“Suze…” I put a hand on her arm. “Please. I think I can amuse a few children for ten minutes.”
Oh my God.
This is utter mayhem.
I can’t hear myself think. I can’t hear anything except the screaming of twenty excited children running round a room, bashing each other.
“Er… excuse me…” I begin.
The shrieks increase in volume. I’m sure someone’s being murdered in here, only I can’t see who because it’s all a blur.
“Sit down!” I bellow over the noise. “Sit down, everyone!”
They’re not even stopping for a beat. I climb up onto a chair and put my hands round my mouth.
“Anyone who sits down…” I roar. “Will get a sweetie!”
Abruptly the screaming stops and there’s a crash as twenty children bump down onto the floor.
“Hello, everybody!” I say brightly. “I’m… I’m Wacky Becky!” I waggle my head. “Everybody say… ‘Hello, Wacky Becky!’ ”
There’s silence.
“Where’s my sweetie?” pipes up a little girl.
“Er…”
I scrabble in my bag, but there’s nothing except some herbal sleeping tablets I bought for getting over jet lag. Orange flavored.
Could I—
No. No.
“Later!” I say. “You have to sit still… and then you get a sweetie.”
“This conjurer is rubbish,” says a boy in a Ralph Lauren shirt.
“I’m not rubbish!” I say indignantly. “Watch! Er…”
I quickly put my hands over my face, then pull them away. “Boo!”
“We’re not babies,” the boy says scornfully. “We want tricks!”
“Why don’t I sing you a nice song,” I say in soothing tones. “Row, row, row the boat… la la la… the moat…”
“Do a trick!” squeals a little girl.
“We want a trick!” yells a boy.
“Do-a-trick! Do-a-trick!”
Oh God. They’re chanting. And the boys are banging the floor with their fists. Any minute, they’re going to get up and start bashing each other again. A trick. A trick. My mind scurries about frantically. Do I know any tricks?
“OK!” I say in desperation. “I’ll do a trick! Watch this!”
I spread my arms with a flourish, then reach behind my back with swirly, elaborate movements, spinning it all out as long as I can.
Then I unhook my bra through my shirt, trying to remember what color it is.
Oh yes. It’s my bright pink gingham one with the bows. Perfect.
The entire room is agog.
“We want Wacky Becky!” yells a boy. “She took off her bra!”
Fuck.
“Wacky Becky’s got to… er… go now!” I say brightly. “But see you next time, children!”
Without quite meeting Lulu’s eye I squash my bra into a tiny ball, stuff it into my bag, and back out of the room. I head over to the buffet table, where Luke is helping himself to salmon.
“Are you OK?” he says in surprise. “You’re very pink.”