Alan’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be able to sort everything out.’

  Sarah paused a moment and then put her phone back in her bag.

  ‘We’ve been talking about me all evening,’ Giles grinned, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. ‘Why don’t you tell something about yourself? Tell me about your work with the Arts Council. That sounds fascinating.’

  ‘It’s very interesting work,’ Sarah began, before Giles interrupted her.

  ‘I once did a series of gigs for the Arts Council in Balham. Let me tell you about the time…’

  *

  Rosie’s Sat Nav directed her to a tree lined residential road with large terrace houses on both sides.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Alan pointed out as Rosie eased the car slowly down the road. She pulled into the first available space and they walked back to Harry’s house.

  ‘This house…’ she said as they walked up the garden path, ‘actually, all these houses are enormous.’

  Alan agreed that the houses were indeed impressive - all large with three stories. ‘I imagine that most of them have been converted to flats now,’ he said as they reached Harry’s front door.

  Noticing that there was just the one doorbell rather than several with names underneath them, Frankie said, ‘Looks like Harry owns the whole thing. Look, no other bells.’

  ‘How do we get in?’ Rosie asked. ‘It’s not like he’s going to be able to open the door.’

  ‘Sarah told me that he leaves a spare key under a flower pot by the door,’ Alan said. ‘…and as if by magic…’ he leaned the largest flower pot back to reveal a pair of keys.

  ‘That’s a bit risky. Anyone could let themselves in,’ Rosie pointed out.

  ‘…and they are! Harry’s old school,’ Frankie said. ‘I bet he doesn’t use banks either. Doesn’t trust them. Has all his money in a mattress.’

  ‘Harry’s very trusting. You know what old people are like,’ Alan said for Rosie’s benefit.

  Opening the front door, Alan led the others into the house. The door opened on to a narrow hallway. A staircase arched away on the right while on the left a long expanse of wall was broken half way down by a closed door. At the end of the hallway was another door, slightly ajar.

  ‘Where do you think he’ll be?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘The box room!’ Alan and Frankie said simultaneously, and burst into laughter.

  Rosie stared at the giggling Alan. ‘Are you actually laughing at your own joke?’

  Realising that was actually how it looked to Rosie, Alan bought himself under control.

  ‘Do you want to check in there…’ he gestured at the closed door. ‘I’ll check upstairs.’

  Rosie opened the door and walked into a large tastefully decorated but somewhat dated living room. The focal point of the room was a large sofa with two large armchairs positioned opposite it. A TV was tucked away in the corner, as though it was an afterthought, unlike both her house and Alan’s flat, where the TV had become the dominant feature of the room.

  In the hallway Alan began to climb the stairs.

  ‘My legs can’t do all these stairs,’ Frankie said. ‘There’s hundreds of them.’

  ‘You should be able to levitate or something by now,’ Alan grinned. ‘I’ll have a word with Harry, see if he’ll have a stair lift put in for you,’ Alan said as Frankie vanished into thin air.

  Faced with an empty room, Rosie stepped out, closing the door behind her as Alan reached the top of the first flight of stairs.

  ‘Harry, its Alan…’ he called out.

  Rosie opened the door at the end of the passageway to reveal a large kitchen. ‘He’s not in the kitchen,’ she called out.

  Not getting a response, Alan climbed the second flight of stairs. As he turned onto the landing he saw Frankie sitting on the bottom step of the stairs that climbed up to the attic room.

  ‘On the naughty step again?’ Alan said.

  ‘I think he’s up there,’ Frankie said, ignoring Alan’s comment and pointing up the stairs towards the attic room.

  Alan stepped past Frankie and went up the stairs and pushed open the door.

  ‘Harry?’ he called out as he walked into the attic room. ‘It’s Alan. Sarah sent me to help you.’

  The room was large, situated as it was in the roof of the house. Shelves lined the walls filled with books and CDs. However, Alan’s attention was drawn to the large wooden cube which stood in the middle of the room. It stood at around four feet square and had what appeared to a letter box sized slot in one of the sides.

  Alan heard movement from inside and a face appeared at the slot.

  ‘Alan? Is that you?’ A muffled voice said.

  Alan got down on his knees and peered into the box.

  ‘It’s OK Harry, I can get you out,’ he said.

  ‘There should be a key on the floor somewhere…’ Harry’s muffled voice said.

  Alan looked around his feet. The carpet was brown and heavily patterned, which made the task more difficult. Sighing, Alan bent down on his knees and began patting the floor.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Rosie said as she entered the room, Frankie following close behind.

  ‘I’m looking for a key,’ he said as he continued to pat the floor.

  ‘Hello Rosie,’ Harry said through the small opening.

  ‘Don’t worry Harry, we’re going to get you out,’ she said.

  ‘Found it!’ Alan announced, brandishing the key. ‘What do you want me to do? There doesn’t appear to be a lock on the outside.’

