Miles floundered but by this time both of them had lost their enthusiasm and were more than pleased to get off the phone with each other.

When John met Miles at the Wellington twenty minutes before curtain up, Miles asked John about the sitcom so that he could weave it into his introduction.

John said the sitcom had been temporarily canceled because one of the actresses had died on set and he’d be grateful if Miles didn’t bring it up. Miles had said oh bollocks and walked off, only later worrying that he might have been tactless.

It didn’t matter to John, he’d made the story up. Though there was some spark of recognition. Perhaps he’d read about something similar in a paper.

815

As Michael Davies approached the city, he gave Frankburg another try.

“. . . as well as alcohol, prescription drugs, or massage. You have probably found that these are temporary measures, outside stimulants that give short-term relief but which leave you with a sense of emptiness, depression and feelings of inadequacy . . .”

He switched it off again.

814

John watched Miles’s buildup.

Miles was dealing badly with a nasty wail of feedback. He’d barely started but his face was already drenched in sweat.

The audience were finding it trying. He made a joke about it.

“Do you know what? That wailing sounds just like . . .” Miles’s mind went blank.

813

John had left Emma’s name with the doorman so she could get in free. She’d left New York at seven o’clock in the morning on SA841. Seven hours’ travel time took you to two o’clock U.S. time, add on the time difference, five hours, touchdown at seven UK time, give her an hour to get through passports, pick up luggage, meet Benny, Benny explains about the Wellington show, half an hour for Benny to drive her home, half an hour for a bath, something to eat, make some calls. What time now? He’d lost track. He started again. Left New York at seven . . .

812

“I’m saying the wail, it’s . . .”

The crowd helpfully let the silence grow.

“Um . . .”

Miles had prompt cards. They were getting clammy in his breast pocket. He was going to use them to introduce the acts. He had a good joke about getting the cards muddled up and welcoming Frank Sinatra to the stage. But he was only going to get to the cards later, he’d learned the opening by heart. A snappy intro followed by a general housekeeping notice about being careful with the glasses.

Perhaps the crowd would let it go. After all, they were quite drunk and boorish, and they weren’t here to see him anyway. He’d just move on.

“Sounds like what, you prick?”

811