Plays One Read online

  Pause.

  ROWENA (very quietly). Well, the first part was badly made and like a lot of films it contained a good deal of violence and shooting. I think it was loosely based on the Charles Manson story. Then it changes, it becomes real. It’s a film studio during a break in the filming. The director is near a bed talking to a young woman. He gets turned on and wants to have sex with her. They lie on the bed and he kisses her. She then realises that they are being filmed. She doesn’t like it and protests. There is a knife lying on the bed near her shoulder. He pins her down as she attempts to get up. He picks up the knife and moves it round her neck and throat. There is utter terror on her face as she realises that he is not acting. She tries to get up but cannot. The film shows shots of his face which registers power and pleasure. He starts to cut into her shoulder, and the pain in her face … It’s real … Blood seeps through her blouse. Her arm is held down and he cuts off her fingers. It is terrible. I have watched a woman being cut up and she is alive. He then picks up an electric saw. And I think no … no he can’t use it. But he does. Her hand is sawn off … left twitching by her side. Then he plunges the saw into her stomach, and the pain and terror on her face. More shots of his face of power and pleasure. He puts his hands inside her and pulls out some of her insides. Finally, he reaches in again and pulls out her guts and holds them above his head. He is triumphant.

  Long pause.

  That’s it. The end. And I kept forcing myself, to pretend that it was only a movie.

  POLICEWOMAN. No. It happens. I’ve seen photos, hundreds of photos of little girls, young women, middle-aged women, old women … with torn genitals, ripped vaginas, mutilated beyond recognition. I try to not think about it.

  ROWENA. I’m going to have a long time to think about it.

  POLICEWOMAN. We do our best to convict them.

  ROWENA. Yes. (ROWENA moves away.) I don’t want anything to do with men who have knives or whips or men who look at photos of women tied and bound, or men who say relax and enjoy it. Or men who tell misogynist jokes.

  Blackout.

  NEAPTIDE

  This play is dedicated to all the friends, both mothers and teachers who have shared their experiences with me, and whose help and encouragement have been invaluable.

  Acknowledgement

  My grateful thanks to Dr Phyllis Chesler for permission to quote from her interpretation of the Demeter myth and her book Women and Madness (Avon Books, 1972).

  S.D.

  Neaptide was first performed at the Cottesloe, National Theatre, London, on 26 June 1986, with the following cast:

  CLAIRE, 27

  Jessica Turner

  POPPY, 7, her daughter

  Lucy Speed

  VAL, 29, Claire’s sister

  Catherine Nielson

  JOYCE, 57, mother of Claire and Val

  Mary Macleod

  JEAN, 30, Claire’s flatmate

  Sheila Kelly

  SID, 58, father of Claire and Val

  Anthony Douse

  LAWRENCE, 31, Claire’s ex-husband

  Michael Bray

  COLIN, 30, Val’s husband

  Peter Attard

  WALTER

  SID JUNIOR

  4, val’s twin sons

  Marc Bellamy

  Richard Lawrence

  JUSTIN, 5

  SPENCER, 6

  Jean’s sons

  John Sinclair

  Ruben Patino

  BEATRICE GRIMBLE, 51, headmistress

  Janet Whiteside

  LINDA FELLOWS, 33, games mistress

  Theresa Watson

  ANNETTE POLLARD, 54, domestic science teacher

  Jeanne Watts

  MARION LANDSDOWNE, 32, needlework teacher

  Anna Keaveney

  CYRIL BARRETT, 64, physics teacher

  Anthony Douse

  ROGER CUNNINGHAM, 29, English teacher

  Roderick Smith

  DIANE

  TERRI

  17, sixth form pupils

  Miranda Foster

  Jacquetta May

  YOUNG DOCTOR, male Peter Attard

  OLDER DOCTOR, male

  Anthony Douse

  NURSE, female

  Jacquetta May

  CLERK OF THE COURT, female

  Miranda Foster

  BARRISTER, male

  Peter Attard

  FLORRIE, voice only

  Jeanne Watts

  Directed by John Burgess

  Designed by Alison Chitty

  The play is set in an outer London suburb. The events take place in March 1983.

