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Arthur fought his way into the crowded pub. All he could see were bodies pressed so close it was hard to even open the door. There wasn't a single space available for standing, let alone any free seats. It didn't seem like the best place to be, given the events of the last half hour. They'd never be able to make a quick getaway.
"Look, why don't we find somewhere a bit calmer?" he said over his shoulder.
"No, no, go on," Ford said, putting a hand between Arthur's shoulders and pushing hard.
Arthur found himself propelled into he crowd, and clearing a space by sheer momentum. Patrons glared at him, but didn't actually say anything. Arthur wilted under the force of their disapproving frowns. Ford just grinned, and somehow fought his way to the bar. Arthur stood alone, feeling very conspicuous and bothered until he returned.
"So, Arthur," he said, handing over a pint, "did you enjoy yourself tonight?"
"Oh yes," Arthur said dryly, "I don't believe I've ever seen a more original interpretation of Ibsen in my life. Did you actually read all the way to the end of the script? Because I don't think that ends with a homicidal rage involving axes and singing about chopping Nora up in most productions. I suppose you must be a method actor, given the continuance of the performance outside."
Ford gulped at his beer and tried to laugh at the same time. Arthur looked round nervously, and patted at his forehead with an already sweaty and damp handkerchief. Suppose they came in here? he thought. Suppose his friends are waiting for us outside? Ford looked at him cheerfully and drained his beer in a carefree manner. Bloody actors, Arthur thought, never thinking of the consequences.
"My round," Arthur said, and struggled through the press of people. He was damply exhausted by the time he managed to get to the bar, although he did spend a refreshing few seconds admiring the way the light summer dress stuck to the legs of the pretty girl beside him. Then her boyfriend noticed him looking, and Arthur had to hurriedly look away and stand in a miserable, nervous sweat that maybe this fellow would be waiting outside with a couple of his mates too. It was a great relief to get the beer and fight his way back against the tide of eager drinkers pressing towards the bar like a salmon swimming upstream trying to get back home to mate. And die, Arthur thought, wiping sweat off his face after handing Ford's beer to him while keeping an eye on the door. Why the hell was Ford so unconcerned?
"Cheers, Arthur,"Ford said.
"Ford!" Arthur said, bending slightly to whisper loudly into Ford's ear. "Shouldn't we, you know, run away or something?"
"Why, Arthur, I thought you'd never ask," Ford grinned. "You're usually so shy."
Arthur rolled his eyes. Ford never took anything seriously, never. Not even standing in the middle of a crowd with no easy escape and hoards of attackers ready to pour in at any minute. He wiped his face again.
"Relax, Arthur," Ford said, "I'll look after you."
It had all seemed so sensible at the time, Arthur thought. An act of friendly solidarity, showing how pleased he was that Ford had managed to find an actual job, despite his best efforts to remain unemployed. Not a very big production, it had to be said, but a few extra quid wouldn't go amiss. He'd been surprised to find Ford in as close a state to panic as he'd ever seen him.
* * *
"Don't you know your lines by now?" Arthur asked as Ford chewed his fingernails and muttered in what seemed to be Mongolian. "It starts in an hour and a half."
Ford gave him a long, still look. Arthur found it difficult to look away. His eyes began to water. Ford grabbed the local paper, opened it at random, glanced down a page then recited the whole thing from memory, deadpan.
"Oh," Arthur said. "So what's the problem?"
"I can't act," Ford hissed. "I. Can't. Act. I just rely on everyone being incredibly unobservant. I don't understand the nuances of Ear -- er, English dramatic conventions. I haven't been to a single play since I got here. I haven't even been to any bloody rehearsals, I was just supposed to be the bloody understudy. I understand there are important social issues in the play, but they don't make any sense to me. I only just found out it's not a comedy. And the bloody producer keeps going on about dramatic irony. I don't understand that, Arthur."
"It's just stage fright," Arthur said.
