‘Because we’ve seen women who don’t like sex too many times already.’
‘Maybe she does like it but she can’t do it,’ said Bill.
‘Why not?’
‘There are conditions.’
‘You’ve gone medical already.’
‘Psychological ones. Where everything closes up. Like a bank vault at night.’
‘You seem to know an awful lot about it.’
‘I don’t, really. But I’ll bet there is something like that.’
‘Even if there is, I don’t want to write about it. Do you?’
‘No. So it’s him.’
‘It’s him. The usual.’
‘What variety of usual? There are at least two.’
‘Ah. Yes. Well, the easiest is the nothing-going-on one.’
‘In what sense the easiest?’
‘The easiest to get past Tom Sloan. I’m not sure he’d be so keen on the other one. It’s a bit messy.’
‘All right. Nothing going on. Good. Why?’
‘He’s terrified.’
‘Excellent. It all fits in terribly well with the brackets.’
‘Poor Clive,’ said Tony. Poor Tony, thought Tony.
Tony loved his wife, but ever since the disasters he dreaded going to bed with her. He always made sure he watched the TV right the way through to the National Anthem, in the hope that by then June would have fallen asleep reading a script, or a pile of short stories submitted for broadcast, and he could creep under the covers without disturbing her. They seemed to have reached the unspoken agreement that staggered bedtimes and changes of subject whenever necessary were the best way forward. June thought she understood the root cause of her husband’s problems, and had made it clear that she was prepared to adapt to them in any way he saw fit; she would have been amazed to learn that it was even more perplexing than she knew, and that Tony’s sexuality was a mystery to him as well. He was attracted to June, he knew he was, and in that way too. But he had no idea what to do about it.
He decided that he didn’t want to talk about work at all. Work was suddenly very close to home.
‘But is it going all right?’ said June.
They were eating a bread-and-cheese supper in front of the television.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘You’ll let me read it when you’ve got something you’re happy with?’
June was his first and best reader. Everything that he and Bill wrote she made better; she challenged them when they were being lazy, understood what their characters would and wouldn’t say and do, spotted illogicalities. He would have to be insane not to let her read something that might determine the success of his entire career.
‘Oh, you don’t want to end up reading everything we ever do. You’ve got your own scripts to work on.’
‘I love what you and Bill write. And you’re my husband. And this is the first episode of your first television series. Just tell me what it’s about.’
‘It’s a terrible idea.’
‘Well, don’t do it, then.’
‘Simple as that?’
‘Are you saying it sounds like a terrible idea, but when I read it I’ll see that in fact it’s a work of great genius?’
‘No.’
‘Then, yes, simple as that. Terrible ideas are never a good way of … Well, actually, they’re never a good way of doing anything at all. Is it Bill’s terrible idea?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you promise me you’ll march in tomorrow and tell him he’s an idiot?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He sighed.
‘Because it’s rather a good idea.’
She put her plate down on the coffee table, walked over to the TV set and turned it off.
‘I don’t understand anything you’re saying.’
‘No,’ said Tony. ‘I can see why.’
‘Can you help me?’
He sighed.
‘It’s about sex.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Their sex life?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ said June.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘If it’s intelligent and funny, which it will be, everyone will watch it. And it will feel young and contemporary.’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t want to do it?’
‘I do want to do it.’
‘So what on earth’s the matter with you?’
‘The marriage between Barbara and Jim hasn’t been consummated, because Jim is having difficulties.’
‘Ah.’
‘Bill’s idea.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘It’s not supposed to be you and me,’ he said. ‘It just started to go that way, and I didn’t feel I could stop it without giving too much away.’
‘Are they going to sort it all out in the end?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will enjoy watching it,’ said June.
She stood up, kissed him on the head and turned the television back on.
8
Dennis had been landed with Bert as his director. There had been no discussion, and there had certainly been no choice offered. Bert had just turned up in his office, waving a chit.