DVD Extras Include: Murder (The Mervyn Stone Mysteries, #2)

by Nev Fountain

  Mervyn agreed, abandoning Marcus to keep the commentary going. ‘I know. They have Steadicam now. Even documentaries aren’t filmed like documentaries these days. It feels so self-aware and artificial.’

  Marcus wedged himself back into the conversation, desperate to steer it back to something he knew about. ‘I like the filming on the adaptations of my books. They’re pacey, but they don’t use a lot of trickery on them.’

  There was a huge dead silence. Nobody knew how to respond to that. Eventually they chose not to.

  Mervyn reluctantly turned his attention back to what they were being paid to discuss. ‘What’s going on now?’

  ‘Ah, well that ship’s she’s on?’ Marcus dived in again. ‘That’s about to blow up.’

  Samantha was confused. ‘I don’t think it does, does it? Not this episode…’

  ‘Oh you’re right. It blows up in episode two, doesn’t it?’

  ‘This hasn’t got an episode two.’ Mervyn’s voice was now threaded with weariness.

  ‘Oh,’ said Marcus. ‘I should have watched it before I came here, shouldn’t I?’ He laughed, but he was on his own. ‘That spaceship looks like one of my wife’s dildos,’ he said suddenly.

  The comment crashed head-first into another wall of silence.

  ‘Oh,’ said Samantha, finally.

  Robert must have said something on the headphones about the word ‘dildo’ being unacceptable, because Marcus suddenly said to no one: ‘Well my nephews know what a dildo is.’ There was more silence, as Robert patiently explained the concept of certification to Marcus. ‘Seriously?’ said Marcus at last. ‘You’ve got women stomping around with their tits hanging out, flagellation, an angry mob outside ready to burn us…and me talking about my wife’s dildos could mean you have problems getting your PG certificate?’ More silent comments from Robert. ‘Oh very well. I will insert no more dildos into the conversation,’ said Marcus, trying to make light of it.

  The commentary limped on. Every time Marcus opened his mouth to talk about the script—names, plot points, in fact the whole basic storyline—he got it woefully wrong, and Mervyn felt duty-bound to correct him. Soon, Marcus was glaring at Mervyn like an admonished puppy, told off for something he didn’t realise was a Bad Thing.

  Then he suddenly blurted out: ‘Hey, wait a minute. I remember the Dog and Monkey. Fucking awful pub. And the barmaid. Ugh!’

  ‘She was a very nice woman,’ said Mervyn, hurt.

  ‘She was a complete dog! And she watered the beer! What a penny-pinching slack-titted old boiler,’ hooted Marcus.

  There was another embarrassed pause, and Marcus was given another talking-to through his headphones. ‘Oh fine,’ he said testily. ‘Fine. She was a lovely woman, and gorgeous to boot. How much longer have we got to go on sitting in this bloody sweatbox?’

  The episode chose to cut back to another scene shot on location. ‘Professor Daxatar’ was shouting at another, younger actor. ‘Here we are, back at the quarry,’ said Brian unnecessarily. ‘Shouting at Yelack. I do a lot of shouting at Sid. Poor boy.’

  ‘“Yelack.” What a funny name! How do you come up with them, Marcus?’ twittered Samantha.

  Marcus sounded pleased to be asked a question. ‘Yes… It is a funny name, isn’t it? There’s an interesting story about how I came up with it. It’s a derivation of “Yashmak”, the Muslim veil—I called the character that because he symbolises a “religious cover-up” in more ways than one.’

  Samantha gave an ‘Ooh’.

  Mervyn snapped. ‘I think you’ll find that “Yelack” is an anagram of “Lackey”.

  There was a long, terrible silence.

  ‘Oh yes! So it is,’ Brian chortled.

  ‘I think I must have renamed your character in a later draft, Marcus,’ said Mervyn—apologetic now, but the damage had been done. ‘I did it quite a lot. Remember Gildernun the assistant scientist?’

  ‘That snivelling little character played by Gregory Symes?’ said Brian.

  ‘It’s an anagram of “underling”,’ said Mervyn.

