Pepper's Ghost
Pepper’s Ghost by Louise Andrews It was Christmas Eve at the Liverpool Empire. Dad and me had come to see a production of T he Nutcracker . I forget the precise year. It was perhaps nineteen ninety one, or maybe ninety two. I know it was the early nineties, for sure, because the video that is projecting from my memory is rich in Christmas colours. I can see bold, saturated reds. Greens and golds. And a lot of baubles, all in these colours. Because that’s what Christmases looked like then. Not so much of the frosty whites and elegant blues that dominate festive décor nowadays. Dad and me were sitting in the bar area, outside of the main auditorium. Both of us in a cute armchair each. We were only missing a crackling fire between us. Dad was keen to get into the Christmas spirit, so he collected a brandy for himself, and bought me a red wine. We had been chatting away for five or so minutes when a young woman – about my age, which is to say twenty-five at the time – approached us...