I think.

You get the same old bunch at these kinds of gigs.There's the organiser, and a few members of the committee,some lads from the village who'd sort of drifted inbecause there wasn't much on the box except snooker.Everyone wore a mask but hadn't made an effort with therest of the clothes so it looked as though Frankenstein andCo had all gone shopping in Marks and Sparks. There wereScouts' posters on the wall and those special kinds ofvillage hall radiators that suck the heat in. It smelled oftennis shoes. Just to sort of set the seal on it as one of thehotspots of the world there was a little mirror ball spinningup the rafters. Half the little mirrors had fallen off.

All right, maybe three cups. But it had bits of applefloating in it. Nothing serious has bits of apple floatingin it.

Wayne started with a few hot numbers to get themstomping. I'm speaking metaphorically here, you understand.None of this boogie on down stuff, all you couldhear was people not being as young as they used to be.

Now, I've already said Wayne wasn't exactly cut out forthe business, and that night - last night - he was worsethan usual. He kept mumbling, and staring at the dancers.He mixed the records up. He even scratched one.Accidentally, I mean - the only time I've ever seenWayne really angry, apart from the Greebo business,was when scratch music came in.

It would have been very bad manners to cut in, so atthe first break I went up to him and, let me tell you, hewas sweating so much it was dropping on to the mixer.

'It's that bloke on the floor,' he said, 'the one in theflares. '

'Methuselah?' I said.

'Don't muck about. The black silk suit with therhinestones. He's been doing John Travolta impersonationsall night. Come on, you must have noticed. Platformsoles. Got a silver medallion as big as a plate. Skullmask. He was over by the door.'

I hadn't seen anyone like that. Well, you'd remember,wouldn't you?

Wayne's face was frozen with fear. 'You must have!'

'So what, anyway?'

'He keeps staring at me!'

I patted his arm. 'Impressed by your technique, oldson,' I said.

I took a look around the hall. Most people were millingaround the punch now, the rascals. Wayne grabbed myarm.

'Don't go away!'

'I was just going out for some fresh air.'

'Don't...' He pulled himself together. 'Don't go. Hangaround. Please.'

'What's up with you?'

'Please, John! He keeps looking at me in a funny way!'

He looked really frightened. I gave in. 'Okay. But pointhim out next time.'

I let him get on with things while I tied to neaten upthe towering mess of plugs and adapters that wasWayne's usual contribution to electrical safety. If you'vegot the kind of gear we've got - okay, had - you can spendhours working on it. I mean, do you know how manydifferent kinds of connectors ... all right.

In the middle of the next number Wayne hauled meback to the decks.

'There! See him? Right in the middle!'

Well, there wasn't. There were a couple of girls dancingwith each other, and everyone else were just couples whowere trying to pretend the Seventies hadn't happened.Any rhinestone cowboys in that lot would have stood outlike a strawberry in an Irish stew. I could see that sometact and diplomacy were called for at this point.

'Wayne,' I said, 'I reckon you're several coupons shortof a toaster.'

'You can't see him, can you?'

Well, no. But . , .

... since he mentioned it , . .

... I could see the space.

There was this patch of floor around the middle of thehall which everyone was keeping clear of. Except thatthey weren't avoiding it, you see, they just didn't happento be moving into it. It was just sort of accidentally there.And it stayed there. It moved around a bit, but it neverdisappeared.

All right, I know a patch of floor can't move around.Just take my word for it, this one did.

The record was ending but Wayne was still in controlenough to have another one spinning. He faded it up, abit of an oldie that they'd all know.

'Is it still there?' he said, staring down at the desk.

'It's a bit closer,' I said. 'Perhaps it's after a spot prize.'

... I wanna live forever ...

'That's right, be a great help.'

... people will see me and cry ...

There were quite a few more people down there now,but the empty patch was still moving around, all right,was being avoided, among the dancers.

I went and stood in it.

It was cold. It said: GOOD EVENING.

The voice came from all around me, and everythingseemed to slow down. The dancers were just statues in akind of black fog, the music a low rumble.

'Where are you?'

BEHIND YOU.

Now, at a time like this the impulse is to turn around,but you'd be amazed at how good I was at resisting it.

'You've been frightening my friend,' I said.

I DID NOT INTEND TO.

'Push off.'

THAT DOESN'T WORK, I AM AFRAID.

I did turn around then. He was about seven feet tall inhis, yes, his platform soles. And, yes, he wore flares, butsomehow you'd expect that. Wayne had said they wereblack but that wasn't true. They weren't any colour at all,they were simply clothes-shaped holes into SomewhereElse. Black would have looked blinding white by comparison.He did look a bit like John Travolta from thewaist down, but only if you buried John Travolta forabout three months.

It really was a skull mask. You could see the sting.

'Come here often, do you?'

I AM ALWAYS AROUND.

'Can't say I've noticed you.' And I would have done.You don't meet many seven-foot, seven-stone peopleevery day, especially ones that walked as though theyhad to think about every muscle movement in advanceand acted as though they were alive and dead at the sametime, like Cliff Richard.

YOUR FRIEND HAS AN INTERESTING CHOICE OFMUSIC.

'Yes. He's a collector, you know.'

I KNOW. COULD YOU PLEASE INTRODUCE ME TOHIM?

'Could I stop you?'

I DOUBT IT.

All right, perhaps four cups. But the lady serving saidthere was hardly anything in it at all except orangesquash and home-made wine, and she looked a dearold soul. Apart from the Wolfman mask, that is.

But I know all the dancers were standing like statuesand the music was just a faint buzz and there were these,all these blue and purple shadows around everything. Imean, drink doesn't do that.

Wayne wasn't affected. He stood with his mouth open,watching us.

'Wayne,' I said, 'this is-'

A FRIEND.

'Whose?' I said, and you could tell I didn't take to theperson, because his flares were huge and he wore one ofthose silver identity bracelets on his wrist, the sort youcould moor a battleship with, and they look so posey; thefact that his wrist was solid bone wasn't doing anythingto help, either. I kept thinking there was a conclusion Iought to be jumping to, but I couldn't quite get arunning start. My head seemed to be full of wool.

EVERYONE'S, he said, SOONER OR LATER. I UNDER-STAND YOU'RE SOMETHING OF A COLLECTOR.

'Well, in a small-' said Wayne.

I GATHER YOU'RE ALMOST AS KEEN AS I AM,WAYNE.

Wayne's face lit up. That was Wayne, all right. I'llswear if you shot him he'd come alive again if it meanta chance to talk about his hobby, sorry, his lifetime'swork.

'Gosh,' he said. 'Are you a collector?'

ABSOLUTELY.

Wayne peered at him. 'We haven't met before, havewe?' he said. 'I go to most of the collectors' meetings.Were you at the Blenheim Record Fest and Auction?'

I DON'T RECALL. I GO TO SO MANY THINGS.

'That was the one where the auctioneer had a heartattack.'

OH. YES. I SEEM TO REMEMBER POPPING IN, JUSTFOR A FEW MINUTES.

'Very few bargains there, I thought.'

OH. I DON'T KNOW. HE WAS ONLY FORTY-THREE,