Connections

By Michael S. Twist

Connections: Four people with nothing in common.

A young girl dreams of the fairground; a woman needs to quit smoking and a detective drinks too much as he listens to tales of dead men who walk. Dr Harrison waits in the dark place for a sign. He has little else to do having passed away over thirty years ago. Elsewhere, a hypnotist's light blinks its slow soporific beat in a darkened room off a Kings Cross back street and somewhere, in another world, a dead man shields his eyes from the glare.

Connections: A journey that starts with a young girl's dreams and a young woman's hopes and finishes across time and across reality into the very darkest of wastelands. A place where demons walk and the light cannot exist and where a seven-year old girl, dressed only in pyjama's, must stand tall and fight for us all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 5, 2004
• ISBN: 9781412222327

Michael S. Twist

Michael was born in 1970 in St Helens, Merseyside, but has lived and worked for the last seven years in the Isle of Man. He currently lives in Onchan with his wife Gillian and children Stephanie and Matthew. He has many hobbies, including playing football averagely and guitar badly. Michael has previously had several short stories published in magazines and e-zines, but Connections is his first full length work. A second novel is almost completed and is expected out early 2005.

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© Copyright 2004 Michael S. Twist. All rights reserved.

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ISBN 1-4120-2401-3

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Contents

Prologue:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Connections

Dreams.

Glimpses of the future?

Windows to the past?

What happens if you give up everything to follow a dream?

What happens if dreams come true?

What happens if your dream becomes a nightmare?

A terrifying, blood splattered, soul destroying, hate filled apocalypse battle between good and evil, between darkness and light.

What if this happened to you? What if you were only seven years old?

What if you were only seven years old and everything depended on you?

Connections

The dreams of a child....

…or a nightmare for us all?

To Gill, who always believes in me and supports me, no matter what tangent I am currently shooting off.

To Stephanie and Matthew, thank you for nagging me into doing something with this book. (And tidy up your rooms!)

To Mum, Dad, Paul and Emma, thank you for everything and surprise!

Connections

All children love fairgrounds.

Prologue:

In the tower, the dark was all encompassing.

More than black, much more and much worse. This was total, a colour that man could not even imagine let alone create. A million miles removed from our own perception of black, this dark lives and breathes and taunts and tortures...

He did not know how long he had been in this place. There was no possible way to know although he had a pretty good idea how long he would be here for.

Eternity, unless...

Months, years, decades, it didn’t matter. Nothing did. How could it in a place like this?

‘Am I in Hell?’

He had asked himself this constantly in the early days and although he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t in Heaven, he didn’t believe he was in Hell either. The agonised screaming and wailing that frequently penetrated the dark confirmed that just a couple of floors down was a far, far worse place. Although simply hanging around in the totality was certainly torturous, he would take the mental pain over the physical being inflicted on the poor souls who were apparently his close neighbours.

Hanging around was a pretty apt description as although he had nothing to get his bearings with, he had, over time, decided that he was suspended in a ‘Christ-like’ position, arms spread and feet together. He had initially been so disorientated by the totality, blinded by the darkness in effect, that there was no way of really knowing for sure. It just felt that way.

Every now and again he had the sensation that he was moving or rather the thing that he was suspended in was, and fear would strike, as he was sure that he would be joining the others in the Hall of screams but he never did. Just hung around. A man with nothing to do and nowhere to go and all the time in the world to do it in. Unless.

Unless there was a reason for him being here.

The screaming started again. A hideous symphony that would surely freeze the blood of any living creature unfortunate enough to hear it and would more than likely kill a human stone dead. Being neither, the ex Dr Harrison simply smiled.

Then he began to laugh...

A fearsome thunderous rumbling commenced in the dark place but Dr Harrison was not scared. He had been expecting something to happen although he did not know why or what. The noise was getting closer and had completely drowned out the cacophony from the Hall of screams. Harrison knew that they would still be screaming though. Those fuckers always screamed, cried, begged, as if it made any difference.

He felt wind just a breeze at first but growing until he felt his body being battered by a tremendous gale that howled around him and then incredibly, a flicker of light.

Although just a faint glimmer, Harrison found the light blinding. He had been trapped in the darkness for what felt like forever and now there was something up ahead.

