It’s all right if I go in, is it nurse? Thank you. How does he seem today? I understand. Yes, I’ll be as quiet as I can, but he’s a bit mutt and jeff nowadays, so I do have to shout a bit. But you’ve probably worked that out, haven’t you? Occupational hazard, I presume. Or age. Or age.
All right, let’s go. Let’s go.
ALPHO, CAN YOU HEAR ME? GOOD. HOW YOU F-FEELING?
LISTEN, ALPHO, THERE’S SOMETHING I’VE GOT TO TELL YOU.
SMILE IF YOU CAN HEAR ME AND UNDERSTAND, PET. GOOD. LISTEN, THERE’S A GIRL OUTSIDE. SHE’S WAITING IN THE CORRIDOR.
SHE’S F-FROM THEIR "NORTHERN" OFFICE, SHE SAID. NEVER HEARD OF NO NORTHERN OFFICE BEFORE, BUT STILL. SHE SEEMS REALLY NICE IN HERSELF BUT I’M PRETTY SURE THAT GORDON MUST HAVE ASKED HER TO COME. SHE SAYS SHE’S JUST CHECKING HOW YOU ARE BUT I PRESUME SHE’S JUST ANGLING TO F-FIND OUT WHETHER WE’RE EVER LIKELY TO TREAD THE BOARDS AGAIN. BUT, WE’LL SHOW HER, WON’T WE, PET? TAKE IT EASY. ALPHO, THE NURSE WANTS TO GIVE YOU YOUR MEDICINE, SO I’LL GO NOW. SEE YOU LATER. I’LL GO AND SPEAK TO HER THEN I’LL COME BACK. ALRIGHT? SLEEP TIGHT, LOVE.
Glad you could come, love. It’s nice to have a bit of support. It’s not often we’re honoured by a visit from the agency. What’s that? Oh, thank you. Never had a business card from the agency before, neither. Loads f‑from elsewhere, of course. I’ll add it to the collection. Sometimes I think we’ll paper one of the rooms with them. Not that we’re there, most of the time. How’s Gordon? Good. Good. What’s that? Well, I’m a little bit f-frightened, to tell you the truth. He’s doing all right, but he’s not recovering as quick as I’d have thought. He's been like this a week, now. Well, you probably know that - Gordon's been kept informed.
You haven't come at the best time, really; a lot of the time he's quite chatty on occasions really; he just needs to build his strength up. He’s not really able to see you today; he’s just had his medicine; he’ll be snoring away now.
What's that, love? No, f-fire away. Yes, we really have been together now f-for f-forty years – f-from age f-fifteen to f-fifty f-five as the act, married f-for thirty-f-five of them. Sorry, f-far too many effs there; I normally try and avoid them – it’s a little problem I have.
What’s that, love? Yes, always had that problem, with the effs, that is; well, since I started performing anyway; don’t know what it is causes it – means I mind me language, mind. What’s that? No, that’s no problem. F-funny that, isn’t it? It’s really strange how I stutter on me f-flippin’ effs when I speak but I can sing ‘em like a lark. Listen:
I’m fantastic Freddie from Frinton
I’m flatulent as a fat frog
I fart forty days and I fart forty nights
I float fast and free in my foul poison fog
My nerves are as frayed as fish fingers
Fried by some Frenchman from fair Fontainebleau
But I’m not a false friend who malingers
I fling gases at masses of folk then recur
I’m the fourth of the fabulous bringers
Forget gold, stuff your frankincense, forsake your myrrh
Though it flounders in fourth place should you care to inspect ‘em
My gift’s far more heartfelt - then forced through my rectum
I’m fantastic Freddie from Frinton
Farting faster by far than a five-furlong dog
Yes, I’m fantastic Freddie from Frinton
I’m flatulent as a fat frog.
See, no problem at all.
Sorry, nurse, it won’t happen again. Just a bit of tension, that’s all. Sorry. Sorry. It won’t happen again.