  PART ONE

  Scene One

  A hospital. TWO DOCTORS, both men, one some years older than the other, stand by VAL’s bed. A female NURSE hovers in the background. They are all oblivious to VAL’s first speech.

  VAL. The performers in this pit are as old as the witchcraft trials. Centre stage. The powerful male Doctor-Inquisitor. In the wings, a subservient female Handmaiden-Nurse. Stranded on a mud flat, myself, a Witch-Patient.

  The DOCTORS appear to be in the midst of a deep conversation when JOYCE enters.

  OLDER DOCTOR (with genuine concern). I’m afraid you can’t see your daughter at the moment, she needs plenty of rest. Perhaps you would care to wait outside? (With a gesture he indicates to the NURSE to show JOYCE out of the room. Exit JOYCE with NURSE. Then to the YOUNGER DOCTOR:) I wasn’t on duty last night. Strictly speaking, March will see to this one.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR (smiles). Hare March?

  OLDER DOCTOR. Don’t tell me, on top of everything else our quack colleague is German.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. I meant as in ‘Mad as …’

  OLDER DOCTOR. Oh, I’m with you now. Hum yes. (Shaking his head over VAL.) Probably have her flung out inside a week.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. With disarming success, no doubt.

  OLDER DOCTOR. And who’ll have to mop up the long-term backlash. Hum? Caught up in the unfortunate irony of psychiatric policy – concentration of short-term solutions. Our analyst friend is careful not to contravene that.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR (drily). What’s the difference between a cow chewing the cud and a therapist chewing gum? The cow has an intelligent look on its face.

  OLDER DOCTOR (wryly). I’ll leave it to you then. (He exits.)

  YOUNGER DOCTOR (calls off). Staff.

  The NURSE enters.

  NURSE. Yes, doctor.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. Did you manage to dredge the social worker’s report up?

  NURSE (offers him the medical notes which include a photocopy of the social worker’s report). Yes, I’m afraid there’s not much to go on though.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR (taking the file). Is there ever? (He sighs. Flicking through them.) Huh, that’s a fat lot of good. (He hands the notes back to her.) Still make it available to Dr March, we mustn’t allow accusations of unco-operation to fly around the ward. Children?

  NURSE. Doctor?

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. Has she got any offspring?

  NURSE. Yes, two.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. And do we know, pray, who is looking after them?

  NURSE. The maternal grandmother is to collect them from the nursery and look after them until their father gets in from work. In fact she’s outside now.

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. Who? Who is?

  NURSE. Mrs Jones’s mother. Shall I tell her she can come in?

  YOUNGER DOCTOR. Oh yes, yes.

  They both exit.

  NURSE (as she goes through the door). You can come in now, Mrs Roberts.

  Enter JOYCE. She crosses to the bed, pulls up a chair and sits down very unconfidently.

  JOYCE. Hello love, how are you feeling? (Pause.) Don’t worry about the boys, they’re fine. We took them to playschool this morning. They were ever so good, no tears or nothing and I’ll collect them for as long – (She stops herself.) – for as long as they want to go. (Pause.) Colin’s rearranging his timetable at work so not to worry. He sends all his love. (Pause.) He’s beside himself, I mea
n he’s very concerned. Well, we all are, we all are. For you. That you get well, back to your old self. (Finally.) Have you got a message for him? (Silence.) Val?

  VAL (quietly). Here I sit, mad as a hatter with nothing to do but either become madder and madder or else recover enough of my sanity to be allowed back to the world that drove me mad.

  JOYCE (shocked). I don’t think I can remember all that. What on earth possessed you to come out with a mouthful like that?

  VAL. I didn’t say it.

  JOYCE (gently, slightly patronisingly). Oh, Val, who did then? The washstand?

  VAL. Some woman years ago. I don’t think there are any original states of mind left to reclaim.

  JOYCE (sighs). Val, love, this won’t do. Now, I’ve brought you a clean nightie and two flannels.

  Scene Two

  Afternoon. Sunday. Two days previously. CLAIRE’s living-room. CLAIRE is sitting in an armchair. POPPY is sitting on her lap. She has been reading Mrs Plug the Plumber to CLAIRE. There is a Mother’s Day card, which POPPY has made, on the mantelpiece.

