by Harry Hill
Matt was impressed at how calm everyone was. He watched as the floor manager showed the two presenters something on his clipboard then looked over and pointed at Matt.
‘OMG! Matt Millz!’ said Amelia Wong looking genuinely pleased to see him. She beckoned him over. Matt looked briefly around to check she wasn’t talking to someone else, then stepped forward through the ring of cameras to say hi. Both Amelia and Mark were on their feet and quick to shake his hand.
‘You were brilliant on The T Factor!’ raved Amelia. ‘Oh my god, you totally owned Simon!’
‘You did really well, Matt,’ said Mark. ‘Where are you playing next?’
‘Well, my agent has got a couple of options she’s looking at,’ said Matt. ‘I don’t know whether you know the Anglebrook region of Kent at all?’
They looked blankly at him, then the floor manager intervened. ‘Can I ask you just to step aside for a moment, Matt, the guys need to concentrate on the next item.’
‘The one-legged pigeon?’ said Amelia.
‘That’s right, Napoleon!’ said Mark.
‘No, Mark – Nelson, remember?’ said Amelia.
‘Mo will take you to the green room, Matt …’ said the floor manager, waving to Mo who was a couple of steps behind him.
Mo guided Matt round the back of the studio over the various cables and back to the green room.
‘Everything OK?’ said Kitty.
‘Yeah, I guess,’ said Matt, still a little dazed from his first glimpse of a live studio show. ‘When you watch it on TV it just looks like two people having a chat but it’s as busy as anything out there! And they’re all so calm!’
‘Well, we do this a lot,’ chipped in Mo. ‘Every Sunday in fact, so …’
They sat watching the show on the monitor as it unfolded – Nelson the one-legged pigeon was quite a character. Half way through the interview with his owner he decided to fly up to the studio ceiling, found a perch on the lighting rig and refused to come down – even when Mark offered him a piece of bread.
The young actor from Chair of Swords was pretty relaxed and had a couple of well rehearsed anecdotes about his time on the show. As the item on homelessness started, Mo stuck his head round the green-room door.
‘OK, Matt, you’re on!’
‘Wish me luck, guys!’ said Matt turning to Team Millz.
‘Good luck, Matt!’ they all replied in unison.
‘Hey! Remember to give Amelia my mobile number!’ said Ahmed with a wink.
Matt took one last swig from his bottle of water and followed Mo to the studio floor. A sound man in headphones came and clipped a tiny microphone to the lapel of Matt’s jacket, placed the battery pack in his inside pocket, then listened intently in his headphones. ‘Yup, you’re good to go,’ he said.
‘Roll VT,’ came the tiny voice in the floor manager’s ear and once again there was a whir of activity on the set as Matt was whisked in to sit opposite Amelia and Mark on the sofa.
‘OK, Matt?’ said Amelia, shuffling through some notes. ‘Just relax, this should be fun!’
Matt nodded.
‘Back to the studio in five … four … three … two … one …’
The video about homelessness came to an end and the two presenters shifted abruptly into performance-mode.
‘A very sad story there and we wish them well,’ said Amelia sombrely.
‘Right!’ said Mark, picking up the pace. ‘Well, for any fans of The T Factor watching, you’ll know that on Saturday’s show a twelve-year-old boy was disqualified for being too young to enter the competition, but not before he’d brought the house down at the Hammersmith Apollo, no less. Let’s take a look.’
‘Roll VT,’ squeaked the tiny voice.
Suddenly the monitors were showing Matt live on stage at The T Factor – and it dawned on Matt that it was the first time he’d seen it. As he watched the tiny version of himself on the screen it all came flooding back and amazingly he found himself laughing – laughing at his own jokes!
‘Simon Bewell, ladies and gentleman, the only person in show business who has his hair dry-cleaned! I know a lot of you are looking at me thinking, blimey he’s young! It’s true – I’m so young that if I’m having a drink I still like to have a rusk with it!’
The VT played for about twenty seconds then the cameras picked up Amelia back in the studio laughing.
‘Very funny,’ she chuckled. ‘And Matt joins us now.’
