Now You See It... Now It’s Just Awkward

On the cobbled fringe of Leicester Square, nestled between a suspiciously smug hot dog cart and the ever-watchful bronze gaze of the Bugs Bunny statue, stood a small man in a purple velvet cape that had obviously once seen better days. The cape flared every time he moved, well, at least, it tried. One corner was caught in the Velcro of his bag, and the other trailed along the pavement like an introvert at a networking event.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed out, raising his voice above the clamour of the TikTok dancers, the revelling football fans on the way to a match, and the tinny hum of someone playing “Hallelujah” on a cheap recorder. “Prepare to be astounded, even baffled, and possibly... deeply confused.”

A cluster of tourists slowed their steps slightly, maybe some were curious or even suspicious. One or two paused purely because their legs were tired. But Maxwell didn’t care. In his mind, an audience was an audience, even if one of them was a dog wearing sunglasses, it didn’t matter; they were looking at him, if only briefly.

“Behold! I am Maxwell the Magnificent!” he declared, sweeping his cape with a dramatic flourish. It caught a gust of wind and slapped him directly in the face, and he got a response.

A child snorted. Someone clapped. Out of pity or encouragement, he couldn’t tell. Still, Maxwell pressed on, the eternal optimist or, depending on your perspective, the delusional dreamer.

Now, to the average Londoner, Maxwell might have looked like just another street magician. A washed-up wizard with a tatty suitcase full of questionable props, a rabbit puppet with one ear permanently drooping, and eyeliner that had definitely been applied with his eyes closed. But Maxwell, his real name being Gary, had a dream. Not an oversized dream. Just one that might involve a Vegas stage, and some real props that actually worked. He would even buy himself a new cape, one that didn’t smell faintly of chip grease and things he couldn’t name.

And today was going to be different.

“Observe closely,” he said, holding up a playing card and waving it in front of the small audience that had begun to gather, or stopped to photograph the Bugs Bunny statue. “I shall make this card disappear before your very eyes!” he declared.

However, the child in the front row, a girl with an ice cream cone and the kind of unimpressed expression usually reserved for tax accountants, shook her head.

“You’re holding it backwards,” she said flatly.

Maxwell hesitated for a second, then flipped the card around. “Ah. Well, a magician always needs to ensure his audience is actually paying attention. Good job, well done, have a sticker.” He said and rummaged in his coat pocket, producing a creased Peppa Pig sticker that had most definitely seen a hard life.

“Right then,” he said, once the laughter had finally died down. “Let’s try something a bit more... mystical, then.”

He reached for his top hat, the tall, slightly wonky hat perched proudly on top of a wooden stool. It had once been jet black but had a hard life and had since faded into a sort of defeated charcoal. As he tapped the rim dramatically and muttered a chant, he made up on the spot; he attempted to produce a dove.

Instead, a feather popped out like a sad surprise.

Maxwell stared at the feather. The feather stared back. Silence lingered awkwardly.

Then he cleared his throat and said, “The dove has decided to work remotely from home today. Budget cuts, you know how it is.”

A few chuckles came from the dwindling audience, from where, he didn’t see. One man shook his head, smiling. Though it was not a kind smile, more of a resigned smirk, but he misinterpreted it, so kept going.

Leicester Square, with all its chaos and charisma, had always been a strange place for a magician. It was a melting pot of characters from the buskers, the tourists, the well-dressed theatre goers, to the pigeons that were always plotting a bombing run on the unsuspecting visitors.

And smack in the middle of it all, was that thing that the pigeons loved to use as their target practice, the Bugs Bunny statue, posing eternally in mid-sprint with a carrot frozen between his fingers. Maxwell had always found it oddly inspiring, though as yet, he hadn’t figured out why.

“You and me, Bugs,” he murmured during one of many quiet moments, adjusting the wig on his puppet rabbit. “We’re just a couple of entertainers trying to make people laugh, though I would prefer they applauded and tossed money in the hat on occasion instead.”

The puppet, whose name was Rupert, had seen better days. One of its button eyes dangled precariously by a thread, and its mouth barely opened anymore. But Maxwell still talked to him like he was a co-star. Or maybe this was Maxwell’s therapist.

“You think I should retire the hat trick?” he asked Rupert that afternoon, as the wind tugged at his posters dotted around the square.

