As it shifts and cracks

I recognised it. It was by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. The song continued. When she reached the words:

But hidden in his coat

Is a red right hand

the stage lighting turned red, thunder rumbled, and a bell tolled loudly. She lifted up her own right hand and pointed at me. It was then that I noticed the rest of the audience; their music-hall high spirits had long since disappeared, usurped by fear and anger. They turned their eyes upon me. Terrified, I shifted back in my seat as they closed in upon me . . .

My shout woke me up. The cat slept on as I groped for a custard cream.

I didn’t bother looking this one up in my Dream Dictionary.

Tuesday October 2nd

They’ll be hard at it right now. Mary will be revealing the secrets of one of her six husbands. Kaylee will be kicking the ass of injustice. Chandrima will be lighting up the moon. And Liz will be making the world go weak at the knees.

I’d toyed briefly with the idea of showing my face but quickly reconsidered as I remembered the look on Kaylee’s.

I thought about them all gathered together and redoubled my efforts.

Wednesday October 3rd

DI Lansbury and Sergeant Tuck were back again. Mrs McNulty can’t have seen them approaching this time as I could hear her sawing busily next door. DI Lansbury’s beard sparkled with freshly shampooed lustre.

‘Sorry to disturb you once more, sir,’ he said, ‘but we were wondering if you’d given any more thought as to whether you knew of anyone who might harbour ill-feelings towards Mr Salt.’

‘Oh, still missing, is he?’ I said casually. ‘No, I really can’t think of anyone. Hard to imagine him being given a second thought, to be honest. He was a bit of a nonentity.’

‘You’ve not noticed anyone exhibit strange or erratic behaviour around him. Say, at one of those poetry festivals he’d go to.’ He paused then shot me a quick look. ‘In Saffron Walden, for instance.’

Our eyes locked briefly before I shifted my gaze quickly away. How on earth did he know about that? I fumbled for a reply but his attention had been grabbed by my diary, which lay open at my desk. He leant towards it and read aloud a line from it:

‘ “I wondered whether Liz has ever caressed Toby Salt’s magic flute.” ’

He flicked through more of its pages and then scrutinised its Hello Kitty cover.

‘Is this your diary, sir?’ he asked with faux innocence.

‘Well, it’s more, er, kind of, yes, it is.’

‘Very useful things, diaries! They help to tell us what happened when – if they’re written truthfully, of course. And they can be very revealing of the inner mind.’

‘Quite.’