I was well pissed off, I can tell you.

I mean to say, this was my party and they were scoffing my grub and getting pissed on my booze and spacing themselves out on my dope. The least that one of these stuck-up tarts could have done was to offer me a blow-job.

But did any of them?

Did they bugger!

I thought I’d slip into Irish mode. Women always go for Irish blokes. It’s in their charm and the melody of their language. Or it’s the hint of danger about them. Or it’s something else about them. But I reckon it’s the accent.

Well, I thought it was worth a try.

‘Top of the morning to you,’ I said to Ma’ll-yell-if-you-thrust-it-up.[10]

She looked strangely unimpressed.

But her boyfriend looked rather upset.

‘Bugger off, you bog-trotting loon,’ was what he had to say.

I leaned low in his direction. I recognized him immediately. He was that honourable literary chap, Old-Hairy-fat-prick.[11]

‘Off about your business,’ he drawled. ‘Or I’ll know the reason why.’

I stared the fellow eye to eye and then I head-butted him straight in the face. Well, it had been a long and trying day.

Old Hairy fell back in a crumpled heap and I smiled over to Ma’llyell. ‘Fainted,’ I said. ‘Too much brown ale. You know what he’s like.’

I shuffled off some more.

And then, do you know what, out of the blue it just hit me. I suddenly paused and thought, What am I doing here? I mean, what am I doing here? (Not what am I doing here?)

I thought, bloody Hell, I know what I’m doing here.

I’m shuffling!

Shuffling. I hadn’t shuffled for years. But here I was doing it now. I was shuffling about amongst all these rich folk. These really really famous folk. A complete stranger. Someone who didn’t belong here at all.

I was a shuffler, me. Always had been, always would be. All the wealth I’d been left by the Doveston couldn’t change what was really inside. I was just a shuffler. I was shuffling in the way that long ago the Doveston had shuffled. The way that the Principal Boy in the play had shuffled. It was the very same shuffle.

The very same shuffle.

And then, of course it hit me. I realized exactly what the professor’s play meant.[12]

It was the life of the Doveston. The whole bit. Birth, life and death. As in ‘Om’. Brahma, Vishnu and Siva. And how had the play ended? With the downfall of the palace and the Evil Prince. And how had the professor concluded the entire performance?

With a big aaah-choo!

And what was it Danbury Collins had said?

Assemble all the members of the Secret Government in one big room and then blow the lot of them to kingdom come.

With dynamite, perhaps?

The Big Aaah-Choo!

‘Oh shit!’ I went. ‘Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!’

‘You have me fair and square,’ said a voice. An Irish voice as it happened. A fellow stood up, a fellow in a frock. A fellow wearing green lipstick and brandishing a blow-pipe. ‘O’Shit’s the name,’ he said. ‘Cross-dressing Secret Government hit man. How did I give myself away? Should I have shaved off me beard?’

‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘Don’t you realize what’s going to happen?’

‘Well,’ said O’Shit. ‘My guess would be that you’ll try to take me in. But I’m thinking you won’t get as far as the door, before me mate O’Bastard over there takes the head right off you with his Uzi.’

‘No,’ I said, shaking him by the sequinned shoulders. ‘We’re all gonna die.’

‘You before the rest of us, I’m thinking.’

‘Get out of my way. Get out of my way.’ I pushed O’Shit from his feet and shouted over to Norman. ‘Norman,’ I shouted. ‘Come here quick, we’re in trouble.’

‘All right,’ called Norman. ‘I’m coming.’

Down, but not out, O’Shit was struggling. He had fallen amongst toffs. Which can prove tricky if you’re a man and you happen to be wearing a dress.

‘Well, hemooooo,’ went the toffs.

‘Get your fecking hands off me bum,’ went O’Shit.

‘Norman. Get over here.’

‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’ Norman shuffled over.

Shuffled. That’s what he did.

‘Have you found her then?’ Norman asked as he shuffled. ‘Oh sorry, did I tread on you?’ he continued as his foolish platform shoe came down on some poor blighter’s fingers.

‘Norman. Hurry up.’

Behind Norman came his all-girl conga line. And behind this now came men of the mightily miffed persuasion.

I did some more of those big breaths up the nose and out of the mouth and grabbed at Norman as he stepped upon O’Shit.

‘Norman,’ I puffed and panted. ‘Norman, I’ve worked it out. I’ve worked it out.’

‘I told you I didn’t want to hear about your bowel movements.’ I punched Norman right on the nose. I’m sorry, but I did. Heat of the moment.

‘Oooooooooooooooh,’ went Norman’s female followers. ‘Leave our lovely boy alone.’

‘Stay out of this,’ I told them. I had Norman by the lapels; I didn’t let him fall. ‘The time?’ I gasped. ‘What is the time?’

Norman clutched at his nose. ‘You hit me. You punched my hooter.’

‘Tell me the time. Quickly, or—’

‘OK. OK.’ Norman fumbled out his watch. The women were gathering round us now, stepping on the sitters and getting in a state. Their boyfriends, lovers, husbands or whatevers were tugging at them and telling them to come away.

‘It’s five to twelve,’ said Norman, dabbing at his conk with his sleeve. ‘All this fuss just because you wanted to know the time. But hang about. Shouldn’t we be organizing the “Auld Lang Syne” business?’

‘Norman.’ I shook him all about. ‘I’ve worked it out. There’s not going to be any “Auld Lang Syne”. I know what’s going to happen.’

‘You always say that when you’ve had a few.’

‘Norman, you shithead, just listen to me.’

‘You leave Norman alone,’ said some woman, welting me one with her handbag.

‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Norman. ‘I can handle him, he’s just a bit pissed.’ And then Norman became aware for the very first time of just how many women now surrounded us. ‘Well, heloooooo, ladies,’ said Norman.

‘Listen, listen.’ I flapped my hands about. ‘Listen to what I’m saying. The professor’s play, right? It was all about the Doveston.’

‘Well, I’d worked that out,’ said Norman. ‘But then I did go to grammar school.’

‘Yes, all right. But the bit at the end, where the boy in the play blows everybody up. And the professor. The Big Aaah-Choo! Don’t you understand what I’m saying?’

Norman nodded thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Everybody here,’ I said. ‘Everybody here,’ and I had to speak up quite a bit, because the mob about us was pushing and stepping on people. ‘Everybody here, all these people. This is them. This lot. The Secret Government. The rulers and makers of men, the grand mucka-mucks, like the professor said. The Doveston invited all these people here, and they all came, even though he was dead. Because they knew they’d get the bash of the century. But don’t you see, that’s what they really are going to get. The big bash. The Big Aaah-Choo!’

‘What exactly are you trying to say?’

I kicked at O’Shit, who was biting my ankle. ‘I’m saying, Norman, that this place is going to blow. The professor warned us. He never sneezes when he takes snuff. He warned us, you and me, so we could get out in time. Don’t you see? The Doveston is going to get his revenge from beyond the grave. I’ll bet this place is packed with dynamite. And I’ll bet, I’ll just bet, it’s timed to go off at midnight. Come on, Norman, you knew the Doveston as well as I did. Isn’t it exactly what he’d do?’

‘There has to be a flaw in this logic,’ said Norman. ‘But for the life of me, I can’t see what it is.’