In these days before the opening I didn’t talk to the other actors. The intimacy Pyke had engendered now seemed like a drug which had temporarily given us the impression of affection and support but had now worn off, returning only in occasional flashbacks, like LSD. I took direction from Pyke but I didn’t get in his car again. I’d admired him so much, his talent, daring and freedom from convention, but now I was confused. Hadn’t he betrayed me? Or perhaps he was helping to educate me in the way the world worked. I didn’t know. Anyway, Eleanor must have told him what had happened between us because he kept away from me and was merely polite. Marlene wrote to me once, saying, ‘Where are you, sweetheart? Won’t you come see me again, sweet Karim?’ I didn’t reply. I was sick of theatre people and the whole play; I was turning numb. What happened to me didn’t seem to matter. Sometimes I felt angry, but most of the time I felt nothing; I’d never felt so much nothing before.
The dressing rooms were full of flowers and cards, and there were more kisses in an hour than in the whole of Paris in a day. There were TV and radio interviews, and a journalist asked me what the main events of my life had been. I was photographed several times beside barbed-wire. (I noticed that photographers seemed to love barbed-wire.) I was living intensely in my mind, trying to keep my eyes off Eleanor, trying not to hate the other actors too much.
Then, suddenly, this was it, the night of nights, and I was on stage alone in the full glare of the lights, with four hundred white English people looking at me. I do know that lines that sounded overfamiliar and meaningless to me, and came out of my mouth with all the resonance of, ‘Hallo, how are you today?’ were invested with life and meaning by the audience, so much so that the evening was a triumph and I was – I have this on good authority, that of the critics – hilarious and honest. At last.
After the show I drank off a pint of Guinness in the dressing room and dragged myself out into the foyer. There I saw, right in front of me, a strange and unusual sight, especially as I’d invited no one to the opening.
If I’d been in a film I would have rubbed my eyes to indicate that I didn’t believe what I was seeing. Mum and Dad were talking to each other and smiling. It’s not what you expect of your parents. There, among the punk sophisticates and bow-ties and shiny shoes and bare-backed women, was Mum, wearing a blue and white dress, blue hat and brown sandals. Standing nearby was my brother, little Allie. All I could think was how small and shy my mum and dad looked, how grey-haired and fragile they were, and how the distance they were standing apart looked unnatural. You go all your life thinking of your parents as these crushing protective monsters with infinite power over you, and then there’s a day when you turn round, catch them unexpectedly, and they’re just weak, nervous people trying to get by with each other.
Eva came over to me with a drink and said, ‘Yes, it’s a happy sight, isn’t it.’ Eva and I stood there together and she talked about the play. ‘It was about this country,’ she said. ‘About how callous and bereft of grace we’ve become. It blew away the self-myth of tolerant, decent England. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.That’s how I knew it was good. I judge all art by its effect on my neck.’
‘I’m glad it did that, Eva,’ I said. I could see she was in a bad state. I didn’t know what to say. Anyway, Shadwell was lurking nearby, waiting for her to finish with me. And all the time Eva’s eyes wouldn’t keep still – not that they ever moved anywhere near Mum and Dad, though that would be their natural resting place. There they would devour. When she turned back to Shadwell he smiled at me and started to speak. ‘I am ravished but resistant because …’ he began. I looked at Mum and Dad once more. ‘They still love each other, can’t you see that?’ I said to Eva. Or perhaps I didn’t say it; perhaps I just thought it. Sometimes you can’t tell when you’ve said something or just had it in your head.
I moved away, and found Terry standing at the bar with a woman who didn’t look like the rest of the scented and parading first-nighters. Terry didn’t introduce me to her. He didn’t want to acknowledge her. He didn’t shake my hand. So she said, ‘I’m Yvonne, a friend of Matthew Pyke, and a police officer based in North London. Sergeant Monty and I’ – and she giggled – ‘were just discussing police procedures.’
‘Were you, Terry?’ I hadn’t seen Terry looking like this before, this upset; he kept shaking his head as if he had water in his ears. He wouldn’t look at me. I was worried about him. I touched the side of his head. ‘What’s wrong, Monty?’
‘Don’t call me that, you cunt. I’m not Monty. I am Terry and I am disturbed. I’ll tell you what it is. I wish it had been me on that stage. It could have been me. I deserved it, OK? But it was you. OK? So why am I playing a rucking policeman?’
I moved away from him. He’d feel better tomorrow. But that wasn’t the end of it. ‘Hey, hey, where are you going?’ he said. He was following me. ‘There’s something for you to do,’ he said. ‘Will you do it? You said you would.’
Forcibly, he led me to one side, away from everyone, so we wouldn’t be overheard. He held my arm. He was hurting me. My arm was going numb. I didn’t move away.
‘It’s now,’ he said. ‘We’re giving you the call.’
‘Not tonight,’ I said.
‘Not tonight? Why not tonight? What’s tonight to you? A big deal?’
I shrugged. ‘All right.’
I said I’d do it if I could. I knew what he was on about. I wasn’t about to be a coward. I knew who to hate. He said, ‘The Party requires funds right now. Go to two people and ask them for money.’
‘How much?’ I said.
‘We’ll leave that to you.’
I sniggered. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ he shouted. ‘Just watch all that fucking lip!’ Then he laughed and looked mockingly at me. This was a different Terry. ‘As much as you can get.’
‘So it’s a test?’
‘Hundreds,’ he said. ‘We want hundreds of pounds. Ask them. Push them. Rip them off. Steal their furniture. They can afford it. Get what you can. OK?’
‘Yes.’
I walked away. I’d had enough. But he took my arm again, the same arm. ‘Where the fuck are you going now?’
‘What?’ I said. ‘Don’t bring me down.’
He was angry, but I never got angry. I didn’t care what happened.
‘But how can you get the money if you don’t know the names of the parties involved?’
‘OK. What are the names?’ I asked.
He jerked me around again until I was facing the wall. I could no longer see my parents; I could only see the wall and Terry. His teeth were clenched. ‘It’s class war,’ he said.
‘I know that.’
His voice dropped. ‘Pyke is one. Eleanor is the other.’
I was astonished. ‘But they’re my friends.’
‘Yeah, so they should be friendly.’
‘Terry, no.’
‘Yes, Karim.’
He turned away and looked around the crowded restaurant area. ‘A nice bunch of people. Drink?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’
I nodded.
‘See you then, Karim.’
‘Yeah.’
We separated. I walked about. I knew a lot of people but I hardly recognized them. Unfortunately, within a minute, I found myself standing in front of the one person I wanted to avoid – Changez. There would be debts to pay now. I was for it. I’d been so nervous about this that a couple of days earlier I’d tried to stop him coming, saying to Jamila, ‘I don’t think Changez will enjoy this evening.’ ‘In that case I must bring him,’ she said, characteristically. Now Changez embraced me and slammed me on the back. ‘Very good plays and top playing,’ he said.
I looked at him suspiciously. I didn’t feel at all well. I wanted to be somewhere else. I don’t know why, I felt this was some kind of snide trick. I was for it. They were out to get me tonight.