  POPPY (reading). Ah well, all in a day’s work, said Mrs Plug. I’m going to go home and have a slap-up supper, this job is driving me round the bend. (She slaps the book shut.)

  CLAIRE (laughs). Poppy, it does not end like that.

  POPPY. I know. I thought it was boring for you.

  CLAIRE. Now, have you got your Nan’s present ready?

  POPPY. Yes, I’ve hid it behind the chair.

  CLAIRE. Good.

  POPPY. It’s your turn.

  CLAIRE. What is?

  POPPY. It’s your turn to read me a story, you promised.

  CLAIRE. It’s just that they’ll be here soon.

  POPPY. You promised.

  CLAIRE. Okay, okay, which one …

  POPPY. Pepsi-phone.

  CLAIRE. Persephone.

  CLAIRE picks up a book.

  In the beginning, if there ever was such a time, Demeter, the goddess of life, gave birth to four daughters, whom she named Persephone, Psyche, Athena and Artemis. The world’s first children were unremarkably happy. To amuse their mother – with whom they were all passionately in love – they invented language, music, laughter – and many more useful and boisterous activities.

  One morning Persephone menstruated. That afternoon, Demeter’s daughters gathered flowers to celebrate the loveliness of the event. A chariot thundered, then clattered into their midst. It was Hades, the middle-aged god of death, come to take Persephone, come to carry her off to be his queen, to sit beside him in the realm of non-being below the earth, come to commit the first act of violence earth’s children had ever known.

  Pause.

  … and thus they each discovered that in shame and sorrow childhood ends, and that nothing remains the same.

  Persephone’s sisters came home without her. Demeter raged and wept. She bound up her hair and turned wanderer, but could not find her eldest daughter anywhere on earth.

  POPPY. No, because she wasn’t on the world, she was underneath it.

  CLAIRE. Finally the sun spoke and told Demeter what had happened, that her daughter was married and a queen. He counselled her:

  ‘Why mourn the natural fate of daughters – to leave their mother’s home, to lose their virginity, marry, and to give birth to children?’

  POPPY. Silly sun.

  CLAIRE. Demeter was grieved beyond and before reasoning.

  POPPY. She was vivid.

  CLAIRE. What?

  POPPY. Raging mad.

  CLAIRE. Oh, livid.

  POPPY. Yes, hopping livid.

  CLAIRE. Remembering an oracle’s prophecy of a splitting, a scattering and an exile, she said to the sun:

  ‘Yea, if that be the natural fate of daughters, let all mankind perish. Let there be no crops, no grain, no corn, if this maiden is not returned to me.’

  And she stopped the world.

  POPPY. Brillo, that’s my favourite bit.

  CLAIRE. And because Demeter was a powerful goddess, her wishes were commands and Persephone returned, but she still had to visit her husband once a year and during that time no crops would grow. However, neither husband nor child nor stranger would ever claim her as his own. Persephone belonged to her mother. That was Demeter’s gift to herself.

  Silence.

  POPPY. Did she really stop the world?

  CLAIRE. Why do you think nothing can grow in winter and all the leaves fall off the trees?

  POPPY. Do you really believe that? Really and truly?

  CLAIRE. Well, I certainly like it better than Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty.

  POPPY. Don’t stop there, what happened to all the others?

  JOYCE (off). Hello? Anyone at home?

  CLAIRE. In here, Mum. (To POPPY:) When they’ve gone it’s bath and bed, okay.

  POPPY. Aw Mum.

  Enter JOYCE and VAL.

  JOYCE. You should really keep the door locked. I could’ve been anyone. Hello love. (She kisses CLAIRE.) Hello Poppy.

  POPPY hugs JOYCE, then goes and gets JOYCE’s present which is a daffodil in a brightly painted pot.

  CLAIRE. I’m glad you could make it, Val.

  VAL smiles. They sit down.

  JOYCE. We let your father and Colin go for a drink, so it’s just us together. (To CLAIRE:) Thought you’d appreciate that. Now don’t go putting the kettle on. We’ve had so many cups of tea it’s a wonder I’ve not turned into a watering can.

  POPPY (presenting JOYCE with her present). Happy Mother’s Day, Nan.

  JOYCE (very pleased). Oh Poppy, thank you. It’s lovely. Did you grow it yourself?

