As we round the corner I spot her right away, there leaning against the lamppost with her gleaming legs tightly crossed, central to my vision like she had deliberately stood where I was going to look. 'How about her?' I say to Howie, and with a grin he pulls over.

The girl smiles and walks across to the car, and I'm struck by this look she has- all bright and shiny, like the sunlight's just streaming straight through her. She's maybe twenty, twenty-one, not too tall, not too blonde, and with enough showing below the line of her little yellow top to tell me she must exercise her belly every day to keep it that shape.

'Are you going anywhere near Brinwell?' she asks, and I give Howie a look that tells him we are, but we're not going to get there any time soon. He chuckles, and I'm sparing a thought for all those unfortunate guys who don't have a friend like Howie. He's one of those men that easily make a lot of friends, because nobody wants to be his enemy.

'Would you like a lift?' he says with that smile of his, the one he uses on his audiences. You can't resist that smile. 'We're heading right past where you want to be, we can drop you off.'

This plan of his is working brilliantly already. I look away from the girl as she goes round to the back seat, not wanting her to see that I'm beaming right across my face. She gets in so quickly and quietly that I hardly even hear the car door close; I'm concentrating so hard on keeping myself from laughing out loud. The poor girl, she doesn't know what's coming.

I was living with him when we were students down this way, and to my young self, having someone like Howie close by was an invaluable resource. He got into hypnotism when he was only thirteen, after reading a book about it from the school library, one of those books they never expect anyone to find and have probably forgotten all about anyhow. By the time I met him, he was getting very good at it, and now that his show has taken off I guess he must be up to professional standard, much as he moans about the pay. I'm looking forward to seeing what he can do.

He turns around and smiles at the girl. She smiles back, but I see their eyes lock, I've seen it a hundred times. That's it, all done, now she's ours.

Howie rolls the car forwards, and it doesn't take long for the landscape to change. Funny how, down here, you can be at a beach one second and plunged right into the middle of the countryside the next. Everything changes just like that when you're in a car, flashing from one scene to another, especially the way Howie drives.

'So,' I say, not wanting to let the silence last, 'what's your name?' I hope she doesn't notice I'm looking at her legs and the way that they're crossed, higher than the knee, and very tightly. What's she trying to hide? Do I look like someone who would stare, given the chance?

I force my eyes upward.

'Hayley,' she says, but doesn't smile. The corners of her mouth move up - she turns that frown upside-down - but it's not a smile, it's a polite signal. I guess she hasn't had time to feel comfortable with us.

She ain't seen nothing yet.

She's very nice on the eyes, which is great news. I manage to run my eyes up her legs while she's looking out the window and I feel my eyebrows jump up because they just don't end, like thinking you're at the top of the stairs but there's one step left, I stumble over how high up her legs go before they cross and vanish into that little khaki skirt. But she's not very tall, funny that. In fact she's not very big at all, it's a wonder a girl her size could carry a rucksack as vast as the one that's grinding down into the seat to her right. What's it packed with? I can only see the top of one of those family-size drinks bottles poking out from where it hasn't done up properly.

Stop staring, Terry; you'll pull a muscle or something.

'Have you hurt yourself?'

I start at her words, before I remember the cast on my foot. 'I broke my ankle. It was my own fault. I had a momentary lapse of shame and tried to walk along a high wall. I'm just glad nobody was there to see it.'

She smiles. I guess I broke the ice. 'I'm here on holiday. I'm just hiking around the county, trying to see where I can get.'

'So you'll want a place to stay the night.'

Howie laughs. 'You work fast, Terry.'

'I mean room and board. In Brinwell.'

'Brinwell, huh? What have you got going up there.'

I can't believe him sometimes. 'Howard, she just said, she's hiking around.'

'Sorry,' he says with a grin, 'I wasn't listening.'

I think it's about time we began. I'm already looking at those legs again.

'Go on,' I whisper. He clears his throat.

'Since you're already on your way to Brinwell,' he calls back, 'I guess I wouldn't mind if you decided to sleep.'

As soon as he's said it, all the life drains from her eyes. It's eerie.

'Don't keep her in long,' I say, but he just smiles and waves it off.

'You are becoming aware that your bladder is full,' he says, in a voice that sounds too casual. I half doubt it'll work at all. 'You become, with every passing second, increasingly desperate. However, you will not be able to see any way that you could relieve yourself, every public toilet we pass, you will see it as a drinks stand.'

I laugh. Ingenious twist, Howie. He always knew how to do irony.

'Okay,' he says, and she's released.

Her legs squeeze together. I can't believe it's as simple as that.

I give him a look asking him "How do you do that?" He gives me one back that means, "Like I'd tell you."

He's not heading for Brinwell, I know that much. We would probably be there by now if he had been. Instead he's driving around, letting me watch, to make sure he has done it properly. I asked him this morning if he was a hack, if these hypnotism shows were all just tricks done with audience plants, but I'm starting to come round to the idea that when he said he'd prove it, he really wasn't lying.