  ‘Oh yes! So it is. I’m thinking of other words that might be anagrams now. Herath… Could that be “hearth” as in “hearth and home…”?’

  ‘That’s a good observation, Brian,’ said Mervyn. ‘It sounds like it could be. But no, it’s just a phonetic corruption of “Earth”…’

  Marcus was having none of it. He was in a bad mood now. He’d stopped caring what anyone else wanted to talk about; he wanted to talk about himself. He crashed into the anagram conversation. ‘Come to think of it—that thing on the table. That bloody statue. I don’t want it back at all. I don’t know why I kept it in the first place. Bloody fans, forcing rubbish on me and filling my house with crap.’

  ‘What was the director’s name again?’ said Samantha, uneasily.

  ‘Horrible bloody thing. Ugly as sin. Stuck on the mantelpiece for years. Makes her look like a whore. Thought I’d sell it to the highest bidder if I ended up on hard times. Perhaps they could use it as a suppository, or an anal sex toy or something. Never had to sell it of course. Never been that desperate for cash. How about you, Mervyn? I expect you’ve sold off most of the stuff you got from the set over the years…’

  Mervyn was annoyed. Such an obvious back-handed insult—such a clumsy attempt to use the commentary to make a distinction between Marcus The Success and Mervyn The Failure. His hands balled into fists.

  Marcus was being told off through his headphones again.

  ‘Well it does look ugly. It’s not my fault it looks like something you could stick up your arse. I don’t see why you’re so squeamish about me saying it would make a good sex toy?’

  Right, that’s it, thought Mervyn in fury. He’s had this coming for years. I’m going to punch him right now.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He was saved by a little voice in his ear.

  ‘Right. I think we’ll take a break.’

  It wasn’t his conscience. It was Robert. The screens fluttered and died. Robert entered the studio, cheerily holding a thumb aloft.

  ‘That was great, majorly good,’ he said, lying through his teeth. ‘There was lots of majorly good stuff in there.’

  ‘I think we were starting to flag in the last five minutes,’ said Mervyn apologetically. That’s the understatement of the millennium, he thought.

  ‘Not to worry. That normally happens. That’s why we normally take a break every 20 minutes.’

  Mervyn knew that they normally did nothing of the sort, that they normally continued right through, but he could see Robert was anxious to let things calm down. Samantha pulled off her headphones and looked around her dazedly, as if she’d come up from a deep sea-diving expedition. ‘Golly, was that really 20 minutes? It just flew by, didn’t it?’

  ‘Thanks everybody. We’ll have a break for ten minutes and crack on with the next bit.’ Robert’s head disappeared.

  Marcus leapt to his feet and left the studio without a backward glance and without saying a word. He wasn’t pleased.

  Brian shook his head, grinning. ‘It’s amazing isn’t it? You go in thinking you won’t have anything to say, and it all comes flooding back.’

  ‘Yes, it’s funny like that.’

  Samantha looked at Mervyn with an awestruck expression, as if he were some wise old sorcerer. ‘You were really good. Did you do lots of homework for this?’

  ‘Oh, I used to do loads. The first time I did one I went through my original scripts, looked up reviews on the internet, I even bought a reference book—but I found that they give you all that stuff anyway.’ He waved what was left of his crib notes.

  Brian grunted. ‘They are fans, after all. That’s what they do best.’

  ‘Exactly. Nowadays I just watch the tape through once, the night before.’

  Samantha looked at the screen. ‘It’s amazing how well it holds up. I mean, it’s obviously “of its time”, but you could easily see it on BBC1 now, couldn’t you?’

  From the ex
pressions Mervyn and Brian pulled, they were unconvinced.

  The door opened again. This time it was Trevor ‘Simpering’ Simpson.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  There was a chorus of ‘Yes’s.

  Samantha stood and picked up her bag. ‘Could I have some water please?’

  Trevor looked confused. ‘There’s water over on the table outside…’

  ‘No, could I get some different water? I did say before. Um, I don’t like the brand. I’m sure you understand…’

  ‘Oh sorry. Of course. I’ll have a look in the canteen for you. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Thank you. I sound a bit loopy don’t I? It’s just water, after all.’

