Collective scepticism

The theatre was a converted Anglican church. Was there perhaps a lingering, antagonistic Christian spirit at work here tonight? Or was there perhaps a rival medium in the audience, blocking the channels? These were very real possibilities, said Paul, barely suppressing his anger. But he rather thought that the root cause was the collective scepticism of the audience. He had to say that we were one of the most difficult audiences he and wife Tracy had ever had to work with. It was almost unbelievable, he said, but he’d heard titters and even ‘comments’.

Tracy was close to tears. She began to pace the stage. ‘I’m getting a Daniel,’ she said. ‘I can see a motorcycle helmet. There’s been an accident. Does anyone know a Daniel killed in a motorbike accident?’ So far there’d been no takers for a passed-on poodle, a little boy with fair hair possibly drowned, a stillborn baby, and a man called Colin or Collins.