He had been aware of sensations before, the feeling that he had been moving and on one occasion, the feeling that something had been moving past him. He shuddered at the memory. Hanging in the darkness something phenomenally large had swept passed him: close very close. He had felt it and sensed that this was a creature that was unfeasibly large. He couldn’t comprehend how large but he had felt like an ant must feel when a human stepped over it. Pure terror had swept over him as he thought that what ever it was had come for him. But what ever the giant creature had been, it had thankfully kept going.

The wind subsided and the light ahead continued to blink like a giant eye in the darkness. Harrison was not afraid. In fact with every pulsating emission he felt stronger, powerful. The light began to fill him and then to slowly draw him in as the eye winked its message, its confirmation that a connection had been made. Harrison could feel fear but it wasn’t his. He thought of blood and the thought pleased him greatly.

Chapter 1

The Reachout homeless centre-Manchester. Ten years from now.

The group had finished for the day, cleaned, fed and watered as best they could be and then shown the door back on to the cruel streets where they would spend the night sleeping rough, begging or worse.

Two of the charity’s principals remained to tidy up and prepare for tomorrows sessions. Mary, the group activities co-ordinator also stayed as she waited to speak to Dr Philip Edmondson, the founder, even though her day’s work was done. Dr Philip and his partner Carl were elbow deep in soapy water, the dishes just one of the seemingly never ending tasks that had to be done before the centre was locked up for the evening.

Dr Philip, I need to speak to you when you have a moment. It’s about Janet.

Philip raised his huge bushy eyebrows in surprise.

Won’t be a moment, he replied.

Of all the people in the group, of all the homeless youngsters they existed to help, Janet’s name was the last he expected to hear. Janet wasn’t her real name, they had established that early on, but it was what she liked to be called and that was enough for the shelter. They weren’t here to judge, just to help if at all possible and so the ‘customers’ could call themselves whatever they wanted if it meant that they kept coming back and avoided at least some of the many pitfalls that lay hidden, like mantraps, in the darkness of night in this city.

The charity didn’t do enough, they all knew that, but it did something and sometimes that was nearly enough. People couldn’t sleep here, that would have been a greater benefit, but the council in its’ wisdom wouldn’t allow it and besides, there were hostels in the city but for many, the streets were preferrable to the drugs dens that most of these had become. What they could do is help people who wanted to be helped, those who needed help in finding accomodation, those who wanted help in finding work, those who wanted, really wanted to be clean, those who wanted to wash before job interviews, those who were trying and needed a little helping hand along the way. The groups were carefully screened beforehand and only a small number who enquired about the scheme ever got on it. Not because Dr Philip didn’t want to help more, but because some people were past help and some were just looking for a quick fix when in this situation, such a thing never existed. However, by careful selection and recommendation, they could do something for the few and this is why this old building in a run down part of Manchester was now the Reachout Centre, a registered charity run by its benefactor, the good doctor and a few volunteers. Every person who got a job, got a flat or just got clean was a success and in a community existing at the bottom of the ladder, they did remarkably well.

Philip thought of Janet as he passed the final plate to Carl, drying his hands as he did so. A young girl, perhaps seventeen, naturally pretty and fiercley intelligent, she existed in a virtual world of silence. She was not a mute, she spoke when she absolutely had to, but otherwise she communicated with nods, shakes and sometimes with writing in the English classes, which Mary ran as often as she could. Her writing in the classes was of the highest quality, her vocabulary wide, prose well structured and her imagination as vivid as any fiction writer’s. Her stories were often dark and sometimes disturbing, but that went with the territory. The girl was, or had been, a user and had almost certainly been selling herself at some stage to survive. At such a young age and having been through so much, it was understandable that her scribing was not filled with joy and hope but even knowing this, the despair that radiated from this youngster stood out. She was one of the few that could be helped, that was the spur and the ultimate frustration. He knew little else about her background but that was OK. She has been through a lot but had a future. That was why he was here.

OK, all done, said Philip turning to Mary. What is it with Janet?

I think that you should read this, said Mary, passing over a piece of paper on which the girls work was neatly written. The group were writing poems, free work about anything they wanted to. I have just been going through them and, well. you should just read it. I think it’s another one of those.

She passed the paper over and the doctor took it, noting the concern on Mary’s face. He removed his glasses from his top jacket pocket and began to read:

nightime wonderland

There is a place where children play

Where it’s always night but never day

The darkness chased the light away

And the doctor walked to hunt his prey

I rode the train and killed the past

But not the demons in the tower

Janet lies within the darkness

And the light recoils.

