Plays One Read online

  JIM. Should think she is. Sat on her arse all day yakking to Bible-basher Enid.

  BETTY. Huh, Enid ain’t as holy as you imagine.

  JIM. No, she’s a …

  CAROL. Dad, you don’t understand. Housework, same thing day in, day out, gets monotonous.

  JIM. Yeah, so does working.

  CAROL. Apart from anything else, she can’t go out to work because of Nanny.

  JIM. Nanny, my armpit. She ain’t exactly decrepit, you know. I’m sure if she can watch Grange Hill and still make the six-thirty bingo session she could probably get a job training Sebastian Coe.

  BETTY. Oh I don’t know. I just want something that matters to me.

  JIM. Your husband and son don’t matter of course.

  BETTY. Yes they do. Where is John by the way?

  JIM. Probably gone for a drink with the lads.

  BETTY. Oh I don’t know.

  JIM. That’s right. You don’t know what you want, you’re like the old lady who lived in the vinegar bottle.

  BETTY. I want something to believe in.

  JIM. Something to believe in. Hear that, Carol eh? That’s a laugh. Coming from her. Someone who believes that you get pneumonia if your underwear isn’t aired, that you mustn’t walk under a ladder, or drop a knife, or that you can get dirty diseases off a bog chain.

  CAROL. Dad!

  JIM (thinking he’s being funny). I suppose God and the Labour Party aren’t enough to believe in, eh, Bet?

  CAROL. Mum?

  BETTY. I feel a bit dizzy. I think I’ll lie down for half an hour.

  JIM. What about your dinner?

  BETTY. I don’t feel too good. I won’t be long.

  She goes out.

  JIM. Gawd, she’s never done that before.

  CAROL. Dad, you know about, I mean, Mum, time of life, the change.

  JIM. Carol, I know all about women’s troubles.

  CAROL. I think, I think, now don’t get cross. Sometimes Mum doesn’t understand when you’re making a joke.

  JIM. She’s out of practice, we haven’t exactly ’ad a lot to laugh at lately.

  CAROL. It’s bin hard on her, you know.

  JIM. Look, Carol, I might be able to get another job on the side, but don’t mention that to Darrel mind, although it shouldn’t be long before I get a full-time job. Then it’ll be different, mark my words, I’ll make it up to her. I’ll see her all right.

  Scene Six

  BETTY’s kitchen. Several weeks later. JIM has been as good as his word. The kitchen is now sporting an electric toaster, liquidiser, microwave oven etc. ENID enters with a sheaf of daily papers.

  ENID. Blimey, it’s getting to look like a regular Argos showroom in here.

  BETTY. Yes.

  ENID. Soon you’ll be able to sit in a chair and press a button and everything will be done.

  BETTY. Hasn’t made much difference except now the toast pops up automatically burnt.

  ENID. How can you be so ungrateful?

  BETTY. I don’t mean to be. I’ve tried talking to him, Enid, half these gadgets frighten me.

  ENID. But he’s trying, Betty. Gawd if I start saying I’m unhappy to my Bob he’d say count meself lucky or I will give yer something to be unhappy about. I’d be over the moon at all this, isn’t even as if he’s got a proper job yet.

  BETTY. Enid, if you say to someone I’m cold and they set light to you, do you think that’s the answer?

  ENID. Betty, I think you’re a bit loola, otherwise you bin listening to too much Radio Four. Anyway cheer up, I’ve got all the papers.

  BETTY. Good, you know even Jim’s had to think about it after seeing the Labour Party Conference on telly.

  ENID. Well, I didn’t half feel a twit asking for The Times, Telegraph and Guardian. Right, are we going to cut them up?

  BETTY. It’ll have to be later. Social worker’s coming this morning.

  ENID. I’ll get out the way then. Don’t want her analysing me, thanks very much. Where’s Ivy?

  BETTY. Trying to make herself helpless as possible.

  ENID. Trying to undo the habit of a lifetime, must be some task. See you later then. (She goes out.)

  IVY enters.

  IVY. My Bob Big Gob done?

  BETTY. Yes. Now, don’t be rude to the social worker, we want something, remember?

  IVY. Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs. Anyone can fool that snipetty-jig of a young do-gooder girl.