The puppet flopped slightly in response.

“Yeah, I agree,” he nodded solemnly. “Maybe fire. Fire always works up the croud.”

Later that day, his performance took an unexpected turn. He was halfway through his classic disappearing coin trick, where, in theory, the coin vanishes from one hand and reappears behind someone’s ear, when the coin genuinely vanished.

Not behind an ear of someone in the audience. Not underfoot. It had just... gone.

“Oh no,” he whispered, patting his pockets. “That was my last quid he had in the world.”

“Maybe it vanished into your dignity,” said a voice behind him. Maxwell turned to find a rival magician. Daniel the Daring. Except Daniel wasn’t really daring at all. He was just competent. He was also young, and his act was crisp. The kind of guy who wore a fitted waistcoat that was as new as it looked and he had actual business cards printed on textured paper, and both sides, to boot.

Daniel gave a theatrical bow and then proceeded to pull a scarf out of his sleeve that went on for several full minutes. His crowd grew like a mushroom after rain. Except it wasn’t his crowd, it was Daniel’s.

Maxwell turned back to his stool and muttered, “Overcompensating, young git. Probably owns a really tiny wand.”

But the damage had been done. The audience began to drift away, drawn by Daniel’s confident smile and birds that actually flew. Like a modern day pied piper.

Maxwell stood alone, that was apart from Bugs Bunny and the little girl from earlier, who was still there, watching him quietly.

“Are you gonna do any real magic, mister?” she asked, licking the side of her ice cream as it started melting.

He looked down at her. She couldn’t have been more than six, but she had the disarming bluntness of someone who’d already seen too much nonsense in her short life.

Maxwell crouched beside her.

“Real magic?” he said. “You mean like turning invisible? Or maybe you would prefer me to levitate? Maybe just making your little brother vanish into thin air for a whole weekend?”

She giggled, like little girls do. “No, like... like making something really cool happen in front of my eyes.”

Maxwell thought for a moment, then pulled out a small purple velvet pouch from his pocket.

“Alright then. One more trick, and this one is just for you.”

He took a deep breath, and whispered some nonsensical incantation for effect, and reached into the pouch. When he pulled his hand out, a flurry of bright glitter burst into the air, sparkling, twinkling, and catching the sunlight just right.

The little girl's eyes grew like golf balls as she gasped in surprise.

“It’s fairy dust,” he whispered. “A very rare thing. Don’t tell the elves.”

She beamed. “That was actually kinda cool.” She said.

Maxwell smiled and, for the first time that day, felt a flicker of the magic he’d always believed in. The magic of making someone smile.

As evening began to fall, Maxwell sat on the edge of the fountain, soaking in the golden hues of dusk and the smog in the air. The square was quieter now, with most of the day’s noise fading into a sleepy hum. The hot dog man was packing up for the night, and even Daniel the Daring had disappeared, probably off to a paid gig or a date with someone who liked magic more than sarcasm.

Maxwell leaned against his suitcase with Rupert tucked under one arm. His cape was still trailing, now wet at the hem.

“You think we’re ridiculous, don’t you?” he asked the puppet, then sighed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Just then, the girl reappeared from nowhere, holding out a crumpled £5 note.

“For the fairy dust,” she said. “It made my mum laugh, and she hasn’t smiled and laughed like that since Dad left.”

Maxwell paused a moment.

“Hey,” he said, kneeling to her level, “you keep that, alright? And here—” he took the Peppa Pig sticker from earlier, peeled it carefully, and stuck it on her hand. “Tell your mother it’s enchanted. It gives you luck, confidence or both.”

She nodded solemnly and skipped away with a spring in her step.

He watched her go, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Rupert wobbled in his arm as if the puppet were nudging him.

“Yeah,” Maxwell murmured to Rupert. “Maybe we’ll stay a while longer.”

And as the stars began to wink above Leicester Square, and the glow of the city bathed Bugs Bunny in moonlight, Maxwell the Magnificent, his cape, his puppet, the glitter, and all were packed away in his suitcase, ready for another day. The tricks weren’t perfect by any means. The crowd was always small. But sometimes, that one person sees you at just the right moment and it lights up your day.

And that, he thought with a small smile, was the best kind of magic.