It all fell apart very quickly in the end.
Tony and Bill discussed the possibility of Barbara and Jim separating one Tuesday evening, a couple of weeks before the end of the fourth series. They were in the pub after work, trying to come up with an idea for the last episode, something that would address the haemorrhaging of audience figures, and they were tired.
‘I haven’t got the energy to fight for this marriage,’ said Bill.
‘One last push,’ said Tony.
‘And then what?’
‘A holiday. The Anthony Newley script. Reds Under the Bed. Can’t wait.’
‘And then what?’
‘And then what? I dunno. We retire to Bexhill and we die.’
‘Before then?’
‘Another pint and a packet of potato crisps.’
‘I think they should knock it on the head,’ said Bill.
‘Who?’
‘Barbara and Jim. I don’t know how to dig them out of this. And I don’t even know if I want to.’
They had been delighted by the logic of the marriage guidance idea, and it had seemed even better when Nancy turned up, with her posh voice and her comic timing. She had helped the fourth series settle into a predictable, slightly lazy rhythm. The episodes always began in the Marriage Guidance Council office, grievances were aired, jokes were made, Marguerite gave Barbara and Jim homework – exercises to do, problems to solve. And by the end of the thirty minutes, a new, previously unanticipated problem had emerged, directly as a result of Marguerite’s suggestion. They had gone into marriage guidance with several bones of contention, all dug up from the soil of the original idea: he was from the South, she was from the North, he was Labour, she was a Tory, he was timid and thoughtful, she was quick-tempered and instinctive, he was Oxbridge, she had left school at fifteen. (Cynics might have pointed out that it was such an unlikely marriage that it could never have existed outside of a television scriptwriter’s imagination in the first place.) But such were the demands of television that Tony and Bill had chewed all the marrow out of the old problems and had added a whole new set – sex, friends, parenting, in-laws, tastes. They now had a whole magnificent skeleton of contention, instead of the original bones, a skeleton as complicated and as intimidating as the diplodocus in the Natural History Museum.
‘Right,’ said Tony. ‘Christ.’
‘I’m not saying, you know, that’s that. Talk me out of it.’
‘Can you do that? Just … knock the series on the head? Without my say so?’
Just for a moment, Tony had a flash of something awful, lawyers and arguments about ownership.
‘No. Course not. If you want to keep it going, that’s up to you.’
‘But you’re out.’
‘I never said that either. I’m just … holding an idea up to the light and having a look at it.’
‘OK. So where do we go from here?’
‘I dunno,’ Bill said. He took a long pull on his pint. ‘I’m out.’
‘You just said you were having a look.’
‘I had a look. I didn’t like what I saw.’
‘When did you have a look?’
Tony knew he sounded panicky. He tried to breathe deeply without Bill noticing.
‘Just now.’
‘When you were drinking your beer?’
‘I’m not drunk. I knocked back a quarter of a pint, that’s all.’
‘I know. But … was that when it happened? When you made your mind up?’
‘I made my mind up weeks ago. But I didn’t want to march into work and say it with no preamble. I was looking for an opportunity.’
‘You want to pack in Barbara (and Jim)?’
‘Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about?’
‘I’m just checking.’
‘I can’t see that they’ve got anywhere left to go,’ said Bill. ‘If you want to keep it open so that you can write the next series, I’ll help you. But I think she should ask him to leave.’
‘Bloody hell.’
Tony felt a little sick, as if he were breaking up with June.
‘You all right?’ said Bill.
‘Yes. Course. It’s not like they’re real people.’
They were real people. They were going to get a divorce. It was sad. Also, Tony needed them to be happy and together so that he could look after his own family. He had been foolish to agree to marriage guidance. It had put them in danger, made the unthinkable possible.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’m going to carry on. If they’ll let me.’
‘They’ll let you,’ said Bill. ‘Dennis knows you don’t need me.’
‘You won’t think less of me?’ said Tony.
‘Why would I think less of you?’
‘Because I know I’m going to have to more or less pretend this series didn’t happen. They’ll start off next year all happy and shiny and repaired, and I’ll have to piss around with new bathrooms a lot.’
‘It’s hard to make a living in this game,’ said Bill. ‘You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.’