Matt was now staring at himself on the monitor, sat on the Sunday at Six sofa.
‘You certainly had some funny lines about poor old Simon’s hair there, Matt …’
‘Thanks!’ said Matt. Amelia looked at him and waited for him to say something further, but Matt just stared back at her smiling.
‘Good,’ said Mark with a slight laugh in his voice. ‘It must have been pretty nerve-racking going up there for the first time?’
‘Yeah, it really was!’ said Matt, nodding his head, smiling and looking round at the cameras. Again, there was a pause as the presenters waited for a little bit more from Matt but nothing was forthcoming.
Amelia shuffled quickly through her notes and Mark put a finger to his ear as if he was listening to an instruction from the director.
‘How have your friends reacted to your new-found fame, Matt?’ asked Mark.
‘Great!’ said Matt, nodding his head and twiddling his thumbs. Then something really weird happened. Nelson the pigeon decided to find a new perch. He swooped down, and landed right on top of Matt’s head!
‘Aargh!’ cried Matt waving his hands about, completely startling the pigeon. Unfortunately Nelson did what birds do when they’re startled. He pooped on Matt’s head. A thin streak of white doo-doo trickled down Matt’s forehead. Mark burst out laughing. Amelia just about managed to hold herself together.
Matt looked up and quipped, ‘I guess I now know how Nelson’s statue feels!’ Even the camera operators were laughing. Amelia thanked Matt for coming along to the studio and started to announce the next item – National Sausage Day – but the absurdity of the situation suddenly made her dissolve into uncontrollable laughter.
‘Cue the sausages,’ squeaked the voice in the floor manager’s ear and seven adults dressed as sausages ran on to the set and started dancing to a disco track. Matt, Amelia and Mark were in hysterics.
‘Ha ha! Well, that’s all we’ve got time for. Ha ha!’ said Mark, with tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘That’s all from Sunday at Six, have a good week!’
‘Roll credits,’ squeaked the voice, the lights came up and the show was done.
The sound man came in and unclipped Matt’s microphone from his jacket.
‘Well done!’ he said cheerily. ‘Your first time on a chat show was it?’
‘Er … yes, yes. Did it show?’ said Matt.
‘Just a little bit, but don’t worry, you’ll get used to it – these guys have been doing it for years.’
‘Oh, that was so funny, Matt!’ said Amelia as someone raced over to wipe Matt’s forehead with a wet wipe.
‘Well, it was nothing I did,’ laughed Matt. ‘It’s Nelson you need to thank!’
‘Yeah, thank god for Nelson!’ said Amelia. ‘Because up until that point it was a bit of a struggle, wasn’t it?’
‘A struggle?’ asked Matt.
‘He’s only young, Amy! Give him a break!’ said Mark.
‘The interview, you weren’t saying much were you?’ said Amelia.
‘Well, I was just answering your questions,’ said Matt oblivious of any problem.
‘Ah,’ continued Amelia. ‘OK, so a word of advice. When interviewers ask you questions, they don’t necessarily want to know the actual answers.’
‘Huh? What do you mean?’ said Matt.
‘Well, it’s an entertainment show. Yes, it’s pretty far down the show-business food chain but people tune in to be entertained – so in an ideal world you should be entertaining.’
‘What? You mean, make up an answer?�
�� said Matt. It suddenly dawned on him what she was getting at.
‘Well, embellish it. Take the kid from The Chair of Swords: those stories he told weren’t necessarily true, but were loosely based on something that happened – and he had them ready to go when we asked him. You’ve seen how busy the show is – you don’t get long to make an impression! So my advice to you, starting out, is when you do a show like this – and I’m guessing you’ve got a few lined up …’
‘I’m doing Breakfast With Tubbs and Late Lunch tomorrow,’ said Matt.
‘There you go then. So between now and tomorrow morning just jot down a few stock answers. You see there’s no time on a show like this for waffle. Anyway, you got your laugh on the clip and the pigeon was priceless. Maybe you should make Nelson’s owner an offer!’
‘Thanks, Amelia,’ said Matt, and he meant it. ‘I really appreciate your advice. I’ll do that tonight when I get home.’
