The next day I hawked myself around the hotels and casinos, but, as I thought, no one was interested in a clapped-out-has-been like me. Humiliating? Yeah, ain’t that the truth.

Least I got three meals a day at Mama’s. My only outgoing was rent. But I had to issue an ultimatum or it was skid row for Jessie. First – no drugs consumed on the premises. Second – no drunkenness. Third – no freeloaders. Last – no impromptu performances from ex-models.

Mama’s Rule was established, which made the Lazy Losers sulk and bang about for a few days. I let them. I was too busy cooking and doing a thirty-minute set each night. I’d remember customers’ names, make them feel special, so’s they’d return to show off their cabaret star ‘friend’ to their pals. Things picked up through word of mouth.

Truth is, I was powfagged. Up at 9 a.m. and in bed at 2 a.m. Truth is, I was working with a pair of Lazy Losers. Truth is, I just couldn’t get over how Stanley had gone off so suddenly. Where was my baby boy? Truth is, how was I ever going to get to Australia?

Closing Time at Mama’s

‘I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair!’

It was how I ended every evening, singa-longa-mama, guaranteed to get the audience going, especially if a group of women were in, like a hen night, demanding yet another encore. Surprising, really, seeing as they’re supposed to be celebrating a marriage. Sweat ran down my forehead from the bandanna and poured from every crevice beneath my kaftan. I wanted to scream Gimme yer flaming gelt and bugger off back to your three-star hotel, you lot! when this vision appears in the doorway, with the kind of sheepish grin usually associated with criminals who’ve been caught in the act of thieving and hope their charm will get them off. A person I’d not seen hide nor hair of for so long I’d forgotten how very masculine he was. I wanted to jump off the stage, or rather the wooden crates passing for one, and bite into his juicy little bottom.

I finished the song, got my tips, saw the customers off, then ambled over to the bar for a rum and Coke. It was the same sort of stroll I’d last seen him engineering in Orange Square.