Stronger and stronger totality grows

The light is losing and it knows

The clouds will spew the darkened snows

From he who walks behind the rows

We rode the rides all filled with laughter

The fairground filled with joy and hope

He made us watch the senseless slaughter

When he waved the darkened steel

I’ve seen the fire and the wind

I’ve seen the scorched earth

I’ve seen the turning and the loss

That the dark march brings

I’ve seen the shadows in the tower

Translucent essence recalls the past

So many children held the power

But the light can’t last...

He finished reading and placed his glasses slowly, deliberately back into his jacket pocket and rubbed his eyes wearily.

Is it another one? asked Mary.

Yep, a little more abstract and a little more subtle but its another one alright, said Philip.

Any idea what they mean? asked the woman, knowing what the answer would be.

None whatsoever, said Philip, none whatsoever.

He took the poem to his own office and unlocked the grey filing cabinet which sat in the corner of the room. He took out the folder marked ‘Fairground’ and placed this work with the others. The folder was getting full, so many that he had collated over the years.

He then replaced the folder, locked up behind him and left the room, shaking his head gently from side to side as he did so.

Chapter 2

London-Present Day:

Janet Howland had a problem.

Looking at the bigger picture, her problem paled into insignificance when compared to famine in Africa, war in the Middle East not to mention the hole in the ozone layer but at this precise moment, Janet felt she may as well be trying to solve these issues for all the success she was having with hers.

Janet was trying to give up smoking.

Janet was trying desperately to give up smoking. This was a mission born out of need rather than desire. She knew the health risks of course, who didn’t these days with smoking equals death plastered all over the little pocket sized cartons, but her well being was not her immediate concern. She liked a drink and a long time had passed since she could have called herself a virgin but smoking was her only real vice. Giving up was proving to be a battle that she could only see herself losing. Anyone who has tried themselves to kick the habit would sympathise. Those who have never smoked will wonder what all the fuss is about.

Janet had heard that quitting smoking was harder than quitting heroin and although she had never tried the latter, she didn’t doubt it. She had lost count of the number of well meaning friends and relatives from whom she had taken advice on the subject. Everybody was an expert from either their own experiences, that of people they knew or the well meaning drivel pumped out by advice columnists who had never tried the weed, but as they were being paid by the inch, would happily drone on about the wonder of nicotine patches or gum.

‘Cut down gradually until you find that you can do without them.’

Well OK then.

‘The only way is to stop totally, cold turkey. The first few days are hell but it gets easier.’

What bollocks.

Her father and her sister, neither of whom had ever smoked, had submitted these two gems. This did not surprise Janet as although she was twenty-eight next month, she was, much to her dismay, still treated as the baby of the family. She could understand this from her dad, she was after all the youngest of three sisters and had always believed that she was daddy’s favourite, although of course he would never admit it.

Her sister’s almost patronising attitude towards her bothered her more. She had, on occasion wondered whether this was caused by jealousy as although both her siblings had relatively successful careers, Louise an assistant bank manager and Suzanne a freelance reporter, there was no doubt that Janet was the looker.

She rose from her bed deciding that she had spent enough time lying around feeling sorry for herself. It was time to face the world once more.

The clock on her dressing table told her it was 9:45am. She didn’t usually sleep in this long but as she wasn’t due into work until 12:00 it didn’t matter.

Crossing the small but tidy bedroom she stopped in front of the full length mirror that hung on the inside of the bedroom mirror.

‘ For a baby you’ve sure got great tits,’ she said out loud, gently pushing her breasts together whilst breathing in at the same time.

She laughed and let the breath go, watching the mirror image all thetime.

‘ Vain cow,’ she chuckled before poking her tongue out at her reflection which responded in kind.

She pulled herself away from the mirror and slipped on her white towelling dressing robe. Before she had even realised what she was doing, Janet took the little square packet out of the robe pocket, removed and lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The evil white stick spewed its poisonous fumes out, the smoke drifting up past Janet’s face like autumnal mist, stinging her eyes and causing her to shudder involuntarily. There was no denying that it felt good, that’s why it was such a bitch to stop, after all.

