Frank considered the question and really couldn’t think of a satisfactory answer.
He left the residents’ lounge and walked in the direction of his mother’s room. As he passed the dining room, he saw Irene drinking a cup of tea. She smiled and waved when she saw him.
‘Hello, Frank, visiting your mother, are you?’
‘Yes, well, partly. I haven’t actually made it to her room yet. I got trapped in the residents’ lounge by Henry.’
Irene looked blank. ‘I don’t think I’ve met a Henry. Is he a fan of yours?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Frank hesitated. He knew he should let it go, but found himself reaching into his pocket for the photo.
‘Actually, I wanted to see you too. There’s something I should have asked you last time, but I just didn’t think. Can I show you something?’
He waited while some complicated business with glasses was completed. Irene eventually found the right combination and, wearing one pair whilst holding the other a few inches from the photo, she peered at the image.
‘My God, look at Phil — he’s just a boy. He wasn’t much older than that when we met. Look at that smile! That was the first thing I noticed about him. When Phil smiled at you, everything was all right. That’s how he got away with murder.’ Her smile faded. ‘Photos are cruel things. It’s terrible to see what’s happened to us. I can’t look at mine any more. They’re too sad.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Frank. ‘What about the other boy? Do you recognize him?’
Irene angled the glasses again and extended her neck backwards as if avoiding an unpleasant smell. ‘Oh … it’s Mikey, isn’t it?’
Frank nodded. ‘Michael Church.’
‘That’s right, we always called him Mikey. I’ve often wondered what happened to him. I asked Phil about him a few times but they’d lost contact.’
‘Do you remember much about him?’
‘A fair bit. He was Phil’s oldest friend. They were friends from when they were lads. Well, you can see that from the photo. He was best man at our wedding. I think it was a bit of an ordeal for him, having to make a speech. He was a shy lad.’
‘Did you see him much?’
‘A fair bit in the early years. He’d often come round to call for Phil. They’d go for a drink or a game of cards. They did their National Service together and I wasn’t really interested in listening to their stories. Phil was always going on about Mikey being a good shot — what is it? A marksman? I don’t know — but apparently Mikey was really something with a gun and Phil thought that was marvellous. Poor Mikey always looked embarrassed when he’d start going on about it.’ She looked at the photo again. ‘Is he still alive?’
Frank shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. He was found dead recently. I heard about it and half remembered meeting him one time with Phil. I thought I’d see if I could trace any family. He died alone.’
‘Oh, poor Mikey. He was a lovely boy.’ She stopped for a moment to think. ‘I know his mother lived up near town, but she’d be long gone by now, of course. He didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I think Phil and he were like brothers when they were young.’ She put the photo down and looked towards the window.
‘I liked Mikey. He was nothing like Phil. He was a quiet lad, a bit of a dreamer. Married his childhood sweetheart. He’d stand by quietly while Phil rattled off his usual nonsense. I don’t know how they ever drifted apart, really — I mean Phil thought the world of him. But then Phil could be careless; he moved around and he didn’t make the effort to keep in touch and I could imagine Mikey as the type who wouldn’t want to bother Phil when he got more famous.’ She paused. ‘Phil was all chat and smiles, but there wasn’t much else underneath — I found that out for myself. This lad was quiet, but I think underneath he had something Phil never had.’
‘What was that?’
‘I don’t know. There was just something there, some substance. He seemed solid somehow.’
Irene looked up at the ceiling, trying to think. ‘There were far worse men to be married to than Phil, I know that, and I know he was your friend, but he was a weak man and he knew it, as he was drawn to people who weren’t. I think that’s what he saw in me, some strength he didn’t have, and I think it’s what he saw in Mikey. He never told me much about their past, but he did say that Mikey was bullied at school because his dad had been German — he’d done a runner years before, but of course everyone knew. Phil said Mikey would get a beating from the other lads most days, but he’d always fight back. I asked Phil what he used to do while his mate was getting beaten and to give him his due he was at least honest: he said he used to hide. I suppose it’s to his credit that he was the only one who was friendly with Mikey. He said he’d try and make Mikey laugh on the way home. He’d pretend to be a commentator and give his analysis of the fight, or he’d do impressions of the bullies and Mikey would laugh. Phil said he loved the sound of Mikey laughing. I suppose that was what Mikey admired about Phil, his gift of the gab, his ability to make him laugh, his charm. Everyone admired that about Phil and it made him think that that was all you needed in life, a nice surface.’ She peered at Frank through her glasses. ‘You’re not like that, are you?’
Frank smiled and shook his head. ‘I don’t think too much of my surface. I wouldn’t wear jumpers like this if I did.’
Irene laughed. ‘It does look like it’s seen better days — just like me.’ She looked again at the photo and her face changed. ‘Poor Phil. He was nice enough in his own way, but I’m glad I found a real person to marry in the end.’
41. Phil, February 2009
As the video clip ends, the doors at the back of the set open to reveal the two guests waiting in a cloud of dry ice waving at the audience. Phil greets them warmly and guides them down to the front of the stage. He has his arm clamped tightly round the waist of the member of the public, keeping her steady and walking in the right direction. With the celebrity his touch is lighter, just a guiding palm. The audience claps and whoops. He looks out into the roaring blackness and is able to make out a few banners being waved; some audience members are standing to applaud. This pair are the favourites to win. As he smiles into camera one, he has a flash of pure blind panic: he can’t remember the guests’ names, he can’t remember his own name, he can’t remember what show this is. It’s gone in less than a second. He’s back in control. The guests are Jane and Toby. He is Phil Smethway. It’s Saturday night and the show is Two Can Play That Game. Eleven million people are watching.
Through Jane’s chiffon blouse he feels tiny subcutaneous vibrations and spasms of terror and excitement. He’s often thought how handling civilians is like handling horses. Easily spooked, quivering and blinking, they need to be spoken to reassuringly. She’s generating enough heat to power the studio. He gets the two of them to their marker.
‘Now then, you two. That was quite an interesting little film we just watched!’ The audience whoop. ‘What on earth were you doing, Toby? Tuna and bacon? What kind of a sandwich is that? Were you trying to put poor Jane here out of business?’
Toby looks rueful and shakes his head. The audience laughs wildly. ‘I was trying to innovate.’
Phil pulls a sickly-looking face for the crowd. ‘Innovate? You’ll make ’em regurgitate, more like.’ The audience groans and laughs. Phil shrugs with mock innocence. ‘No, but seriously. Toby. Jane. Thank you for being such wonderful sports. Haven’t they been wonderful, ladies and gentlemen?’ Rapturous applause. ‘How would you sum up your week doing Jane’s job, Toby?’
Toby’s face is serious now. ‘All joking aside, Phil, I have a hell of a lot of respect for this woman here.’ The applause starts again. ‘This woman here,’ he struggles to be heard over the sound of the crowd, ‘is quite simply a marvel!’ The audience goes wild and he waits for them to quieten down. ‘I had no idea how challenging running your own sandwich shop could be. You know, Phil, you and I both work in TV, and I’m sure we both sometimes like to think we know stress, but, take it from me, you haven’t seen stress till you’ve got a queue of twenty workmen with big appetites all making demands.’