My Neighbours Are Stealing My Mail

by Ian Edwards

  ‘It’s a risk I know, but if Harry’s going to listen to anyone it’s going to be Alan.’

  ‘I’ve only met Alan once,’ Alison told them. ‘At my birthday party last year, but he seemed very nice. I’m sure Harry will listen to him.’

  ‘What will you do if Alan can’t talk sense into Harry?’ Jayne asked while wiggling her fingers.

  Rosie smiled. ‘I’ll have no choice. I’ll have to speak to Harry myself and find out what the silly old sod is playing at.’

  Chapter 18

  Mario leaned against the back wall of the small room upstairs at the Pig’s Trotter, a dusty damp old school pub in a dusty damp back street of Camden Town. He looked around at the sparse crowd; barely twenty of the fifty or so seats were filled. Muted chatter competed with the sounds of 80’s pop music from a battered ghetto blaster.

  ‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ he said to Alan, who was standing with Sarah, Harry and Katherine during the half time break at the comedy club.

  ‘Course you can. Try not to think about the crowd. Just take deep breaths and relax,’ Alan replied. ‘This place is perfect. There’s only a small crowd and it’s never rowdy, not like some of the bear pits on the circuit. Just imagine you’re on your train and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Sarah added. ‘Mario, if I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t have put you in this position. You’re a naturally funny guy and you’ll go down a storm. You’ve seen the first half of the show, and there’s nothing to be scared of. Plus, you’ve only got five minutes. It will fly by, trust me.’

  Mario tried to smile, but his nerves had taken complete control. His stomach was in knots and he desperately needed the toilet. ‘I need the toilet,’ he said and almost ran from the room and down the stairs.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Alan asked Sarah.

  ‘Give him a couple of minutes and go check on him,’ she replied.

  Alan nodded his agreement, pulled out his phone and checked his Twitter activity.

  ‘What is it with people and their phones?’ Alan glanced to his left where Frankie had materialised. ‘I mean,’ the ghost continued, ‘you never ring anyone up, so why are they called phones?’

  ‘What?’ Alan whispered.

  ‘Phones,’ Frankie replied. ‘I’ve been writing a new routine about these phones you have.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alan replied.

  ‘What’s up, Alan?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing. Just some idiot on Twitter.’

  ‘They’re all idiots. That’s my point,’ Frankie said. ‘So, do you want to hear the rest of it? My phone routine?’

  Alan stared at Frankie. ‘What? Oh, you’re serious..?’

  ‘I know I’m a little rusty, but together we can make it work.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alan repeated, saw Sarah glance quizzically at him and added, ‘I’d best go see where Mario’s got to.’

  ‘Here he is,’ Harry said, nodding to where Mario emerged, sweating profusely. ‘We thought you’d done a runner.’

  ‘I thought about it,’ Mario replied.

  ‘What made you change your mind?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘It’s Alan’s round,’ Mario grinned.

  ‘Sounds a good enough reason to me,’ Alan said. ‘Same again, people?’ Everyone nodded in affirmation and Alan made his way downstairs to the bar.

  A short man in a red and yellow striped suit walked over to Mario and the group. ‘You OK to go on in a few minutes?’ The man asked. ‘I’ll be starting up the second half in a bit. I’ll do a little warm up, get the crowd going then I’ll introduce you. Relax and have fun. It’ll be great,’ the man said and wandered off to talk to another group of people.

  ‘Is he having a laugh with that suit?’ Mario said.

  ‘Yeah, he wears it every night,’ Harry replied. ‘I think he thinks it makes him wacky. But he just looks like a psycho clown without make up. And less funny.’

  Sarah giggled. ‘I know. He wanted me to represent him, but I told him I wasn’t taking anyone on at the moment. He’s truly awful, but his heart’s in the right place.’

  ‘If the right place is anywhere but on stage, I think you have a point,’ Harry said. ‘Oh dear,’ he added. ‘He’s making his way to the stage. Mario, whatever happens in the next few minutes, remember that Andy Pandy over there,’ he nodded to the compere, ‘has spent years getting away with his act. You’ve seen him. It’s like a failed audition for Play School. And if he can do it, you certainly can.’