  ‘Pass it through here please,’ Harry stuck his fingers through the small opening, gesturing for the key.


  Alan passed the key to Harry and stood back. There was some shuffling around and what sounded suspiciously like swearing before Alan heard a click and the top of the box lifted open.

  ‘There you go,’ Alan said, ‘Rubik Hodges.’ No one laughed.

  Harry emerged slowly from his incarceration, with Old Man Ernie tucked under one arm.

  ‘Doesn’t look like he’s wet himself,’ Frankie pointed out.

  Rosie reached out and steadied Harry. ‘Let me help you out,’ she said.

  ‘Can you take Ernie for me?’ Harry asked and passed the decrepit ventriloquist dummy to Rosie while he clambered out of the box.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked.

  Turning to Alan, Frankie said ‘If he asks for a gottle of geer I’m off!’

  *

  Alan placed mugs of tea in front of Harry and Rosie and joined them at the kitchen table, squeezing in beside Frankie.

  ‘So what actually happened?’ he asked.

  Harry took a sip of his tea. ‘It was all a bit silly really…’

  ‘You locked yourself into a box. I think we would all agree that a “bit silly” was the least it was,’ Frankie said.

  Ignoring him, Alan continued. ‘Go on then, what happened?’

  ‘I was practising my escapology routine,’ Harry explained.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alan said. Rosie gave him a sharp look.

  ‘Go on,’ Alan said, chagrined.

  ‘Well I’ve got this large box,’ Harry said.

  ‘Yes, obviously…’ Alan interrupted.

  ‘’Don’t interrupt, Alan.’ Rosie said.

  Harry continued. ‘Well, it’s a trick box. There’s a mechanism on the inside and I lock myself in and drop the key through the letter box. The idea is that I then wiggle about for a bit, pretending I am stuck, and then activate the mechanism, and “Hey Presto!” I’m out.’

  Alan looked at Frankie, trying hard not to laugh. ‘Bloody hell,’ Frankie said, and Alan collapsed into hysterics.

  ‘Alan, stop that.’ Rosie frowned at her boyfriend. However, her stern expression only made Alan laugh harder.

  ‘You will have to excuse him,’ Rosie said, motioning to where Alan sat, laughing uncontrollably. ‘So what went wrong?’ she eventually asked.

  ‘I locked myself in OK, and put the key on the edge of the letter box in case I had difficulty in releasing myself. Unfortunately I knocked the key off and I couldn’t reach it. Thankfully I had my phone on me so I called Sarah.’

  ‘How many times have you done that routine?’ Alan asked through his tears.

  ‘That was the first time,’ Harry admitted. ‘I have practiced with the mechanism loads of times and it always worked. The problem was it was dark in the box and I couldn’t see a bloody thing.’

  ‘So,’ Alan said, finally regaining a semblance of control, ‘you expect to release yourself after a couple of minutes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long were actually in there?’ Rosie asked.

  Harry looked up at the kitchen clock, closed his eyes as if in deep concentration and said, ‘Three hours.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Frankie said again, causing Alan to burst into laughter again.

  ‘Oh Harry, you poor man!’ Rosie said and put her arm round his shoulders, whilst giving Alan another fierce look.

  Alan regained control and said, ‘Harry, you need to perfect this routine in the dark. I think three hours is a long time to expect an audience to watch a box. Unless it’s TV.’

  ‘Alan!’ Rosie hissed.

  ‘No, Rosie, he has a point,’ Harry said as he finished his tea.

  ‘Actually, Alan,’ Frankie interrupted, ‘you can get yourself out of a hole with Rosie, so to speak. Tell Harry he should incorporate this into his act. Make it deliberately funny.’

  Alan considered this option. It could certainly work.

  ‘Nice place you have here,’ Rosie said, interrupting Alan’s train of thought. ‘Is it just you?’

  ‘It is now. I’ve lived here for forty years. The kids have long moved on and I lost my wife several years ago. Couldn’t bring myself to sell up.’

  ‘Well it’s a lovely house Harry,’ Rosie said. ‘I don’t blame you for wanting to stay.’

  ‘It’s a lovely place,’ Alan agreed. ‘Listen, Harry, I didn’t mean any offence by laughing. But think about this. It was genuinely funny. And if I thought so, there’s a good chance the audience will too. What do you say?’

  ‘But I really wanted to do magic,’ Harry sighed.

  ‘How about this, then. You work on the magic aspect and I will help you turn it into laughs.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘Well, that’s settled then,’ Alan said and gently prodded Rosie with his foot under the table and then stood up.

  ‘Harry I’m glad you’re OK, but Rosie and I have to go now. We’re going out to dinner.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Nothing booked. We were just going to see what takes our fancy,’ Alan explained, being careful not to catch Frankie’s eye.