What’s that, love? Suppose it is, really. Bit risqué, I know. I was taught it to cure me. It worked – f-for the singing, at least.
Obviously, I never performed that on stage. Just a bit of a warm up. Make sure I didn’t trip up on anything. Gus Elen used to do it years ago, apparently. In the music halls. So I was told. What’s that? Yes, I had a good teacher, God rest ‘im. Properly trained, I am, believe it or not. Thought I was going to be an operatic mezzo-soprano at one stage. No chance of that now, of course, but I still practise. Do my exercises. Warble in f-front of the mirror. Never too old to learn. I used to keep going back f-for lessons, back in the early days. Until he. Until he. No matter.
Oh dear, I f-feel a bit embarrassed, now. Suppose it wasn’t the most appropriate of songs, either. Poor old F-fonzie certainly isn’t malingering at the moment. F-fonzie? It’s his stage name, sort of: “The Great Alph-phonso”, he had to call himself. Just as well he did all the bleeding introductions, with a name like that. Used to boom out to the audience in that ph-phoney Italian accent of his. Better than F-fred, I suppose; that’s his real name. Don’t know why he chose Italian; because he had an Italian accordion, I suppose.
What’s that? Mine? It’s Marlene! Marlene! Don’t think I’d get very f-far on stage with a name like that! No, Dolores it’s been all my stage life, and that’s the way it’ll stay. That’s what we call each other as well. He calls me Dolores and I call him Alpho – or F-fonzie. Depends what sort of mood I’m in with him.
Oh dear. Perhaps I should have sung a nice hymn instead.
Oh Lord our strength in times of weakness
Help us in our fight
To quieten the noisy day
And light our darkest night
We did use to do hymns sometimes, you know, if they invited us. Wesleyan ladies, people like that. I used to wear something nice and restrained. His eyes used to go all misty. Didn't get much money f-for it, but we seemed - closer, somehow.
What’s that? Well, we’re doing all right, you know? Not as packed out as in the early days, but we make a living all right. He’s determined to get us back up there, though – top of the bill. No, we never had no children - never seemed to happen, somehow. Wasn’t f-for want of trying. Sorry, a bit indelicate, that.
Well you know I had a miscarriage, don't you; it's no secret. Funny, he was so sweet and kind to me after that; quite a changed man he was; he was less - what do they call it nowadays? - driven somehow; less concerned about getting somewhere.
Never had to cancel, before. Never; the show must go on, thick and thin; he did a couple on his own once, when I got laryngitis. Carried on regardless. Even sang a couple of numbers. Nothing special, his singing, but they appreciated the gesture. But he never missed at all, not once. Until now; I must confess, I’m a bit f-frightened, love.
Well, what am I going to do now – you might well ask. That was the one thing; we was nothing without each other; he was nothing without me and it’s not the same for me without him. But I can carry on, of course. I’ll need to. I’ve got quite a f-few irons in the f-fire – I’ve got a lot of f-friends who can accompany me if – while Alpho gets better. But the trouble is, he was more than an accompanist, you see; he did all the leading, just like a male ballroom dancer; just like a man f-full stop really. Gentleman’s role, he used to say, though he was never no gentleman, really.
Still, I can’t grumble, really. Can’t grumble.
What’s that? Oh, yes, he could be rude sometimes; f-famous f-for it, he was; said I could hit a gnat’s arse with the pointed end of a pin easier than I could hit a note f-first time. Portamento, he called it; more ph-phoney Italian.
But, you see, I’ve always respected him somehow.
Mind you, he turned into a pantomime Italian accordionist in the end; all "my wife doesn't understand me. Please let me cry on your shoulder" sort of rubbish.
Well, not the end, obviously. Don’t know what I’m talking about in the past tense f-for; he’s still here, twice as large and three times as nasty, except he’s not so large any more, is he, poor devil; he keeps on shrinking, just like his bleedin’ accordion, getting smaller and smaller, all the wind knocked out of him. But he doesn't expand again. Poor sod. Poor sod. But he’ll be alright. He’ll be alright.
