‘I want you to take this’ – he delves for a moment and holds up the cheque – ‘I want you to take this and deposit it in the account of the Lifeboat Theatre Company immediately.’

Trefelix looks at the cheque.

‘Oh, that is good news, Mr MacCleod.’

‘But there is some bad news. As so often in life.’

‘What is that, Mr MacCleod?’

‘As soon as the cheque is cleared and all my outstanding commitments are met, I shall be closing my account.’

The manager doesn’t look unduly concerned. In fact he looks quite sanguine.

‘Yes, the thing about pygmies,’ Artair says, ‘is that, because they live deep in the forests, they are unable to see the wood for the trees. That is perhaps their only defect. You might consider the moral of this, if you have ambitions to progress in the world of banking. Goodbye, or, more properly, adieu.’

He strides out into the teeming rain. Peter Grimes, Pe-ee-ee-ter Grimes. He walks one street back from the High Street to the modest offices of his legal counsel, the uxorious Barnecutt, and gives him the good news.

‘What a surprise: I may get paid after all,’ says Barnecutt.

‘Raise your eyes from the gutter for a moment, Barnecutt. Art has triumphed. Let’s go and have a celebratory drink.’

Barnecutt clears it with his mistress, and they head for the Cross Keys where they get very drunk.

‘It’s the comedy of history, Barnecutt.’

He’s becoming Flann O’Brien and Barnecutt is his creature.

‘Is it?’

‘Call off the dogs, Barnecutt, we have won.’

In the morning when his hangover has retreated, he wonders how he got home. And he wonders if he wasn’t just a little high-handed with the bank. Twenty-five thousand pounds isn’t going to last for ever, after all; he should perhaps have seen the cheque as a bridgehead. But there is a rosier aspect: the show has been playing to good houses in Newquay and his assistant has promised to come to work. Her back has healed with the promise of a salary.

He calls Barnecutt.

‘I have changed my mind. Keep up the pressure on Tubal’s. I see a chink in the armour.’

‘Pressure? The phrase a flea on an elephant’s arse comes to mind. Pay up for work done first.’

‘You drank most of it last night.’

‘And I paid for a taxi to take you home. That’s what we call “disbursements”.’

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A night at home has calmed Melissa. Her mother’s habits, so often irritating, are strangely soothing now. Her own narrow bed with its candy-striped duvet cover received her warmly. Her mother is making breakfast. She will undoubtedly think Melissa needs extra nourishment.

‘Morning, lovely. How are you?’

‘Sleepy.’