  Mario smiled nervously, watching as the compere switched over tapes in the ghetto blaster; Spandau Ballet being replaced by the sounds of children singing If You’re Happy and You Know It.

  ‘Told you,’ Harry said.

  ‘You’re right,’ Mario replied, shaking his head.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Alan.

  On stage the compere was trying - and failing - to get the crowd to sing along to the famous children’s song. Grimacing, Harry turned to Alan. ‘Thanks mate.’

  ‘For what?’ Alan asked.

  ‘I could have ended up doing this if it weren’t for you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, you’d have never been this popular,’ Alan grinned. ‘Oh, thank God for that,’ he added as the tinny echo of the famous children’s song reached its conclusion.

  ‘Don’t talk too soon son,’ Frankie whispered in his ear. ‘He’s going to tell some jokes now.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alan replied.

  ‘I know,’ Harry said, thinking Alan was talking to him. ‘I’ve had root canal work less painful than this.’

  Alan smiled and reached over to grab Mario’s shoulder. ‘Are you OK?’ Mario nodded nervously. ‘It’s alright mate, after this imbecile, you’ll seem like Frankie Boyle.’

  ‘Frankie who?’ Asked Frankie.

  ‘I thought the compere’s job was to generate an atmosphere, gee the audience up for the next act.’ Mario wiped sweat from his brow.

  ‘Clearly not in this case,’ Alan said. ‘This guy could get booed off by the Deaf Institute.’

  Mario’s smile dropped as he heard the compere announcing his name.

  ‘There you go, mate,’ Alan said. ‘Break a leg. Preferably a chair leg. Over the compere’s head.’

  Mario took a deep breath and strolled slowly toward the stage. Muted applause greeted his footfalls and he felt rather than saw several heads turn in his direction as he walked through the sparse crowd, climbed the four small steps before reaching the stage. The compere gave him an exaggerated round of applause, opened his arms and embraced Mario, who kept his arms firmly by his sides.

  ‘Go get ‘em, kiddo,’ the compere said. ‘I’ve warmed them up nicely for you.’

  Mario forced a thank you from the weird little man and stepped over to the mic. ‘Errr…good evening. My name’s Mario and I’m a train driver by day. And a super hero by night. What I mean is I was so nervous about this gig I put my pants on over my trousers.’

  A tiny spattering of laughter rippled through the crowd and Mario’s nervousness began to dissipate. ‘My parents were part of the Windrush generation. They left the beautiful sunshine, coconut trees and sandy beaches of Jamaica for the rain sodden bricks and mortar of a Clapham housing estate. I’m eternally grateful. In fact, I followed in my dad’s footsteps. No, I’m not a Yardie. I drive trains.’

  Mario’s mind went blank. He knew the next line. He had been rehearsing it all day, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. He stared out into the crowd. The expectant faces morphed into judgmental glares. At least they did in his own mind, and his fear overcame him. He began to sweat uncomfortably and looked to the back of the room to where Alan was silently urging him on.

  ‘This isn’t good, son,’ Frankie whispered in Alan’s ear.

  ‘I know,’ Alan replied.

  ‘If he was driving his train he’d be fine…hang on. What about this…’

  Back on stage, Mario watched in silence as Alan appeared to t
alk to himself, nodding animatedly before rushing toward the stage.

  ‘Errr…’ Mario muttered for what seemed like the twentieth time. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said as the audience became restless. A low muttering of disapproval rippled through the crowd. ‘As I said…’ Mario saw Alan pick up an empty chair and climb the stage. ‘Sorry, I…’ was all he could say before Alan placed the chair in front of him, but facing away from the crowd.

  ‘Listen,’ Alan whispered. Sit on this, keep your back turned to the crowd and just focus on what you rehearsed. Pretend you’re sitting in your driver’s cab. Trust me. This is going to work.’ Alan took the mic from the stand, turned Mario round and pushed him onto the chair. ‘Here. Have this,’ Alan said. ‘You’ve got this,’ he added before striding back into the crowd.

