The Twilight Streets

THREE

‘What about this one, Susi?’

Susan Sharma took the flyer from Jan Arwyn’s out-tray and glanced down at it. ‘No, don’t think so, that’s a single clown doing kiddie parties.’ She looked across at the girls in the office. It was a big open-plan office; it had originally had loads of walls, but they’d been demolished a few years back to create a ‘workspace environment’. It housed about twelve of them, here at City Hall, trying to keep the Mayor and his staff happy and administered.

But not financed. Oh no, Finance were on another floor. They had carpets. And walls. And a kitchen to themselves.

They all hated Finance down here in Admin.

‘We need to book a big group, right?’ Susi said, remembering the task at hand. ‘It’s expensive if we go for lots of solos and smaller groups, and the Mayor’s lot will have heart attacks if we spend too much. It’s just got to be enough to fill the streets.’ She smiled at Jan. ‘Sorry, love, keep looking.’

Jan pointed at the memo pinned to the wall. ‘We haven’t got long though, have we? I mean, the Office want it sorted by tonight.’

Susi sighed. ‘I know. How difficult is it to find people? I can’t believe it.’

‘What exactly do you need?’ asked Tom, the water-cooler guy, as he wandered over with two empty containers. ‘And can I just say, you lot don’t half get through this stuff.’

Jan smiled at Tom – Susi thought she quite liked him. Awww.

‘You ever seen that Derren Brown bloke? Or David Blaine, when he was good? All that misdirection, card-tricks, word-play? That sort of thing. But about twenty of them. And some clowns, and those awful statue people-’

‘Awful what?’

‘Oh you know,’ Susi said. ‘Those weirdoes that paint themselves silver and pretend to be angels or Charlie Chaplin. Then they move suddenly, and sixty kids wee themselves on the spot.’

‘Oh,’ said Tom. ‘Can’t help you there. But my mate’s a clown – on so many levels, I say – and he’d do it. Free, I reckon, cos he’s starting out.’

Jan looked up at Susi. ‘Free? I like free. Free is good.’

‘So if Tom can give us a clown, and there’s that guy with the dancing dog…’

Even as she said it, she could picture the Mayor’s face. Well, the Mayor’s secretary’s face actually – Susi couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually spoken to the Mayor himself.

The secretary would look at her in that waspish way he always did and repeat slowly ‘the dancing dog…’

And he’d be right. This was going to be a disaster.

‘What we really need – no disrespect to your friend, Tom – is one company that can supply the lot,’ she said. ‘Street Parties R Us.’

God, Susi thought, maybe she should set that up herself. It’d get her out of this dead-end job. She’d make a fortune, all those posh families in Roath in the summer…

She was distracted suddenly when a motorcycle courier walked in, helmet on.

Before she had a chance to ask him to remove it (why hadn’t reception done that? Indeed, why was the courier up here anyway?), he held out an envelope.

‘Susan Sharma?’ he said, muffled by the helmet.

‘That’s me,’ Susi took the envelope and started to open it. She looked up to say thanks, but the courier was gone.

‘Wonder what he looked like under that leather,’ Jan giggled to one of the other girls. ‘Looked good with it on! How tight were those leather trousers?’

The other girl nodded. ‘You couldn’t just see he was a big boy, you could guess his religion!!’

They burst into cackles of laughter.

Tom, sensing he was no longer the centre of Jan’s world, coughed and wandered out, managing to crash one of the empty water containers into the door, making his exit as undignified as possible.

Susi shook her head and looked at the contents of the envelope.

STREET PARTY SOLUTIONS

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Living statues

And loads more!

You tell us what you need, where and when.

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08/TT/45564478/BM

There was a phone number at the bottom, a Cardiff number. Susan smiled. Her pleas had been answered. Call or email? Oh, let Jan decide.

She passed the flyer over. ‘Jan, look at this. I think our Tretarri problem has just been solved! How cool is that?’