The girl's face has fallen even further, she's still lovely but in a pouting kind of way, those big eyes of hers are gazing out of the window with longing at all the bushes that line the roads out here.

'Are you okay?' I ask.

'Yeah,' she says in reply, and she doesn't mind that I was here when my friend was talking to her about her bladder. I asked Howie about it once, he said they can remember being talked to, but they don't think of it as a special event, their brain remembers it like it would remember a fly going past, and if they happen to think back to the hypnotism it just washes over, like a blind spot. They remember what the hypnotist told them, but they just don't care, and they definitely don't suspect it has anything to do with what's happening to them.

What's happening to Hayley is she's looking for a toilet and not finding one. I see a hand slide down across the top of her hip, then falter and go back.

'We were wondering about stopping for drinks on the way,' I invent, just to see her reaction. 'Would that be okay?'

She looks at me with a bothered frown, and then she looks briefly, very briefly, at her watch. Her eyes barely have time to focus before she replies, 'We could, but I'd like to get to Brinwell quickly.'

I smile and turn back. 'It's working,' I whisper to Howie, and he is still grinning to himself.

The drive goes on like this. Twenty minutes pass before I hear her gasp, and I look in the wing mirror and see that she has her eyes screwed shut.

I turn to get a better look. Her legs are tucked under her now, one hand is gripping tightly around the handle of her rucksack and the other is on the armrest in the side of the door, fingers tapping at the hot plastic.

'Are you all right?' I ask her, feeling sympathetic now even though I know it's all just an illusion of the mind.

She thinks a moment, then says, 'I'd like to find a toilet.' She says it calmly, but her eyes are big and round, and locked onto mine.

'I haven't seen one in a while, but we'll keep looking, won't we Howie?'

He nods. She smiles, waiting for me to turn around, and when I do, I see in the wing mirror that she bites her lip hard.

Five minutes pass, then ten, and by fifteen she has her legs down in front of her again, and I can see that the ankles are twisting, the feet rubbing hard against one another. Her eyes stay closed now, and I think to myself how amazing it is that she hasn't worked it out yet. After all, she can remember being hypnotized, way back in the quiet parts of her brain. She could clearly see the public toilets we have driven past, three of them by now, passing through smaller towns and villagges. It's not as if her brain superimposes a picture of a drinks stand over the toilet blocks, Howie told me earlier, she does see them as they are. It's just that the message gets sent to a funny part of her brain and she thinks, until Howie brings her out of it, that a public toilet is a place where you go and buy a drink, and has no accommodation for someone who just needs to urinate.

And she does. Those feet are really grinding together. Her fist keeps clasping and unclasping, not around the rucksack handle now but around her other arm. She plays with her hair, keeps changing position slightly, but it seems to be doing no good. The expression on her face is one of real desperation. I start to feel bad.

'Howie, should we keep this up? Don't you think we ought to let her go?'

I'm whispering just loud enough so he can hear.

'She doesn't need to go,' Howie says in his normal voice. I guess he knows something about hypnotism that I don't, that she can't hear when we talk about what's been done to her. 'It's just a suggestion of the mind. Her mind's feeding her the feelings, but there's nothing real about it.'

'I hope not,' I say, a little irritated, as if it were I in her predicament, 'because ----- won't be pleased if she spoils the seat.' I left out my sister's name there; she's the one who lent me the car. I'd promised to drive Howie to and from his gigs, but after I broke the ankle he's had to do the driving.

I think I hear a little sound from the back of the car, a little moan, but I can't be sure if it was just the engine.

We rattle along for another twenty minutes. I see Hayley start to move about in the back seat. At first it's just shifting her weight, but after ten minutes or so the changing positions become more exaggerated. She'll be sitting looking out of the window, then her eyes will close, her legs will swing up underneath her and her whole body will shift to face the other way.

Finally I see a look wash over her face that makes my heart thump, and not because I'm enjoying it. It's panic. Close to pain, a sort of total desperation that I haven't seen before. I shoot a look at Howie, but he isn't paying attention to her or to me.

'I really should get out,' she says quietly, 'I think I need to find a toilet soon.'

I look over to Howie, who doesn't respond at all. Why is he acting like this? All he was going to do was show me his hypnotism worked, not draw it out like this.

'We'll find you one,' I say decisively, and this time he does see my glare.

Here the roads are high up, at the top of some remote hill. Goodness knows how far he has taken us. We can see, spreading out on either side, a few fairly good sized towns, no doubt teeming with toilets, and I bet that's what she's thinking too, because she is looking back out of the window again, and her eyes are wet.

The car begins to climb up a steep rise in the hill. The car gets heavy and slows down as it tries to climb. 'Come on, Howie,' I say.

The girl's head bows. She looks up again - I can definitely see a small tear working out of one of her eyes - then closes her eyes, grits her teeth and ducks her head again. She doesn't think she can hold on. But it's all in her mind. Isn't it?

One hand disappears between her legs, which she crosses hard over it.

