Free Dying to Sin by Stephen Booth Page B

appear until halfway through Act Two.’
    Oh, God. The Chinese policemen. There were bound to be a few bobby jokes, and people would be looking at him when they laughed.
    ‘No, I’m fine, I don’t want to leave. Stop talking, or people will get annoyed with us.’
    Every panto had its stock characters. There was always a very obvious villain – in this case, Abanazar, who had a large and challenging role, especially if he was going to carry off that turban and scimitar convincingly. And, of course, there was the pantomime dame. This Widow Twankey ran a Chinese laundry in the time-honoured way, allowing for the usual hoary old jokes about being closed for sock-taking, and so on.
    Cooper turned to his programme, squinting to read the print in the subdued light of the theatre. Many of the names of the cast were familiar to him. If he didn’t know the performers themselves, he’d often come across their parents. Or, in the case of the children’s chorus, their grandparents. But most of them were individuals he’d made contact with in a positive way. Pantomime seemed to attract the respectable classes.
    ‘What are you thinking about, Ben?’
    ‘Nothing,’ he whispered. ‘I’m just looking at the programme.’
    ‘You’re not thinking about work?’
    ‘No, of course not.’
    ‘No “of course” about it. I know you.’
    Reading down the list, Cooper found the names of the Chinese police officers. Apart from Inspector Chu, the performers were women. Their names were all local, too – Beeley, Holmes, Wragg, Marsden, Brindley. The latter was probably related to the actor playing Abanazar, since they had the same surname. He wasn’t sure which of them he was supposed to be watching out for.
    ‘Liz, what are your friends called again?’
    ‘Cheryl Hague and Harriet Marsden.’
    ‘Hague? Do I know her?’
    ‘Probably.’
    ‘Is she the attractive blonde we met in the pub last week?’
    ‘Hey. I thought you said not to talk.’
    A storm of booing and jeering greeted Abanazar as he grasped the magic lamp triumphantly and rolled an artificial rock across the cave entrance to entomb Aladdin. That meant there would be a genie making his appearance soon.
    Cooper glanced at Liz, but she was completely absorbed. And she was right, she was starting to know him. They’d been going out for a few months now, a lot longer than any previous girlfriend had lasted. One of the things he liked was that he discovered new aspects of her character all the time, and glimpsed unsuspected parts of her life. She surprised him constantly. This year, she’d even bought a Christmas present for his cat.
    And he hadn’t realized Liz was interested in pantomimes until a few days ago. He supposed he was lucky she wasn’t actually up there on stage in a costume. God forbid, she might even try to persuade him to join the cast.
    Cooper shuddered, then pulled his jacket closer, trying to give the impression he was cold rather than filled with revulsion.
    ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Ben?’
    ‘Absolutely fine. Loving every minute.’
    And here they came, at last – the comedy policemen. A little troop of them, six or seven women of various sizes wearing tunics and tights, and carrying little comic truncheons. Their drooping Fu Manchu moustaches made them unrecognizable, but Liz seemed happy to cheer them indiscriminately.
    Well, perhaps they’d actually arrest the villain and Cooper could cheer, too. But in the meantime, they had to get through a few more awful jokes.
    When Aladdin was over, they squeezed out of the theatre with the crowds, hoping to find somewhere to eat before all the restaurants filled up. It wasn’t the first Aladdin Cooper had been to. He remembered seeing the same show at the same theatre when he was a teenager. In fact, he thought he’d probably watched slightly different versions of it three or four times.
    There were only a handful of traditional pantomimes, and they seemed to come round regularly, as if on a strict