Stella and I were pleased to get home at last, she helped me carry my stuff into the house. “Are you sure you had a good day?” I asked.

“I’ve told you umpteen times.”

“I hoped that wasn’t politeness.”

“Me? Polite to you? Don’t be daft.”

“I suppose that answers my question.”

“Yeah, ask a silly one…”

“I know, and get a silly answer.”

“Who’s a silly arse?” asked Tom, coming out of the lounge to greet us. Stella and I looked at each other and then burst out laughing. “What did I say?” asked Tom. This caused fresh convulsions. “Blessed women,” he said dismissively, which of course set off further eruptions and by this time both Stella and I had tears running down our faces. The sixty four dollar question was: Is he going for after shocks? He was. “I suppose I’m the silly arse, am I?”

Almost helpless with laughter, I managed to shake my head, ‘no’. Taking a deep breath, I said quickly, “You misheard my reply to Stella, it wasn’t silly arse, it was silly answer.” Possibly the most mundane thing I’d said all day but Stella and I found it painfully funny, we were now into a hysterical giggle fit a la schoolgirl.

Tom shook his head and went back into the lounge to await the return of our collective sanity. It could take some time. We were like two teenage drinkers unused to alcoholic beverages, staggering under the weight of laughter. I knew it would end in tears–tears of laughter, oh, and hiccups. I always get hiccups after a giggle session.

For Stella, this merely fanned the flames of insanity until in mid-cackle, she wet herself. She laughed at this, making the wet patch worse. That set me off again. Like I said, Tom could have a long wait.

I checked on Spike, she wasn’t laughing, she was asleep and resented my disturbance of her nest box. She refused to allow me to handle her, even nipping me on the thumb to emphasise the point. I put her back without any reward.

While Stella went to change, I did stop laughing. My sides hurt and I was still hiccupping now and again. I took a deep breath and held it. Of course, Tom, tried again whilst I was turning blue from hypoxia.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked me.

I tried to wave him to wait a moment. He looked unable to understand what I was on about. So in the end, I had to say, “I’m trying to stop my hic [hic] cups.”

“Oh I see, try a drink that usually works for me.”

“F [hic] rom the wrong side of the gla [hic] ss, I sup [hic] pose.”

“That’s right, whilst standing on one’s head waving one leg at each pole.”

“But there are millions of Poles, and I’m not even a centipede,” I complained.

“Okay, I’ll get the lab to clone a Cathypede, something that whinges at a hundred times a second.”

“Gee thanks, Tom, I suppose you never complain.”

“But of course I don’t, we’re made of sterner stuff, our generation.”

“This is the same generation who invented Prozac and therapy junkies?”

“Absolutely, and in case you forgot, false memory syndrome.”

“I remember talking to Santa Claus about that only last week…”

“I see, was this before or after the Good fairy came to help you wash up?”

“No, she only came after I kissed a frog and discovered it was just that–a frog.”

“Messy!” commented Tom.

“Traditionally, one has to kiss a few frogs to find a prince.”

“It’s still easier than all the mattresses required to discover a princess.”

“Only if you have a dried pea.”

“I keep one especially for the job.”

“Do you?” I couldn’t believe this.

“Yes, in my whistle.” He pulled it from his pocket and gave it a quick peep which nearly deafened me and which brought Kiki barking into the hallway.

“How do you get it out of the whistle to put it under the mattresses?”

“That would be telling,” he said quietly. He held the whistle in both hands and after making funny movements with both, he made a dramatic music ‘noise’ and held the pea and the whistle separately.

Impressed, I asked him how he did it, but he wasn’t going to tell me. Tom, it appeared was full of mystery. Despite my protests, he refused to budge and only when Stella came back down with fresh jeans, did he admit he’d been an amateur magician when younger.

“So you used to do magic tricks and things?” I asked, my jaw dropping.

“I was a paid up member of the Magic Circle.”

“So, a prestidigitator,” I gasped.

“You dirty thing!” exclaimed Stella, and slapped me on the arm.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“You said you were a mas…”

“No, I said, Tom was a prestidigitator, it isn’t quite the same as pocket snooker, although he may be clever with his hands.”

“That would explain why your eyesight is unaffected.”

“What?” I gasped.

“Well, don’t they say it’s bad for your eyes? Makes you go blind, according to the toilets back in school.”

“What does?” I asked.

“That more than conjures with the imagination.” Tom said pithily.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“They called it self-abuse, when I was in school,” offered Tom.

“Until I discovered Smirnoff I thought Wan-kin’ was town in China,” said Stella and she and Tom dissolved in laughter.

“Until I was discovered by Stella, I had no idea what all that was about,” I said and blushed.

“You really were a virgin, weren’t you?”

“In all senses. Naivete doesn’t go anywhere near describing my experience as a teenager. I knew all about reproduction in all sorts of weird animals, but had no thoughts about sex at all.”

“Not until Simon and I corrupted you,” said Stella with a smugness that annoyed me.

“I just wasn’t interested.” I continued, “It wasn’t my fault, I mean I’d been brought up to believe all that stuff was wicked and besides, it just didn’t do anything for me. Not until I got kissed as a girl and it sort of released what had obviously been nascent.” There was a pause and I felt enough had been said about such things. “Have you any other tricks, Tom?” I asked changing the subject.

“Gosh, I’m a bit rusty, I’ve not done any of these since my girl died.”

“I’m sorry,” I felt rather embarrassed.

“No don’t be, I should be over it by now, it was years ago, after all–but I suppose you never quite do.”

“Would you tell us about her?” I asked gently, “But only if it’s okay.”

Tom looked at Stella and then at me. He seemed to be having some sort of internal dialogue. Finally he arrived at a decision, “Okay, let’s go and sit somewhere quiet and I’ll tell you about my lovely daughter.”