Trouble is, he’s grown to like his beer a bit too much – can’t blame him f-for that, I suppose – like a tipple, myself. Me? Well I’m quite partial to drop of Campari and soda – in f-fact, don’t tell anyone but I’ve got one here.
Of course, it should be chilled, really, but not here. It’s too cold. Normally, hospitals are really over-heated. But not this one. It’s really cold, don’t you think? No? Really? Well, it must be me, then. Perhaps it's the shock. Wish I had me old f-fox f-fur here. Belonged to me mum, you know. Know it's not very - what do they call it? - PC, but it's a bit bleeding late f-for the f-fox, isn't it?
I love the shape of these little bottles, though, don’t you? Look at it; it’s so elegant, the way it tapers. Anyway, best put it away, before the nurses see it. What’s that?
Oh, there’s a little Italian grocer’s just round the corner from our house – strange to say “our house” as we’re never there normally – anyway, you can get anything there; cheese, wine, salami.
Yes, it is strange to be back here f-for such a long time; strange it takes something like this to bring you home. And it is home, you know.
I miss Morecambe when I’m not here. I love it here. We’ve been here about thirty years, I suppose, except we haven’t really been here, ‘cos we’ve been on the road all the time. I know it’s all a bit down at the heel but it’s just right f-for me; a bit like Clacton; not stuck up like F-frinton and not disgusting and vulgar like Blackpool; no, Morecambe’s more my scene. Used to love going to Clacton. Lots of people f-from round our way went there. Never went to Brighton or nothing; wrong side of the river; North/South, never the twain shall meet, like most things in London. But here is definitely home; I might be f-from the South and I might never have spent more than three weeks tops when I wasn't - when we weren't, sorry - on the road, but it's still home; it’s still home.
What’s that, love? Sorry, I was miles away there. Yes, we certainly have seen some places. Been all over. Even been to Ashby de la bleedin’ Zouch, God help us. No, we travel light; no ornaments, no pictures, nothing like that. Nothing like that.
Well, love, we've been together f-forty years and it seems like it's coming apart.
What’s that? No, you go and have a smoke love. I'll be all right; I’ll just wait here; no sense going back in yet; he’ll be dead to the world. Sorry, dodgy expression to use, that. You’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of you, mind; I don’t think there’s a smoking room – you’ll have to go downstairs and go outside. No, no, I’ll be all right. It’ll be all right.
Yes, love, I’ll wait here. I won’t be alone. I’ll have my voices, no doubt.
Gordon's been kept informed.
He'd have made it his business to find out. Creepy toad; crawling into everybody's lives. He's the toad in the hole and no mistake. Little freak - finger in every pie.
He’ll be snoring away now.I’ve always hated that sound - like a rat sandpapering itself to death. Too much work, too much beer, too many fags; too many wrong hours. We couldn't expect you to sleep the sleep of the angel, could we, chicken? Couldn't expect me to sleep at all.
Properly trained, I am, believe it or not.Trained like a dog. Obedient.
His eyes used to go all misty.When he slipped away, his eyes were like cataracts, as if his soul had been switched off and someone had pulled down the blinds.
He’s determined to get us back up there, though – top of the bill.Poor sod doesn’t realise there’s no bill left anymore.
Wasn’t f-for want of trying.
Red raw I was sometimes. Sore throat and sore down there.
It's no secret.
Too late for secrets.
He was so sweet and kind to me after that.
It was high time you changed, as well - meaner than a bleedin’ sparrow you’d been; more like a jackdaw or a magpie, nicking all the things from you, taking all your bright shiny things, taking things from your nest. Don't die, though, you bastard; don't die.
Never had to cancel, before. Never; the show must go on.Until the curtain comes down.
He was never no gentleman, though.
He was a gentleman, mind; gentleman good and proper; fine wine and fine manners; my bruised angel he called me once; don't be stupid I said angels don't bruise, even if they fall, even if they fall like the meanest sparrow they don’t bruise.
