Funny Girl(52)

‘Thank you,’ June said.

‘For what?’

‘For even saying that much. It helps.’

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘For what?’

‘You’re so patient, and kind, and loving, and I don’t know why.’

‘I love you,’ she said with a shrug and a little smile – not a sad smile, exactly, but a smile conveying complications.

‘I love you too.’

They had said the things you were supposed to say at an anniversary dinner, but they hadn’t said them glibly. They chinked glasses.

‘It’s funny, sex,’ she said. ‘It’s a little thing like a glass of water is a little thing. Or something that falls off a car and only costs a couple of bob to replace. It’s only a little thing, but nothing works without it.’

The nice-smelling dark-skinned waiter in the white T-shirt arrived with their melon.

‘What do we use?’ said Tony. ‘A spoon?’

‘I think so.’

‘I’ve never had this before,’ said Tony. ‘Terrible, isn’t it?’

‘Why is it so terrible?’

‘I dunno. Seems like I haven’t done anything I should have.’

‘I haven’t had it either.’

‘Well, there’s a reason for that.’

June laughed.

‘This is like the eating scene in Tom Jones,’ she said. ‘Do you remember? With Albert Finney and Susannah York?’

‘It wasn’t Susannah York in the eating scene. It was Joyce thingy.’

‘Joyce Redman,’ said June.

‘Joyce Redman,’ said Tony.

A nice life wasn’t so far away, if they could somehow get hold of the little thing that makes the engine work. He could remember that it was Joyce someone, not Susannah York, and she could remember Joyce’s second name, and in forty years’ time they would make a great couple.

‘When’s Barbara and Jim’s anniversary?’ said June.

And that was another thing: the series was always somewhere near the front of her mind. How could he not love that?

‘I’ve got no idea.’

‘Maybe you should pick a date.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘And they haven’t talked about starting a family yet either.’

‘Christ.’ He laughed. ‘We hadn’t even thought about that. I could kiss you.’

‘Men normally say that to people they don’t want to kiss,’ she said. ‘The old secretary, when she does something clever. The cleaner, when she finds a pair of spectacles.’ She laughed, but he could have kicked himself.

‘All right, then, I will kiss you,’ he said.

And when they got home they had another drink, and, after a lot of encouragement and some laughter and a little imagination, they managed something. It probably wasn’t quite enough to prevent other conversations in the future, unless Tony had somehow stumbled upon some alchemical admixture of alcohol, ardour, dissociation and competence that he could bottle, but it wasn’t nothing. After June had gone to sleep, he realized that they had never talked about starting a family either. It had never occurred to him that he’d be able to.

One afternoon in July, Dennis phoned Tony and Bill up at the office to tell them to watch that night’s Comedy Playhouse.

‘What is it?’ said Bill.

‘It’s called Till Death Us Do Part.’

‘Bugger,’ said Bill.

‘What?’

‘It’s a clever title. Why didn’t we think of it?’

‘The programme is really rather good,’ said Dennis. ‘I went to the recording. It’s one of Other Dennis’s. He invited me. He’s very proud of it.’

‘Will it depress us?’ said Bill. ‘Because I don’t want to watch anything that’s depressing.’

‘It’s very funny,’ said Dennis.

‘That’s exactly what I’m talking about,’ said Bill. ‘Very funny is depressing.’

‘Our show is very funny,’ said Dennis. ‘This one’s funny in a different way.’

‘A better way or a worse way?’ said Bill.

‘Different,’ said Dennis firmly. ‘Anyway. They may not even make a series out of it. Sloan hates it, apparently.’