Mr Lonely. Eric Morecambe

time, man. Come back after the show.’

      Loose put his hands out to be slapped. Sid was slightly confused. He had only ever seen that done on television so he played safe. He put his own hands out to be slapped. Loose looked at them, then back to Sid, smiled the Emperor Concerto, slapped his hands and went in to the toilet.

      Sid walked towards the door. As he opened it he came face to face with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen—black is beautiful—and very tall. He was at a loss for words.

      Someone said, ‘Hi, baby.’

      The waiter walked over to her and said, ‘Is it still raining, miss?’

      ‘It’s pissing down, turkey,’ she smiled.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      June, 1976

      Sid walked past Serina’s open dressing-room door. Serina had been with the club for a few weeks or thereabouts. As Sid glanced in, he saw twenty-five years of body, forty-five years of experience and thirty-eight inches of bust. He said his usual evening ‘Hello’.

      Her answer was usually, and without looking up, ‘Hi.’ But tonight it was, ‘Hello, Sid. Good audience. You did well. Got some enormous laughs.’

      The sentence was long enough to make him stop and answer back, ‘Yes, they are good. A lot of coach parties. Have you settled in?’

      ‘I think so.’

      ‘It’s a great place to work. Al and Manny are a couple of nice guys and, if you’re on time, easy to work for.’

      Sid was blocking the narrow corridor. Two or three people were trying to squeeze by. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to a ventriloquist.

      ‘That’s okay,’ said the ventriloquist. ‘Just greathe in and we’ll all ge agle to get kassed,’ said the ventriloquist’s dummy.

      ‘You’d better come in,’ Serina smiled. He did. ‘And close the door. I’m sorry. The room isn’t really big enough for two people. If you sit here, Sid, I’ll be able to take my make-up off.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He sat down.

      ‘You put a few different ones in tonight,’ she said. ‘What was that one about “together at last”?’

      ‘Oh, that’s the prostitute one. You know, about the scrubber who dies, and on her gravestone she had written “Together at last”, and someone asks if she has been buried with her husband, and the scrubber’s friend says, “No, dearie, she means her legs!” ‘

      Serina laughed out loud. It was one of the dirtiest laughs Sid could remember. It sounded like the last quarter of an inch of a squirting soda-siphon bottle. ‘That’s funny. Oh, yes, I like that one,’ she coughed. ‘I thought you worked well tonight.’

      ‘That’s very kind, Serina,’ he said, slightly embarrassed.

      ‘Could you pass those tissues?’ He did as asked. ‘Thank you. Do you like my work?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, a shade too quickly.

      ‘I’ve never seen you watching me.’

      ‘You wouldn’t. I always go out front to watch you,’ he lied.

      ‘Drink?’

      ‘What have you got?’

      ‘I’ve got half a bottle of whiskey, or a full bottle of Scotch.’

      ‘And you?’ Sid asked.

      ‘Maybe.’ A slight pause. ‘Later.’

      Nudge, nudge, hint, hint went through Sid’s mind.

      ‘I have to change. Please help yourself.’

      ‘To what?’ Sid smiled.

      ‘You’ll find all you want under my slip, the one on the table,’ she said slowly. ‘You have to hide the drinks in this place.’

      ‘Don’t I know. Mine’s under the sink in a locked suitcase and the suitcase is chained to the wall.’

      Serina made her way to the corner of the room. ‘Turn round while I change. No, darling, not towards me, the other way, and don’t look in the mirror. It could steam up.’

      Sid poured his drink, turned his back and relaxed. No way was he going to look in the mirror, when, if he played his cards right, he’d be able to see the real thing. After a few audible tugs and pulls, sounds of opening and closing zips, followed by clicking of wire hangers, Serina said, ‘Pour me a small one, Sid angel. I’m almost dressed.’ Sid did as he was asked, never once looking in the mirror.

      ‘Okay to turn round?’

      ‘Didn’t you even peek?’

      ‘You told me not to.’

      ‘Do you always do as you’re told?’

      ‘It depends how big the bed is.’ He gave her the drink.

      ‘There isn’t room for one here. That’s for sure.’ She sipped the drink. ‘Well, I’m through for the night. How about you?’

      ‘Yes, if I want to, or I could go on and thank them after Frank’s finished but I don’t have to. Al and Manny like me to do it. They say it’s good policy.’

      ‘They’re not here tonight,’ Serina said. ‘They’re in Stoke. They’ve gone to Jollees and they’re staying overnight.’

      ‘Oh.’ A slight pause. ‘How do you know?’

      ‘You’ll have to take my word for it,’ she smiled.

      ‘You going home now?’

      ‘Yes. You?’

      ‘Er … yes,’ answered Sid.

      ‘Where do you live?’

      ‘Not far—Friern Barnet. You?’ He stood up.

      ‘Ballards Lane,’ she said.

      ‘Ballards Lane. I go past there every night—near the Gaumont, North Finchley.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘Good God.’

      ‘Pass me that umbrella, sweetheart.’

      Come on, Sid, think quicker, she’s almost leaving, he thought. Aloud he said, ‘You live there with your folks?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Husband?’

      ‘No. I’m not married.’

      ‘I am.’ Might as well get that part straight.

      ‘I know,’ she said.

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘Fella? You live with your fella, then?’ He tried to be casual, as if he asked all women that question every day, even his mother.

      ‘I like too much freedom for anything like that.’

      ‘Right!’

      ‘I have a flat in Ballards Lane and it’s mine.’

      ‘Maybe I could drop you off?’

      ‘I have a car, Sid.’

      ‘Oh.’ He was losing ground rapidly and she knew it. ‘Oh, well. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow and I’ll supply the booze.’

      ‘What time do you normally get home?’ She was fastening her coat. ‘If you stay and do your bit at the end?’

      ‘Any time. Two, three, three-thirty. Any time,’