But I’ve always respected him somehow.
Still do. And there’s the tragedy.
He doesn't expand again.
And neither do I. I’m shrinking as well. Except for these hands with the fingers all pricked to buggery. I’m sure they’re getting bigger. It’s like they’re getting stretched. Must all that emoting and gesturing. They’re getting curved as well. Must be cradling all that sheet music. Still, I can still wield a needle, that’s what matters.
It's a bit bleeding late f-for the f-fox, isn't it?Bit late for everything, really. Still.
I love the shape of it, though, don’t you? So elegant, the way it tapers.
Wish I could crawl into one and never come out again. Just like. Just like. Don’t think that. Don’t.
It is home, you know.
If only we could stay. If only.
Yes, we certainly have seen some places.
We’ve certainly seen the dreary haul from digs to digs and boards to boards and the pampered sitting rooms of relatives and the crushing tedium of their applause.
No, we travel light; no ornaments, no pictures, nothing like that.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
What? What? Hello?
Ah, there you are love. Everything OK? Here, sit down here; listen, love, I know I shouldn’t lecture you, but that’s what doing f-for him, the f-fags. Told him to lay off the f-fags, told him to cut down on the drinking, told him I did, kept telling, kept telling him right up to when it happened but he didn’t listen, he never listened, never bleeding listened when he was suppose to be accompanying me, let alone when I was trying to talk some f-flaming sense into him. Always liked to lead, you see; always liked to be in charge. Men are like that, though, aren’t they, pet? Gordon certainly is, isn’t he?
Of course, I’ve had to do all the organising f-for the last two years anyway, but that’s OK. I mean, as long as he turns up and plays in tune, that’s all you can ask, really, isn’t it?
Anyway, lecture over. Just think about it, OK? OK?
Do me a f-favour, love; wait here while I go to the loo; just in case, alright? Just in case.
Ah, the magic of the mirror. Should be lights around it. The old warpaint could do with touching up, that’s f-for sure.
La la la la la la la…
Oh, me. Something’s got to give. Something’s got to change. Can’t go on like this. Can’t afford to retire just yet, either. Maybe I’ll change my repertoire. Change of material, that’s what we need. I could use his poems. His poems.
Always writing poems, he was - pretty weird stuff a lot it was, too. Didn’t rhyme, a lot of it. Used a lot of posh words, as well, like “subsume.” Didn’t understand half of it. But there’s a f-few I could turn into songs. Maybe I’ll set one or two of them to music: I think I could still turn my hand to turning out a good tune; used to write a f-few songs, but Alpho didn’t like them, or said they weren’t right f-for the act. Well, maybe things might just have to change. Might have to change my repertoire. There’s one I could do now, if I know. Lord knows I’ve rehearsed it often enough:
Oh, the meanest bruised blackbird
Can warble its song
And try to convince us
That nothing is wrong
But a blue hidden baby
With a blanket of skin
That can never escape
From the trap that it’s in
That can never quite clamber
Its little way out
Subsumes its revenge
In a frozen shrill shout
We made our mistake
Then it sucked us both down
Withheld the lifeline
As we started to drown
Beached in its stillness
Enshrined in its caul
Avenging with stealth
And making us fall
Like the meanest bruised angel
(Though we land on our feet)
Then making us sprawl
Like the meanest bruised angel
To the unyielding street
Our lives turned so small
Like the meanest bruised angel
To a heart’s missing beat
To a heart’s missing beat
To a heart’s missing beat
Still, don’t think I’m ready f-for that, yet. Don’t think the world’s ready yet, either. A f-few tricky tempo changes as much as anything else. Better buck your ideas up, Alpho; I don’t want to have to arrange another f-funeral just yet. You’re just not ready to go, and I’m not ready to go solo yet.
Oh, God, seem to be singing that song half my life. OK, girl, time to get out there and perform again.
