‘You see, we can’t even tell if you’re joking,’ said Tony.
‘Which is why we’re not rushing to write you your own comedy series,’ said Bill.
‘Where are you from, Sophie?’ said Dennis.
‘I’m from Blackpool.’
‘You see, that’s interesting,’ said Dennis.
‘Is it?’ Sophie was genuinely surprised.
‘Coming from Blackpool is more interesting than being a vicar’s daughter.’
‘Couldn’t she be a vicar’s daughter from Blackpool?’ said Tony.
‘She’s no vicar’s daughter,’ said Clive.
‘I’m assuming that’s rude,’ said Sophie.
There was something in the room, Dennis thought. It had been a long day, with unsuitable actresses reading from a very average script, but Sophie had energized everyone, and she and Clive were sparky with each other.
‘What’s interesting about her coming from Blackpool anyway?’ said Bill.
‘There hasn’t been a North–South romance in a comedy series that I know of.’
‘Would anyone buy it, though?’ said Clive.
‘It’s an odd-couple romance. That would be the fun of it.’
‘Stone me, Dennis,’ said Bill. ‘Two people coming from different parts of the country means they’re an odd couple?’
‘He thinks anyone’s odd who hasn’t been to Cambridge.’
Dennis looked momentarily embarrassed.
‘I take your point. Their geographical roots would form only a small part of their incompatibility. When did you first meet someone from London, Sophie?’
She hesitated.
‘Not until … Well, quite recently.’
‘When you moved down?’
‘A bit before that.’
And then, just because she felt safe in the room, she decided to tell them the truth. ‘I entered a beauty competition back in Blackpool. There was a girl from London who’d gone in for it too. A holidaymaker. Is there somewhere called Gospel something?’
‘You’re a beauty queen? Oh, that’s just perfect,’ said Clive with glee.
‘She only said she entered,’ said Bill.
‘I won it,’ said Sophie before she could stop herself. ‘I was Miss Blackpool. For five minutes.’
‘Well, this explains everything!’ said Clive.
‘What does it explain?’ said Dennis.
‘Look at her!’
‘I think she won a beauty competition because of the way she looks,’ said Dennis. ‘I don’t think she looks like that because she won a beauty competition.’
‘Why only for five minutes?’ Tony asked.
‘Because then I realized I didn’t want to be a beauty queen and I couldn’t live in Blackpool any more. I wanted to come to London and … Well, I want to be Lucille Ball.’
‘Ah,’ said Bill. ‘Now you’re talking.’
‘Am I?’ said Sophie.
‘Of course you are,’ said Bill. ‘We all love Lucy.’
‘Really?’
‘We’re students of comedy,’ said Tony. ‘We love anyone who’s funny.’
‘Lucy is one of our people,’ said Dennis. ‘Galton and Simpson are our Shakespeare, obviously. But she’s our Jane Austen.’
‘And we’re literally students,’ said Bill. ‘We watch and listen to things over and over again. We prefer the repeats, because then we can start to take things apart.’
Sophie burst into tears, suddenly and to her intense embarrassment. She hadn’t known she was about to cry and she couldn’t really explain the intensity of her feeling.
‘Are you all right?’ said Dennis.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do you want to call it a day? You could come in tomorrow and we could all talk some more.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m fine. That’s the thing. I’m having fun.’
They were all still there two hours later.
‘How about this? Alan is a handsome, snobbish, angry Conservative. Cicely is a beautiful, chippy, Labour-voting northerner,’ said Bill.
‘She’s hardly likely to be called Cicely, is she?’ said Clive.
‘Fair enough,’ said Bill. ‘What shall we call her?’
‘What goes with Blackpool?’ said Tony.
‘Brenda,’ said Clive. ‘Beryl.’
‘What about Barbara?’ said Dennis. ‘Barbara from Blackpool?’
They all looked at Sophie, who seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and was staring hard at the ceiling.
‘I like it,’ said Tony. ‘Not too common. Just common enough. Alan and Barbara.’
‘I don’t like Alan,’ said Clive.
‘What on earth is wrong with Alan?’
‘I think what Clive is saying is that if she gets a name-change, he should too,’ said Bill.
‘It’s not that at all,’ said Clive crossly. ‘My best friend at junior school was called Alan. He was killed in the Blitz.’
‘I’m betting that’s an awful lie,’ said Tony.
Clive smirked.
‘It was the word “friend” that gave it away,’ said Bill. ‘You’ve never had any. What do you want to be called, then?’
‘Quentin.’
‘Nobody wants to watch a programme about someone called Quentin.’
‘Jim, then.’
‘Oh, I don’t care,’ said Bill. ‘Jim is fine. Jim and Barbara. So how did they end up together?’