  BETTY. Don’t be so sure. I reckon they got as much power as the police if they got a mind – Jim calls them the caring branch of the SPG.

  IVY. Ha, him. He couldn’t control a fart in a bottle.

  BETTY. Maybe not, but don’t go telling her you got paralysed from the waist down in a bomb scare ’cos they might be stupid but they got access to doctors’ records.

  IVY. Na, they don’t understand arthritis either, to them it’s just another word what means old.

  The doorbell rings.

  BETTY. Remember when in doubt keep stum. (She opens the door.)

  FIONA. Hello, my name’s Fiona, I’m from the Social Services. I wrote and told you I was coming.

  BETTY. Yes, do come in. Would you like a cup of tea?

  FIONA. No, thanks very much.

  BETTY. Well do sit down.

  FIONA (sits, so does BETTY). Thanks, how are things?

  BETTY. You know, mustn’t grumble but mother’s not getting any better.

  FIONA. I’m sorry to hear that. Hello, Mrs Taylor, how are you feeling today?

  Silence.

  BETTY. Hearing’s not so hot.

  FIONA. Really? There wasn’t anything on the file.

  BETTY. Ears like everything else don’t improve none with age.

  FIONA (stands in front of NANNY mouthing and shouting). Mrs Clayton was saying your hearing has deteriorated.

  IVY (to BETTY). What she say?

  BETTY (gesturing). She said you’re a bit deaf. Worried about deaf.

  IVY. Death, of course I am. Nobody wants to die, do they, dear?

  BETTY. Not death. Deaf, deaf.

  FIONA. Have you seen your GP for a hearing aid?

  BETTY. Oh no, she don’t have one. Never bin one for human conversation, you might say. What she misses most is hearing the telly.

  FIONA. We do have a special device, I might …

  BETTY. Works like headphones?

  FIONA. I think that’s right.

  IVY. Like Mrs Appleton’s got at number seven?

  FIONA turns round.

  IVY. I’ve got the same trouble in me back as Mrs Appleton. We was comparing ourselves other day. Very bad legs.

  FIONA. That’s nice. How do you manage to see her? She’s housebound like yourself.

  BETTY. Er, my husband if he’s not ’ad too ’ard a day carries her up the road.

  IVY. What you say?

  FIONA (shouting). She said her husband often takes you.

  IVY. Keep your filthy assanations to yerself.

  BETTY. Nice company for her them both being in the same boat – deaf like.

  FIONA. Now, I was wondering about the possibility of a day centre.

  BETTY. I don’t think she’d like that.

  FIONA (mouthing, shouting). Would you like to try going to a day centre?

  IVY. I ain’t setting foot in no play school for geriatrics.

  FIONA. They do some lovely things, light factory work, basket weaving.

  IVY. I ain’t bloody blind.

  BETTY. What she’s trying to say is that she’d miss Afternoon Plus too much.

  IVY. At least I don’t shit meself like that load of cabbages up at the play centre.

  BETTY. Mother. (To FIONA:) She’s rambling. She gets like this. Take no notice.

  FIONA. But she is usually quite lucid?

  BETTY. Oh no. Her bowels are her strongest point.

  IVY. When I was in hospital, the Sister says to her, your mother is marvellous. There’s not a blemish up her back passage, didn’t she, Bet, wha
t did …

  BETTY. Mum.

  FIONA. That’s nice, well it seems like we’ve got to the bottom of the matter, ha ha, yes. How, how is John these days? Is he enjoying the YOPS course?

  BETTY. Seems to be, we don’t see much of him. You know, out and about, but they’re like that when they’re young, aren’t they?

  FIONA. And is your husband still out of work?

  BETTY. Er yes, but he’s not here at the moment because he’s doing the shopping. Gets on men’s nerves hanging about the house all day.

  FIONA. Can get on women’s nerves as well. No troubles with the DHSS?

  BETTY. Not so far. I mean, giros arrive on time and that.

  FIONA. That’s one thing.

  BETTY. You ain’t the same as them are you?

  FIONA. No way. We call them the Department of Stealth and Total Obscurity.

  BETTY (unaware that this is a joke). Oh really, we call it the Social.

  FIONA. Well. (She gets up.) No other worries?

  BETTY (lightly). Except the bomb.

  FIONA. Not much Social Services can offer there.

