by Harry Hill
‘Do your windows up and lock the doors,’ said Ian quietly, getting back into the driver’s seat.
‘Girls! Girls!’ the bloke shouted through the window of his car – it’s him! It’s Matt Millz!’
There came another squeal, and this time it wasn’t tyres. The back doors of the other car were flung open and out got identical-twin girls who looked about eight or nine.
‘MATT!’ they screamed in unison. ‘Matt Millz!’
Unfortunately, thanks to two of the loudest voices in Kent, their secret was out. There was a series of clicks and thuds as the message travelled up the line of cars and their occupants got out and ran towards the Astra.
‘Ian?’ said Kitty quietly from the back seat. ‘Do you think you’d be able to turn the car round?’
‘Well, it’ll be a job and a half …’ said Ian.
The policeman tried to stop the approaching hordes from getting too close, but there was no reasoning with them. They were like a herd of wildebeest charging across the Serengeti. Pretty quickly the policeman found himself sitting in a ditch at the side of the road.
‘Backup needed in Sossinghurst!’ he barked into his radio.
‘Sossinghurst? Where the ’eck’s that?’ crackled the radio in reply.
‘Everyone get back in their cars please,’ said the policeman, having extricated himself from the ditch. No one took any notice. They swarmed around the Astra like bees round a bag of wet Haribos, like Kim Kardashian round a Gucci handbag. Suddenly they were rocking the car back and forth.
‘Yikes!’ shouted Matt.
‘This is going to do wonders for my suspension!’ yelled Ian. Suddenly there was a thud from above.
‘They’re on the roof!’ shouted Kitty.
‘I’m frightened!’ yelled Neil – for all his height he was just ten years old.
Then someone came sprawling across the bonnet, his face pressed against the windscreen and with a wild look in his eyes. A face that to Matt seemed vaguely familiar – bald with glasses but with a very broad flat nose. Then an arm hooked round the man’s neck from behind. The man let out a gurgling noise and went cross-eyed. As the arm pulled him away from the glass, his nose sprung back into place and it became clear just who he was.
‘Blimey, it’s the head!’ exclaimed Matt. ‘It’s Mr Pavey!’
‘He’s gone loco,’ said Ian with a nervous chuckle.
Suddenly a high-pitched squeal cut through the air followed by the distorted voice of the policeman.
‘Get back in your vehicles now!’
Matt looked out of the back window. The police officer was standing on the roof of the car behind with a megaphone raised to his lips.
‘Anyone not in their cars after I count to five will be arrested,’ he continued. ‘One … two …’
There was a panicked scurry of feet and the clunks of doors being slammed shut, and by the time he had got to three the crowd were all back in their vehicles. The police officer let out a weary sigh as he climbed back on to the road.
‘What happens now?’ said Ian, winding his window down and poking his head out.
‘Well, there’s no way your concert—’
‘Gig!’ chipped in Matt.
‘Gig … can go ahead. As you can see it’s a health and safety nightmare.’
Matt, Kitty and Neil groaned in unison.
‘But I’ve waited so long to do this,’ pleaded Matt, knowing that he would have to wait almost another full week for his next chance to strut his stuff.
The policeman shrugged and once again brought the megaphone up to his lips.
‘The gig has been cancelled!’ he roared. A few of the cars started honking their horns. The policeman then walked back along the line of cars and started the slow process of backing them up.
‘Sorry, Matt, this was my fault,’ said Kitty as they reversed slowly back down the lane. ‘I should have restricted the numbers, made sure that only a select few knew about it.’
Matt sighed, then he started laughing.
‘What are you laughing at?’ said Kitty grumpily.
‘Ha ha! Look at the windscreen!’ said Matt barely able to speak for laughing. They all looked, and there on the windscreen was a greasy imprint of Mr Pavey’s face. The entire car erupted in laughter.
Matt felt a sharp buzz from inside his jacket which meant he’d got a text. He fished out his phone and checked the message.
‘Gig cancelled? Someone messed up big time. Call me.’ It was from Dickie Hart at Excalibur Management.
