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What a pro! I bet that has them crying into their crackers down at the day nursery. Mum nearly bursts a gusset.
‘What a nice thought,’ says Miss Mealie, switching on full beam. ‘Now, let’s have that question. Sandra wants to know what time all the boys and girls on the panel go to bed. When do you go to bed, Jason?’
‘When The Sand Man comes.’
‘And when does he come?’
‘When Dadda goes away. Then Mummy says “You go to bed now, Jason, because Mummy and The Sand Man want–’
‘Yes, well that does sound nice, doesn’t it?’ says Miss Mealie hurriedly.
‘– to be alone together,’ says Jason doggedly. ‘And then sometimes uncle –’
‘Imogen!’ shrieks Miss Mealie, ‘what time do you go to bed?’
‘Depends what’s on the telly,’ says the pretty little mite, starting to chew a pencil she has been jabbing Eric with. ‘If there is a film, I stay up until “bye, bye, light” time.’
‘ “Bye, bye light” time?’
‘When the light runs away through the little hole in the middle of the telly, we say: “bye, bye, light”.’
‘How sweet,’ beams Miss M. ‘You are grown up, aren’t you? “Sand Men” and “bye, bye, lights”–’
‘And uncles,’ pipes up little Jason.
‘He’s a caution, isn’t he,’ says Mum. ‘I don’t know where he gets these things from, I really don’t.’
I was thinking the same about Rosie but I don’t let on. Ever since she went to the Isla de Amori and started reading those women’s lib articles, she has been a different woman. The time was when she thought the sun shone through the slit in Sidney’s Y-fronts. Now he is lucky if she can find the strength to chuck his smalls into the washing machine. I had not realised that her living in the Cromby Motel could create many of the problems that have been afflicting Sidney and myself. I must have a discreet word with her about it. Sidney does have a position to keep up and it is not only the one you find on page fifty-two of Everything you ever wanted to know about sex, but felt such a fool for asking.
I get my chance to speak to Rosie sooner than I had expected, because she rolls up with the infant Noggett an hour later. By taxi, no less, and accompanied by a thin, long-haired git wearing a beard and a shiny leather jacket with coloured panels. He looks a right berk.
‘Oh, mother,’ trills Rosie, all posh-like. ‘This is Dominic Ralph – he produces the show.’
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ says Mum, and she actually curtseys to the creep. Either that or her knicks have worked up.
‘Sooper,’ says Dominic, taking one of Mum’s hands with both of his – he probably needs two to lift it – ‘absolutely soopah. You’ve got a very talented little grandson here. Is this the proud father?’
He beams at me and I am quick to look disgusted. Likewise Mum and Rosie.
‘Oh, no,’ says Rosie with a light laugh. ‘This is my brother.’
‘Timmy,’ I say. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘How do you do.’ Dominic nods and his hair flops over his forehead.
‘Dominic’s going to take me out for a bite to discuss the new series,’ says Rosie, avoiding my eyes. ‘I wonder if you’d mind putting Jason to bed, Mum. I won’t be back late.’
‘There’s some football on telly tonight, Jason,’ I say eagerly. ‘Would you like to watch it with Uncle Timmy?’ I mean, if you can’t lick them, join them. That’s my motto.
‘No,’ says the ungrateful little bleeder, without looking at me. ‘Have you got any thweeties, grandma?’
‘Yes, dear. When you’ve had your supper.’
‘Don’t want any supper! I want thweeties!’ Jason’s fat little lip – it would be a darn sight fatter if I had my way – starts quivering and he turns on his mother. ‘You promised!’
‘Yes, all right dear.’ Rosie looks at Mum. ‘He is a bit over-tired tonight, Mum. Maybe if you did give him a few sweets and put him to bed.’
‘Remember to clean those little toothie-pegs first,’ I beam. ‘We don’t want nasty old Giant Decay rotting them away and causing little Jason excruciating agony, do we?’
‘Are you trying to terrify the child?’ says Rosie angrily. ‘A few sweets aren’t going to hurt him.’
‘Uncle Timmy was only thinking of little Jason’s welfare,’ I say.
Dominic looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Uncle Timmy,’ he says.
‘What?’ Rosie’s expression is like that of a cat seeing another moggy approaching its food bowl.
‘He’s got a kind face. It might be rather nice. Round off the show.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mum looks from face to face inquiringly.
‘Have you ever had any acting experience?’ asks Dominic.
‘No. Well, I mean, I’ve done a lot of work like acting. I’ve been a Holiday Host in a holiday camp and a salesman.’
‘Soopah, soopah.’ Dominic extends a hand and pats me on the wrist. It occurs to me that Sidney may have nothing to worry about tonight. I reckon the last bird Dominic fancied was probably his Mum.
‘You’ve never done any acting in your life!’ quibbles Rosie.
‘I’ve done as much as Conk Digits here,’ I say. ‘Just because I haven’t been to Rada doesn’t mean I haven’t got talent.’
‘Pop along and see me,’ says Dominic, transferring the pressure to my upper arms. ‘No promises, but it might be interesting.’
‘Are you going to put him on the telly?’ says Mum, catching up with the action at last. ‘Oh Timmy, I always knew you had it in you.’
A couple of days later I am sitting at the back of the Studio Five Control Room, waiting for Miss Mealie and the rest of them to come out of Make-up.
“You’ll get the feel of the show up here, ducky,’ breezes Dominic Ralph. ‘Just let it flow all over you and I’ll introduce you to a few people afterwards. That chair comfy enough for you? Goodo! Ah, Melly my darling. How is our lovely girlikin today?’