But f-first, a drop of mouthwash. Cheers!
Hello, love. Excuse me, could you get rid of this, please? Would you mind? Go on, slip it in your handbag; no-one will notice. It was just a bit of f-fortif-fication.
Thanks. You know, you don't have to stay, love; it's really sweet of you, and I really appreciate you being here - you've been a big comfort - but I don't really think that there’s anything anybody can do practically. We’ll just have to see it out. He’ll be all right; he’ll be all right.
Well, that’s very nice of you. Thank you.
Now, what were we talking about?
Oh, yes, life on the road, God help us.
It was weird – is weird being on the road. He used to do the cooking and I did the sewing.
Of course, most of the time, you’d get some steak and kidney pudding or something f-from some old dear in a guesthouse, but when he got the chance he could cook like an angel; always some sort of pasta; really simple ingredients, but delicious. And then a nice drop of red, and Bob's your uncle.
I’m still quite a dab hand with a needle to this day. I never made my costumes; I always had them made, professionally, but I always had to repair them - and his as well. Always pretty cramped it was, as well; I kept pricking meself all the time. F-fingers like pincushions I had; just as well I wasn't the one playing the accordion. Little specks of blood on the sheet music, there was; he went berserk if he f-found out; he always liked to keep everything neat; even when he smoked, he always had to have a clean ashtray.
In f-fact, I couldn’t help noticing: your sleeve's f-fraying, love; against your watch, looks like. If I had my needles and threads here I could mend it f-for you in a jiffy. It really is f-fraying quite badly, isn't it? It looks quite new, as well. Can't buy nothing nowadays; hang on! What's that? It’s a bleeding microphone, isn’t it, you little spy! What's your game? Here, what's your grubby little game? Is this one of bleeding Gordon's sordid little stunts? Trying to get a nice little end of the career interview for free. Thought there was more to it than that. Knew he was up to something. Well, you can bugger off, with your fake charm and your false concern. No, go away; we'll let you know when he's ready. We'll tell you when we're fit to tour again; you'll get your fifteen percent then, as soon as we're back on our feet. In the meantime, go away. No. Please go away. Now! I know you're only a pathetic little pawn in the game, but please go. Tell your mate Gordon we'll be ready in our own good time. But give me that disc first. I said, give me the disc first! Let me have it, let me have it! Well, keep it, then, you cheating little slut! Piss off! Nurse! This woman’s leaving! Go on! Get out of it! Go on!
Has she gone? I’m sorry about that, nurse. I’m af-fraid I made a bit of a scene. That woman was up to no good. Please don’t let her in here again. She’s no f-friend of ours. May I go in now, please? Thank you.
Well I never told you anything you shouldn't have known already, love. As for the rest, you'll just have to guess, like everyone else. Certain things remain secret.
F-FONZIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? BLINK YOUR EYES IF YOU CAN. GOOD. GOOD. SHE’S GONE NOW. DON’T WORRY, F-FONZIE, I SAW HER OFF. JUST ONE OF PRECIOUS GORDON’S LITTLE SPIES. NO, NOTHING; NOTHING; SHE KNOWS NOTHING; DON’T WORRY: WE’LL BE ALL RIGHT. WE’VE STILL GOT A CONTRACT INTACT, DON’T F-FORGET. I’LL LET YOU SLEEP, NOW. GOODNIGHT ‘TILL TOMORROW. GOD BLESS.
Yes, you do your best to survive, my lover, because when all’s said and done, after everything, I’d still prefer us to be together. God knows, you’ve got your faults, but you’ve never hit me and you’ve respected the things I’ve done. We’re still a partnership of two at the moment. She didn’t learn anything she didn’t need to know, anyway. I just dropped a few hints; a few lifelines. We’ll see. We’ll see. But, if not, well, a girl’s got to look after herself in this world, hasn’t she? Hasn’t she? It’s not your time to go yet, Alpho, but whatever happens, the act carries on, dead or alive. Dead or alive.
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