Simon picked me up on Saturday at just after one in the afternoon.

He’d offered to come to my house but I’d given him the steely glare and arranged to meet him outside the public library. He turned up in a falling-apart Hyundai Getz. I opened the passenger door and the window slid down into the frame.

‘Ah, sorry,’ said Simon. ‘It does that.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It didn’t escape my attention.’

‘You can wedge it up with a thick wad of paper.’

I didn’t. I also resisted suggesting other sites where wedging a thick wad of paper might be appropriate.

I put my little box of tricks in the passenger footwell, among the assorted empty chip packets and sundry Macca’s cartons. There was a chicken nugget stuck on the corner of the mat. It could’ve been there for a day or since the turn of the millennium. You can’t tell with chicken nuggets.

‘Sorry,’ said Simon. ‘I borrowed the car from my cousin and it’s a bit of a mess in here. I meant to clean it out but didn’t get the chance.’

He put the car in gear (there was a faint grinding noise) and pulled out into traffic. Almost literally. A car behind had to slam on its brakes. There was much honking of horns. I didn’t turn around but I’d be willing to bet middle fingers were being raised to the heavens. Simon glanced over. He was turning red and his upper lip glistened with sweat.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Simon,’ I said. ‘I’ve been in the car with you for all of thirty seconds and you have already apologised three times. Are you going for some kind of Guinness world record?’

‘Sorry,’ he said, and started driving. ‘I’m not normally this bad. You must make me nervous or something.’

‘Yup. Absolutely my fault,’ I said.

‘Sorry,’ said Simon.

‘How long have you had your Ps?’ I asked.

‘Oh, quite some time.’ He didn’t glance at me.

‘How long?’

‘Er . . . three weeks.’

‘So you are normally this bad.’

‘Yeah. Sorry.’

He calmed down a little bit after that and we avoided any further close encounters. He relaxed enough to tell me about the gig. The parents were expecting about twenty kids to turn up. The birthday rugrat herself was called Emily and it was expected that I would involve her particularly in my magic show. I didn’t really need to be told that as it seemed common sense, but never mind. I was going to be put on before the cutting of the cake and the lunch, so no tiny tacker was liable to throw up all over me. The disadvantage was that they’d all be looking forward to the cake and fairy bread and all that crap, so I might be seen as an unwelcome starter to the main course. The better news was that little Emily would have opened her presents by the time we got there, so she’d be in a good mood. All presents bar one. Apparently Emily, remarkably for a five-year-old, was heavily into unicorns, and her mum and dad were keen that I should produce one in magical form at some point in the show. They’d bought the unicorn toy and would show it to me when we got there, but it was electronic and did unicorny-type things when you pressed buttons.

Sounded appalling.

‘How did you get this booking, Simon?’ I said when all of this had been explained with some sideways glancing from the driver.

‘Ah.’ He scratched his nose. ‘Emily is actually my niece. Her mum, Frances, is my sister. So, word of mouth, really.’

‘Your word, your mouth.’

‘But Frances has got lots of contacts through child care and now through kindy, so this could be just the start, Grace.’

A disturbing thought hit me.

‘Who’s paying the fee?’ I asked. ‘Sixty bucks, I believe you said.’

‘Ah.’ He did the nose-scratching thing again. ‘Well, half of it’s from me, actually. Mum and Dad chipped in the rest. It’s my present to Emily. My sis and her husband thought it was a great idea. You know, better than Play-Doh or fluffy stuffed dogs.’

I laughed. This was becoming a habit.

‘It’s good to know I’m a step above Play-Doh,’ I replied. ‘Not to mention stuffed dogs. So, let me get this right. You’re going to give me thirty per cent of your own thirty dollars and give yourself the rest?’

‘Actually, I thought that this first time, you should get all the money, Grace. I mean, I haven’t spent anything yet.’

‘You’ve talked me into it, you charmer.’

Twenty-two four- and five-year-olds, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of me, was a slightly surreal experience. I felt like telling them a story. I remember my old teacher from primary school – Miss Griggs, or something monosyllabic starting with G – would tell the class a story last thing in the day. I’ve never looked forward to anything in my life more than those stories. They were probably crap, with princes and frogs, but I loved them, perhaps because of the ritual, maybe because they offered a glimpse into worlds a long way from mine. They were a type of magic.