  POPPY (considering this). Well, I put it in a cupboard under the stairs for ages but it grew by itself really. I painted the pot though.

  JOYCE. And very nicely too. Who are these?

  POPPY (pointing at the pictures). This one is you, Nan. This one is Val and this is Sybil and -

  JOYCE (correcting). Aunty Val and Aunty Sybil.

  CLAIRE. Yes and this one is Claire.

  JOYCE (correcting). Mummy.

  POPPY (affirming). Yes, that’s right, my Mum.

  JOYCE. Honestly, Claire, if children grow up using their parents’ names it’s no wonder they end up rioting.

  CLAIRE (handing JOYCE a wrapped gift). Happy Mother’s Day.

  JOYCE. Oh thank you. (Pleasantly.) Gawd, I’m a bit frightened to open it. I’m never sure what I’ll get from you. What with tea towels about sinking into his sink.

  CLAIRE. That was years ago.

  JOYCE. It was still too late then. I’ve spent the best part of my life with my arms in Fairy Liquid. Anyway, I just hope it’s something I can show your father.

  CLAIRE. If you usually show him the cardigans people give you from Marks and Spencer before you change them for thermal underwear, yes, you can.

  JOYCE. All right, don’t take …

  POPPY. Oh, open it, Nan, open it.

  JOYCE (opening it and finding it is a cardigan from Marks and Spencer). Oh it’s very nice, thank you, Claire. And I got a card from Sybil yesterday.

  VAL. Oh Sybil, Sybil, Sybil. What a name to call a child, don’t dribble Sybil.

  JOYCE. There’s no need to be like that, Val. She was named after my mother and you know full well I didn’t want any of you named after her. God knows your christening was a trauma and a half, Val, but when it came to Sybil’s I just didn’t have the strength to take another scene behind the font. Anyway, I don’t know if they have such a thing as Mother’s Day out there, but my card had the Statue of Liberty on it, so I don’t know whether that was by design or coincidence, but it only says she’ll ring tonight. I only hope she gets the time lapse right. I have no desire to be wished ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ at three o’clock tomorrow morning, thank you very much.

  CLAIRE. I’m sure she won’t. Do give her my love.

  JOYCE. Yes, of course. You know it’s on an island, don’t you? Did you know that?

  CLAIRE. Manhattan?

  JOYC
E. I know that’s an island don’t I? No, the Statue of Liberty is stuck out in the water on something no bigger than your garden and, you know, here was I thinking it was like Eros slap bang in the middle of things. I said to Sid, I did, just as well I’ve never been on Mastermind not knowing something like that. He laughed, that’s why I married him, he’s a good laugh, your father.

  CLAIRE. You should see the Statue of Liberty for yourself. Sybil’s always saying she’d like you to go over and visit.

  JOYCE. What with? That’s what I’d like to know.

  CLAIRE. You can get quite a cheap fare and there’s Dad’s redundancy money.

  JOYCE. We can’t go throwing that about traipsing round the world. Have you lost your senses? And what’s your father s’posed to do – go down the dole and say, ‘Be good lads and just pop the next few Giros in the post to New York’? That would make them roll in the aisles, I’m sure.

  CLAIRE. Sorry, it was only …

  JOYCE. An idea. Yes, well, the very idea. I’m not so sure as I want to go over there in the first place and I can’t for the life of me fathom why Sybil flounced off there. I still wake up of a night in a cold sweat praying she’s not been mugged.

  CLAIRE. Oh, Mum.

  JOYCE. I do, you know, I do, and fancy, I ask you, of all the places to live in New York she ends up in somewhere called SoHo. Other people over there at least have those normal numbered addresses like 42nd Street.

  CLAIRE. She’s a journalist, nothing else.

  JOYCE. I know it’s only a name and what’s in a name but you don’t have to face the neighbours: ’And where’s your daughter living these days, Mrs Roberts?’ ’Well, actually, in New York’s SoHo.’ Well, the way they look you’d think I’d just said she’d dropped dead.

  CLAIRE. So how are you?

  JOYCE. And where’s that err … Joan?

  CLAIRE. Jean. She went to her mother’s for the weekend.

  JOYCE. Did she take the boys with her?

  CLAIRE. No, actually they’re staying with Riq until tonight.