  ‘Look, I’m really grateful that you came out to help me, and as a way of me saying thank you, why don’t you stay here for dinner. I have a couple of bottles of wine and I’m not too bad a cook.’

  Alan looked at Rosie. ‘Thanks for the offer Harry, but...’ before Alan could finish his sentence, Rosie interrupted him.

  ‘That’ll be lovely. Thanks Harry. As long as you’re sure we won’t be putting you out.’

  ‘Not at all. It’ll be great,’ Harry said. ‘I have a signature dish that I love preparing for guests.’

  *

  ‘What do you think he’s cooking us?’ Alan asked.

  He and Rosie sat in Harry’s living room on the large sofa. Rosie had softened significantly at Alan’s offer to help Harry.

  Frankie stood perusing one of several book cases which lined the walls. ‘He likes his books. Fiction, non-fiction, books on pretty much every subject. There’s one here called “Secrets of the Escapologists.” I bet he couldn’t get it open,’ he grinned.

  Oblivious to Frankie, Rosie said, ‘Spaghetti Bolognaise. That’s what all men make. It’s your standard default setting when in the kitchen.’

  ‘I don’t always make Spaghetti Bolognaise. Last week I made you a curry,’ Alan argued.

  ‘It doesn’t count as cooking if the first thing you have to do is pierce the film lid several times before putting it in the oven,’ Rosie said.

  Before Alan could reply, the door opened and Harry walked in.

  ‘Won’t be long now,’ he said enthusiastically, ‘about half an hour.’

  ‘Thanks Harry,’ Alan said. ‘Actually, what are you cooking?’

  ‘It’s my signature dish,’ Harry repeated. ‘I’ve always made it for my guests. Never had any complaints.’

  ‘Don’t keep us in suspense Harry what is it?’ Rosie asked.

  Harry smiled and proudly said ‘baked potatoes.’

  Chapter 16.

  Alan took a deep breath and sighed as he made his way up the steps toward the building entrance. Beside him, Frankie groaned with each step.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Alan asked, ‘Can’t you just glide up the steps or something?’

  ‘Listen son,’ Frankie replied, ‘We’ve been through this before. If I could glide anywhere I would be gliding my way to Nancy Ketteridge’s house, not up the bloody steps to the Imperial War Museum. Why are we here anyway?’

  Alan glanced over his shoulder. Nancy Ketteridge? This was new. Frankie had never mentioned anything about his past, and certainly never mentioned names. He had been coming and going with irregular frequency in recent weeks, usually returning with a story to tell, but never a name. Alan was intrigued.

  ‘Well?’ Frankie said, ‘What are we doing here?’

  ‘If you must know, it’s one of the worst days of the year. A day so awful that it is only spoken about in hushed tones throughout Whitehall. A da
y that strikes fear into the hearts of men. A day that any man worth his salt will find any reason not to attend. Dead relatives, dead pets, boiler on the blink. Anything. Anything just to make sure they aren’t right here, right now.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Frankie exclaimed. What is it?’

  ‘It’s our Department’s away day…’

  Frankie exhaled. ‘Son, you should be a comedian.’

  ‘I am a comedian.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that. So what’s so bad about today, then?’

  ‘Where to begin?’ Alan said, as he reached the top of the steps. ‘It’s a day where civil servants try desperately to look casual by wearing chinos and ill-fitting polo neck shirts. They try to engage you in small talk over coffee which usually ends in uncomfortable silences when they all realise their lives are dull and meaningless, then they spend the rest of the day giving presentations about subjects no one understands or cares about, and by the end of the day any sane person just wants to run screaming from the building into the welcoming arms of the local pub.’

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ Frankie said, sarcastically.

  ‘It’s really not,’ Alan grinned. ‘It’s the biggest collection of socially awkward individuals outside The Benevolent Order of the Chronically Anxious.’

  ‘Funnily enough, that’s next door,’ Frankie said, pointing to a sign.

  ‘No way,’ Alan exclaimed. ‘I almost wish I could stand around and see if anyone has the courage to ask for directions. Not that the staff here would be able to tell the difference. I bet some people are here for both meetings.’

  ‘In my day,’ Frankie said, ‘civil servants all wore pin striped suits, had bowler hats and umbrellas. Even in the summer. And briefcases with dirty magazines hidden in them. Don’t ask how I know that.’

  ‘Now it’s all grey suits, BlackBerry phones, and dubious browsing histories on their laptops,’ Alan said, walking in the vague direction of the conference hall. ‘But it’s essentially the same thing.’

  Alan turned to face Frankie, who was looking thoughtfully at a large missile sitting on a plinth, cordoned off by thick red rope.

  ‘You coming?’ Alan asked.

  ‘No, son, you go ahead. I might just wander round here for a bit.’

  ‘OK, see you later,’ Alan said, reluctantly making his way to the hall.