‘Pissed off!’ snarls Miss Mealie, grinding out a lipstick covered snout in the centre of a half eaten sandwich. ‘If you think I’m going to hang about while those vicious little vermin have their tacky curls lacquered, you’ve got another think coming. Who’s the star of this show?’
‘You are of course, darling. There’s never one shadow of doubt about it.’
‘And while we’re about it, we could do with some new kids. I don’t anticipate that we’d get anything better but at least we’d have a change of mother. Those greedy, grasping, status-seeking harridans are beginning to drive me insane.’ Miss M. produces a small container and swallows a couple of pills. She shudders. ‘Christ! But these things taste disgusting. Just getting them past my gums makes me want to throw up.’
‘Melly,’ says Dominic hurriedly. ‘I’d like you to meet Timothy Lea. His nephew is on the programme.’
‘Oh dear,’ says Miss M., gushingly, ‘me and my big mouth. Please don’t take offence. I don’t mean a word I say. I’m just a bit overwrought at the moment. Let me guess which one is yours. Imogen perhaps? No! Of course not, not with that colouring. Jason? Yes, it must be Jason. He’s so good-looking.’
I know she is bullshitting but I cannot help blushing. That upper-class voice does not help either. I am a pushover for a posh bint.
‘Yes, it’s Jason,’ I say. ‘Rosie Noggett is my sister.’
‘Yes. Very pretty blonde girl. She wasn’t one of the ones I was referring to, of course.’
‘Funny. It sounded just like her,’ I say.
‘Oh, you naughty boy,’ Miss M. waggles a finger at me. ‘You mustn’t try to make me feel any worse than I do. Ah, here they come.’
Rosie and the rest of the Mums and brats crowd into the control room and Miss M. starts behaving like Miss Mealie. She is a very good-looking brunette with a few more lines than you see on the telly. I read her as being about twenty-eight, five foot six and a half and 36c cup.
‘Miss Mealie and panel into the studio please,’ says Dominic. ‘Please don’t play with those switches, boys. And, Imogen dear, that’s not a very good place to put your chewing gum, is it? Give it to Mummy, there’s a good girl. And Mummies, could we have absolute quiet during this show, please? We’re always interested in your comments but we’d like them when we’re off the air.’
‘Look into the camera and don’t stutter, Benedict,’ hisses one mother. ‘Remember there’s that series coming up.’
‘Don’t kiss me, Rupert,’ says another, ‘you’ll smudge your make-up.’
When you see the expression of grim determination on these women’s mugs you can understand what Miss Mealie is getting at. They look like Olympic swimming coaches.
‘Good luck, Jason,’ I say. ‘Don’t forget your sweets.’
‘Shut up, you!’ snaps the little monster, snatching them from my hand. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
Little do you know, I think. A couple of weeks and you could be one of the youngest has-beens in the business. I can see myself telling him the bad news: ‘Sorry about this, Jason, but you’ll have to make way for a younger child. The public wants youth, you know.’
‘But Uncle Timmy!’
‘No buts, Jason. You’re finished. Pack your dolly mixtures and get out!’
I watch the little basket gobble down another handful of sweets as he takes his place on the set, and try to shut out the canvas chair with his name on the back of it. A couple of hours in this place and you can feel all washed up at the age of twenty-two.
‘On set everybody, please,’ repeats Dominic. ‘We’re on the air in two minutes.’
‘Can I have his autograph when he learns to write?’ I say as I sit down next to Rosie.
‘Shut up, jealous!’ she barks.
Dominic starts speaking soothing words into a microphone that connects with the set and a shapely bint by his side starts giving a countdown. In front of us are a row of tellyvision screens and a bloke on Dominic’s right commands a bank of switches which control the pictures on each screen. I can see Jason’s self-satisfied little mug staring at me in horrible close-up. At least he seems to be able to leave his hooter alone this week.
‘You blocked up his nostrils, did you?’ I say to Rosie.
‘Shut up!’
‘Have you got my pills, darling?’ Miss Mealie’s voice comes through to the control box. ‘I left them on the desk.’
‘Don’t seem to be here, darling.’ A slight edge creeps into Dominic’s voice. ‘Twenty-five seconds to go. Let’s have a good show now everybody. Good luck.’
‘Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen–’ The Production Assistant’s voice drones on, sounding professionally bored.
I look back to the monitor with Jason’s mug on it and watch the little swine slotting another peppermint into his cakehole. Hey, wait a minute! Those are not sweets! With a sense of impending horror I recognise Miss Mealie’s pills. The ones she said tasted so horrible. They could probably kill Jason. And in front of millions of viewers too!
‘Those pills!’ I shout.
‘Ssh!’
‘Jason is eating Miss Mealie’s pills!’
‘Good afternoon, boys and girls. And Mummies and Daddies too –’ Miss Mealie’s honeyed tones fill the silent control room.
‘Are they dangerous?’
We all peer at the monitor screen with Jason in it.
‘He’s looking a bit green.’
‘– sick.’
‘– blinking.’
‘– awful.’
‘– stomach pump.’
‘We’ll have to take him off when the song comes up.’
‘But every moment is precious. You can’t leave him there!’
‘It’s a matter of seconds –’
‘No!’
‘There’s the other kiddies to be considered too. If you take him off, just like that, it’s going to disturb them,’ sniffs one of the other Mums.
‘You’d rather he dropped dead, I suppose!’ Rosie is moving towards the door.
‘Ladies, please!’
‘You leave that door alone!’
‘He doesn’t look so bad now.’
‘Get out of my way, you slagheap!!’
‘Ooh, that’s nice, isn’t it? I can see where your little boy gets his manners from.’
‘– and now children, here’s a lovely song that you all know very well.’
‘– fingers up his nose.’