  ‘No problem. Still or sparkling?’

  ‘Still please. Sparkling feeds my cellulite.’

  Mervyn got slowly to his feet, prompting his joints to crack like bubble-wrap. ‘Talking of water…’ He always drank too much coffee at these things.

  * * *

  Now he’d calmed down, Mervyn was doing a very Mervyn thing. He was feeling guilty. He was starting to blame himself. Perhaps he’d surrendered to temptation and allowed a few misplaced comments to fly in Marcus’s direction, and Marcus had only become insufferable in return? I’m sure they’ll work around that unpleasantness in the edit, thought Mervyn.

  He arrived at the gents. Joanna Paine was already there, her hand resting on the door of the ladies, opposite. She smiled at him, a slow cold smile. ‘I’m hearing good things about you, Mervyn. Your name is coming up in quite a few meetings.’

  Mervyn’s ears pricked up. Was his writing career starting to create ripples again, after all these years? ‘Oh really?’

  ‘Really. I’m representing Andrew Jamieson now. He’s looking for a sequel to his best-seller. Thinking of solving any more crimes?’ She gave a sly grin.

  ‘I doubt it,’ muttered Mervyn.

  ‘Keep at it, Mervyn. Don’t let your writing get in the way of searching out more juicy murders.’ She disappeared into the toilet.

  Mervyn was uncomfortably aware that his former agent had just told him to give up his day job. He entered the toilet, only to find Marcus already there, leaving one of the cubicles and heading to a sink.

  ‘Mervyn.’

  ‘Marcus.’

  Marcus washed his hands vigorously, his eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror. Mervyn headed swiftly to the urinal, glad that he had a reason to turn his back on an awkward moment.

  ‘I guess I should have watched the tape they sent me,’ Marcus said. He tugged some paper towels out of the dispenser.

  Mervyn grunted.

  ‘Look, I am grateful, really. I’ve always been grateful. You know that, Merv.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Mervyn wasn’t very convincing. He sounded vaguely non-committal at the best of times, but ‘tepid’ had given way to ‘cool’.

  ‘Of course you do.’ Marcus said vigorously, trying to convince himself more than Mervyn. ‘There’s no need for things to get awkward. Certainly not now, not after all these years.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Awww. You do.’

  ‘No. Seriously. Please tell me, Marcus.’

  ‘Oh come on! I know the joke’s on me, and it’s all big yuks, etcetera, and I know you’re having fun trying to trip me up on things, but it’s hardly sporting, when all’s said and done.’

  ‘Trip you up on things?’ Rare anger flared in Mervyn’s voice. ‘It’s you who doesn’t even know whether it’s a two-part story or a one-parter! The only person “tripping you up” is you!’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t have to correct me all the time. It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Marcus, this DVD is bought by fans. They know these things. The first thing they’re going to say is “Why does the writer think that character is named after a Muslim veil when we all know that’s utter nonsense?”’

  ‘They’ll just think I’m an absent-minded old sod. Lots of writers can’t remember the names of their characters.’

  ‘I know! I’ve done it myself! So what’s your problem?’

  Marcus kept glaring at Mervyn, but didn’t answer. Mervyn’s voice softened. ‘Look, It’s perfectly natural for a script editor to correct a writer on a few points. After all, he might have changed the character names in a later draft.’

  ‘I suppose… Yes, that could be true.’ He looked like he was assessing the plausibility of the story, as if they’d cooked it up together. Mervyn didn’t like feeling complicit in any imagined scheme involving Marcus, but at least it gave him some leverage.

  ‘It would look far weirder if I sat there and didn’t correct you on things that every fan knows backwards.’

  Marcus dipped his hands in the water and threw some on his face. ‘Ok. Fine. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that… I feel a bit of a fraud doing this.’

  Mervyn said nothing. Marcus expected some noise of conciliation from Mervyn. When none came, he became petulant. ‘All right… I am a fraud. You know it. I know it.’

  Mervyn sighed. ‘No. No you’re not. It’s not your fault. It was my responsibility and my decision to make. I would have done it again…’

  ‘Mervyn…’

  ‘And anyway, those books of yours… They’ve made you millions. You’re no fraud. Just next time. Please. Just watch the damn tape the night before you do a DVD commentary.’ He banged the door open with the flat of his hand and was halfway down the corridor before it swung shut.

