“Russell, you can’t have seen the movie. We’ve been keeping it as a special surprise for you.”

“Back off.” Russell menaced with the bottle. Bobby Boy backed off in an obliging manner.

Russell pulled open the desk drawer and sought his magnifying glass. It wasn’t there. “Fair enough,” said Russell, “it’s daylight. I’ll be able to see the numbers.”

“What numbers?”

“You know what numbers. The combination numbers.”

“Yeah, right.” Bobby Boy shook his long thin head.

Russell backed over to the safe and keeping Bobby Boy at arm’s length, he sought the little numbers. He squinted at the big brass boss.

And then he squinted again.

And, yes, you all know what’s coming.

“There’s no numbers,” gasped Russell.

“There’s no combination lock,” said Bobby Boy.

Russell stared at the safe door. “Bloody Hell,” said he.

The safe did not have a combination lock. It had a big keyhole.

“But …” went Russell. “But … but …” Because, you have to confess that if this happened to you, you’d be quite flummoxed.

“I don’t know what you were on last night,” said Bobby Boy, “but if I were you, I’d give it a miss in the future.”

“Yeah yeah, well you’d know all about the future, wouldn’t you? Having been there, and everything.”

“Me? Been to the future? What are you talking about, Russell?”

“I’m talking about the Cyberstar program. The one you stole.”

“The Cyber-what?”

“The hologram film stars. There’s no point in denying them. The movie’s full of them.”

“There’s nothing like that in our movie,” said Bobby Boy. And it did have to be said that he looked and sounded most genuine, even though, of course, he was a professional liar. “Mr Fudgepacker isn’t much of a one for modern technology. He’s a pretty basic fellow.”

“You bastards!” Russell had a serious shake on. “You can’t trick me. No, hang about, I get it.”

“What do you get?”

“There’s always a bit like this, isn’t there? Where something devastating happens to the hero and then he wakes up and it was all a dream. Or it wasn’t a dream, but the villain is making it seem as if it’s a dream. It’s a right hacked-out cliché, that is.”

“Tell it to Hollywood.”

“It’s a trick. That isn’t the same safe. You switched it while I was unconscious. You knocked me out.” Russell felt at the top of his head. It did not have a bump on it. “Oh,” said Russell.

“People are waiting for you,” said Bobby Boy. “This is all very childish.”

“Yes!” Russell shook his fist. “My childhood. What about my childhood?”

“What about it?”

“Well, I can’t remember it.”

“Can’t you?”

“I …” Russell thought about his childhood. He could remember it. He could remember lots and lots and lots of it. “I can remember it,” he said slowly.

“Well, bully for you, Russell. Now, are you going to come out and get your big surprise, or not? There’s food. Although most of it’s been eaten now. There’s a few ham sandwiches left.”

Russell nodded his head. “Yes,” said he. “All right.”

“After you then.”

“No, after you.”

“What a weirdo you are,” and Bobby Boy led the way.

As Russell emerged from his office a great cheer went up and “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” was sung at full blast with much gusto.

Russell blinked anew.

There was bunting hanging here, there and all about the place. There was a table, with the remnants of a mighty spread upon it. There were chairs set out in rows before a viewing screen. And there was quite a crowd of people.

Mr Fudgepacker was there. And Morgan was there. And Julie was there. And Frank was there (with a bit of paperwork he wanted Russell to take a look at). And several local publicans were there. And several production buyers were there (ones who hadn’t come into the Emporium to hire anything in months, but always have that knack of turning up when there’s a free drink). And Russell’s mum was there. And even Russell’s sister, who Russell was quite sure lived in Australia. Even she was there. And a few other folk also.

And they were all cheering and singing “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, although they’d got to the “and so say all of us,” bit by now.

“What’s going on?” Russell viewed them with suspicion. He was still not utterly convinced.

“It’s all for you,” said Bobby Boy, reaching over to give Russell’s back a pat, but then thinking twice about doing so. “After all, if you hadn’t had that win on the National Lottery and put it all into the movie to help Mr Fudgepacker out and save the Emporium, none of this would have been possible.”

“You’re very thorough,” muttered Russell, beneath his breath. “You haven’t missed a trick.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Well, come and have a sandwich and watch the movie.”

“Hip hip hoorah!” went all present, with the exception of Russell, who was looking from one to the other of them and worrying. Oh yes he was worrying all right, and he was in a state of stress. And he was thinking many thoughts.

And one of the many thoughts that he was thinking was …

What if I’m dreaming this?

Although considerably confused, he still felt certain that he hadn’t dreamed the rest. So if that was the case, then he had to be dreaming this.

And if he was dreaming this, then no-one could do any harm to him, and if he knew he was dreaming, he could do pretty much anything he wanted.

“OK,” said Russell, “fine. Thank you very much everyone. You’re all very kind. I’ll have some of that champagne, if I might. Ah, Julie, you’re looking well. Perhaps after the movie you’d like to come back to my place for some sex.”

Julie’s mouth dropped open.

“Oral sex is fine by me,” said Russell. “That’s a date then.”

The crowd parted before him and Russell made his way to the table. Glances were exchanged, shoulders shrugged.

“He’s been over-working,” said Mr Fudgepacker.

“Hey, Fudgy.” Russell gave the old boy a jovial pat that sent him reeling. “How’s it hanging, you old spawn of Satan?”

Murmer murmer murmer, went the crowd.

“Over-working.” Mr F struggled to stay upright. “He’s not normally like this, as we who know and love him know. This is quite out of character.”

Russell winked at Ernest and whispered close by his ear. “I’ll give you ‘character’, you old bastard. Just show the movie.”

“Yes, yes.” Ernest eased his way past Russell. “Take a seat, dear boy. Down at the front.”

“With you and the man in black behind me, I don’t think so.”

“Anywhere you like, then.”

“At the back.”

“As you please. Well, seats everyone. Bobby Boy, get the lights switch on the projector and come and sit down the front with me.”

The crowd, looking somewhat bewildered, bundled for the best seats. Russell’s mum wrung her hands and shook her snowy head. The sister Russell was sure lived in Australia said, “Typical.” But whether this was directed against the bewildered bundlers or against Russell must remain uncertain.

When the bundling had finished and everyone was settled into their seats, the lights went down and the screen lit up.

A RUSSELL NICE[25] PRODUCTION

in association with

FUDGEPACKER INTERNATIONAL BIO PICS

presents …

“NOSTRADAMUS ATE MY HAMSTER,” said Russell.

A SHOWER OF GOLD

“Eh?” said Russell. “A shower of what?”

“Ssssh!” went Russell’s mum.

“Typical,” said his sister.

Russell sat back, sipped champagne and stared on as the movie unfolded before him.

Bobby Boy played the part of a blind watchmaker’s apprentice. The time was the present and the place was Brentford. The watchmaker’s business was going bust and a wicked developer was doing all he could to acquire the premises, demolish them and build some great corporate enterprise on the site.