‘What other thing?’
‘The BBC comedy series.’
‘Oh, we’re still pretending that exists?’ said his father.
Clive was tempted to move to America and beg for the chance to play a cowboy, or even a cow, just to prove his father wrong. But then it occurred to him that there was an easier way of proving his father wrong, while at the same time earning a living at the only thing he was capable of doing.
He got Monty to phone Dennis the next day. The brackets were staying, the money had gone down and Clive had a job.
Sophie’s first-ever press interview was for a new magazine called Crush. The journalist had asked if she could do it in Sophie’s home, but as she was still living with Marjorie, Brian didn’t think it was a very good idea and told her to come to his office. She’d bought a new skirt for it, as short as she could find, and a new pair of shoes, and when Brian saw her, he shook his head and tutted, and reminded her that he was a very happily married man, as if she had made an improper suggestion.
When Diane from Crush arrived, Brian showed them into a spare room that had become a repository for broken furniture and old accounts, and they had to sit side by side on a dusty old brown sofa. For the first few minutes of the conversation, Sophie was distracted by a box file which was labelled ‘ARTHUR ASKEY 1935–7’.
‘Do they always make you come in here?’ said Diane.
Diane looked like someone from a pop programme on TV. She had long, dark hair, white boots and no bust. She was as skinny as Sophie’s twelve-year-old cousin.
‘Why would they make me come in here?’ said Sophie.
‘For interviews.’
‘Oh. No. I’ve never done one before.’
‘Gosh,’ said Diane. ‘Well, it’ll be painless. Have you seen Crush? It’s for girls. We just want to know what you wear and who your boyfriend is and what you cook for him.’
Diane crossed her eyes and made a face to indicate that Crush wasn’t her favourite magazine. Sophie laughed.
‘You don’t like your job?’
‘No, I do,’ said Diane. ‘It’s fun. I get to meet pop stars and people off the telly. Like you. And people are always sending us gear. But it isn’t what I want to do for ever.’
‘What do you want to do for ever?’
‘I want to write, but not this stuff. I’d love to do Tony and Bill’s job.’
Sophie was surprised she even knew their names. Not many people cared about who wrote telly and radio programmes.
‘Do you think you could?’ said Sophie.
‘Will anyone let me? That’s the question. There aren’t many funny girl writers.’
‘You should just write something,’ said Sophie.
‘Ah, well,’ said Diane. ‘When you put it like that … it sounds impossible. Anyway. Answer my wretched questions. Clothes, boyfriend, cooking.’
‘Oh,’ said Sophie. ‘Well, I don’t have a boyfriend and I don’t cook. I wear things, though.’
‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’ said Diane.
‘I had one at home in Blackpool, but we broke up when I came here, and … well, I haven’t met anyone.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed to meet anyone.’
‘I don’t know how you get a boyfriend without meeting them first.’
‘I thought all the men would be phoning you up after they saw you on the telly,’ said Diane.
‘I haven’t got a telephone, so they’d have a job.’
‘You haven’t got a telephone?’
Sophie realized that she didn’t want to talk about Earl’s Court bedsits or Marjorie, not to Crush magazine.
‘I’ve just moved and they haven’t come round to put it in yet.’
‘Oh, that’s fabulous,’ said Diane. ‘It’s all happened so fast for you. Where have you moved to?’
‘Oh, that would be telling.’
‘Just the area. I won’t put in your address.’
‘Kensington. Near Derry and Toms,’ said Sophie.
‘That’s where you used to work, isn’t it?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘The BBC press officer told me. Cosmetics. I’ve got all that. Complete unknown walks in off the street, wows everyone at the audition, gets the job. It’s a great story. Where do you like to go out?’
She was interviewing somebody else, Sophie thought, someone who had done something. Sophie had come to London, worked in a department store, listened to Marjorie snoring and then been cast in a television series. She didn’t watch television, though, because she didn’t have one of those either.
‘I like the Talk of the Town,’ she said.
There was really nothing left now. All her London experiences had been used up.
‘Fabulous,’ said Diane. ‘Lovely. And are you excited about the series?’
‘Really excited.’
‘Great,’ said Diane, and she stood up.
‘Is that it?’
‘That’s plenty. No boyfriend, no phone, new flat, the Talk of the Town … Really, I just have to say that I met you. If you told me your favourite Beatle, my editor would explode with joy,’ said Diane joylessly.
Sophie laughed. She liked Diane.
‘George.’