‘How are the ticket sales?’ said Bill.
‘Early days,’ said Max. ‘We’re expecting a lot of walk-ins.’
‘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 …’
‘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
Ra
y Galton and Alan Simpson © Cyril Maitland/Mirrorpix
Gambols strip © Copyright 1967 Express Newspapers. Distributed by Knight Features. Reproduced by permission
Tom Sloan at the Eurovision Song Contest © BBC Photo Library
Mick Jagger at the Trattoria Terrazza © Mirrorpix
Till Death Us Do Part cast © BBC/Photoshot
Lucille Ball shooting Lucy in London © Bob Willoughby/MPTV, Camera Press, London
Harold Wilson and Marcia Williams © Central Press/Stringer/Hulton/Getty Images
Book cover © Penguin Books, designed by John Hamilton
Hair cast © Central Images/Getty Images
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Joanna Prior, Venetia Butterfield, Anna Ridley, Lesley Levene, John Hamilton, Georgia Garrett, Geoff Kloske and – one last time, sadly – Tony Lacey. The books of Graham McCann were invaluable, especially Spike & Co., which is highly recommended to anyone interested in British comedy of the period. And though David Kynaston hasn’t yet reached the 1960s at the time of writing, his three brilliant social histories, Austerity Britain, Family Britain and Modernity Britain, were an inspiration for Funny Girl. Without John Forrester, Sarah Geismar, Sandra Verbeckiene, Hayden Thomas and Sebastien Alleaume, no work would be done, ever. And finally, the work of Ray Galton and Alan Simpson has been an enormous influence on my own writing, and there are lots of ways in which not only this book but my previous books wouldn’t have existed without them.
THE BEGINNING
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VIKING
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First published 2014
Copyright © Nick Hornby, 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted
The picture credits constitute an extension of this copyright page
Cover design: Superfantastic
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-241-96521-4
Nick Hornby, Funny Girl
(Series: # )
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