Two or three days ago this daily morning ritual would have thrown Janet into the realms of despair, disgusted at her own lack of willpower, but not today. Today she was going to smoke as much as she wanted, for in two days it was ‘Q’ day.

Quit day.

She had all but given up hoping that she could do it alone but last night she believed she had found the answer. It was there all along in the local paper. A small black and white advertisement that could be the solution she had been looking for.

Something about the small ad had grabbed her. She had been through the emotional loop many times over the last week with a stop start philosophy that a formula one tactician would have been proud of. She was weak-willed, she accepted this as fact and knew that she was going to need some external assistance, a helping hand or a least someone to give her a good kick up the backside. There wasn’t a magic answer and not being religious she wasn’t quite ready to try prayer, the last refuge of the hopeless, but she had been waiting for something, a sign, a portent, anything, and there it was in last night’s Evening Standard. A small, cheapish looking advertisement that could be the solution to the problem of a woman full of determination but completely lacking in self-discipline. She never usually read the smalls, flicking through the paper scanning the headlines and reading the bits that grabbed her immediate attention was her normal method of reading a newspaper but she had spotted this box and had read it over and over wondering and hoping. There were no easy answers, were there? Well, It was about time to find out.

That was the moment when Janet had decided to ring the hypnotist.

She finished her first cigarette of the day, washed and dressed and made her way down stairs to get the kettle on for the caffeine kick that her body now ordered. Maybe she did have more than one vice, but one step at a time, (and a cup of coffee was not standing in the way of her hopes and dreams).

Two cups and three cigarettes later, she was on her way to work.

Janet looked around the small office were she had spent the last six years. The thought of leaving this place saddened her even though she believed that she had ultimately wasted these precious years. Working in an office was not her chosen career path but it had done and the money wasn’t too bad.

She had only come here as a temp but the company had been that impressed with her that they asked her to consider a full time position and in the end it hadn’t been too difficult to decide. Decent nannying jobs were few and far between and after spending a year as an au pair in the States, a few hours child minding in London didn’t appeal much and besides, the regular income was a godsend. After all, a women can’t live on love alone! Not that Janet had had much luck in that area either. She kind of had a boyfriend, Ian, but that was all but finished. The last embers of passion had long since died but the relationship was proving increasingly difficult to break completely. They were now in the ‘good friends’ stage but neither was able to let go completely, more so on Ian’s part than hers.

Janet wasn’t on the look out for a new man, far from it, but the awkwardness of the situation with Ian had helped to convince her that she simply had to take the job that she had been offered.

She still cared for Ian a lot and would never intentionally hurt him. You couldn’t just stop loving someone after four years and she hadn’t, she just wanted to do more with her life and didn’t see Ian as a part of this. He loved his job as an assistant manager of a large supermarket chain and often talked excitedly about the day he would become manager, even area manager. There was nothing wrong with this in itself, indeed Janet’s ambitions didn’t stretch beyond a little travelling and working for herself, but as a couple they were ultimately going nowhere, something Janet knew well before, she suspected, it had even crossed Ian’s mind.

There was no doubt that Aldman & Hall solicitors had been good to her over the last few years and she had made some good friends here. The split up with Ian, however, had acted as a catalyst for change both personally and professionally and it was thanks to this that she had taken the child care course at evening classes and registered with an agency.

The course was really a refresher, as Janet had qualified as a nanny previously, but six years was a long time and the agency had suggested it. Anyhow, if she hadn’t, she would never have had the opportunity that she had now.

Penny for them.

The voice from the desk behind roused Janet from her thoughts. Janet turned and smiled at Margaret, her best friend both in and out of the office.

They have got to worth more than that, she replied.

Oh, thinking about Mel again were you?

Janet laughed.

You know me a little too well. It’s just as well I’m leaving or you might really discover my darkest secrets, she said.

You’re forgetting that I already know them, Margaret replied, winking in an exaggerated manner that made Janet laugh again.

Janet found it strange how the two of them had become so close because on the surface, they actually had little in common. Margaret was forty-five, had been married for twenty-one years and had three kids, the oldest of which was working himself. Janet liked to keep fit and enjoyed night-clubbing, Margaret enjoyed chocolate and Coronation Street. Janet loved the office gossip and loved to hear who was ‘allegedly’ shagging whom. Margaret didn’t care much for sex anymore. Janet knew this from the disdain that she managed to cast upon the act when they (frequently) ended up talking about their favourite subject. Margaret was also a devout catholic and went to church every Sunday without exception. Janet had not been to church in years bar the odd wedding and funeral, which didn’t count in her mind.