Amelia smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, you deserve to do well with that attitude.’
‘Oh, Amelia,’ said Matt, rushing to catch up with her in the corridor a few moments later.
‘Everything OK?’ she said.
‘Yes, yes. Are you by any chance going to the green room?’ he asked.
‘I usually pop in and say a few thank yous, why?’
‘Well, I wondered whether you’d do me a favour …?’
*
‘Well done, Matt!’ said Kitty as he walked into the green room.
‘Felt a bit weird,’ said Matt sheepishly. ‘I mean I hardly said a word! How did it look?’
‘It just about did the job,’ she said handing him a glass of water.
‘Ah! Were you nervous, babe?’ asked Magda with a look of concern.
‘What was it with the long silences?’ said Ahmed, characteristically cutting through the others’ politeness. Kitty shot him a frosty look.
‘Just a teething problem!’ she said breezily.
‘Don’t worry, Kit. I know what I need to do before the next one,’ said Matt.
‘The good news is I got the pigeon doin’ its business on my phone. I uploaded it to Facebook and you’ve already had half a million hits!’ said Ahmed proudly.
‘I’ll ignore that,’ said the producer, popping in to thank Matt for doing the show.
‘Didn’t Amelia look gorgeous in that frock though?’ said Neil’s mum.
‘You’re telling me, Mrs T!’ said Ahmed suddenly perking up. ‘Gorgeous is the wo— woh— woh …!’ Ahmed’s words dried in his mouth as Amelia Wong walked into the green room.
‘Hi, Matt!’ said Amelia walking over to join them. Ahmed jumped to his feet and stared with his mouth open in wonder.
Amelia winked at Matt then turned to Ahmed.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to this gorgeous hunk?’ she said raising one eyebrow.
‘Er, that’s … I mean … I’m Mr Chalabi— I mean Ahmed. Who are you? I mean how do you do?’ said Ahmed sticking out his hand to shake hers.
Amelia ignored the handshake and went in for a hug, lifting the boy clean off his feet.
‘Mmmm. Strong too,’ she said with a seductive smile. Ahmed’s face was bright red as he landed back on solid ground.
Amelia leant in and whispered in his ear, ‘Call me, yeah?’ She then handed him a piece of paper. ‘OK, well, nice to meet you, Matt, and good luck with Mr Tubbs! See you again soon I hope, Ahmed,’ she added winking, and with that she sailed out of the room.
‘Did that really happen?’ said Rob in wonder.
Matt watched Ahmed unfold the piece of paper and start to read it.
‘What’s it say, Ahmed?’ said Rob excitedly.
‘Yeah, what’s it say?’ said Matt, hardly able to control his giggles.
‘Er, it says … um … “This was a set up from your mate … Matt Millz. Kiss … kiss, kiss!”’ read Ahmed.
‘Priceless!’ cried Rob. ‘Nice one, Matt. You were well and truly pranked there, Ahmed!’
‘Ha ha! You should have seen your face when she went in for that hug!’ laughed Matt.
‘She really swept you off your feet!’ chuckled Magda, laughing along.
‘YOU!’ said Ahmed jabbing Matt with his finger. ‘I’ll get you back for this!’ He grabbed Matt round the waist, pushed him on to the sofa and started hitting him with one of the cushions.
‘Everything OK?’ came a voice from behind them. Ahmed stopped mid-whack and spun round. It was Amelia again.
‘Sorry, Ahmed, that was my fault really. Shall we get our selfie?’
*
‘Did all that really happen?’ said Matt on the way home.
‘Apparently,’ said Ahmed, holding up his phone and scrolling through his photos so Matt could see. There was a photo of Matt with his arm round will.i.am, a screen shot of Matt with a pigeon on his head and one of Amelia with her arm round Ahmed.
‘That’s not all,’ said Ahmed, flicking to Instagram.
‘will.i.iam’s put his selfie of you and him up on Instagram and it’s had three million likes!’
As the car pulled up outside Matt’s house the posse of about ten fans surged around him for selfies, then, once satisfied, they left him alone. Kitty walked with him to his front door. As he turned to say goodbye he noticed she had a worried look on her face.
