Chapters (70)
- About the Author
- Also by Ruth Hogan
- Title Page
- Imprint Page
- How to use this eBook
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Contents
- The Promise
- 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
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- A few thoughts and more than a few thanks
- A Word About Our Covers
- Endmatter page 1
Magic Melvin was a small, skinny man with a black moustache and a quiff that looked as though it had been painted to match his facial hair. He made his entrance on a unicycle, wobbling precariously as he pedalled furiously backwards and forwards to maintain his balance. And then he dismounted. Bizarrely, it turned out that the unicycle was simply his chosen mode of transport rather than part of his act. Once his feet were on solid ground, he produced three golf balls from his sleeves, proclaiming, ‘As if by magic!’ and began to juggle them accompanied by the theme tune to Match of the Day. Next, he pulled tennis balls from his trouser pockets and repeated the rather pedestrian performance. The audience was growing restive. Attempting to spice things up, Melvin threw the balls a little higher and hopped first on one leg and then the other. However, his increased exertions had an unfortunate effect on his hair, which rather than being dyed was, in fact, a hairpiece that clearly hadn’t been satisfactorily secured and was now slipping backwards with every hop. The climax to Magic Melvin’s act was an attempt to juggle footballs and for one ball to bounce on his head with each rotation. The attempt failed and Melvin and his hairpiece parted company. They were both rather unkindly but justifiably booed off stage.
‘That bloke has got unbelievable balls if he calls that an act,’ the man sitting behind Shunty-Mae and Imelda grumbled to his wife.
Up next was a comedian, who quickly had the audience in stitches, and Marty Mount rubbing his hands. Shunty-Mae, however, was not impressed with his risqué jokes, which she thought were a little too blue for her daughter’s ears.
‘What kind of a place is this?’ she demanded.
‘Well, what do you expect in a brothel?’ Imelda replied with a grin.
The comedian was followed by Titus Marlow, a tall, imposing figure with alarming eyebrows. He wore a dark suit and an expression of barely concealed menace. Titus was a hypnotist and having coerced several ‘volunteers’ to join him on stage, he placed them in a trance and got them to embarrass themselves by singing, dancing, doing silly walks and sitting on one another’s laps. The audience found their humiliation hilarious and Titus received a standing ovation.