15
Return to Frittledean
Matt took the cancellation of the Sossinghurst gig pretty badly. He’d been looking forward to it with almost a hunger. Oh sure, he’d gone to school every day like any normal twelve-year-old, he’d sat in his lessons and some of the time he’d even looked like he was paying attention, but his mind was elsewhere.
Sometimes he’d be on stage at London’s Comedy Store, rubbing shoulders with his heroes – bumping in to Eddie Odillo, comparing set lists with Michael McIntyre and John Bishop or just chatting about why a joke did or didn’t work with the floppy-collared loon Harry Hill. Sometimes he’d be at the Apollo or the Palladium, other times he’d imagine how the cancelled Sossinghurst gig might have gone.
Over the next week the crowd outside his house had gradually dwindled. There were still a couple of regulars but they lived two doors down, so it wasn’t a huge journey for them, plus the ever-faithful Gary and his anorak, taking his nightly selfie. He’d almost become one of the family. A couple of times Matt’s mum had taken him out a cup of tea, and once, when it had been raining he’d even come in for Sunday lunch. Apart from the odd selfie or autograph, Matt’s day-to-day life had started to get pretty much back to normal. Although the paps and journalists had been a real pain when they’d first pitched up on his doorstep, Matt knew that they were an indicator of how popular he was. He started to worry that maybe his moment in the sun had been and gone.
‘The Frittledean gig is going to be a real test,’ he said to himself as he pulled on his stage suit and brushed that famous quiff.
*
They’d arranged to meet in the car park at the back of Greggs. As Matt rounded the corner he could see them all standing there – Neil with a wicked afro and Nike tracksuit, little Kitty in her black mac, and a new girl he hadn’t met before – she was tall with dark hair, kind of kooky-looking. Her face lit up as Matt arrived.
‘Hi, Matt,’ said Kitty. ‘This is Alex. She’s on the bill!’
‘Great!’ said Matt, shaking Alex by the hand and looking her straight in the eye. ‘Hi, I’m Matt. What do you do?’ he said.
‘I’m an impressionist,’ she said with a nervous laugh.
‘Oh, so who do you do would be a better question.’
‘I guess,’ replied Alex. ‘You know, I do Taylor Swift, I do Miley Cyrus, um—’
‘Alex does a great Theresa March!’ chipped in Kitty.
‘What we need is strong and stable government!’ said Alex, suddenly adopting the voice and mannerisms of the prime minister.
‘Wow!’ said Matt. ‘That’s spooky!’
‘She’s good, isn’t she?’ said Bobby Bath wandering in to join them.
‘Hi, Bobby!’ said Matt, tearing himself away from Alex for a moment. ‘I didn’t know you were on the bill.’
‘No, son, not this time. I’m a little rusty still and besides, it’s not really my crowd. No, I like to see the room before I play a gig. I thought I’d sit this one out and case the joint, you know, see how it plays out. I’m looking forward to seeing your set though. Have you got much new stuff?’
Matt looked surprised – he hadn’t expected that question.
‘I’ve got a few bits I want to try, but I’m going to have to rely a fair bit on the tried-and-tested, play it safe,’ he replied. Alex nodded in agreement, hanging on Matt’s every word.
Bobby pulled a face.
‘What’s up?’ asked Matt, a little puzzled.
> ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Bobby.
‘Come on, Bobby, I saw that face …’
‘It’s nothing, Matt. I’ve had a lot of trouble with my teeth – I’ve got a loose filling and it gives me a bit of jip. I don’t know why the dentist gave me a filling there in the first place!’ said Bobby.
‘Why’s that?’ said Alex.
‘I’ve got false teeth!’ laughed Bobby.
‘Is that a new gag?’ chuckled Matt.
‘It is now,’ laughed Bobby.
‘I’ll write it down for you,’ said Matt, reaching for his little book.
‘What’s this, the Adams Family?’ boomed a voice from across the road.
They all turned as one to see Mr Gillingham leaning out of the window of his battered old Volkswagen Beetle.
