‘Clive Richardson,’ said Clive. ‘And yes, I played Richard Jury. How nice of you to remember. And how nice to meet you.’
He stood up, and shook hands, and though he resisted the temptation to punch the air in triumph and stick two fingers up at Sophie, she could tell that the urge was there.
‘We loved you in Barbara (and Jim), as well,’ said the woman. ‘We were so sad when you split up.’
‘They’re getting back together,’ said Max. ‘Tonight!’
The couple looked confused.
‘And here’s Barbara!’ said Clive.
Barbara waved.
‘Oh,’ said the woman. ‘Gosh!’
‘They’re opening in a play tonight. From This Day Forward. In the theatre,’ said Max.
‘Oh, we never get up to the West End now,’ said the man. It was 4.45 in the afternoon.
‘Here in Eastbourne,’ said Max patiently.
‘Oh, well then,’ said the man. ‘We’ll look out for it.’
‘You don’t have to look out for it,’ said Max. ‘It’s here already.’
‘Can we find a couple of comps for them?’ said Clive.
They looked uncomfortable.
‘What’s it about?’ said the woman.
‘It’s Barbara and Jim. From the TV series. Getting back together after all these years.’
‘Lovely. And what’s it called again?’
‘Fuck,’ said Max.
For a moment, the man looked as though he were thinking of throwing himself in front of his wife to protect her, but he settled for a consoling squeeze of her arm.
‘Excuse him,’ said Clive. ‘He’s young. It’s called From This Day Forward.’
‘Fucking hell,’ said Max, and this time the couple scuttled off. ‘We’ve got the wrong fucking title.’
‘I like the title,’ said Bill. ‘I thought it was very clever.’
‘It is,’ said Max. ‘That’s what’s wrong with it. The whole point of the fucking play is that Barbara and Jim from the TV series Barbara (and Jim) are in it, and we’re not telling the old biddies who might want to go and see it. It should be called Barbara and Jim – The Reunion! With an exclamation mark. I need to call people. Tell the theatre. Get a new poster made. Bollocks.’
He was already on his phone to someone before he got out of the lounge.
‘Well,’ said Sophie. ‘An exclamation mark.’
‘We’ve come full circle,’ said Clive.
‘It’s not funny,’ said Bill.
‘I like it,’ said Tony. ‘Dennis is here with us, in spirit.’
‘It’s still not funny,’ said Bill.
Sometimes Sophie told Dennis what had been going on. It was as close as she ever came to praying. She knew he would always want to hear everything there was to hear about the children and the grandchildren, even though the news was local rather than national, most of the time; he had never been one of those indifferent, mildly benevolent men who wanted their wives to cut out the dull stuff and reduce long telephone conversations with loved ones to headlines. He was usually the one who made the calls, so she felt that the least she could do was tell him everything, in as much detail as she could remember. She’d never had to talk to him about work before; there hadn’t been any since he’d died. He’d be pleased to know that she was doing something.
I’m in a dressing room in Eastbourne, she said. (Not out loud. That would be mad. But she was talking, she knew that, not writing or thinking.) Tony and Bill are out in the theatre somewhere. They’ve written a play about Barbara and Jim, and the young producer is currently walking up and down the prom, barking at anyone old enough to remember us, because the theatre is going to be half-empty tonight. The play is much better than I thought it was going to be. It’s funny, and sad – like life. And Clive is trying to chat me up, and I may well … She stopped herself. Dennis didn’t want to hear about all that, and she didn’t want to tell him, and she didn’t know what there was to tell him anyway. So we’re all here, she went on. And we’ll all be here tomorrow night, and the night after. And if I can’t be at home with you, then I want to be with them.
This wasn’t quite true, she realized. She didn’t want to be at home with Dennis; she wanted to be here, in Eastbourne, with Dennis and the others, or better still in a BBC studio, with Clive next door and Dennis prowling around outside. She didn’t want 1964 back; she wasn’t nostalgic. She just wanted to work. She picked up the script again. There was something she could do with the teapot in the opening scene, she was positive. She could get a laugh that nobody was expecting, and they’d be off and running.
Picture Credits
The publishers are grateful for permission to reproduce the following images:
Miss Blackpool beauty contest ? Homer Sykes/Getty Images
Derry & Toms department store logo ? Clifford Ling/Associated Newspapers/Rex
Sabrina advert ? culture-images/Lebrecht Music & Arts
Talk of the Town theatre ? Associated Newspapers/Rex
Voice Improvement Programme, Lesson 3. Image courtesy of ? Bob Lyons