C Christopher
Jack, what a surprise!
What do you mean, surprise?
C Christopher
Not out plying your trade?
What trade is that Christopher?
C Christopher
I see you as a species of medieval pedlar selling relics of the saints of dubious authenticity.
Harry Fair play, Christopher. Jack’s no Roman. I can vouch for that.
C Christopher
I speak metaphorically, Harry. Jack’s trade is the manufacture and supply of easy answers to difficult questions.
Why is the beer in this pub always cold? Cold beer. Chills the stomach. Has no taste.
E Eddie
I have a complaint about the wardrobe.
R Rupert
Complaint ? Our children love it.
C Christopher
I will not have another blasted conversation about Jack’s blasted nursery.
E Eddie
No. No, listen. Listen. In the book you describe the house as belonging to an old professor who has no wife and yet… You say when the little girl enters the magic wardrobe she finds it full of fur coats.
C Christopher
Very good, Eddie. Not bad.
It’s simple. Simple. It belongs to the professor's old mother. Simple.
J John
So to reach the magic world the child must push through the mother’s fur?
No, John, it’s not like that hand-me down Freudianism.
Harry But the imagery is Christian surely.
No, Harry it’s what it is. It’s just itself. It’s…. It’s just magic: Magic. Look. Let me show you. The child steps into the wardrobe. The coats are thick and heavy.
J John
What about the fur?
Fur’s not important, John. The child must push through. They’re pressing close, almost suffocating and suddenly there’s white light. Crisp cold air. Trees. Snow. Total contrast you see. It’s a gateway to a magical world.
Harry Well, she is your friend of course. But, well she's not...family.
Harry No of course not.
Of course not. It’s impossible. It’s unthinkable. How could Joy be my wife? I'd have to love her, wouldn't I? I'd have to care more about her than anyone else in this world. I'd have to be suffering the torments of the damned. The prospect of losing her...
Harry I'm so sorry, Jack. I didn't know.