Matt blinked and took a mental snapshot of the scene – there he was in his sharp suit, little Kitty with her big glasses, and then there was tall, bald pensioner Bobby, Neil with his afro, and the slightly kooky-looking Alex. Mr G was right – they did look a bit of a weird bunch!
With a clunk and a grinding of gears, Mr Gillingham steered the car into the car park.
‘You’d better get in,’ he said.
‘Eh?’ said Matt.
‘Gillingham Cars at your service,’ said the big man with a grin.
‘I knew Mr Gillingham lived in Frittledean and so I asked him if he’d very kindly give us a lift,’ said Kitty.
‘What? All of us? In that thing?’ said Matt.
Bobby laughed. ‘He only rides in Mercs and limos now you know, Kit!’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Kitty. ‘Now stop dawdling and get in the car!’
It was pretty cramped in the back of the VW. Bobby took the front seat but for the entire journey Matt had to put up with Neil Trottman on his lap and he was a lot bigger now – he seemed to be growing taller every day. Every time they went round a corner Matt’s face got pushed up against the window, which was streaming with condensation. His right leg not only went to sleep, it started snoring.
When they arrived at the Cavendish, they were met by the owner Barry Wonsall and his wife Tanya.
‘Pleased to have you back!’ said Barry shaking Matt warmly by the hand.
‘It’s an honour,’ said Tanya with a curtsey.
‘Don’t be daft, Tan, he’s been on TV once. He’s not royalty,’ tutted Barry.
‘Will you be singing for us tonight, Tanya?’ said Matt, turning on the charm. Tanya shuddered and shook her head. The memory of the last time she’d taken the stage was still fresh in her mind. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I’ve put all that behind me.’
‘Same drill as last time,’ said Barry. ‘Only this time I’ve not allowed any stag dos in. You’re quite a draw, Matt! We could have sold it out ten times over, so fingers crossed we’re all in for a good night. Tanya will show you backstage. Do you fancy a drink?’
‘I’ll have a Coke please,’ said Matt. How things had changed! Last time he’d been there he’d had to pay for his own drinks. ‘And Alex and Neil will have …?’ he continued.
‘Oh! That’s sweet. I’ll have a Coke too please, Mr Wonsall,’ said Alex.
‘Just tap water for me,’ said Neil. Barry nodded.
‘This way then,’ said Tanya leading them up the steps towards the venue.
As they entered the function room where the gig was actually being held, Matt flinched as he remembered what had gone on that fateful night just three weeks earlier. The crowd had been drunk and rowdy, he’d been unable to control them and his act had lasted no more than a couple of minutes.
That was of course before he’d done The T Factor, before he’d got a name for himself, and before he knew what he was doing. He wasn’t an inexperienced hopeful any more – no, in his mind he was returning a conquering hero. ‘Well, there’s no way it could be as bad as last time,’ he muttered to himself.
Neil was on first and really got the crowd going. He did the dance routine that had bought him the top prize in the school talent contest, and another one to a Michael Jackson number which softened the crowd up. Then he went into his new rap, all about being a kid and having to do what you’re told. Not only was it a really good track, it was funny too.
NEIL’S RAP
Hey people there’s something that I wanna say to you,
My parents always tellin’ me just what I gotta do.
If you think I look weird from my head to my toes
That’s because my mum chooses all of my clothes.
I got no money, too young for a job
’cept round the house when my dad calls me a slob.
Then I’m hanging with my mandem feeling fine
Which is cool but I gotta be in bed by nine.
If they really think that being in bed is so cool,
How come early next morning it’s time for school?
I say ‘Hey back off, and what’s the fuss?’
Next thing I know I’m waiting for that bus.
Now don’t get me wrong school ain’t all bad
But it ain’t the best time that I ever had.
The food for a start – dinner ladies don’t get tips
’Specially since they started serving salad ’stead of chips!
I get it that we got to learn to read and write
But so many of the lessons well, they give me a fright.
What’s the point of maths? I hate to be a traitor
But I can do all that on my calculator!
