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dwelling. Although it was midafternoon the room was dark. Unable to hang curtains, Aran had blankets pinned up over all the windows.
    Aran mused for a while. Captain Beefheart’s “Moonlight on Vermont” wailed from his stereo.
    â€œWell, Elfish, you’ll have to try and put it in his mind that by giving you some chance of using the name he can make you look bad, and defeat you in some way, which he will like, because he hates you, and also put it in his mind that he can safely do this because whatever it is you have to do to get the name should be something he doesn’t think you’ll be able to do.”
    Elfish looked blank, which was understandable. Aran saw that he had not explained himself very well.
    â€œWhat I mean is, suppose you challenged him to a fight for the name?”
    â€œHe’d beat me up.”

    â€œWell, yes, but he’d go for it, wouldn’t he? And then if you won the fight you’d get the name.”
    Elfish was particularly unimpressed by this, pointing out that it would do her cause little good to be beaten up by Mo, a man who was three times her size and not averse to violence.
    â€œLearn karate,” suggested Aran.
    â€œThe gig is in nine days’ time, you idiot. I can’t learn karate in nine days. This is not a kung fu movie.”
    â€œWell, we’re getting away from the point here, Elfish. I didn’t mean you should actually challenge him to a fight. Just find some way of enticing him into a situation that seems unwinnable for you, then win it.”
    â€œWhat way?”
    â€œI can’t think of one.”
    â€œWell, that’s a great help, Aran.”
    Elfish was now in a bad mood and was obliged to drink Aran’s last beer to calm herself. When Aran made another attempt to give her a brief commentary on Menander’s Dyskolos her reply was extremely cutting.

twelve
    AS FAR AS Elfish could see, everyone around her had either given up hope or had none to begin with. Although all of them were young, Elfish’s flatmates, fellow musicians and drinking companions seemed already to have abandoned whatever ambitions they might once have had. For this, Elfish despised them.
    With enormous self-belief she made a start on forming her band. The fact that she had as yet no prospect of finding herself in a situation where a band would be of any use to her did not put her off. There were still nine days left until Mo played the gig. If something were to happen which enabled her to claim the name of Queen Mab for a band, she did not intend to be without one. This dream was not going to disappear to the moon.
    As there was no time to place adverts or carry out an extensive search for personnel, Elfish knew that the band would have to be composed of people she already knew. This was not an ideal way to go about things, particularly as in her experience Brixton musicians were failures from the day they first picked up their instruments to the day they sold them to raise money for drugs, but she had no choice.
    She phoned Casaubon, a drummer she had played with some
time ago. She knew that he was always keen to play and asked if he would like the job.
    To her great surprise Casaubon said that he would not. He was too depressed even to look at his drum kit any more.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œMarcia left me last week.”
    â€œWell, that’s the ideal time to play music. It’ll make you feel better.”
    Unfortunately Casaubon was resolute in his depression. Even Elfish, a woman with little sympathy for the world’s problems, could hear that he was in deepest misery.
    â€œThis is stupid,” she said. “I know Marcia. You’re always splitting up and then getting back together again. If I fix things up between you, will you play?”
    Casaubon clutched at this straw with alacrity. His voice became animated with gratitude as he told Elfish that yes, if she fixed things up between him and Marcia, he would