  Mario took a deep breath. He was certain that someone would throw something at his back. Instead a loud guffaw emanated from behind him. Mario waited for the abuse to begin. Instead he heard a giggle from the other side of the crowd, followed by another and yet another. He felt utterly humiliated as his silence continued. He knew he had a simple choice. Either muddle through or run away and never set foot in a comedy club ever again. What was he thinking anyway? He wasn’t a comedian. He was just a train driver. A train driver…he smiled as he finally remembered the next line. His anxiety gave way to excitement as he knew he could continue.

  Mario placed the mic under his chin and said, ‘Well, that’s the most a black man has sweated since Lenny Henry was asked to host the EDL Christmas party. Now, where was I?’

  *

  ‘My son’s in kindergarten now. He came home very excited the other day and showed me a finger painting of our family. I think he was expecting me to be happy, but all I said was, “son, are you crazy? What did I tell you? Never give them your fingerprints.” Thank you, my name’s Mario Forde. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  Mario rose from his chair as the crowd clapped. He placed the mic in the stand, waved, picked up the chair and walked into another bear hug from the compere.

  ‘Not bad for a first timer,’ the compere said.

  ‘Thanks,’ Mario replied, prising himself away from the sweaty hug. ‘I’d better put this back.’ He motioned to the chair in his hand. He heard the compere ask for a round of applause, the hair on the back of his neck rising under his dreadlocks as the applause gave way to cheers. None as loud as those at the back of the room where Alan, Sarah, Harry and Katherine cheered and clapped. Sarah gave him a hug which, he thought, was much nicer than the one the compere had given him. Sarah let go as Alan fist bumped him.

  ‘Told you it would be OK,’ Alan said. ‘The crowd thought the chair thing was all part of the act.’

  ‘Really?’ Mario asked, surprised.

  ‘Really,’ Alan confirmed. ‘And, let’s be honest, they were just glad someone other than that pillock…’ he nodded to the compere on stage, ‘…was talking. Seriously mate, there’s some decent stuff in there. The question is, did you like it, and will you do it again?’

  Mario ran his hand over his dreads. ‘I dunno. I was shitting myself for most of it. But the feeling I got when I heard laughter. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.’

  ‘Yeah, it gets you like that,’ Alan agreed. ‘I reckon you’ve got the bug. You’ll fly home, won’t be able to sleep and will want to do it all over again tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Mario replied, though he suspected Alan was right. He was already thinking about when he could get back on stage and what he would do differently.

  ‘Harry’s up next,’ Alan said, interrupting Mario’s train of thought. ‘This should be good. We’ve been working on a couple of new gags that we both like.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Katherine leaned in. ‘He’s not doing that knock knock joke is he?’

  Alan snorted. ‘Yeah. I can’t wait to see if anyone gets offended.’

  ‘That sounds interesting,’ Mario said. ‘I can’t wait to hear that.’

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Katherine grinned. ‘You won’t look at him in the same way ever again.’

  *

  Alan, Mario, Sarah, Harry and Katherine sat at a corner table in the main bar in the Pig’s Trotter. The comedy night was over and they all agreed it had been a success. Mario was still tingling with euphoria from his short set. His adrenalin seemed to be burning straight through the alcohol that was being liberally distributed along the table.

  ‘A toast,’ Harry announced. ‘To comedians past and present.’ He nodded to Mario, ‘…and future. Cheers.’ Everyone raised and touched glasses before drinking.

  ‘So, Harry,’ Mario said. ‘That knock knock joke. What in God’s name was that all about? It’s outrageous.’

  ‘It was all Alan’s idea,’ Harry replied touching Alan’s pint glass with his own. ‘I’m far too innocent to know what it means.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ Alan said. ‘You came up with the punchline. I just censored it enough for public consumption. Do you like it?’

  ‘I love it, yeah,’ Mario admitted. ‘I’d never tell it to my kids though.’

  ‘Best not,’ Alan said. ‘Not unless you can afford to put them through several years of therapy.’

