‘Thank you.’
It was a different world because, when they had started out, television and pop music and cinema had had to fight like mad for the tiniest modicum of respect. She had watched Dennis on that Pipe Smoke programme arguing with Vernon Ditchfield, or whatever his name was, about television comedy, but now she was beginning to wonder whether Ditchfield might have had a point: entertainment had taken over the world, and she wasn’t sure that the world was a better place for it. Sometimes it seemed as though all anyone wanted to do was write television programmes, or sing, or appear in movies. Nobody wanted to make a paintbrush, or design engines, or even find a cure for cancer.
She emerged from her septuagenarian reverie to find Clive tapping his script with a biro. To her surprise and delight, she recognized the expression on his face, even though she hadn’t seen it for a long time. He was about to say something he knew was going to annoy everybody. There was a particular twinkle in the eyes, an unmistakable lift in the eyebrows, a special jut of the chin.
‘I don’t think Tim is gay,’ he said.
She was right. This was fantastically annoying.
‘You know Tim, do you?’ said Tony.
‘I am his father,’ said Clive.
‘You haven’t seen him since 1967,’ said Bill. ‘You walked out on him. You don’t get a say in his sexuality.’
‘I just don’t think fans of the show would believe it,’ said Clive. ‘He was such a sturdy little chap.’
There were howls of outrage from all round the table.
‘I think he’s winding you up,’ said Max.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Sophie.
‘Once a berk, always a berk,’ said Bill.
‘Do you think it reflects badly on you?’ said Tony. ‘Is that it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Clive.
‘Of course that’s it,’ said Sophie. ‘That’s what it always is.’
‘Let’s just stick to the facts,’ said Clive. ‘There’s no need to get personal.’
‘What on earth are the facts?’ said Sophie.
‘The facts are,’ said Clive, ‘that I have two children, and neither of them …’
This time, the howls of outrage stopped him from even finishing his sentence.
‘Why are you like this?’ said Bill. ‘You must have worked with lots of gay people in Hollywood. You may even have gay friends.’
‘Of course I have,’ said Clive. ‘I love gay people. I love you, Bill. And I don’t even feel the need to qualify that.’
‘How would you qualify it?’ said Tony.
‘I’m not going to. I don’t feel the need.’
‘But if you had to.’
‘Well, lots of men would say, “I love you, but not in that way”, wouldn’t they? Not me, though.’
‘You just said it anyway,’ said Bill.
‘I was made to,’ said Clive, aggrieved.
‘You knew we were going to winkle it out of you. That’s why you said you didn’t feel the need to qualify it. You wanted to qualify it,’ said Tony.
‘There’s a serious point here, though,’ said Max.
‘What’s that?’
‘Do older people understand gays? Do they want to see a play about a gay marriage?’
‘We’re older people,’ said Sophie. ‘Ask us.’
‘Would you want to see a play about a gay marriage?’ said Max.
‘Yes,’ said Sophie firmly.
‘Not really,’ said Clive.
‘Why on earth not?’ said Tony.
‘I’d be worried that it was going to be too politically correct,’ said Clive.
‘You’ve read it,’ said Bill. ‘Is it too politically correct?’
‘It’s not politically incorrect, is it?’ said Clive.
‘How would that work?’ said Tony. ‘You want lots of 1970s jokes about limp wrists and bending over?’
‘Not lots,’ said Clive. ‘One or two. Just for realism’s sake.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Bill.
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Sophie, appalled by Bill’s capitulation.
‘No, I think he’s right,’ said Bill. ‘Jim’s old-school Labour, isn’t he? He’d be a dinosaur now. Slightly homophobic, a bit slow-witted, talks about coloured people, out of his depth in the modern world.’
‘You’re right,’ said Tony. ‘We can play around with that.’
Clive looked panic-stricken.
‘That’s not how I think of Jim at all.’
‘No?’
‘No. I see him as very intelligent, well read, up to date with all the latest, you know, anti-sexism and racism news …’
‘That’s not very politically incorrect.’
‘I didn’t think Jim would be the politically incorrect one.’
‘You thought it would be Barbara?’ said Sophie.
‘Makes sense to me,’ said Clive. ‘They were always opposites.’
‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Bill. ‘Because you don’t like political correctness, you want some homophobic jokes in the play. But because you always want to be liked, you don’t want to be the one who makes them.’
Clive opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again.