‘Tough,’ said Sophie. ‘And Max, we’re not old people. Not like that. Remember we’re the same age as Bob Dylan and Dustin Hoffman.’
‘So you’d all run to buy tickets to see a play about gay marriage?’ said Max.
‘Yes,’ said Sophie firmly. ‘All of us.’
‘It’s not about gay marriage, for Christ’s sake,’ said Bill. ‘Have any of you even read it? It’s about a man and a woman making peace with their past, and trying to work out whether they have a future together.’
And Clive looked at her, and put his hand on Sophie’s knee, and left it there. She thought about moving it, and then decided that she liked it where it was: she had been craving this kind of touch, and had been wondering, over the last year or two, whether she would ever feel it again. She knew what Max meant when he said that people of their age wanted to think about the future, like everybody else, but what they most wanted was to live in the present, rather than the past. She didn’t have to worry about what kind of partner Clive would make, or whether their relationship could work, or even whether she was going to sleep with him. That stuff was for the young, and they were welcome to it.
After lunch, they met the director, a sunny, friendly young woman called Becky. As an introductory exercise, she got them all to talk about something or someone important to them, and when it came to her turn, she talked about her wife. Everyone looked at Clive, but he just beamed encouragingly.
There were two previews in Eastbourne before the first night, but the distinction seemed arbitrary: if there were to be no critics and no parties, what was the difference between a preview and what the posters along the seafront called a ‘World Premiere’?
‘Ticket prices,’ said Max.
‘That’s it?’ said Sophie.
‘Pretty much,’ said Max.
They were drinking tea in the lounge of the Cavendish Hotel, and, rather pleasingly, Sophie had already been recognized. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she’d been mobbed. There were a disconcerting number of Scandinavian and German families staying in the hotel and hers was not the kind of fame that had travelled very far. But two or three retired couples – one or two, anyway – had looked over, and then put their heads together, and dropped their voices to a whisper.
‘How are the ticket sales?’ said Bill.
‘Early days,’ said Max. ‘We’re expecting a lot of walkins.’
‘So to sum up, very bad,’ said Clive.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Max, with the air of a man who was saying precisely that.
‘What would you say, then?’ said Tony.
‘Well,’ said Max. ‘It’s interesting.’
They waited for illumination or elucidation, but Max offered nothing else.
‘If you had a disappointment scale,’ said Bill, ‘with ten indicating maximum misery, where are we?’
‘I haven’t got a disappointment scale,’ said Max.
‘I’m saying if you had one.’
‘I haven’t,’ said Max. ‘I’ve never had one, don’t have any use for one. Wouldn’t know what it was if I saw it.’
‘It’s not actually a physical object,’ said Bill. ‘You can’t put a penny in the slot and stand on it. It’s a concept.’
‘It’s not a concept I understand.’
‘So you’ve never been disappointed by anything.’
‘Nope,’ said Max. ‘I can’t afford to be. Not in my job.’
‘I don’t even understand what your job is,’ said Clive.
‘I’m an independent producer,’ said Max. ‘I get things made.’
‘What kinds of things?’
‘Online TV programmes. Movies. Shows.’
‘Would we have seen any of the movies?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Or the shows?’
‘You might have seen the online TV programme,’ said Max.
‘We haven’t,’ said Tony. ‘I know I can speak for everyone here.’
The younger cast members, Tom (aged forty-six) and James (forty-four), might have known everything about the world of online television, but they were on the beach.
‘So … this would be a first for you?’ said Clive.
It had never occurred to any of them that Max didn’t know what he was doing, because he had given every appearance of competence and expertise. Or rather, he had produced money to pay them with, which was the same thing. The old measurements clearly no longer applied.
‘Exactly,’ said Max. ‘That’s why your disappointment scale is no use to me. Ask me about my excitement scale, or my sense of achievement scale, or my self-satisfaction scale.’
‘You’d score pretty highly on that one, I’d imagine,’ said Bill.
‘If I don’t give myself a ten, nobody else will,’ said Max.
Sophie noticed that the retired couple who’d recognized her had come to a decision and were making their way round the tables to say something to them. Sophie smiled welcomingly, but they weren’t looking at her: they made straight for Clive.
‘You are Chief Inspector Jury, aren’t you?’ said the man. ‘I mean, I know you’re not actually Jury, but …’