  BETTY (trying to be casual). Er, have you ever heard of that err peace camp thing in the south?

  FIONA. Greenham Common?

  BETTY. Yes. I expect you think those kids should be in care. What with them going to prison and that.

  FIONA. No, I don’t think that at all.

  BETTY. You don’t think they’re mad?

  FIONA. No, what do you think about it?

  BETTY. I’ve bin trying to follow it.

  FIONA. Have you?

  BETTY. Well, you know, what I’ve seen on the telly and that. Do you know anyone what’s actually bin there?

  FIONA. I have, as a matter of fact.

  BETTY. What’s it like?

  FIONA. Like it is on the telly only colder.

  BETTY. You know all the other women?

  FIONA. Not really, no.

  BETTY. Are they all well off and that?

  FIONA. No, all sorts of backgrounds.

  BETTY. I read in the paper that one woman was a doctor.

  FIONA. That’s true.

  BETTY. But I s’pose that’s the sort of thing the papers would pick up on.

  FIONA. Yes, I s’pose it is.

  BETTY. Still, I can’t keep you standing chatting all day, you must be busy.

  FIONA. That’s okay. (She takes what is now a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket.) This is a sort of handout leaflet. D’you want it?

  BETTY. Are you sure?

  FIONA. Of course.

  BETTY (takes it). Thanks … I’ve been sort of saving news cuttings.

  FIONA (searches her bag). Hang on – there’s something about it in this magazine. You can have it, I’ve read it.

  BETTY. That’s very kind.

  FIONA. I’m very pleased that you’re interested.

  BETTY. So am I. Pleased that you are I mean.

  FIONA. I’ve got some other stuff at home, I’ll bring it with the gadget for the telly.

  BETTY. Thanks very much.

  FIONA. Nice to meet you. (She goes out.) Bye.

  BETTY. And you. Bye.

  IVY. What was that all about?

  BETTY. You know full well. You won’t go telling Jim now, will you?

  IVY. Betty, you’ve got to stick up for yourself. Look at the way he creates about me going to Bingo but there’s nothing he can do about it. What should it matter to him what you talk about – to her or for that matter to that silly born banana Enid.

  BETTY. She can’t help getting her words mixed up.

  IVY. She can. She does it for a laugh. She just ain’t grasped the fact that you’re s’posed to take the Michael outta someone else not yourself.

  There is the sound of a door shutting.

  BETTY (hides the magazine and slips the piece of paper inside a copy of Woman’s Realm). Jim? Jim? Is that you, Jim?

  JIM enters.

  JIM. No, it’s Omar Sharif returning to his harem.

  BETTY. You just missed the social worker.

  JIM. Did she want to know where I was?

  BETTY. I told her you was shopping.

  JIM. Did she believe you?

  BETTY. Yes, she didn’t take no notice and we fooled her and got one of those things for the telly.

  Silence. JIM switches on the telly. BETTY reads the piece of paper FIONA gave her, between the covers of Woman’s Realm. A long pause.

  BETTY (without thinking). Jim, what’s patriarchy mean?

  JIM. Do what?

  BETTY. What’s patriarchy?

  JIM. Who? What are you reading?

  BETTY. Nothing. It’s in this magazine.

  JIM. Let’s have a look. What’s the sentence?

  BETTY. It’s a recipe for a patriarchy cake.

  JIM. A patriarchy cake? What in hell’s name … ?

  BETTY. What does it mean?

  JIM. No idea. (Pause.) Hang on. Hierarchy is like boss at the top – then the deputy’s under him, then under them, then at the bottom the workers.

  BETTY. How d’you mean?

  JIM. Like a triangle with the boss at the top and all the workers along the bottom, but funny name to call a cake.

  BETTY. Maybe it’s in the shape of a triangle.

  JIM. Well, I’m certainly looking forward to eating it.

  IVY (looks up). So am I.

  Scene Seven

  The next day. BETTY is sitting at the table with both the October edition of Sanity magazine and the paper. ENID enters. There are three jam-centred swiss rolls on the table.

  ENID. Coast clear? Where’s Nanny?

  BETTY. Cutting her toenails, chiropody’s non-existent round here now. Enid? What does patriarchy mean?

  ENID. A sort of parrot disease.

  BETTY. I don’t know why I bothered to ask.

