The Confessions Collection. Timothy Lea
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‘Hear, hear!’ chant others. ‘What a load of rubbish.’
Needless to say the reaction from the posh seats is of a different nature.
‘Evict that enemy of the people’s culture!’ hurls Loser, sprinting up the aisle.
‘Shut him up! Shut him up!’ screeches Sidney desperately. ‘The whole of my future is tied up in this film.’
‘Quite a lot of your past too, I should reckon,’ hisses Dad. ‘It’s disgusting. Filthy!’
‘Get this capitalist pawn out of the cinema!’ yells Loser.
‘ “Porn”. That’s good, coming from you.’
‘Sit down!’
‘Shurrup!’
‘Leave him alone!’
‘Help, help. You’d assault an old man, would you? Help.’
‘Assault him? I’ll swing for him!’ Sidney starts to push down the aisle towards us and for a moment I can see myself in the ridiculous position of having to defend Dad against the thumping he so richly deserves. At that moment the screen suddenly goes blurred and a picture like molten lava running down the side of a volcano, appears on the screen. Apparently the projector has overheated and the film is melting away before our eyes.
As if that was not enough, Loser’s horse, having finished its business in the gents, or not having been able to push down the bar on the exit doors, comes racing into the auditorium again. It obviously does not go to the cinema very often and, taking fright at what is happening on the screen, proceeds to race round and round the theatre, occasionally veering off up the central aisle for a bit of variety.
‘Gee, I’ve been to some premières in my time,’ says the guy cowering next to me, ‘but this caps everything. You limeys really are getting with the razzmatazz, aren’t you? This is more like a happening than a movie.’
As if to prove the point Loser climbs up onto the organ seat at the front of the theatre and hurls himself onto the horse’s back as it careers past. To the loudest cheers of the evening he then gallops up the aisle and disappears into the night through the exit doors.
‘Gee. What a switch,’ says the guy next to me. ‘I can never remember a film ending with the director riding away into the sunset.’
‘Or Ladbroke Grove,’ murmurs Justin. ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, please don’t leave your seats. We seem to have had a slight technical hitch but I’m certain we’ll be able to continue showing this absorbing motion picture in just a few minutes. Thank you so much for your forbearance.’
He sits down and the comparative silence makes me wonder what has happened to Dad. I look down and there is the miserable old bleeder stretched out between a row of seats snoring away like the pig he is.
‘Out like a light,’ says Sidney. ‘By the cringe, but I wish I could do something about making it permanent.’
‘Is he all right?’ says Mum, pushing her way to our side.
‘Yeah, don’t worry, Mum.’
‘I’m not worried!’ Mum sounds as if she means it. ‘I don’t want him causing any more trouble, that’s all.’
‘He’s so uncouth, isn’t he?’ sighs Rosie. ‘He lets the tone down everywhere he goes.’
‘Belt up and tuck your tits in,’ snorts Sid. ‘You’re a fine one to talk about tone. The only Tone you know is the bloke behind the bar at the Highwayman.’
‘Do give over,’ says Mum, settling down and resting her feet on Dad’s body. ‘I want to see the rest of this film. I think it’s quite nice, really.’
But Mum does not see the rest of the film because the projector refuses to work and Justin has to bound to his feet again and tell the fast-disappearing audience that he hopes they will see the complete movie when it comes to their local cinema.
‘The week that rubbish comes to our local cinema is the week before the place opens as a bingo hall,’ says one dissatisfied guest grimly. ‘I always thought Loser was a vastly overrated talent and this junk proves it.’
‘I expect Ken will join us at the flat,’ says Justin evenly as the last of the outsiders disappears through the swing doors. ‘Er – I was wondering what we should do about your father, Timothy?’
Dad is still stretched out in the middle of the theatre.
‘Is this place well insured against fire?’ asks Sidney.
‘It’s not well insured against what’s happened out by the gents,’ says the cinema manager who has been jigging about like a prat on hot pricks ever since we arrived. ‘It’s difficult enough getting the staff at the best of times without asking them to clear up things like that.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ soothes Justin. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Loser about it.’
‘It’s his horse you should speak to.’
‘Exactly, exactly. Timothy, I wonder if you would do me the most tremendous favour.’
By the time I have finished doing Justin his favour and washed my hands, everybody else has pushed off to Justin’s flat and I am left to struggle after them by myself. I have been looking forward to this particular knees-up for the last few days but after the events of the evening a lot of my enthusiasm has faded.
It is not replaced when I push open the door of Justin’s swish apartment and observe Dad through a glass darkly.
‘How the hell did he get here?’ I ask Sidney, who is standing a darn sight closer to Sandra’s nipples than she is.
‘He followed us in a tashi – I mean taxi,’ stutters my stoned brother-in-law. ‘Have you met thish lovely girl becaush you’re not going to. You’re far too nishe for him, aren’t you, darling?’
I leave them to become better acquainted and notice that Glint is chatting up Rosie, his finger lightly running up and down her naked arms with the kind of scarcely restrained excitement he normally reserves for the neck of a whisky bottle. Oh well, good luck to them. I’ve done my bit to protect Sidney. I’m darned if I’m going to do any more. It is about time I started looking out for number one.
‘Hello, Timmy. I thought you were awfully good.’
‘Thanks, Sam. I hardly noticed myself.’ This is true. In all the confusion, God’s gift to the British film industry got less than my usual quota of enthralled attention. ‘Still busy are you?’
Samantha shakes her head slowly. ‘No, thank goodness. I’ve been on the go from six o’clock this morning but I think I can relax now. They all look as if they think they’re capable of looking after themselves, don’t they?’
This is very true and an atmosphere of what you might call uninhibited gaiety prevails. It is a mood I must try and make the most of.
‘I can never understand,’ I say gazing into her mince-pies, ‘why you haven’t been snapped up by Justin or some other producer. You have a sweet, unspoilt quality that I find it difficult to put my finger on.’
‘Not for lack of trying though,’ says Samantha, removing my hand. ‘Just because I was weak once it doesn’t mean that I’m going to be at your beck and call. I’ve hardly seen you since that time we had lunch with your brother-in-law.’
‘I know. It just shows you how hard I’ve been working, doesn’t it? And if it isn’t me it’s you. It’s difficult to find the time, isn’t it?’
I return my hand to its original resting place and this time there is no impulse to remove it.
‘You wanted to see me again, did you?’ she says uncertainly.
‘Of course I did. I’ve been looking forward to this evening