Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) (32 page)

I regard her thunderous expression for a moment. 'Poppy? Do you promise to be quiet while we do the interview, or should
Grandad
take you to the park?'

'I'll be quiet Mum, I promise,' she replies in a grump, and gives Jonathan Lightfoot a cold look. Yep, she's already learning a deep seated mistrust of anyone behind a camera. I look forward to attending court proceedings in fifteen years after she kicks Steven Spielberg in the testicles.

'Excellent,' Lightfoot says as Dad takes Poppy over to the couch. 'Shall we get started?'

It comes as something of a surprise when the first question out of the producer's mouth is 'What makes you both laugh?' I was expecting a question about the actual job of writing comedy, but it seems Lightfoot is more interested in the emotional response that comedy has on people, rather than the mechanics of how it's created. It's rather a refreshing change, to be honest.

'Two answers for me,' Jamie replies. 'The intelligent, adult answer is the juxtaposition of the commonplace with the absurd, but in reality I just like it when people fall over and hurt themselves on YouTube. Hilarious.'

I roll my eyes. Jamie is obviously in one of those moods today. 'I'm a sucker for a bit of slapstick,' I add. 'That, and when people misunderstand one another. There's a lot of mileage in that.'

'That happens quite a lot in your books,' Lightfoot points out.

'Yeah, it's not quite so funny then!' I tell him.

And that sets the tone for the next hour. Lightfoot continues to ask us a lot of ephemeral questions about the nature of humour, the effect it has on us as writers, and the effect it also has on our readers. I find myself actually having to think about my answers before I give them. Not once does he ask us how many words we write per day, or what it felt like to get our first publishing deal. Instead, he's only interested in getting to the bottom of what Jamie and I believe is the deeper meaning of good comedy, and how we translate it into our work. By the time Lightfoot has finished, I feel like I've been grilled by the Spanish Inquisition - which I really wasn't expecting.

'Phew,' Jamie mutters. 'That was intense!'

Lightfoot looks apologetic. 'Sorry about that. I just don't want to bore you or the audience with the same old, same old.'

'No, that's fine,' I tell him. 'That's the best workout our brains have had in years.'

Lightfoot laughs. 'Well, you were both very good. Why don't you go make yourselves a nice drink while I have a chat with Poppy and Terry?'

'Okay. But I warn you, if you ask Poppy what she thinks the meaning of comedy is she's likely to give you the sweetest look you've ever seen and then answer 'farts'.'

'Mum! No I wouldn't!' Poppy objects from the couch, but there's a look in her eyes that tells me she knows I've got her pegged.

Jamie and I make ourselves a cup of tea while Pete rearranges the camera and lights so that they get the best shot of Dad and Poppy. Pops sits on her grandfather's lap, and gets tickled for her troubles. I can't believe how natural these two look together.

As I sip my tea, I can't help but feel an intense curiosity come over me as I wonder what my father is about to say. I'm assuming Lightfoot will want to know how he feels about his daughter's work as a writer. I'm also fascinated to find out what kind of thing actually makes him laugh. We've never really discussed our books. I know he's read them, but I've never thought to ask him whether he found them all that funny. I guess I haven't wanted to know, just in case he didn’t.

I blink a couple of times in surprise. Can it be true? Can I really be worried about my father's opinion of me? That must mean something surely?

'Stop it,' Jamie says, looking at me.

'Stop what?'

'I can hear the cogs turning, Laura. You're going into over analysis
mode,
I can see it in your eyes. Just let the man speak, and don't read too much into it.'

I smile ruefully. Jamie can read me like a book. I may be worried about Dad's opinion of my writing, but ultimately, the only person in this world whose opinion I really care about is sitting next to me. Right where he's been without fail for almost ten years.

Oh dear, I've come over all soppy. Best not let Lightfoot see, otherwise he'll want to ask me questions about it.

'So then Terry,' Lightfoot begins. 'I know what makes your daughter laugh. What about you?'

For a second, Dad looks a bit stunned, and I'm worried he's going to freeze, but then he smiles and tickles Poppy again.
'This little monster.
She always makes me laugh.'

Oh, that's a great answer. And one I should have thought of. I am a terrible parent.

Poppy giggles. 'Stop it
Grandad
!'

'Anything else?' Lightfoot probes.

'I laugh when other people laugh,' Dad says.

'So it makes you happy to see other people smiling?'

'Exactly.' Dad looks briefly over at me. 'That's why I'm so proud of what Laura's doing. She makes so many people laugh that I just can't keep a straight face.'

Oh dear. The soppiness is increasing. I may have to spend another ten minutes in the bathroom on my mascara at this rate.

Lightfoot asks Dad another few questions, before turning his attention to Poppy.
'And what about you, sweetheart?
Do you like what your mum and dad do for a living?'

'Yeah! All the kids at school are dead jealous. Their mums and dads have to go out, but mine are home, so I get to see them all the time.'

