Jonny did as Jonny did: ignored the Monkey Boy. ‘Oh no, I’m serious this time. Deadleeeeeeee.’ Jonny shook away his imaginary friend and addressed his attention once more to the Gibson. The guitar that had once belonged to Robert Johnson? The guitar that the Devil had tuned, down at the crossroads oh so long ago? Jonny’s hands gave a little quiver, too. ‘Are you all right?’ asked Paul. ‘Do you really think it’s real?’ ‘Really Robert Johnson’s, do you mean?’ Jonny mouthed the words, ‘I do.’ Paul just gave a shrug. ‘There’s a picture of the man up here on the wall, playing it,’ said O’Fagin. ‘There with my daddy and some big buck-toothed black chap I never knew the name of.’ ‘Come on, buddy boy,’ crooned Mr Giggles. ‘You’ve had enough excitement now, let’s have it away on your toes.’ ‘Robert Johnson’s guitar.’ Jonny’s voice was filled with awe.
