‘So, do you want to hear my business proposition?’

Simon was obviously someone who was not easily put off. He sat in the exact same place as last time. It was right at the start of lunch.

‘Not particularly,’ I said, ‘but I’m nothing if not polite.’ He didn’t appear to pick up the irony. ‘So, is this what you want to do with your life, Simon? A business guru. The next Elon Musk?’

‘Nah,’ he replied. ‘That’s really boring. I’m into architecture. Designing buildings. It’s what I want to do at university next year.’

‘The perfect field of study for someone proposing a business deal,’ I replied. ‘What are you offering? Plans for a tasteful apartment?’

‘You’re a smart-arse, Grace McKellon.’

‘Care factor zero, Simon.’

It was another hazy day, the sun trying to get through a high layer of thin cloud and failing. The air was wet and clingy, a thin coating on your skin. I could feel moisture gathering on my upper lip. The humidity didn’t seem to stop kids running about in the yard, though a few of the younger girls were standing around, chatting and giggling. A couple of years back they would have been skipping and chanting, but they were too cool for that now. Gran once said that she used to skip and chant sometime in the last century. It’s difficult to think of Gran as a kid. I’ve seen pictures of her when she was younger and that’s also hard for me to get my head around. In those photos her skin is clear and unblemished and she has dark eyes and dark hair, no wrinkles and no sign of care. Time has taken her and put her through a hot wash and left her to dry any old how. She’s terminally creased – no iron can restore her.

I looked at Simon and wondered what he would look like in fifty, sixty years’ time. It’s a strange thought, this notion that every passing moment is taking you towards when your body and mind start to fall apart. Step by steady step to the darkest of destinations.

I shook my head.

‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘How can I get rich quick?’

And he did. Not how to get rich, but how to make money from my magic. It was a simple idea, really. In the old days, parents used to hire clowns for kids’ birthday parties, but now everyone’s scared of clowns. Magicians are okay. Pulling rabbits out of top hats, that kind of thing. I didn’t have a rabbit or a top hat, but I didn’t interrupt. Simon would advertise my services on social media and in the local paper. He was at pains to point out, before I could bring the subject up myself, that Year Nine boys wouldn’t figure in this business plan. Mainly because Year Nine boys would rather die than have a magician at their birthday party. He was thinking of five- and six-year-olds who hadn’t got cynical to the world and would believe whatever their round eyes saw. Making things vanish would be the main item on the agenda. I could make things vanish without thinking about it.

He’d even thought about my name. The Amazing Grace. Apparently that would resonate with the parents because it was the title of an old song and it was parents who we would be selling to, after all. He talked about making some business cards and getting one of those pull-up banners – the kind you unfurl from the base and it has a company logo or a message or something on it. I could have that behind me as I did my magic. He finished by saying that he would put the money upfront for the advertising and the banner, so really it was a risk-free proposition for me.

‘And what’s in it for you, Simon?’ I asked when he eventually stopped talking.

‘Call me Si,’ he said.

‘And what’s in it for you, Simon?’ I said again.

‘I take seventy per cent of the fee until those initial expenses have been covered. After I get that money back, then we go seventy–thirty.’ He held up a hand. ‘In your favour, obviously.’

‘Obviously. And what if we don’t get bookings and you don’t get that money back?’

He spread his hands.

‘Then I’ve lost out, but you’ve lost nothing.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said.

I wouldn’t be thinking hard. A magician needs an audience. I could impress myself in my own bedroom, but that was never enough. And five- and six-year-olds? They’re impressed by loud farts. I could wow them and not have to put up with hecklers.

‘I’d like to suggest something, though, Grace. If I may? About your stage manner.’

‘Oh yeah? What about it?’

Simon put his head down and his hands flat on the bench, like he was plucking up the courage to say something really offensive. I could’ve warned him that I find a lot of things offensive and he wouldn’t have to try very hard, but decided against it.

‘It’s about your . . .’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Your patter.’

‘My what?’

‘The words you use.’

‘And how would you know about that?’

‘Mum told me.’

I was on the verge of getting really annoyed. Miss Smith’s classroom assistant had only seen one proper performance of mine and that was with the collected spawn of Satan, so I didn’t reckon she was well qualified to criticise my onstage manner. Or hand down that judgement to her son.

‘She told me that stuff you said about Arthur C. Clarke and how advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. I mean, that’s fascinating. Seriously. But only to someone with brains. Those kids?’ He swung a flat hand over his hair. ‘Straight over their heads.’