  * * *

  On his way back to the studio, he realised he hadn’t washed his hands. Mervyn never liked to see a job half-done (apart from the uncompleted novel in limbo inside his computer, of course). Well, he certainly wasn’t going to go back to the toilet while Marcus was still in there, he was rather pleased with his dramatic exit and wasn’t going to spoil it. He knew from his time in the BBC that the toilets were situated in the same place on every level, so he decided to go down a floor. Opening the door to the stairs, he immediately heard a loud voice echoing up the stairwell—someone was talking to himself.

  Peering carefully over the banister, Mervyn saw Robert. He wasn’t talking to himself; he was on a mobile, and he was very angry with whoever he was talking to. He was curled into a corner with his hand cupped round his mouth, as if by holding the conversation inside his palm he could avoid being overheard. No such luck.

  ‘I don’t care, you’re not, and that’s that… No… No… You know damn well why… Cos they’d have my guts for garters, that’s why! Lionel, listen to yourself! Lionel! There is no way. No! Because I don’t want the police called in again, that’s why! You heard what the police said, you disgusted them. Listen, Lionel—you disgusted me! Look, your things… Yes. The tapes have all been confiscated. Yes—all of them. Well, what did you expect? Anyway, what’s left is in a box on my desk, and you can collect it today. Whatever, the laptop too. Yes… Fine. No! Don’t even think you’re coming up! I’ll come down to you. See you at one. I’m—no! I’m finishing this call now, Lionel. I want you out of the flat. I never want to see you again. Yes I’m sure you are. So am I.’

  Robert snapped the phone shut, sighed wearily and started up the stairs to where Mervyn was eavesdropping. Mervyn hastily ducked behind the banisters and hurried back the way he’d come.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mervyn arrived back at the green room, grabbed some bottled water from the table and went into the studio.

  The others had already taken their places, laughing and joking and nudging each other. Marcus was particularly jovial, back in life-and-soul-of-the party mode. He greeted Mervyn with gusto, behaving like their little altercation had never happened.

  Robert popped in, rubbing his hands. ‘So, that was a great rehearsal. Everyone ready to go for a take?’

  Brian, Samantha and Marcus laughed. Mervyn chuckled too, even though he’d heard the joke before. Robert said it during every commentary recording.

  ‘Seriously though, you’re doing great. Majorly g
reat. Try not to repeat yourselves too much…’

  ‘You’ve said that once already,’ quipped Brian.

  ‘Keep your energy up…and one more thing. Marcus and Mervyn. Perhaps during the next part, you’d like to touch on the controversy this episode generated? Obviously, we’re making a documentary about the whole religious angle to go on the DVD, but a few comments from your points of view would be good, just so they’re there. Don’t worry about duplicating information—we can always cut it down.’

  ‘Will do,’ said Mervyn.

  ‘No sooner said than done,’ said Marcus.

  The episode started running again, and after two minutes, Mervyn dutifully kicked things off, talking as if it had just occurred to him.

  ‘One thing that sticks in my mind about this episode is the amount of my time and energy it took up after it went out. Normally you sign off a script and forget about it, get on with the next one. I had to talk about this story at length to people I was theoretically answerable to, people who I’d never seen before in my life. Heads of this, and Senior that… The trouble this story caused!’

  ‘Tell me about it!’ Marcus started to join in. ‘The BBC’s switchboard jammed didn’t it? All Thursday evening, all Friday, Saturday and all through Sunday.’

  ‘The producer was very supportive though. Nicholas said—’

  Marcus chopped him off. ‘Odd really. All the complaints flooding on that Sunday morning. You’d expect them all to be at church. Obviously the happy clappers and tambourine tappers weren’t as devout as they made out.’

  Mervyn winced. ‘Though looking back at it, in some ways I think we went too far. The scene outside the spaceship, particularly, when the men are whipped on those crucifix-like structures. Yes, in hindsight, I think we sailed too close to the wind…’