In A Dark Wood. Shaun Whiteside

and Marcus listens to the music.

      Don’t bring me down.

      No no, no no, no no, no no, no, ooh ooh.

      The deep black water of the canal.

      Suddenly he thinks of the canal behind the funfair. It’s an image that stands before his eyes like a rock-solid black-and-white photograph. He has no idea why.

      No plan to drown myself this evening, he thinks.

      Still black water motionless between the banks of the canal. Low-roofed houses.

      Down, down, down, down, down.

      I’ll tell you once more before I get off the floor,

      don’t bring me down.

      Anne and Berte have disappeared into the swarming crowd queuing for the ticket desk.

      A bell rings, the dodgems come to a standstill, and suddenly the floor of the tent is a mêlée of people storming in and out and others who want to get in. The speakers under the roof roar out a new song.

       Hey you, don’t watch that, watch this!

      This is the heavy heavy monster sound,

      the nuttiest sound around.

       So if you’ve come in off the street

       and you’re beginning to feel the heat …

      Around a bright-red car, somewhere in the left-hand corner, two young men start pulling at each other. Their girlfriends are screaming at each other. Staff come running.

       ONE STEP BEYOND!

      In the space thus formed a fist flies through the air. Someone falls backwards, into a group of leather-clad boys. Another jumps over a dodgem car.

       ONE STEP BEYOND!

      Arms wave through the air. A girl shrieks, high and loud. From the circle of people waiting outside the tent someone throws a tin of beer at what is now a fighting tangle. A man goes sprawling and lies on the floor.

       ONE STEP BEYOND!

      Near the ticket desk, peering around the corner, Anne and Berte stand watching the rolling tangle of people in the tent.

      And then, just as unexpectedly as it began, it comes to an end. A few men walk outside with torn eyebrows and bloody noses, clapping each other on the shoulder and grinning as if congratulating each other on the result. A fat guy with a spotty face and a denim jacket with Motörhead on it walks past Marcus, bumps against his shoulder and snarls: ‘Watch where you’re going, arsehole!’ Marcus watches thoughtfully after him.