"I don't understand irony!" Ford shrieked. "I just don't, all right? I don't understand how it's different from sarcasm, I don't understand sarcasm either and I don't know how to make either of them dramatic!"
"I think you have the drama pretty well down pat," Arthur said. "Look, why don't you just ignore the producer and play it the way you feel most comfortable?"
"I'm only doing this because they'll stop my dole otherwise," Ford muttered, pacing up and down. "What'll I do if I get regular employment out of this, Arthur? I don't think I could stand that." He began muttering don'tpanic don'tpanic in a monotone.
"Calm down," Arthur said. "Treat it as a game of make-believe, that's all it is."
"Like lies?" Ford said, suddenly intent. "I can tell lies."
* * *
Arthur strolled round to the side door of the theatre. Well, that had been interesting. He turned his collar up against the start of drizzle. No wonder Ford didn't get much work, he thought disloyally.
Ford emerged, and gave a little wave. Just then, a few disgruntled theatergoers spotted him.
"What the hell did you think you were playing at?" one of them asked Ford, in a tone that implied he didn't think Ford was ready to make the jump to the West End just yet.
"Glad you enjoyed it," Ford said offhand, miming his urgent need for drink at Arthur.
The amateur theatre critic's girlfriend giggled, and Ford gave her the most incredibly filthy wink Arthur had ever seen. When Arthur winked at girls they tended to offer him a hankie to get the dust out of his eye. They certainly didn't blush and look interested against their better judgment. The theatre critic reacted rather badly, all things considered.
"You little twat," he started, "you ruined our bloody evening with your carrying-on. What was all that with the dancing like a herd of pigs?"
"And the feather dusters?" his girlfriend added.
"Come for a drink and I'll explain," Ford said to her. "We can crash at Arthur's. Can't we Arthur?"
Arthur winced as the theatre critic roared with rage.
"You bloody -- I've a good mind to take the price of the tickets out of your skin!"
Arthur took a half-step forward and stopped in surprise. Ford spun around and laid the man out cold with a single punch. Arthur blinked. He hadn't just seen that. He was also quite certain he hadn't heard Ford growl. The girl shrieked and Ford gave the other alarmed audience members a cool look.
"Any other of you monkeys fancying a go at reviewing my performance?" Ford asked.
Arthur looked at him. Ford seemed -- not quite as vague as usual. Nor quite as good humoured. He looked like he'd just found a really effective way of relieving the stress of having done an honest evening's work. The really shocking thing as far as Arthur was concerned was that Ford seemed entirely sober. The others backed off a little, and Arthur cleared his throat.
"Um, Ford? I think we should go."
Ford looked at him in a way that made Arthur feel like a zebra that's just attracted the wrong sort of attention, then he gave his usual lunatic smile.
"Sure, Arthur. I could do with a drink."
He strolled through the little crowd, and they left the scene.
"What the hell was all that about?" Arthur said.
"I took your advice. Play it the way you feel most comfortable, you said. So I thought I should stick to the dramatic conventions we have at home."
"Guildford's not that avant garde, surely. And anyway, I meant just now, when you hit that man."
"You heard, he was going to attack me."
"He didn't mean it! You were supposed to say 'oh, sorry mate, been under a bit of pressure' or something like that, and everything would have been fine!"
"Huh. Interesting. I must remember to make a note about that for the Social Customs section."
"Huh?"
"Never mind. Look, let's go in here."
"Let's go to one much much further away where we won't be as easily found. Bloody Alpha Centauri might be far enough."
"They're teetotal."
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
"You're really bloody literal-minded, did you know that?"
"You're the ones with the fuzzy forms of expression. I'm quite normal."
"Normal," Arthur snorted as Ford ushered him into the bar, "is the one thing you're not."
Behind him, Ford grinned, showing rather more of his teeth than he usually allowed. All in all, it was a good job he'd had Arthur around to remind him he actually liked humans, he thought. Funny little herd creatures. He made himself look a lot more harmless as Arthur looked back, and pushed his friend into the noisy and anonymous crowd.