‘“Good morning” would go straight over their heads.’

‘True. And that’s what I mean. Why confuse your audience with words when your tricks . . .’ I closed my eyes, ‘. . . your magic could speak for you?’

‘How do you shuffle cards?’ I asked.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Sorry?’

‘Apology accepted,’ I said. I dug around in my bag and brought out a pack of cards, took them from the box and handed them to him. ‘Shuffle,’ I said.

He did. He riffle shuffled them, dividing the pack in two and, with a thumb on each part of the deck, rippled them together, tapping them to form one pile. Then he did it again.

‘The expert shuffle,’ I said. ‘You’ve done this before.’

Simon smiled.

‘I used to be a bit of a poker buff,’ he said.

I smiled too. Because this was going to make the trick I had in mind very easy.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Now please examine the deck carefully. Make sure there is nothing dodgy about it – you know, that all the cards are there, that’s it’s a genuine pack of cards.’

He splayed open the pack, ran through the cards, nodded.

‘All good, as far as I can tell,’ he said.

‘Excellent,’ I said. I took the cards from him. ‘Now look into my eyes, Simon.’

He did.

‘Are you prepared to be amazed?’

He nodded.

I put the pack face down on the table. ‘Watch carefully,’ I said. ‘I will not touch these cards again, okay? So no chance of me forcing a card on you, messing around with sleight of hand. This is magic that I will perform at a distance, yeah? Hands off.’

He nodded again. I had him hooked.

‘I want you to shuffle again and then cut the deck, wherever you like, and look at the top card where you cut it. Memorise the card and then put it back.’

He hesitated.

‘Just so you know that there is no way I can know what your card is,’ I said, ‘I will turn my back on you.’ I guessed what he was thinking. Maybe I could see the card in the reflection of his eye or I had a mirror placed somewhere. This trick was much easier than that. I turned around. ‘Tell me when you’re done,’ I said.

It took only a couple of seconds.

‘Okay,’ he said.

I turned back. ‘Put the pack together again and give it a good shuffle,’ I said.

He did. Three times. Put the deck on the table.

‘Would you agree that there is no way I can know what your card is and that I cannot possibly know where in the deck it is?’

‘Agreed.’

‘Maybe you want to give it another shuffle just to be certain,’ I said.

It was fun to watch him weighing up the possibilities. Should he leave them the way they were? Or maybe it was a good idea to shuffle them again. What did he have to lose? He shuffled them again. Twice. Put the deck down.

‘Happy?’ I asked.

‘Sure.’

‘I am now going to ask you to pick a number between one and fifty-two,’ I continued. ‘And whatever number you pick, that’s where your card will be in this pack. Do you believe me?’

This time he shook his head.

‘That’s not possible,’ he replied.

‘Why?’

‘Because I know you did not see my card and because I have shuffled these so well that no one could conceivably know where in the deck it is.’ He shook his head again. ‘Impossible.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘The impossible is what I do. Pick a number, Simon.’

‘Twenty-two,’ he said. His voice was defiant.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘You can change your mind, you know. If you’re not happy with twenty-two.’

He did that thing where he examined my face, looking for truth and lies. This was the bit I really liked. This was why words were so important.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Thirty-one.’

‘Certain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not forty-three or fifteen?’

‘Thirty-one.’

‘Okay. I want you to count the cards off, putting them face down as you go. Stop when you get to thirty.’

He did. Painstakingly. I could see his lips moving as he counted down. Finally he got to thirty, looked up at me.

I nodded to the remainder of the pack.

‘The next card will be your card, Simon,’ I said. I put my hands on my head. No trickery from Grace McKellon. ‘What is your card?’

‘The jack of diamonds.’

‘Turn it over.’

There are many types of joy in magic, but perhaps the best is the look on the faces of the audience. I always watch, not only so I can see if I’ve succeeded in baffling them but also because it feels so good. It makes me feel . . . charged. It makes me feel alive.

Simon turned over the jack of diamonds. His hands dropped away. He looked at the card again. It was still the jack of diamonds. Then he looked at me.

‘Still think it’s impossible?’ I asked.

He brought his jaw up to the normal position, swallowed.

‘I don’t understand how that could happen,’ he said.

‘Yeah, well. That’s magic for you,’ I replied.

‘Tell me how you did it.’

I unscrewed the cap from my water bottle, took a swig.

‘And make the magic disappear?’

