‘And British humour … That’s your special phrase for humour from Britain, is it?’
‘The BBC and so forth.’
‘I’m with you.’
She only ever stopped teasing him because she got bored, never because he cottoned on and robbed the teasing of its point. If she had to stay in Blackpool, then one of her plans was to keep a conversation like this going for the rest of his life.
‘She’s not funny, for a start,’ he said.
‘She’s the funniest woman who’s ever been on television,’ said Barbara.
‘But you don’t laugh at her,’ said her father.
It was true that she didn’t laugh, but that was because she’d usually seen the shows before. Now she was too busy trying to slow it all down so she could remember it. If there was a way of watching Lucy every single day of the week, then she would, but there wasn’t, so she just had to concentrate harder than she’d ever concentrated on anything, and hope that some of it sank in.
‘Anyway, you make me shut up when they’re reading out the football results on the wireless,’ she said.
‘Yes, because of the pools,’ he said. ‘One of those football results might change our life.’
What she couldn’t explain without sounding batty was that I Love Lucy was exactly the same as the pools. One day, one of Lucy’s expressions or lines was going to change her life, and maybe even his too. Lucy had already changed her life, although not in a good way: the show had separated her from everyone else – friends, family, the other girls at work. It was, she sometimes felt, a bit like being religious. She was so serious about watching comedy on the television that people thought she was a bit odd, so she’d stopped talking about it.
The photographer from the Evening Gazette introduced himself and ushered Barbara towards the diving boards.
‘You’re Len Phillips?’ her father said. ‘You’re not pulling my leg?’ He recognized Len Phillips’s name from the paper, so he was star-struck. Dear God, Barbara thought. And he wonders why I want to get out of here.
‘Can you believe that, Barbara? Mr Phillips has come to the baths personally.’
‘Call me Len.’
‘Really? Thank you very much.’ George looked a little uncomfortable, though, as if the honour had not yet been earned.
‘Yes, well, he probably hasn’t got a staff of thousands,’ said Barbara.
‘It’s just me, and a lad sometimes,’ said Len. ‘And today’s a big day for Blackpool. I’d be daft to let the lad do it.’
He gestured at Barbara to move back a little.
‘Say cheese,’ her father said. ‘Or is it only amateurs who do that?’ ‘No, we do it too. Although sometimes I shout “Knickers!” just for a change.’
George laughed and shook his head in wonder. He was having the time of his life, Barbara could tell.
‘No boyfriend?’ Len asked.
‘He couldn’t get the day off, Len,’ George said. He paused for a moment, clearly wondering whether he’d got too familiar, too soon. ‘They’re short-staffed, apparently, because of the holidays. Her Auntie Marie couldn’t come either, because she’s gone to the Isle of Man for a fortnight. Her first holiday for seven years. Only a caravan, but, you know. A change is as good as a rest.’
‘You should be writing all this down, Len,’ said Barbara. ‘Caravan. Isle of Man. A change is as good as a rest. Is it just her and Uncle Jack, Dad? Or have the boys gone too?’
‘He doesn’t want to know all that,’ said her father.
‘Where does she work?’ Len asked, nodding his head towards Barbara.
‘I don’t know. We could ask her,’ said Barbara.
‘She’s in the cosmetics department at R. H. O. Hills,’ her father said. ‘And Aidan’s in Menswear. That’s how they met.’
‘Well, she won’t be there much now, will she?’ said the photographer.
‘Won’t she?’ said George.
‘I’m always taking photographs of Miss Blackpool. Hospitals, shows, charity galas … She’s got a lot of responsibilities. It’ll be a busy year. We’ll be seeing each other a lot, Barbara, so you’ll have to get used to my ugly mug.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ said her father. ‘Did you hear that, Barbara?’ Hospitals? Charity galas? An entire year? What had she been thinking? Auntie Marie had told her about the shop openings and the Christmas lights, but she hadn’t thought about how she’d be letting people down if she just disappeared, and she hadn’t thought about how she’d still be Miss Blackpool in three hundred and sixty-four days’ time. She knew then that she didn’t want to be Miss Blackpool in an hour’s time.
‘Where’s she going?’ said Len.
‘Where are you going?’ said her father.
Fifteen minutes later, the runner-up, Sheila Jenkinson, a tall, dopey redhead from Skelmersdale, was wearing the tiara, and Barbara and her father were in a taxi on their way back home. She left for London the following week.
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THE BEGINNING
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PENGUIN BOOKS
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First published by Viking 2003
Published with additional material in Penguin Books 2003
Copyright © Nick Hornby, 2003
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover Design: Superfantastic
Three of the ‘31 Songs’ included here first appeared, in different forms, in the following publications: Granta (‘I’m Like a Bird’); Architectural Digest (‘First I Look at the Purse’): Idle Worship (‘Mama You Been On My Mind’). The material published under ‘and 14 albums’ was originally published in the New Yorker, 2000–2001
Designed by Smith & Gilmour, London
ISBN: 978-0-14-193522-5
Nick Hornby, 31 Songs
(Series: # )
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