Therapy

of spending more than half of every year making The People Next Door. Sitcom is hard work for actors. It’s the weekly rep of TV. The schedule for The People Next Door is: readthrough on Tuesday and rehearse Wednesday to Friday in London, travel up to Rummidge on Saturday, dress-rehearse and record there on Sunday, day off on Monday, and start again with the next script on Tuesday. It wipes out the actors’ weekends, and if filming on location is required that sometimes takes up their day off. They’re well paid, but it’s a gruelling routine and they dare not get ill. More to the point: for an actress like Deborah Radcliffe, the character of Priscilla Springfield must have ceased to be a challenge some time ago. True, she’s free to do live theatre for about four months a year, between series, but that’s not quite long enough for a West End production and anyway Sod’s Law would ensure that the parts she wanted didn’t come up when she was available. So I wasn’t surprised to learn that she wanted her freedom. Jake, needless to say, didn’t see it that way. “The ingratitude of people in this profession...” he sighed, shaking his head and twisting a sliver of gravadlax on the end of his fork in a puddle of dill sauce. “Who ever heard of Deborah Radcliffe before The People Next Door , apart from a few people on the RSC mailing list? We made her a star, and now she’s just turning her back on us. Whatever happened to loyalty?”
    “Come off it, Jake,” I said. “We’re lucky that we’ve had her this long.”
    “Thank me for that, my boy,” said Jake. (He’s actually ten years younger than me, but he likes to play the father in our relationship.) “ I pressured Heartland into writing a four-year retainer into her renewal contract, after the first series. They would have settled for three.”
    “I know, Jake, you did well,” I said. “I suppose this isn’t just a ploy by her agent to up her fee?”
    “That was my first thought, naturally, but she says she wouldn’t do it for double.”
    “How can we have another series without Debbie?” I said. “We can’t cast another actress. The audience wouldn’t accept it. Debbie is Priscilla, as far as they’re concerned.”
    Jake allowed the waiter to refill our wine glasses, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I spoke to the people at Heartland about that. David Treece, Mel Spacks and Ollie. Incidentally, this is completely confidential, Tubby. Are you going to rehearsal tomorrow? Then don’t breathe a word. The rest of the cast know nothing about Debbie leaving. Heartland want you to do a rewrite on the last script.”
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “There’s nothing wrong with it. But you’re going to have to write Debbie out of the series.”
    “You mean, kill off Priscilla?”
    “Good God, no. This is a comedy series, for Chrissake, not drama. No, Priscilla’s got to leave Edward.”
    “Leave him? Why?”
    “Well, that’s your department, old son. Perhaps she meets another fella.”
    “Don’t be daft, Jake. Priscilla would never desert Edward. It’s just not in her nature.”
    “Well, women do funny things. Look at Margaret. She left me.” “That’s because you were having an affair with Rhoda.”
    “Well, maybe Edward could have an affair with someone to provoke Priscilla into divorcing him. There’s your new character!” “It’s not in Edward’s nature either. He and Priscilla are the archetypal monogamous couple. They’re about as likely to split up as Sally and me.”
    We argued for a while. I pointed out that the Springfields, in spite of their trendy liberal opinions and cultural sophistication, are really deeply conventional at heart, whereas the next-door Davises, for all their vulgarity and philistinism, are much more tolerant and liberated. Jake knew this already, of course.
    “All right,” he said at last. “What do you suggest?”
    “Perhaps we should call it a day,” I said, without premeditation. Jake nearly choked on his sautéd sweetbreads and polenta.
    “You mean, kill the show at the end of this series?”
    “Perhaps it’s reached the end of its natural life.” I wasn’t sure whether I believed this, but I discovered to my surprise that I wasn’t unduly bothered by the prospect.
    Jake, though, was very bothered. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Tubby, don’t do this to me. Tell me you’re joking. The People Next Door could run for another three series. There are a