‘What’s up, Kit?’ he said placing his hand on her shoulder.
‘What you said earlier about that Dickie Hart trying to poach you,’ she said crossly. ‘You don’t understand, Matt. Those guys at Excalibur Management are ruthless. They chew talent up and spit it out – it’s all “stack-it-high-and-sell-it-cheap” with them, exploit one comic and then when he’s left floundering and in debt, move on to the next one.’
‘Debt?’ said Matt. ‘What do you mean, debt?’
‘Dickie Hart’s got a very dodgy way of doing business. He may have a glossy brochure, a big car and swanky offices in London but he doesn’t operate within the usual rules of the industry – though he’s not stupid, he does operate within the law – so there’s no way anyone can pin anything on him. It’s a morality thing rather than a legal thing.’
‘Well, Russell Perkins seems to be doing OK. I’ve never heard anyone complaining?’ said Matt. ‘And there’s not a single interview with a comedian in the last couple of years that I haven’t read.’
‘That’s just it. Dickie gets them to sign NDAs,’ she said.
‘NDAs? What’s that?’
‘Non disclosure agreements – he gets his acts to promise, basically, that they won’t bad-mouth the company, which really means they can’t go to the press with the truth!’
‘Hmm, sounds like someone’s a bit jealous,’ said Matt, giving her a nudge. ‘Worried that your top act is going to get poached by a bigger player? That the shark is going to snap up the minnow?’
Kitty turned to face him. ‘I’m not at all worried that my top act is going to leave me – I have every faith in Neil Trottman!’
‘Ouch,’ said Matt with a mock grimace. ‘That hurts!’
‘Believe me, Matt, they’re a bad bunch. I mean I know I’m basically just a schoolgirl, and my office is nothing more than a shabby old mobile classroom but I really believe in you, Matt. I hope you know that. Promise me you’ll keep Dickie Hart at arm’s length.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m only going to a gig – I’m not getting married to him,’ said Matt.
‘Right, well I’d better get back. I said I’d call Mick at the Rose and Crown in Sossinghurst after last orders – he’s interested in running a regular comedy night. It would be a great place to work up some new material.’
‘There you go again,’ chuckled Matt. ‘Always with the new material!’
‘Jokes are the fuel of any act, Matt,’ Kitty said, turning serious again. ‘And you need to keep topping up the tank.’ Gathering herself up to her full height of three feet six inches, she headed back to the waiting car.
Matt watched her as she strode purposefully up the
front path and remembered Simon Bewell’s words after his big night on The T Factor. ‘You’ve got yourself a good manager there,’ he’d said. Matt had no intention of jumping ship.
8
He Who Laughs Last
‘They’re still out there!’ said Ian, peeking through the curtains at the front garden. ‘I mean when do they go to the loo?’
‘Where do they go to the loo, more importantly!’ said Matt tucking into a full English breakfast.
He was due on Breakfast With Tubbs in a couple of hours but despite it being half past five in the morning, his mum had got up and very kindly cooked him a fry-up.
‘Ha! Nice one, Matt!’ said Ian, walking in from the hallway in his dressing gown holding up the cover of the Daily Mirror.
‘T Factor Boy In Cunning Disguise! See if you can guess who it is.’ It was a picture of Matt with the paper bag on his head. ‘Turn to page 3 to find out.’
Ian flicked to page three and there – under the headline ‘The Jokes Keep Coming!’ – were a series of photos taken with a telephoto lens of Matt at the front door of 77 Bathurst Street taking the bag off his head and entering the house.
‘Yes it’s twelve-year-old surprise star of The T Factor, Matt Millz!’ read Ian. Matt jammed the last piece of sausage into his mouth, jumped up and grabbed the paper off him. There was also a photo of Matt with the pigeon on his head on Sunday at Six and Amelia and Mark doubled up with laughter. Both were satisfyingly credited ‘Copyright Ahmed Chalabi’. This was great publicity. Just then the doorbell went.
‘You’d better answer that, Matt,’ said Ian. ‘I don’t want to be in the papers in my pyjamas as well as my pants …’