‘I got the gig. At Comedy Queens.’
‘That’s fantastic Ryan. So why the worried look?’
‘It’s on Friday. I’m not sure I’m ready.’
‘Honestly darling. You’ll smash it.’
‘Hrmm.’
‘Come on. You’ve already done what? Ten gigs? More?’
‘Yeah, but this is the first real one. Open mic gigs don’t count. Anybody can stand up and do them. You don’t have to be good. You don’t even have to be funny. This is different. I’m being paid to make people laugh – not standing up so that people can laugh at me.’
‘You’ll be fine but I can’t stand here propping you up. I’ve a date with a builder from Brighton with bulging biceps.’
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay. I’ve got coffee with Ken and then a scintillating trip to the supermarket to pick up some cleaning products. I’ll be running a training session on how to use them later. Ciao.’
Ryan was pleased to have the flat to himself. He needed to practice. He was self-conscious about the neighbours. It must sound strange hearing him projecting his voice at the fridge, especially when he kept pausing to allow for the laughter.
By Tuesday he knew he was in trouble. Open mic sessions were only five minutes at most. This gig was twice that. Ten minutes didn’t sound much but even one minute was long enough to die when you didn’t have the material.
On Wednesday things got worse. He’d lost himself and no longer knew what kind of comedian he was. Was he a one-liner like Milton Jones, or did he tell rambling anecdotes like Billy Connelly. Was he angry and disappointed by everything in the world like Jack Dee or was he self-disparaging like Jo Brand.
He liked puns. He liked clever one-liners that reinterpreted words half way through the joke. He liked tales that seemed to go off at random but circled back to where they started. He liked observations that revealed the absurdities of everyday life.
He felt that he was on the verge of a great comedy set, but he needed an in-filler. Something to fall back on if he forgot what he was going to say. The rest of the comedy could be as varied as he liked but the in-fills needed a common thread that the audience recognised each time. That let them feel safe. Even if the other bits were rubbish at least they were back with this… whatever it was.
Ryan headed for the kitchen. Dale was hunched over a hot chocolate and an Eccles cake.
‘Bad day?’ said Ryan.
‘The worst,’ said Dale. ‘Nothing happened. A whole day with no excitement. I was working on the tills and the most exciting thing anyone bought was a scarf. This Paisley Print scarf.’
Dale looked at Ryan and pushed the cake towards him. ‘Here. Looks like you need this more than I do. Tell me all about it. I could do with some excitement.’
Ryan sighed.
‘I can’t do it. It’s only ten minutes but I just can’t do it.’
‘You’ve spent so long cooped up in your room that you’ve forgotten how ridiculous and peculiar the world is.’
‘I’ve spent hours and hours on this and I’m still two minutes short. And I’m not sure my eight minutes are actually funny.’
‘Don’t be such a dipstick, darling. Of course you can do it.’
‘Dipstick. That’s it. Thank you. Thank you. I’ve got it.’
‘No problemo. I’ll be here all week. Just come talk to your muse whenever you need. And I take it you no longer need this bundle of pasty wrapped joy.’
Ryan rushed back to his computer and didn’t emerge until the following morning.
It looked like he hadn’t slept. Dale handed him a coffee accompanied by a quizzical look.
‘I just need one more word. For my in-fillers. One more funny word, like dipstick, you know a word that just sounds funny all by itself. Just one more word and I’ve cracked it.’
‘Marmalade.’
‘Marmalade?’
‘Don’t you think it’s a funny word? Especially the ending. Listen.’
Dale sang the word.
‘Marrrr…maaaaa…layyyyyy…duh.’
‘That’s not the word I’m looking for.’
‘Sorreeee.’
Ryan wandered back to his room.
It was no good. The word stuck. He couldn’t think of anything except marmalade. He didn’t even like the stuff.
He really should tell his mum to stop giving him some every time she made it. He counted the jars. Eight of them. Two each year for four years. One had actually been opened. It must have been a visitor. He should have given them all eight jars.
In the taxi on the way to the gig he was still hoping for something to replace marmalade. As long as he didn’t lose his place, he’d be okay. He’d be more comfortable if he had found one more funny word but it shouldn’t be a disaster without it.
*
Dale waited up hoping that Ryan would arrive tipsy with excitement rather than drunk with despair. As soon as Ryan walked in, he knew the night had gone well.
‘Tell. I want to hear everything. Obviously it was a triumph but I want details baby.’
‘Marmalade. All I talked about was bloody marmalade.’
‘If I remember rightly, that wasn’t the word you were looking for.’
‘The first joke went well, but then my mind went blank. I couldn’t even remember my other funny words – you know dipstick and pisspot. All I could think of was marmalade. I told them all about how my mum makes marmalade. I gave them the sodding recipe. I described her chopping the peel.’
Dale pulled a horrified face.
‘No. No. They loved it. They thought I was being ironic or something. You know telling them something so boring, so mundane that it was funny. Like I was naïve and didn’t know that what I was saying could have double meanings – about mum turning up the heat and dad bottling things up. I should have recorded it. It was bloody brilliant.’
‘We should celebrate. I’ll put the toast on and you can crack open one of those jars hiding in the back of the cupboard.’
‘The best bit was when I asked the audience if anyone made marmalade. What was I thinking? You don’t get women like my mum at Comedy Queens. But there was this guy, he’s called Jonathan, who actually made marmalade. And I did a right cool banter with him.’
Dale sank back on the settee and closed his eyes.
‘What a night.’
‘Jonathan, you say. I sense there is more to this. What’s he like? Handsome? Fit?’
‘You’ll find out if you’re here for breakfast. I’ve invited him over for tea and toast… and marmalade of course. He wants to see if my mum’s marmalade really does have the effect I said it did.’
Dale leaned forward to ask more, but Ryan was already asleep.