Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
‘Why did I think I could be funny?’ Bets said out loud with a groan.
Tiggy twitched her nose and sank her head onto her paws with resignation – as well she might, because this had been going on for the last hour and Bets was beginning to despair that she’d ever come up with any material.
This was her homework, which, of course, she’d left to the last minute because that’s what she did.
The idea of writing a funny sketch had seemed so simple.
All sorts of hilarious things happened at the practice, but those stories weren’t as funny as she thought they might be and most didn’t bear repeating more than once.
How many times could you raise a laugh about a frightened guinea pig peeing on you?
Or the process of expressing a dog’s anal glands?
Bets glanced down at the empty sheet of paper on her knee. What else could she write about?
Being dumped by her boyfriend – no, she didn’t want to be one of those angry, ranty, anti-men women. It seemed counterproductive when potentially fifty per cent of her audience would be men.
Village life and all its varied characters had potential – but then again that could be dangerous. What if she inadvertently upset someone or they mistakenly thought she was talking about them?
The adage ‘write about what you know’ kept circling around her head.
What did she know? Being a veterinary nurse, being dumped and village life.
She’d never lived anywhere but within a single square mile of Hertfordshire.
She’d been abroad precisely once, on a school history trip to Belgium, and only because it was fully funded.
With a nasty jolt of realisation, she suddenly realised how narrow were the parameters of her life.
Then, with a body-slam of self-awareness, she suddenly understood what Jack had been talking about at the wedding.
With no ambition or aspirations beyond tomorrow, she understood his fear that this wasn’t enough.
Like him she wanted ‘more’, although what ‘more’ constituted, she had no idea.
* * *
Bets almost didn’t recognise Harriet when she hurried into the theatre foyer a few hours later. The crocheted kaftan had gone and in its place was a smart suit with a tight knee-length pencil skirt that showed Harriet’s slim figure and very sexy legs.
‘OMG, look at you,’ said Bets.
‘I know. A suit maketh the woman, eh? I really took Harry’s comments on board last week and I thought I’d buy myself one of those self-help books.
Feel the fear and do it anyway. Or something like that.
Anyway, I thought, I’ll see if there’s one on divorce…
Oh my word, there’s a whole plethora of niftily titled books to help you through your divorce and live happily ever after.
And I thought, this is it … this is my act.
Self-help books. There are tons of them. ’
‘That’s great,’ said Bets. ‘I’m really scraping the barrel. I’ve had to fall back on schoolboy humour, peeing and pooing at the vets. Not exactly original or very funny. If only I wasn’t so ordinary.’
Harriet raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think you’re the least bit ordinary. Would you even be here, if you were? I think you’re smart, sassy and brave. You must be.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We both are.’
Bets realised that Harriet was basing her judgement on what she’d seen and no preconceptions.
The thought was liberating and boosted Bets’ confidence.
She could do this. With a grin, she said, ‘Don’t worry.
I’ve got this.’ She scurried into the corner where there was a small table, got out her scruffy notes and began to make hasty amendments, chewing her pen as ideas began to form, dropping like apples from an autumn tree.
She was so absorbed, she didn’t realise that Harry had arrived and everyone was trooping into the theatre.
‘Bets. Fancy joining us?’ called Harry. ‘Or are you doing your homework?’
‘Sorry. I did do my homework. It was rubbish, so I … I was doing it again.’
He gave her a kind smile. ‘I’m not expecting perfection straight away. Stand-up is an art, it takes a lot of hard work and a lot of revisions. That’s what this session is about, helping you to polish and work on what you’ve got.’
‘Trust me, this was really bad.’
‘Trust me, we’re all really bad when we start.’
He held out an arm, ushering her ahead of him.
Clutching her notes, she walked into the theatre with all the enthusiasm of someone going to the dentist for root-canal work.
Inside the theatre, everyone was seated on the front row and there was a single spotlight focused on a lonely microphone on the stage.
‘Okay, I’m going to chuck you in at the deep end because we don’t have a lot of time.
What I am going to say is that no one is going to be perfect or even marginally close to polished today.
The other thing, clichéd but true, is that you only learn from your mistakes.
In fact I want you to be awful, so that the only way is up.
‘However, this is a safe space. Criticism is essential but it has to be constructive. For everything you don’t like about an act, you have to find two things that you do like.
Suggestions for improvement are welcome, but make sure you phrase them in a helpful way.
“Have you considered?” “What about?” Et cetera.
‘Now, to get the ball rolling, I’m going to start. This is brand new material and I want you to watch and critique me. Look at my body language, my tone of voice. How could I improve the physical performance. We’re going to look at the actual material in more detail later.’
Harry stepped up on the stage and shuffled to the microphone, not looking at the audience. He pulled his notes from his pocket and muttered into the microphone.
‘Can you speak up? We can’t hear you,’ called Frank, already establishing himself as the bold one.
Harry nodded and began shouting into the microphone. His performance was reassuringly dismal and Bets could immediately see ways he could improve. He’d obviously done it on purpose to show them bad stand-up.
‘Terrible eh, guys? Now I’ll try it again.’
Of course, this time the whole performance was much slicker and, funnily enough, funnier. He raised quite a few laughs before he stopped.
‘What do you think? Tell me what I did differently.’
He was a good teacher, thought Bets, as everyone began firing the things they noticed.
As a group, they talked for a while and then … gulp … it was their turn. Bets’ palms turned a little clammy, although the nerves fizzing in her system were more anticipatory than fearful. She realised she was looking forward to this.
Frank, unsurprisingly, volunteered to go first. His delivery was confident and fluent, although it was all a bit shouty and coarse, with a lot of swearing in it, which Bets didn’t particularly like but plenty of people would.
He had natural stage presence, which she quickly realised was quite rare as one by one everyone took their turn.
She was second to last and by the time it was her turn her nerves were positively rattling with that itchy dying-to-start feeling.
She’d picked up a lot of things from everyone else.
The biggest trap that everyone fell into was that they spoke too quickly and didn’t stop to let the audience catch up.
Timing was everything and a well-placed pause was as good as a dozen words.
She deliberately took a long slow breath and looked straight at the audience, all six of them, shadowy figures a few feet in front of her. With the light shining on her, it felt like she was stepping into her own personal sunbeam and a thrum of adrenaline beat through her veins.
‘Good evening. I’m Bets and I’ll be your veterinary nurse this evening.
’ She paused. ‘They always say, never work with animals and children – so I’ve already made a really bad career move.
’ Someone sniggered. ‘The other thing is that there aren’t many perks – you get peed, puked and pooed on on a daily basis.
’ She heard a small titter from the audience.
It emboldened her and she stepped closer to the microphone and lowered her voice, talking to the audience conspiratorially, as if imparting a great secret.
‘The other thing is the patients aren’t that grateful.
You know, when you see those signs in A and E in the NHS, “physical abuse will not be tolerated”.
’ She emphasised the words with a firm no-nonsense tone, glaring at the audience.
‘I hear in India they take a gentler tone. A friend who’s recently come back told me, in the airport the signs read, “Please do not misbehave with the staff”.
I quite like that. Although whatever, turns out animals can’t read. Who knew?’
Frank burst out laughing and then everyone joined in. As she continued her set, the more people laughed the more addictive it became and the more she wanted them to laugh.
At the end, flushed with pleasure at the loud clapping and whoops from Frank and Will, she stepped off the stage.
‘Well done,’ said Harry. ‘How was that for you?’
‘Bloody amazing,’ said Bets, her heart thumping and the blood roaring through her system. ‘I want to do it again.’ Nothing had ever felt quite like this. Nothing ever.
Could she have found her thing or was this just beginner’s luck?