The drumbeat that signalled the start of my performance began. I felt it at the back of my throat, the steady thump, thump, thump. The pace increased and a feeling of fullness worked its way to my chest. Every beat was a blow and I cringed as they landed. The rhythm grew faster and entered my mind. It crowded out all other thoughts and the memory of my dance steps fled. The audience had paid handsomely to see my performance. I must show them something. The African, sitting three rows back – I wanted him to be impressed. The panic built and the drums beat faster still. I covered my ears with my hands like a child, but the beats had got into my soul. Now they throbbed inside me.

‘Go on, girl, let it out,’ Barky whispered at my side and I screamed in response, the sound high and wild and frightened.

Barky slapped my behind and jolted me forward on to centre stage. Stunned silence and a moment of blinding light as the spot lamps picked me out. I cast off my cloak and the audience gasped. This is what they saw: a Black woman, tall and fearsome. Tribal marks on her cheeks and a string of beads and feathers at her throat. Barefoot, her limbs slick with grease. The scandalous shapes of her body barely hidden beneath a close-fitting leopard skin. I couldn’t see the audience but I felt their reaction: the surprise and wonder, a little fear. A low murmur built as the punters whispered to one another. Looking out over their upturned faces, my nerves melted away. I felt powerful, until one man, bolder than the rest, shouted out, ‘Turn around then, let’s see the goods.’

He thought I was like the Venus. The woman with the big behind that had been so famous at the start of the new century. I was glad I couldn’t see his face; his hard eyes as they tried to bore through my clothing, the smirk on his lips as he imagined my private parts. The heckling was the one bit of performing onstage that I’d never got used to, even after all these months. If I got cat-called on the street I could brush it off. But as Amazonia I could never answer back and it made me feel vulnerable. I fought to keep my hands by my sides, when all I wanted was to hide behind them. But Crillick had always made very clear that I had to let the punters gawp, let them wonder. It was what they’d paid for. The whispering grew louder. I heard a snigger and my eyes began to burn, until I remembered the African. How straight and tall he sat. I drew up my body and looked out proud as the warrior queen I was supposed to be, chin raised and a sneer on my lips as though it didn’t matter what they thought of me.