Short Story

ABRACADABRA

Jan Pain, Sherborne Scribblers

Of all her charges in the Sunnyside Home for Retired Gentlefolk, 18-year-old Lisa liked Frank Pearce the best. Over the period of three months working there, she had observed the foibles of most of the residents, such as the snobbish and demanding attitude of Mrs Chatwin-Jones, the irascible nature of retired army officer, Major Jackson, and the simple trusting soul of Miss Briggs, who wandered around clutching an outsized Tweetie Pie, which bird even accompanied her at mealtimes.

It could be said these residents had whims to which Lisa had to defer, whereas Frank never displayed any unpredictable traits and was always friendly and cheerful. He was a snappy dresser too, who fussed about his carefully ironed shirt and change of natty bow tie, every day. A trouser press stood in the corner of his room; Lisa noted.

‘Come in, sweetheart,’ he would say, when she tapped on his door. The bedsit had a welcoming feel, despite the dated 1960’s décor. Colourful posters adorned the walls and cherished knick-knacks littered the windowsills.

The first time she’d met him he’d been playing Patience. As she bent forward to put his cup of tea on the table, he reached upwards and, with a chuckle, withdrew a playing card from behind her left ear. This little exercise was repeated a few times before she asked, ‘Frank, are you a magician and do you have any other tricks?’ Needing no second bidding and giving her a knowing wink, he rummaged in the duffel bag beside his chair, revealing three plastic flowerpots, which he inverted onto the table, and a ping pong ball.

‘Come on then sweetheart, which pot’s the ball under?’ Lisa failed to guess at every turn, collapsing with a fit of the giggles, as Frank eventually withdrew the ball from his mouth.

‘Ha! Ha!’ he said, ‘I’m glad the hand hasn’t lost its cunning. Yes, I’m a magician, or rather I was. I shall be ninety soon, but I still remember most of my act. I had my first conjuring set when I was ten and soon mastered the basics. By the time I was 13, I was entertaining at kiddies’ parties. That was the biggest test; the little boys in particular always hoped to trip me up and expose my tricks, so I quickly learned to build up an aura of mystery. By the time I was 18, I’d been accepted into the Magic Circle.’

‘Wow, Frank,’ exclaimed Lisa, ‘did your career take off?’

‘You could say I was lucky. It was the time of variety shows in the fifties, so I togged myself up in the full works – evening dress, voluminous black cape, top hat and magic wand. I’d raise my left arm parallel with my nose to appear as mysterious as possible and, Bob’s your uncle, I was soon touring all over. I had another stroke of luck when I met my beautiful Gloria (oh! what a pair of legs!) who became my assistant and eventually my wife. We were billed as The Illustrious Illusionists – Mister Ree and Miss Teek. What a time we had; even finishing up with our own TV show! Sadly, my darling wife died five years ago, and I came here when I couldn’t manage on my own. Have a look in the wardrobe - I’ve still got all our gear.’

Lisa opened the door to reveal the props and paraphernalia of Frank’s theatrical life, including the gold lamé costume once worn by Gloria.

‘Tell you what,’ Frank said, ‘if Matron would let me, I’d love to hold a party for my 90th, and have the opportunity to go through the old routine one more time. Best of all would be if you could wear Gloria’s costume and be my assistant. You’ve certainly got the legs for it,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

A few weeks later, Frank and Lisa dressed themselves in their stage finery and entertained the residents with nearly an hour of magic. Mrs Chatwin-Jones let go her inhibitions and cheered when Frank produced yards of silk scarves from the pockets of Matron’s uniform. Major Jackson guffawed when Lisa disappeared from their largest prop, a big black box, and little Miss Briggs practically swooned at the sight of a rabbit being withdrawn from the top hat, rushing forward to introduce it to Tweetie Pie.

‘I’m so glad I pulled it off one last time,’ Frank said to Lisa. ‘It’s because they can’t figure how it’s done that keeps up the suspense, you know. By the way, sweetheart, if you’re still around when I pop my clogs, I’d like them to drape my cape over the coffin so that I can still be cloaked in mystery when I reach the pearly gates.’

Dying without a Will. Now that’s a real tragedy

JOHN RAWLINS

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