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up and down more vigorously to the rhythm of our movements.
Increasingly I wished that Dale and I had more time to enjoy doing things together, as we had before
Quick s book came to dominate our lives, like taking out rowing skiffs on the Thames. Instead,
however, a call from The Handyman added to the pressures. The doctored cricket pads and itching
powder had so incapacitated Teef that he was unable go to the theatre to try out the stage set and do
sound checks. They desperately needed someone they could trust to substitute for him. Since I had
zero experience of stage productions of any kind, they must have asked me out of desperation. I could
imagine Dale s voice in my ears imploring me to stay away. I told The Handyman I had no time, and
would only be in everyone s way, but shortly afterwards, he rushed into the bookshop, saying the
concert would have to be cancelled unless I went. Hearing his agitated voice and wanting to be helpful,
Jeremy said he would be in all afternoon and it would be perfectly okay for me to take a few hours off.
This made it impossible for me to refuse. On our way to the theatre, The Handyman said all they
needed me for was to make sure the stage lights would catch Teef in the right way while he was
performing, and to ensure no wires or equipment had been put where they might be a hazard. He made
it sound as though a mannequin, moved around the set, would have done. Nevertheless, the attraction
of actually helping with a live music performance, even in such a small way, began to grow.
Our arrival at the theatre was the opposite of a glittering occasion. Vans were parked everywhere,
and the only spot left was next to overflowing rubbish bins. The stage door appeared not to have been
painted since the place was built eighty years ago. We climbed a bare concrete staircase and turned into
a narrow corridor leading to the dressing rooms. We found the band s manager, Max, a big wire-haired
man with a cigar who looked past me at The Handyman and said, You sure about this one? The
Handyman must have nodded, for Max rested his cigar on the edge of the table and pushed several
sheets of paper towards me. Right-oh, sign here.
Er, what is it? I asked.
Confidentiality agreement. The essence of it is, if word about this gets out to the press, or anybody
at all, we get to rip out your tongue and castrate you.
I signed nervously. How much less anxious I would have felt if Dale had been with me. The
Handyman led me towards the stage, but was called away to talk about food for the band the next day.
He found someone to take me to a stage entrance, where I was to wait until called.
In front of me I could see the Boulders drum kit, a backdrop of large screens stretching behind it.
Dozens of people, hidden from the auditorium, were busily working at keyboards and control panels.
No one took any notice of me. After hanging about in the wings for ten minutes or more, ignored and
becoming increasingly bored, I meandered out and peered into the dim auditorium. Empty rows of red
upholstered seats stretched away into the distance. Up above, the steeply raked seats in the balcony
receded even further, disappearing into the gloom. The footlights in front of me glared suddenly. A
voice from the stalls shouted, Give him a guitar somebody.
One of the stage hands appeared with a Fender guitar. My pulse quickened, my stomach tightened,
and a shiver of stage-fright ran through me. Terror must have shown in my face, for as he handed me
the instrument he said, Don t worry, mate, you look really cool.
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© Alan Keslian
My eyes adjusted to the footlights, and I saw The Handyman make his way along a row of seats
towards Max, who was already in the middle of the stalls. He called out, We really appreciate you
coming to help. You ve seen Teef perform, on telly at least, haven t you? Maybe you could try a few of
his moves, to help us adjust the lights and check the set. I ll give you a tip. The most important thing
with the guitar is holding it right. Try this for us. Stretch your left arm right out forwards holding onto
the neck& yes& bend your knees slightly as though you re ready to spring into action& that s good,
now hunch your shoulders over the guitar, you ve got it, we call it the battering ram, make like you re
ready to charge into the audience with it. Swing it gently up and down a bit, that s it, great. Now
another one of his favourites, straighten yourself up, bring your left arm up so the neck of the
instrument is above your head& now move your hips back and forth. Yes, you ve got it, we call that the
space launch. It s like you re ready for lift-off. He glanced across to The Handyman, gave him the
thumbs up sign, and called out to me, That s how it s done, mate, the girls will love it.
He again looked at The Handyman, who this time moved his hands forwards and down in front of
his chest to suggest a female bosom, shook his head and pulled a face. Oh, right, Max said,
correction. The guys in the audience will really go for the next moves. Hold the guitar like you re trying
to shake the chords out of it& terrific& turn sideways for me& a bit more& now back to face me&
and again& yes, you re turning me on now.
With more encouragement, I pretended to play the chords Teef had taught me, swung around this
way and that, and strode towards a back corner of the set. Excellent. Now, Bendy, isn t it? Try that
again. Let s have some backing music this time. Wiggle your arse for us a bit& not too much.
Posing as a rock star, I must have struck everyone as utterly ridiculous, but they did not laugh, and
Max continued to praise and urge me on. After about fifteen more minutes he said, Someone take him
up to a dressing room, put a headscarf on him and slap on a bit of eye shadow.
He explained: We have to make sure the image is right. So we need to get you made up properly.
When he next saw me, in the headscarf and wearing eye make-up, he had me walk around under
different combinations of lighting for a couple of minutes, then nodded his approval and said, Okay,
you can go home. Unlikely we ll need you again, but be back here at four o clock sharp tomorrow in
case we do. The Handyman will take care of you.
I learned on the drive back that Quick himself had not taken part in stage and sound checks for
decades, because he considered himself too important for them. When we pulled up at Fulrose Court,
The Handyman dropped a brown envelope full of money into my lap. What s this? I asked.
Hush money, he said gruffly.
Dale was very dubious about that brown envelope full of cash, money not duly recorded or signed for.
For all we know, he said, it could have come from drug dealing or organized crime. What are those
guys up to? If they needed someone to prat about on stage pretending to be Teef, why couldn t one of
them do it? Still, you re not going to hand such a big wadge of notes back, are you? I could go with you
tomorrow if it would help. I can leave work a bit early to get there for four.
He did not have to repeat the offer. The Handyman collected us from Fulrose Court, and during the
drive to the theatre talked constantly of the need for strict secrecy. He said that Max, the band s
manager, alone knew the grand plan, how and when all the elements needed for the show were to come
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