Funny Girl(51)

‘You can see what he’s thinking. He’s thinking, Who let them in? They’re not beautiful or famous.’

‘Thanks.’

But she laughed. Tony never had to worry about her sulking, or looking for offence and then taking it. It was a miracle that they had stayed married for one hundred weeks, given everything, and June’s view was that they had enough trouble, without looking for it. She seemed determined to find the unintended insults and the accidental ironies funny, whenever she could.

An impressively Italian waiter in a stripy matelot T-shirt that showed off his beautiful dark skin took them to a table on the edge of the room. Their nearest neighbours were two debby girls who were apparently too pretty to talk to each other, or even to eat. Their meals were untouched, and they were both smoking long, thin cigarettes. June was trying not to stare at their long, thin legs and their short skirts.

‘We’re supposed to order the osso buco,’ said Tony as they looked at their menus.

‘Who said?’

‘Bill.’

‘Who did he come here with?’

‘I don’t know.’

Why hadn’t he asked? He might have learned something about Bill’s life outside the office and the rehearsal hall and the studio.

‘Is he happy, do you think?’

June knew as much about Bill’s private life as Tony did.

‘He seems happy, yes.’

‘Why don’t you ever ask him about things like that?’

‘Men don’t.’

‘What do you ask him about, then?’

Tony thought. He couldn’t really remember asking Bill about anything that wasn’t related to the script they were working on. Bill asked him about June all the time, but Tony didn’t ask him anything in return. He was afraid of what Bill might tell him.

‘Oh, you know. Whether he’s got a girlfriend, and things like that.’

June made a face.

‘What?’

‘I’m not that naive. Of course he hasn’t got a girlfriend.’

‘You knew that?’

‘Yes. I mean, not straight away. He’s not a queen. Neither of you is.’

‘I’m not one at all.’

‘You’re a married man, you mean?’

The waiter with the beautiful dark skin came, and they ordered melon and the osso buco, as instructed. Tony asked him for a wine recommendation too. He wanted to ask him about his aftershave, but decided that this was an enquiry that June would misinterpret.

‘There’s something we have in common,’ said June when he’d gone.

‘What?’

‘Him.’

‘The waiter? Really?’

‘Not half. But I think I’d be making the same mistake again.’

‘It isn’t … It wouldn’t be the same mistake. Well, it might be. I’d have to know more about him.’

‘Oh, that old story.’

She laughed. Tony was becoming excruciated.

‘I don’t know what I am.’

June looked at him.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I thought I did. And then I met you, and now I don’t.’

‘Gosh. So … Right. OK. Golly. I had no idea.’

‘You thought I was just …’

‘Not at first. Obviously. But then … Well, yes. To cut a long story short.’

There was an awkward pause.

‘Can I ask you questions?’

‘Oh, Gawd.’

He got a laugh, but he couldn’t deflect her.

‘Do … Well, did you ever do anything about the other thing?’

‘No,’ he said too quickly. And then, because he wanted to give due weight to the Aldershot incident, ‘Not really.’

‘What does “Not really” mean?’

‘I went looking once. During National Service. It all ended badly, and nothing happened.’

‘Oh. And … is that how you want to spend the rest of your life?’

He had tried very hard not to think about the rest of his life. He saw flashes of it sometimes, and these flashes made him uncomfortable, because he saw the possibility for pain and drama, and he didn’t want that.

‘I don’t know. I hope … What I hope is that nothing keeps happening. On that side. And something starts happening on this side.’