So, on the surface, they had little in shared interests. They did however, share an identical sense of humour and Janet particularly enjoyed the way in which her colleague could control the men in the office; most of whom were terrified of her. Janet had been a little scared of this imposing woman herself when she had started, but Margaret had helped Janet to settle and had stuck up for her on countless occasions when things in the office hadn’t gone quite as smoothly as they should. The mark of a true friend indeed.

Many times over a chilled bottle of white or three, had they sat in on a night and sorted out the problems of the world. It was during one of these nights that Janet had told Margaret about the job interview that the nannying agency had asked her to attend. Margaret of course had urged her to go for it as she knew that she would.

But the Isle of Man, Jesus, it’s such a long way from London and so, you know, different. Janet had slurred, leaning forward to top up her wine glass for the third time.

Yeah you’re right, it would be Hell for you, said Margaret. Fresh air, countryside, nice big house, no paperwork. I don’t know how you would cope, and can you please try not to blaspheme, she added without a hint of irony.

Janet laughed and topped up her friends’ glass, which was still quite full. Margaret wasn’t much of a drinker.

You know what I mean,’ Janet continued. As much as I need a change, this seems a little extreme don’t you think? I didn’t even know where the bloody place was until I looked on a map today."

Well now that you know where it is, you don’t have any excuse not to go and at least look at the place. You may not like it and for all you know, they may not like you. What have you got to lose? said Margaret.

The air fare for one thing, said Janet, its 280 bloody quid!

I would give you the cash just to get rid of you, said Margaret, who then proceeded to take a large gulp of wine, which promptly made her choke.

Serves you right, don’t cross me again. Said Janet, desperately trying to pull a tough looking face, but only succeeding in looking constipated. They had both started to laugh and it was at that moment that Janet had decided that she would go to the interview with the Smythes. She had thought that Margaret must be right, what did she have to lose?

Chapter 3

‘Q’ day had arrived.

Janet had stood outside the door of the alternative medical centre for a good ten minutes and had smoked two cigarettes before finally clocking up the courage to enter. The place looked nothing like what she had been expecting, a doorway with a grubby looking plaque, down what could only be described as a back street in London’s Kings Cross area. She wasn’t expecting Harley Street but she had hoped for a little more than this if she was to be seperated from her hard earned 50 quid.

A fool and her money are easily parted, sighed Janet pushing open the heavy wooden door. I must be biggest bloody fool going.

She stepped inside.

Good morning, my name is Janet Howland, I have an appointment to see Mr Taylor.

The receptionist glanced up and gave a false smile. She opened up an appointment book and began to scour the page that contained no more than five or six names as if unable to find Janet, when Janet could clearly see her name second from top.

Here we are, would you like to take a seat? asked the receptionist,

Mr Taylor will be with you shortly.

Janet turned and sat on a decrepit looking sofa, which had clearly seen better days. It was that or a series of white hard backed chairs that looked decidedly uncomfortable. She would take her chances with the sofa. She glanced up at the receptionist who was sitting behind the counter looking decidedly bored, staring at the telephone, almost willing it to ring.

‘Someone with a job more boring than mine.’ Janet mused glancing at the magazines on the glass-topped coffee table, circa 1975, in front of her. She absent-mindedly picked up one of the magazines and began to flick through it, before pausing and turning to the front cover. ‘ Golfers Monthly. Great!’

Janet chuckled at her own sarcasm causing the bored receptionist to look over. The receptionist smiled another false smile before returning to doing nothing. Janet had felt nervous before coming in but now those feelings had doubled, perhaps trebled. She flicked through the pages of Golfers Monthly, not actually seeing the pages at all, glancing occasionally at the clock on the wall behind the reception area. The minutes passed slowly.

Fifteen minutes crawled by.

‘ Five more minutes,’ Janet thought. ‘ Five more minutes and I’m outta here.’

Another ten minutes passed. Janet was starting to feel like a naughty girl waiting outside the headmaster’s office at school. She had butterflies in her stomach. Her mind was filled with white noise, pointless chatter about a million things and about nothing. Her mind jumped from one unsolvable issue to another, dancing faster and faster. Janet was now getting angry. She stood and started towards the startled looking receptionist.