French vocabulary really makes me groan!
If I need to know a word there’s an app on my phone!
And I really don’t wish to sound like a jerk
But when we’re workin’ all day what’s with the homework?
I’d really like to make a takeover bid
’Coz it ain’t much fun just bein’ a kid!
Then he went straight into another rap which didn’t go so well. He wasn’t quite as on top of the words as the first one – in fact at one point he seemed to forget them completely and went into a bit of the first dance routine to cover. He didn’t quite finish on the high that he’d hoped for, but there was a really strong round of applause as he finished going into his trademark splits – then he jumped up and took a bow.
‘Well done, Neil!’ said Kitty handing him a tall glass of iced water and a towel to dry the sweat from his face. ‘The new rap was brilliant!’ She seemed almost as excited as he was.
‘Yeah, I was really pleased with that. I completely lost it in the second one though,’ he said laughing, then taking a long guzzle from his glass of tap water. Matt could tell he was buzzing with adrenaline and longed for that feeling himself.
‘Yes but you kept going,’ said Kitty reassuringly. ‘That’s the main thing …’
‘She’s right,’ chipped in Matt, patting Neil on the back. ‘I don’t think the audience even noticed.’
‘That’s as maybe, but I did,’ said Neil.
‘Well, you won’t forget it next time,’ said Bobby joining the throng, clutching a pint of beer. ‘Honestly, Neil, that were great. I don’t know where you get the energy!’
‘I’ll have to show you sometime,’ laughed Neil.
‘I’d love that,’ exclaimed Bobby. ‘And I’m not joking. I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer!’
‘The old-age pensioner’s rap,’ laughed Matt.
‘The old-age pensioner’s rap – like it,’ said Bobby. ‘I’m having that!’
‘Be my guest,’ said Matt.
‘That’s just it, Neil,’ said Kitty. ‘That’s the whole point of these try-out gigs – to run some new stuff!’
At that point Matt looked down at his set list and felt a little concerned. New stuff? He had a couple of new bits, but they weren’t fully formed routines.
Alex was up next. She was even more inexperienced than Matt and Neil and it kind of showed. She was good at the impressions for sure – her Adele, her Amelia Wong, Haley Wallaby, and of course her Theresa March were all sp
ot on – but the gags weren’t great and she looked nervous. After an initial few laughs the audience, sensing her lack of confidence, started to get restless. One or two of them took their phones out and checked their emails, others started chatting. Towards the end of her set there was a steady drift of punters to the bar.
Sadly Alex’s response was to break one of the cardinal rules of stand-up comedy – she sped up. Matt looked over at Kitty who was mouthing the words ‘Slow down!’ at her, but poor Alex clearly couldn’t see anything beyond the spotlight. She managed to do ten minutes of material in about two.
There was a smattering of polite applause as she signed off, hung up the mic and left the tiny stage. Barry went back on and announced the break and what was left of the crowd got up and headed to the bar or the toilets.
‘Well done!’ said Kitty as Alex walked up to them but she didn’t stop to chat – she carried on walking.
Matt looked at Kitty and they both turned to follow her.
When they caught up with her in the hotel forecourt, Matt could tell she’d been crying.
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ he said putting his arm round her.
‘I was terrible,’ spluttered Alex, turning to Matt and crying on his shoulder.
‘Look at the positives, Alex …’ said Kitty. ‘You got through it, you got some good laughs early on – you just need to work on some of the gags and maybe a bit on the timing. What did I tell you about speeding up?’
‘You told me I shouldn’t speed up, but I couldn’t help it. They were all just staring at me,’ sobbed Alex.
‘Exactly! As soon as the crowd see you’re panicking they start to panic too …’
‘Kit’s right,’ said Matt. ‘They can smell fear a mile off!’
‘It really wasn’t as bad as you think,’ said Kitty. ‘I taped it on my phone and when you listen to it through—’
‘I never want to listen to it! In fact I never want to do another stand-up gig as long as I live!’
Matt looked at Kitty and they exchanged a knowing smile.