Therapy

came to getting together again. When Kierkegaard asked the husband’s permission to write to her, he refused. “But he always loved her,” Tubby said. “He left her everything in his will, though there wasn’t much left when he died.” I asked him what he died of. “An infection of the lungs,” he said. “But in my opinion it was really a broken heart. He had lost the will to live. Nobody really understood his suffering. When he was on his deathbed, his uncle said that there was nothing wrong with him that couldn’t be cured by straightening his shoulders. He was only forty-eight when he died.” I asked what else this geezer did apart from writing books. The answer was, nothing very much, except take carriage drives in the country. I said, “Where’s your jeopardy, Tubby? Where’s your suspense?” He looked rather taken aback. “This isn’t a thriller,” he said. “But you’ve got to have some kind of threat to your hero,” I said. “Well,” he said, “there was a time when a satirical magazine started to attack him. That caused him a lot of pain. They made fun of his trousers.” “His trousers?” I said. I tell you George, I had a struggle to keep a straight face through all this. “Yes, they printed caricatures of him with one leg of his trousers shorter than the other.” Well, as soon as he said “caricature” I remembered that cartoon in Public Interest, and it all clicked into place. Yeah, you got it in one. The guy’s developed some sort of strange identification with this Kierkegaard bloke. It’s all connected with his marital problems. But I didn’t let on. I just recapped the story as he’d pitched it to me. “OK, Tubby, let me see if I’ve got this right,” I said. “There’s this Danish philosopher, nineteenth century, who gets engaged to a bird called Regine, breaks off the engagement for reasons nobody understands, she marries another guy, they never speak to each other again, he lives for another twenty-odd years writing books nobody understands, then he dies, and a hundred years later he’s hailed as the father of existentialism. Do you really think there’s a TV drama series there?” He thought for a moment, and then he said, “Perhaps it would be better as a one-off.” “Much better,” I said. “But of course, that’s not my territory. You’d have to talk to Alec Woosnam about it.” I thought that was a rather clever move, sending him off to bend Alec’s ear about Kierkegaard. No, of course Alec won’t buy it, do me a favour! But he’ll string Tubby along if I ask him to. Get him to write a treatment, talk to people at Channel Four, go through the motions. If we indulge him on Kierkegaard, he just might play ball over Debbie’s part in The People Next Door. No, he doesn’t have a script editor. We had one on the first series, but we never felt the need after that. Tubby turns in his scripts direct to me and Hal, and we work on them together. I don’t think he’d take kindly to having a script editor again. But it’s a thought, George, definitely a thought. Another one? Well I shouldn’t really, but this pie’s given me a terrible thirst, must be oversalted. Oh, you might as well make it a pint. Ta.
     

* * SAMANTHA * *
     
    HETTY, DARLING, HOW ARE YOU? Omigod, I don’t need to ask, do I? Poor you. Your jaw is swollen out like a pumpkin. I expect you’re surprised to see me, but I phoned and your flatmate told me you were here, and as I was passing I thought I’d pop in even though it’s not a proper visiting hour. I don’t think they really mind, do they? Can’t you talk at all? Oh dear, what a shame. I was looking forward to a nice chat. Well, you’ll just have to nod and shake your head and use your eyes, darling, like a good television actress. I bought you some grapes, where shall I put them — on here? They’ve been washed, so you can help yourself. No? Can’t eat anything ? What a curse wisdom teeth are. Badly impacted was it? Two of them? No wonder you look so poorly. Mmm... these are rather delicious. No pips. You’re sure that if I peeled one for you, you wouldn’t... ? No? Oh well, all right. Does it hurt terribly? I suppose they pumped you full of painkillers. You must demand more as soon as they wear off. Hospitals are terribly mean about that, they think pain is improving. Well, I’m going to have to make all the conversational running, aren’t I? Fortunately I’ve got lots to talk about. The fact is I just had