Star Trap Read Online Free Page B

ensure his welcome, but it was unnecessary. As he entered the door, both Jim and Susie’s eyes lit up and, with a cry of ‘Baby-sitter!’, they installed him in an arm-chair in front of the television and went off to the pictures. ‘Imagine,’ said Susie, ‘actually going to see a film. The excitement. We used to go about twice a week, but since that came along, we just haven’t. At all. Bless you, Charles.’
    â€˜What happens if it –’
    â€˜Oh, he won’t. He’s terribly good. But if he does, there’s some Phenergan on the dresser. Cheerio.’ And the door slammed.
    â€˜What’s Phenergan?’ asked Charles weakly, but he realised they couldn’t hear. He also realised that the slam of the door had woken the baby.
    He switched on the television, determined that the child would soon be asleep again. It was a colour set (Jim’s career was obviously flourishing), but Charles caught the end of an old black and white movie. It was British, some story about a small boy bringing together his estranged parents. The father was an airman and there was a lot of stiff upper lip stuff about one last mission. The boy was a beautiful child, with a perfectly proportioned baby face and blond curls. Charles wondered idly if it was Christopher Milton in his child star days.
    It was becoming clear that the baby was not going back to sleep. The keening cry sawed through the noise of the television. Charles looked at his watch. Twenty-five past seven. The crying showed no signs of abating and he didn’t want to miss the beginning of the show. He went into the night-lit nursery and mumbled soothingly over the cot. The screams redoubled in volume. In the sitting-room music built to an heroic conclusion. He picked up the baby in its blanket and returned to the television.
    The film credits flashed past. The child star was not Christopher Milton. Gareth Somebody, another who had no doubt vanished without trace to become an accountant or an estate agent or a double glazing salesman. After the film came a trailer for a programme on Northern Ireland to be shown the following night.
    The baby was not taking kindly to its move. The little mouth strained open like a goldfish and the pebble eyes almost vanished in folds of skin as it screamed. It was a long time since Charles had held a baby and he had forgotten the little tricks he had used when his own daughter Juliet was small. He tried rocking the little bundle and murmuring the Skye Boat Song. It didn’t work.
    On the television screen the credits rolled. Inevitably, ‘CHRISTOPHER MILTON’ came first. Then ‘in STRAIGHT UP, GUV – by WALLY WILSON’. Then ‘with’ the names of a couple of those comedy supports who are never out of work and the inevitable wild studio applause faded into the show proper. (Why do studio audiences always applaud signature tunes and credits? The fact that they clap when nothing has happened casts serious doubts on the credibility of their subsequent reactions.) The episode started; Charles couldn’t hear a word above the baby’s howls.
    In desperation he dipped a finger in his Scotch and proffered it to the bellowing mouth. The tiny lips closed round it as if determined to remove the skin. But there was silence.
    It didn’t last. After a few moments the suction was released and the bellowing recommenced. Charles hastily dipped his finger back in the glass and the mouth clamped on again. By repeating the process every two minutes he found he could watch Straight Up, Guv in comparative comfort.
    It was not bad. The show was built around the adventures of a second-rate con-man Lionel Wilkins (played of course by Christopher Milton), whose attempts to pull off the big coup were always crowned with disaster. Wally Wilson’s script was workmanlike, but uninspired; it was Christopher Milton’s performance which raised it above the ordinary. Lionel Wilkins