Out In A Jiffy

Edgar’s cheeky face beams back at me from the programme in my hand. I won’t open it just yet. I don’t want to ruin the stunt he’s going to pull. There’s a reason I always get a front row seat at his performances.

It’s his biggest audience ever. Hundreds of people, all in their best suits, have turned out. They must be expecting Edgar’s most dangerous show yet. But he’ll be out in a jiffy; he always is.

Last month he uncuffed himself while upside down in a tank of cold water. He wore nothing but sparkly boxer shorts and emerged in a jiffy to cheers and whooping. The previous month, he gave me the sweetest kiss before being locked inside an old-style bank safe. “I’ll be out in a jiffy,” he promised, and true to his catch phrase, he was standing beside me again within moments. Today’s dazzling feat of escapology will be no different.

The master of ceremonies is dressed in an odd black suit with a broad white band at his collar. He’s introducing the spectacle as Edgar’s four brothers wheel him down the centre aisle. They don’t usually attend his performances, but this one seems to be special. Unexpectedly, Edgar is already inside a box. The crowd might be disappointed at not seeing the process of him being strapped into a straitjacket, or whatever he’s planned to make his escape as breathtaking as possible. He’s a true artist.

Ode To Joy isn’t the usual style of music for these occasions. Edgar tends to keep the classical stuff for his study and has something more suspenseful for public events. Mental note: ask him, why the change of soundtrack?

There must be pollen in the air. People around the hall are wiping their eyes and noses. Good job everyone brought tissues. Someone’s standing up to speak. It’s Edgar’s eldest brother, Charles. Oh, what lovely things he’s saying, and all of them true. Cathy, his favourite aunt, stands up next. She may be a bit overwhelmed by the crowd, but she’s managing to read a poem. Longfellow, Edgar’s favourite.

I linger in my seat as they wheel Edgar out into the gardens in his smart wooden box. He must have something really unusual planned. 

“Are you coming outside?” Cathy takes my arm, ever so gently.

“It’s good of you to wait for me, but I’ll sit a moment.”

“Will you join us, Mary, for Edgar’s final goodbye?”

“Goodbye? He’ll be out of that box in a jiffy.”

“He’s not coming out, Mary. Not this time.”

“Let me see what’s next in the programme.”

“It’s not a programme, my love, it’s an order of service.”

I look down at that cheeky face. A Celebration of Life, it says.

A thousand hard-to-hear words flash around my mind as the last two weeks replay themselves with new meaning.