  ENID. What on earth d’you want to know that for?

  BETTY. I haven’t got time to go into it all. But you know that welfare worker that came yesterday?

  ENID. Not personally no.

  BETTY. She gave me this paper all about it.

  ENID. About welfare workers.

  BETTY. No. The women’s peace camp.

  ENID. Social Services are telling people about that, blimey, as if they haven’t got enough work to do.

  BETTY (impatient). No, like it just cropped up in the conversation.

  ENID. I reckon they must be real lonely, wanting to spend the whole day inflicting themselves on folk and bending their ears off.

  BETTY. Listen, anyway I asked her, but then I asked Jim what it meant by mistake because then he asked where I read it, so I told him it was a cake recipe, so now he wants to eat patriarchy cake.

  ENID. Oh I see, clear as mud.

  BETTY. Are you going to help me or not?

  ENID. I don’t see how I can, I can’t understand a word you’re on about.

  BETTY. It’s this bit. (She reads.) We are dealing with the tip of the iceberg. Cruise missiles and at the same time the broad base patriarchy.

  ENID. I don’t see what I can help with. I s’pose Cruise missiles are the bomb, broad base – like a flan case I suppose.

  BETTY (tracing a line with her finger). This is a tip.

  ENID (looks round). Well, could do with a hoover.

  BETTY. No, look. (She traces another line.) This is the base. Jim reckoned it must be like hierarchy which is like a triangle. Now it’s a case of sticking these Swiss rolls together and cutting the edges in the triangle.

  ENID picks one of the Swiss rolls up and gives an impression of Groucho Marx.

  Can’t you ever be serious?

  ENID. Me? Me? Here you are, making a God-knows-what cake.

  BETTY. Patriarchy.

  ENID. And you don’t even know the meaning of the word. Me, me. You know something, Betty, if anyone’s losing their marbles, it’s you.

  BETTY. Wait a minute.

  ENID. What, for the men in the white coats?

  BETTY. What did S
teptoe call his father?

  ENID. A dirty old man.

  BETTY. No, when he was trying to be posh.

  ENID. Dirty old basket.

  BETTY. Pater.

  ENID. Oh yeah, always thought that was funny, his name was Albert.

  BETTY. Tut. It means father.

  ENID (sarcastic). Oh what a relief. There, you’ve solved it. Father triangle, that’s what it means. Father Christmas, Father Time and Father Triangle. Christianity, Timearchy and Patriarchy.

  BETTY. Maybe that’s it. God the Father, he’s at the top.

  ENID. I thought you reckoned the bomb was at the top.

  BETTY. I just don’t …

  ENID. I believe in one God, God the Father, God the Bomb and God the Holy Patriarchy Cake.

  BETTY. Enid, don’t say that.

  ENID. Anyhow, three Swiss rolls stuck together aren’t going to fool Jim.

  BETTY. I’ll cover it with icing, he won’t know.

  ENID. I bin thinking.

  BETTY. Don’t strain yourself.

  ENID. You know when I got the papers this morning, Betty, they’d had another brick through the window.

  BETTY. Not again. Poor souls.

  ENID. And I was sort of thinking like, what would they think about all this peace camp business. Petrol through the letter box every other night. Never knowing if they’ll all be burnt in their beds. What are they going to worry about a bloody missile for, probably welcome it dropping on them bastards, I would.

  BETTY. I thought you weren’t bothered about them.

  ENID. Got me thinking, Bet, we think we’ve ’ad it hard.

  BETTY. We don’t know the half.

  ENID. Maybe like those women have got nothing really to do with us.

  BETTY. Oh no. Then look at this. (She points to Sanity magazine.)

  ENID. Sanity? At least you recognised your problem, Betty, you ain’t got any. Where d’you get it?

  BETTY. Social worker gave it to me.

  ENID. She thought you was insane as well.

  BETTY. No, no, it’s about …

  ENID (picks it up, opens it). The Church and the bomb. We weren’t wrong, Betty, it’s in here.

  BETTY. No look here. Here. Those women went to prison for what they believed.

  ENID. Well, my Dennis bin sent down fer what he believed in, just so happens that the judge’s beliefs was not in accordance wiv his.

  BETTY. And one of them reckons she was the sort of person who just made the tea for other people, before she got involved.

  ENID. Well?