Every time I think we're at the top of the hill it goes on some more. The girl can't hold on any more, it's obvious. I wish I could just explain to her that it's all in her mind, help her snap out of it. I wish Howie would bring her out!

Suddenly the car races over the top of the hill. Howie must have been giving it all he had because as soon as the car hits a downward slope it lurches into top speed. The girl's rucksack tips, and the huge family-size drink bottle slides out and onto the seat.

It's empty. Totally. There are droplets on the sides.

The girl lets out another moan, and adds a second hand to the efforts of the first.

'Howie,' I snap, 'it's real. It's not in her mind; it's real! She drank a family-sized bottle before we picked her up! All you've gone and done is help it along! Howie, you idiot, she's...' I lower my voice. 'She's going to do it in here, Howie, on the seat. She can't hold on, and my sister's car is going to be ruined. Now for goodness sake, let her out will you?'

'It's not real,' he says, but he turns off the road onto another, which seems to lead down to one of the towns.

'We'll find you a toilet,' I say to Hayley, and all she can do is nod a little. Her face is screwed up tight and I see the muscles in her arms tense as she squeezes.

The car takes ten minutes to drive all the way down the road and towards the town. There's a gulped cry from the back seat. I try not to look around.

There's a toilet up ahead; I can see it. Howie puts his foot down, and just as he's about to zoom up the road, between the picturesque houses and town buildings towards the block in the center, a tractor pulls out of a side road right in front of us.

Howie swears under his breath.

'Oh, now you seem to care,' I say angrily. 'Thanks for that.'

He pauses for a moment. 'Terry, I can't have anyone having an accident in this car. What if she were to sue? The evidence would have seeped so far into the seats there would be no denying it!'

I can't believe he just said that, so I don't reply. Instead I just sit forcefully back into the seat, arms folded, face red. Behind me I can see Hayley practically writhing, and meanwhile, the car is not moving at all.

'Hayley, do you want to try getting out and walking?' I ask.

'I -' she pauses for breath. 'I can't! Can't stand up!'

Both her feet, I notice, are drawn up to her now, on the seat. With her little skirt lifted by her legs I can see where her fingers are pressing on.

It's damp.

'We'll get you there,' I say, and glower at Howie.

The tractor takes an age to lead us up the road. Hayley has stopped changing positions now and remains, feet on the seat, forehead resting on her knees, and both hands pressing furiously.

'Howie,' I warn. He just snorts.

The girl looks left and right, and then lets out a cry. The tractor is still there. The toilet is just up ahead. Then she gasps, and there's a flash of wetness, which sprinkles out in front of her. I blink and wonder if I really saw that. A tear is running down her other cheek. Her fingers are pressing on harder. Her knees are knocking together.

I look back at Howie. He smiles. The tractor pulls out and goes down a side road. The toilet is just next to us now. He'll slow the car down now.

'It's all right Hayley,' I say, and then I lurch back into the back of the chair as Howie slams down the pedal and the car roars forwards, past the toilet block and up the road. What can I do but stare at him as he lets the car speed ahead?  What else can I do?

'No,' she groans, turning her head against the back of the seat and banging her knees together harder.

'Howie!' I splutter, finally.

'It's not real,' he grins, driving on. But it is, I know it is. I can see the empty bottle. He isn't listening!

'No,' she cries out, and her knees stop knocking.

Suddenly there's a stream that bursts free. Her fingers dig in and it stops, splattering down onto the floor of the car.

Her head rolls; her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. 'No!'

A second stream sails across into the back of my chair. I can see the seat under her is wet. I can see it streak out through the material and between her fingers. She cries out, and more sprays forward with force, spattering the back of the seat and her legs, running down onto the seat and flowing in pools off onto the floor. She writhes in agony.

There's a terrible, lingering pause, a few precious seconds of nothingness, when the poor girl's face twists even more, so vast is the effort she has to exert to keep all of that rushing, raging liquid inside her. She must be thinking about shame, about how much like a nightmare this is.

All she says when her lips crack apart is, "This isn't real," before the flow begins again.

I turn to Howie. 'This isn't funny any more. She'll sue. It's not funny.'

He roars with laughter and carries on up the road. Why would he find this so amusing? Hasn't he messed with this girl's mind enough for today?

Then, as a long spray comes all the way forward between the two front seats and sprinkles down over the handbrake, I begin to think about something. I look behind me at the crying, writhing girl on the back seat, and the damp seat underneath her, and I wonder about what sort of person Howie is. What sort of joke might make him laugh?

His mind games are very clever, after all. He has proven that much to me today. But how clever? No. Surely not, would he even think of it? The floor of the car isn't wet. I can see puddles there, but the car isn't wet. Not when I look carefully. Still the sunlight from the windows outside is streaming right through the girl.

She gives a wail and further streams begin running in rings around her bare legs.

'This isn't real,' she moans.

Glaring at the laughing hypnotist in the driver's seat, I realize that she is indeed correct.

Piccolo

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