He looked at the card again.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. I know what you’re saying, but that is so . . . so . . . crazy that I have to know how you did it. And okay, when I know I probably won’t be so much in . . . awe of you. But I need to know. Please, Grace. Tell me.’

I finished the water, glanced at my phone. Still ten minutes to the afternoon bell. I got an apple from my bag and took a bite.

‘Here’s the thing, Simon,’ I said. ‘Look around us. All the wonder of nature, so massively complicated that no one really understands how it works. And the universe beyond that. A mystery that almost certainly will never be solved. And hey, people, the most complicated of all. Here we are looking out of our own eyes, each of us with that sense of self we call I, our brains working in ways that make the most advanced computers seem nothing more than a child’s toy. There’s magic all around us, Simon. Do we need to know how it works?’

He twisted his mouth.

‘Yes. That’s why science exists.’

‘And when everything’s been explained, when we know the how of all of it, what’s left to make us wonder?’

Simon tapped his fingers on the table.

‘Quit the mystical bullshit, Grace,’ he said. ‘Either tell me or don’t.’

I laughed, which was a wonder in itself. Apart from when I was with Gran, I couldn’t remember the last time I had.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I will. Because I’m trying to make a point and . . .’ I shrugged. ‘You could look it up on YouTube anyway. But the explanation will disappoint, Simon. I guarantee it.’

He spread his hands.

‘So disappoint me.’

I took another bite of the apple. It tasted a bit musty so I put it back down on the table next to the deck of cards.

‘The trick,’ I said, ‘is an old and famous one, called any card at any number. ACAAN for short. It was made legendary by a magician called David Berglas. I’ll tell you about him in a minute. So . . .’ I put my hands behind my head. ‘You were fooled by two things, Simon. One was simple sleight of hand and, more importantly, the other was by words. My patter, as you like to call it. Did you not wonder why I first asked you how you shuffle?’

Simon shrugged.

‘Why would I?’

‘I was trying to give you a clue because how you shuffle is key to this trick. Normally, I would just give you a deck of cards and ask you to shuffle, seeing whether you used a riffle shuffle or that clumsy one where you force the cards together.’

‘Why would that make a difference?’

‘Because as long as you riffle shuffle, you are always going to get the jack of diamonds.’

He frowned.

‘I don’t get it.’

I nodded towards the pack.

‘Pick up the deck and have a look through it.’

He did and his eyes widened.

‘Every other card is the jack of diamonds,’ he said.

‘Yup. It’s called a Svengali pack. Google it. You could even buy one if you feel like it. I did. Twenty-six of the cards – all of them the jack – are slightly smaller than the others, so when you cut the deck, it doesn’t matter where, the next card will be the slightly smaller jack of diamonds. Every time, guaranteed. Riffle shuffling will always keep the order of every other card being the jack.’

‘But I looked through the deck . . .’ A light dawned. ‘You switched decks when I gave them back to you.’

‘Simple sleight of hand while I misdirected you with words. Look into my eyes, yeah? After that it was all words. “Would you like to shuffle again? Are you sure you want the number you chose? How about another one?” All gives you the illusion of control where you have none. It doesn’t matter how many times you shuffle or how many times you change your mind. It will always be the jack of diamonds.’

He frowned.

‘But what if I’d said a number where it wasn’t the jack of diamonds?’ He nodded at the pack. ‘Fifty per cent of them aren’t.’

‘Words,’ I said again. ‘You chose an odd number. Every odd number is the jack of diamonds. If you’d chosen an even number I would have got you to count them out and then say “the next card will be your card”. I’d have made your choice into an odd number. You wouldn’t have spotted that, because you only do it once. Words are magic also, Simon. That’s the point I’m making.’

He nodded, thinking.

‘It’s a really simple trick,’ he said eventually.

‘Told you,’ I replied. ‘And now you feel cheated. You’ve seen the zipper up the monster’s back.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ The bell was about to go. I put my stuff into my backpack, picked up what was left of the apple. It would go into the bin on my way to class. I stood and looked at Simon. ‘One last thing,’ I said. ‘I told you the any card at any number trick was made famous by David Berglas. The reason he’s a legend is that he didn’t use a Svengali pack or any other kind of force tactic. The decks he used were genuine, and to this day no one knows how he did it. No one. And that includes the best magicians in the world.’

Simon stood also.

‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘Do you have any theories?’

‘Maybe his magic was real,’ I said.