Excuse me but... she started. At that moment the door to the left of the room opened. A tall, thin man stood in the doorway.

Good morning, sorry to have kept you waiting. I am Larry Taylor. Please come through.

The spacious interior of Larry Taylor’s office belied the shabby reception area that Janet had just left. Dimly lit in calming pastel colours, the room had no natural light source. Certificates hung from the wall but Janet could not read them from where she was sitting. She thought that this was probably the point. Apart from a huge oak desk that dominated the room, the only other pieces of furniture present were two chairs and a scary looking leather couch, slightly raised at one end. A metallic, triangular object about three feet high stood at the end of the couch. Janet had no idea what this was and wasn’t sure that she wanted to know. The only other point of note was a doorway adjacent to this one at the far end of the room, locked from this side with a large dead bolt.

Larry Taylor leant back in his large leather armchair and looked at Janet. A thin, wily man with a thick black hair and glasses, he didn’t exactly fit Janet’s idea of a hypnotist. Although she hadn’t really been sure what to expect, she was sure it wasn’t this.

Before we start the session, I have just one question that I ask all my clients, said Larry. That question is why?

Janet looked at him, genuinely unsure of what he was asking.

Why what?

Why are you here? Why do you want to give up smoking? Why a hypnotist? He looked at Janet inquisitively.

Janet blushed, composed herself and answered,

I am here because I saw your advert. I needed to give up smoking because of a job. Why a hypnotist? I thought that you might be able to help. If I was wrong, then please let me know, as I have no wish to waste any more of our time. I have better things to do even if you don’t.

She rose as if to leave.

Larry Taylor began to laugh.

Please, he gestured to the chair don’t leave, I am pretty sure that we can help you. It just makes it easier to have a little background information.

Janet sat back down feeling a little embarrassed by her outburst.

Sorry, I guess I am feeling a little nervous.

Not at all, I should have seen that. Let’s start again, tell me about this job, you must want it pretty badly?

Janet told him everything; in fact she was surprised at how much she had told him.

How she had left school at eighteen, the three year course at technical college studying child care, the various placements that the agency had provided and her work experience abroad in America. How she had returned to England and took the job in the solicitors office, not really through choice but through lack of opportunities in her chosen profession. (At least her typing skills had come in handy as her dad had said that they would). Finally she told him about the job offer from the Smythes.

The Smythes, the name had sounded really pretentious when she had first heard it. Smith, but a bit posher.

The Smythes, who had turned down six girls that the agency had put forward. Too fat, too thin, Janet didn’t care. They had chosen her.

She recounted the journey that she taken to their house the first time. A taxi-ride from Ronalds way airport, through glorious Manx countryside to her potential employers in the little village of Sulby. The house was a beautiful eight bedroomed building set in two and a half acres of secluded woodland and boasted it’s own heated indoor pool and tennis court. Mr Smythe had pointed these as well as other features out as if he were trying to sell the house, not to interview her. He was obviously very proud of it, and with good reason.

The interview itself was really more of an informal chat, and as far as Janet was concerned, had gone very well. Janet had something about her that enabled her to get on well with most people and the Smythes were no exception. That Janet was older than the other candidates was definitely in her favour. The fact that she had also worked ‘ in the real world’ in Mr Smythe’s own words, was also seen as a big plus factor.

Then came the bombshell.

Do you smoke?

Janet smiled, remembering for one moment, how she had thought that Mr Smythe was offering her a cigarette.

No I don’t. She had replied.

Why had she said no? Instinct possibly or more likely the fact that there were no ash trays about and she hadn’t seen either Mr or Mrs Smythe smoke and she had been there almost an hour and a half.

So you see my problem Mr Taylor. I have been offered the job of my dreams and it turns out that my prospective employers are fanatical non smokers.

Larry Taylor leant forward across his desk.

Fanatical would seem a bit strong, he said. Couldn’t you tell them the truth?

No way.

Larry raised one eyebrow.

After I had lied and told them that I didn’t smoke, they went on to lecture me for five minutes about the evils of smoking. They would be less shocked if I told them that I was an alcoholic heroin abuser who couldn’t work Saturday nights as it was her busiest night on the game.

Larry Taylor laughed. If she had been on the game he wouldn’t have minded being one of her