Yep. Here come the tears.

'Would you like to be a writer too?'

My daughter crinkles her brow in deep thought for a moment. 'No,' she replies matter of
factly
.

'And why's that?' Lightfoot asks in surprise at Poppy's answer.

'I don't like it. Mrs Carmoody makes me write lots in English class and my hand hurts.' Poppy leans forward and fixes Lightfoot with a look of wisdom beyond the ages. 'Mrs Carmoody is a poo head.'

'Is she now?' the producer replies, trying not to laugh.

'Sorry about that,' I say to him. 'Poppy has some definite opinions when it comes to her teachers.'

Lightfoot gives Poppy a conspiratorial wink. 'Don't worry Poppy. I agree with you. All of my teachers were poo heads as well.'

And with that profound assessment of the British educational system, the interviews come to a close.

I make us all another round of drinks while Pete starts to pack the equipment up. The rest of us sit round the dining table and watch him work. This probably goes on a lot at the BBC.

'Well, that was fantastic, all of you,' Jonathan Lightfoot tells us. 'We've got plenty of great material.'

'How long do you think we'll be on for?' Jamie asks him.

'Oh, about two or three minutes.'

'Is that all?' I say, amazed. 'We've been at this for hours!'

Lightfoot shrugs his shoulders. 'That's the nature of making a TV show I'm afraid.'

'I think we'll stick to writing.'

He gives me a tired smile. 'I would.'

'When will it be on the
telly
?' Poppy asks.

'Early next year.
Probably March,' Lightfoot says. 'That's the UK broadcast anyway. We'll send the documentary to other countries, so you'll be famous all over the world Poppy!'

Never mind the animatronic version of Simba. Lightfoot has now pretty much produced the real thing and started singing The Circle Of Life. Poppy's eyes light up - and I start saving for
counselling
sessions.

'All over the world?' Dad says to Lightfoot. There's a note of worry in his voice.

'Yes!'

'America?'

'Oh my yes. That's our main audience outside the UK. I'd imagine it'll get picked up by one of the major broadcasters.'

Dad's face has suddenly gone very,
very
pale.

'What's wrong Terry?' Jamie asks, seeing the instant change that came over my father the second the prospect of the show being aired in the USA came across the table.

Dad looks from Jamie to me, and back to Lightfoot. There looks to be actual terror in his eyes now.

'Dad? What is it?' I ask.

He licks his lips and stands up quickly. 'Er. I don't want to be in the show anymore. I don't... Can you cut my bits please?'

'But what about my stuff
Grandad
?' Poppy demands.

Lightfoot looks shocked. 'We can certainly edit you out if you feel that strongly about it Terry.'

I stand up too. 'What's wrong? Why don't you want to be in it anymore?'

'Not if it's broadcast in America,' he says, voice cracking.

I'm completely confused. 'Why Dad?'

He backs away from me into the living room. 'Don't... Don't... '

My heart rate has rocketed. Something is going on here. I've never seen my father act like this. 'Dad! Tell me what the hell is wrong with you!'

He stops backing away, and gives me an anguished look. 'I just don't want to be on a TV programme that gets shown in America.'

'Why?!'

'Someone... someone might recognise me. And I don't want that if I'm with you... ' A hand goes to his mouth, as if realising he's said too much.

'If you're
with me?
What's that supposed to mean?'

'If you're on the TV with me, as my daughter, I mean. He might see it, recognise my face, see yours... and put two and two together.'

Okay, now this is getting ridiculous.

'He? Who is
he
?'

My heart rate speeds even faster when I see tears coming from Dad's eyes. 'We’re getting on so well,' he says. 'I don't want anything to ruin it.' He looks to the ceiling as if searching for divine assistance. 'Oh God! I'm such an idiot! I've said too much!'

Jamie comes to stand beside me. 'You're not making any sense Terry.'

'Dad! Just stand still and tell us what you're talking about!'

His knees give out from under him and he slumps onto the couch. 'You shouldn't call me that,' he says, looking up into my eyes with an imploring look. 'Please don't.'

'Call you what?'

'Dad.'

'Why the hell not?!
You're my father, aren't you?'

He shakes his head back and forth slowly, the tears flowing stronger now.
'No, sweetheart.
I'm not your real dad. I'm so, so sorry.'

When the fuck did I step into an episode of
Eastenders
?

'You're not my Dad? Of course you're my bloody Dad! You may have been gone for most of my life, but that doesn't stop you being my father!'

Dad shakes his head back and forth. 'No, that's not what I mean, Laura.'

Jamie steps forward. 'For God's sakes Terry, start making some sense. We do have a BBC film crew here!'

Dad stands on shaky legs and takes my hand. He gulps loudly and licks his lips. 'You see, your mum needed me, Laura. Because he... he went back home, and she didn't have anyone else. He didn't know she was pregnant, of course. Helen never told him. Your Mum didn't want to ruin his life back in the
States, that
was why. He had a family there.'