Anyway, the kids looked at me like I was a world a long way from theirs. Their gazes were heavy with expectation, my stomach heavy with responsibility. Emily sat right at the front, the guest of honour. She had golden ringlets and a turned-up nose. If you image-searched the word ‘cute’ she’d probably be the first picture that popped up. I smiled at her, but she looked at me as if I was something from a fairytale, alien yet fascinating.

I started with the easy – all that stuff about coins and objects appearing from behind kids’ ears. It was Magic 101, but they were five years old and there were gasps of astonishment and wonder. I took Simon’s advice about talking and kept it to a minimum. I only spoke about fifteen minutes in.

‘There’s a girl here today and it’s her birthday. Can anyone tell me who that girl is?’

There was a mad scuffle. Hands were thrust into the air, fingers pointing, cries of ‘there she is’. Emily squirmed and wriggled like she was giving herself a hug, a broad smile showing teeth with a huge gap at the front. I tried to appear surprised.

‘It’s your birthday?’ I said.

She giggled and nodded.

‘Well, you look to me like a princess, young lady. A beautiful princess on her fifth birthday. But there’s something missing here . . .’ I put a finger to my bottom lip and frowned. ‘What can it be?’ Then I snapped my fingers. ‘I know. A princess needs a tiara, a beautiful tiara with stones that glisten and shine. That’s what she needs.’

I stood and put my hands in the air, lowered them slowly to my sides and then raised them again. I know. It’s sad, but these were five-year-olds, okay? There was a deathly hush, all faces turned up to mine. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I’d been very careful to wear a short-sleeved T-shirt, so my arms were bare and in full view. This was actually a tricky bit of sleight of hand. The smallest mistake could ruin it, but I knew I wouldn’t get it wrong. I crossed my bare hands over my head, uncrossed and crossed them again. This time there was a tiara in them.

I say tiara, but it was actually a plastic piece of crap I’d bought at Dollars and Sense. The finest workmanship two dollars can buy. It had different-coloured beads stuck in it, seemingly at random. It didn’t matter. A collective gasp greeted its appearance. I couldn’t have caused more astonishment if I’d conjured a living elephant, grey and straight from Denmark, on the dining table.

I brought the plastic piece of crap down slowly and placed it on Emily’s head.

‘Princess Emily,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I even bowed my head.

I’ll draw a veil over the rest of the performance. It went well, but I think the tiara was the highlight for the kids. Even better than the freaking electronic unicorn I produced from behind a red cloth right at the end. I even pressed the button on its stomach so the horn lit up and some ghastly song in an American accent droned out as I presented the disgusting thing to the birthday girl. I even went over by fifteen minutes, by popular demand. When I finished, Emily got to her feet and hugged me, which was borderline revolting, but I put up with it. She had her arms around my waist and wouldn’t let go. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to knee her in the head to break her grip, or ask someone to find a crowbar.

‘I love you,’ she said.

No, you don’t, I thought.

Finally, Emily’s mum, Simon’s sister, got her to let me go by offering her a jam lamington.

‘Thank you so much, Grace,’ said Simon’s sister when Emily wandered off to join her mates, who were stuffing their faces with things that in ten years’ time they wouldn’t be seen dead eating. ‘You made Emily’s day. You were absolutely brilliant.’

‘Tell your friends,’ I said.

‘Oh, I will.’

I was invited to stay for a while, presumably to eat jelly or play pass the parcel or something equally unacceptable, but I said I had another appointment. Simon drove me home. I thought for a while that he was using that as an excuse to absent himself from the party permanently, but he told me he was going back to rejoin his parents and the rest of his family at the festivities. This is probably what normal people do, I thought. Thank God my family isn’t normal.

Mum wasn’t home when I got there, and there was no sign of Jake. He disappears for long periods of time. One day I’ll ask him where he goes. Then again, I probably won’t.

I sat in my room and thought.

Soon I was going to shoot a video for my TikTok account and start the process of getting followers. I’d checked out the videos on TikTok that were to do with magic, and some of them were pretty good. Some were shit, of course, but I knew I’d have to do something that would make The Amazing Grace stand out from the crowd.

The only problem was what.