Funny Girl(86)

‘You and your movement.’

‘Don’t you want to move?’

‘No. I don’t want to go anywhere.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘It is! I’m happy! I just want to fill up pages!’

What he meant was that it was a job he enjoyed, loved even, and a job he could do, and a job he was well paid for. All of this seemed like a miracle to him. He had been given more luck than he could have predicted for himself. So, yes, he wanted to fill up the pages, with jokes and observations and situations that Dennis, the BBC and the audience wanted. If he did that, then he’d be allowed to do it over and over again. He didn’t think about anything else. He didn’t think about what else he had to say, or whether he was frustrated by the confines of their chosen medium. He just wanted to keep page thirty of the script well away from page one, like a mechanic wanted to fix a car, like a doctor wanted to make people better. He couldn’t imagine mechanics getting frustrated because engines were too simple. Presumably every engine presented a different problem, just as every episode offered a new challenge. And if you were up to it, then why not keep going?

‘What an ambition.’

‘There are worse things to aim at than making people happy.’

‘I feel like we keep coming back to the same place,’ said Bill.

‘We must be going somewhere, then. Even if it’s round and round.’

‘You can honestly see yourself doing this for ever?’

‘If we can keep it good, why not?’

‘You wouldn’t get bored?’

‘We’re beginning to sound like a problem in a women’s magazine,’ said Tony. ‘ “Dear Evelyn, Our marital life is becoming humdrum and I worry he’ll go elsewhere. What should I do?” ’

‘She’d tell you to put on lacy underwear.’

‘I will, if it will help.’

‘She’d tell you to do something different anyway. What she wouldn’t say is, “Just keep doing the same old thing and eventually he’ll become so old and uninterested that he’ll forget all about it.” ’

‘I thought your novel might be enough.’

‘The trouble is, I like doing it too much. Makes me realize what I’m missing.’

Tony sighed. ‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I dunno what you’d call it. This. You and me. Our marriage. You start off thinking someone’s exactly the same, and as the years go by you realize they’re not.’

‘I knew we weren’t the same after the army,’ said Bill. ‘When you chickened out.’

‘Of what?’

‘You know.’

‘You think I chickened out?’

‘What would you call it, then?’

‘You think I married June because I was scared?’

‘So why did you?’

‘I … Well, I fell in love with her.’

‘So you’re ambidextrous?’

‘Both or neither, I don’t know. At the time it felt like I was completely … ’armless.’

‘Very good,’ said Bill, without actually registering amusement on his face.

‘Thank you.’

‘It was very convenient that June was the one you fell for, then, wasn’t it?’

‘Why was it convenient?’

‘Because that was the easier option. And here you are, in a nice little house in Pinner with a wife and a baby.’

Tony could only give a helpless shrug.

‘Yes. And it suits me. I’m happy. I couldn’t do what you do.’

‘You have no idea what I do.’

‘You break the law any time you do anything.’

‘The law’s an ass.’

‘I know that. I’m just saying. If you can go both ways or neither, why go the way that’s going to get you banged up?’

‘I didn’t have any choice.

‘I know that. But I did. And that doesn’t mean I’m always going to make the boring, safe choice.’

‘I’m sure that’s what it feels like to you,’ said Bill.

He was being kind, not confrontational, Tony knew that, and Tony suddenly understood what he meant: one thing led to another. The years since they’d started writing Barbara (and Jim) would have been entirely different for Bill if he hadn’t been queer. He’d met different people, of course. But he’d read different books, seen different plays and films, heard different music, wandered into a world a long way from Tony’s little house in Pinner.