  Mario grinned. ‘Not on my bloody salary.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be playing stadiums soon,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Well my train does go through Wimbledon…’

  ‘See, you’re almost as much of a smart arse as Alan,’ Sarah replied.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Alan almost shouted. ‘That reminds me. There’s a pub quiz down at The Hoof next Tuesday. James and I are entering. If anyone else fancies setting up a team let me know and I’ll put your names down.’

  ‘What’s the prize?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘A hundred quid. But don’t worry, James and I will win it, and buy everyone a beer.’

  ‘You sound very confident,’ Harry said.

  ‘Of course. Between the two of us we know pretty much everything.’

  ‘That’s not really true is it?’ Sarah said. ‘I have to remind you where you’re playing most nights. And remember that gig you missed because you thought Felixstowe was on the Victoria Line?’

  ‘I didn’t think Felixstowe was on the Victoria Line. I just got confused between Felixstowe and Walthamstow.’

  ‘Easy mistake to make,’ Mario said, adding, ‘if you’ve never been outside before.’

  ‘Listen to him,’ Alan laughed. ‘One five minute slot and he thinks he’s Giles Monroe.’

  ‘Ugh, I’m not that bad am I?’

  A silence descended on the table. ‘What. Did I say something wrong?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Alan replied. ‘It’s just Sarah here is dating the lovely Mr Monroe.’

  ‘Oh shit, sorry,’ Mario apologised. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘A bit like Giles’ routines.’

  ‘Alan!’ Sarah punched him on the arm. ‘It’s OK, Mario. I get stick all the time from Alan. I think he’s jealous.’

  ‘Of Giles? Now who’s the comedian?’

  ‘See what I mean?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry though,’ Mario said.

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s fine.’

  ‘So, about this quiz night,’ Alan said, changing the subject. ‘Who’s up for it?’

  ‘I’ll be on your team,’ Harry said. ‘’You could use a bit of common sense.’

  ‘No Harry, that’s OK. James and I have it all covered. I was thinking more of you guys having a team of your own.’

  ‘To challenge you and James?’ Harry asked, needing confirmation.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Just you and James?’

  ‘Yep,’ Alan repeated.

  ‘In a quiz?’

  ‘In a quiz, yep.’

  ‘This I’ve got to see,’ Harry said. ‘Mario, you fancy it?’

  ‘If I’m not on a shift yeah, why not? Where’s the Hoof anyway? I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘That’s because it is truly the worst pu
b in London,’ Sarah said.

  ‘No, that’s not fair,’ Alan replied. ‘There’s a pub in Walthamstow…’

  ‘Sure it’s not Felixstowe?’ Mario grinned.

  ‘One gig and he thinks he’s Stewart Lee,’ Alan smirked. ‘It’s in back streets of Merton. A hidden gem.’

  Harry shook his head. To Katherine he said, ‘You’ll come?’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ Katherine replied. ‘As much as I’d like to see this hidden gem of a pub, it’s a school night. I couldn’t possibly.’

  Alan heard Frankie snigger and tried to keep a straight face.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Sarah said. ‘I could bring Giles, make up a team.’

  Alan snorted. ‘Do you really think Giles would be seen anywhere near The Hoof? There’s not nearly enough glass, chrome and eight quid poncey craft beers. Rosie is coming though, maybe you could join her team?’

  Sarah thought for a moment. She had always struggled to find common ground with Rosie, which was odd seeing as they both had Alan in common. This would be a perfect opportunity to get to know Rosie better. Perhaps bring up the subject of Alan doing the Edinburgh Festival next year. ‘Yes, that sounds great,’ Sarah said at last. ‘Girls against boys. You won’t stand a chance.’

  Chapter 19

  ‘Are you going to behave yourself tonight?’ Rosie asked, standing hands on hips in a pose Alan regarded as attack mode.

  He smiled. ‘Of course, why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Just don’t go on about your mail, or anything controversial.’

  Alan frowned. ‘Controversial?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He nodded. ‘So I should only say things people will agree with?’

  ‘Yes. Ideally, it would be better if you didn’t say anything at all, but they might think you’re rude, so if you have to speak, keep it neutral.’

  ‘Neutral.’ Alan repeated.