Plays One Read online

  SPENCER has picked up the scissors and is cutting out the back of the packet with little regard for the contents.

  JUSTIN. Mum! Mum! He’s doing it, look, look, tell him off.

  JEAN (rounds on SPENCER and grabs the scissors). Behave or I’ll cut your head off.

  JUSTIN. She’s going to do a Henry the Eighth on you.

  JEAN. Justin, shut up.

  CLAIRE and JEAN sit down to their respective bowls of cereal. SPENCER and JUSTIN continue to prod and pinch each other until SPENCER bangs his spoon into JUSTIN’s bowl of Rice Krispies. JEAN, in response, flicks a spoonful of her cereal into SPENCER’s face.

  JUSTIN (laughs). You got paid back.

  SPENCER. What did you do that for, Mum? Mum? What did you do that for?

  CLAIRE. Jean?

  JEAN (foul mood). I haven’t got three degrees and spent seven years training to be an educational psychologist not to know how to treat my kids.

  SPENCER (wingeing). You said you would cut my head off.

  JEAN. Spencer, talk properly.

  SPENCER. And you said ‘piss off’.

  JEAN. If I hear one more word out of you, you’ll be reading about how you drowned in a bowl of Rice Krispies in next week’s Beezer.

  JUSTIN. He couldn’t read about it if he was dead.

  JEAN. What have I told you about trying to be too clever, Justin? (JUSTIN opens his mouth to reply.) I don’t care. Shut it. We’re late as it is. (To CLAIRE:) I’ll give you and Poppy a lift if you like.

  CLAIRE. Thanks, we’ll both get told off if we’re not there before the bell.

  POPPY. Oh, they don’t mind. They know you’re a teacher.

  CLAIRE. Well, my headmistress knows I’m a mother, but it doesn’t seem to work that way around.

  JEAN (to CLAIRE). What about having time off?

  CLAIRE. I’ve got it all worked out.

  JEAN. That’s good, well, you know.

  CLAIRE. Not that Lawrence wouldn’t rearrange the school timetable if he could to make it as awkward as possible all round. Bastard.

  POPPY. My dad isn’t a bastard. I’ll tell him you said that.

  CLAIRE. You can Poppy. Sadly, he’s heard me call him worse things than that.

  JUSTIN. What’s a bastard?

  CLAIRE. Sorry, Justin, I used the wrong word. I was angry but that word was inappropriate – wrong.

  JUSTIN. Yes, but what’s …

  POPPY. When Jean’s angry with Riq she calls him a wanker.

  CLAIRE (firmly). Thank you, Poppy.

  JUSTIN. What’s a wanker? (Pause.) What’s a wanker?

  CLAIRE (looks at JEAN, who has bowed out of the conversation in favour of charging over the mess on the floor with a carpet sweeper). It’s … er … someone who err … wastes a lot of time on themselves.

  JUSTIN (to SPENCER). Wanker. Wanker.

  SPENCER. Takes one to know one, you are, yourself, you are …

  JEAN. Right out to the car both of you. (Brandishing scissors.) Or I’ll make both your nostrils into one.

  JUSTIN. Wank off. Wank off.

  JEAN. Just one big hole.

  The BOYS run to the door.

  SPENCER. Wouldn’t be as big as your mouth.

  The BOYS exit fast.

  JEAN (shouts after them). And don’t tempt me by playing under the wheels. Stand by the door. (To CLAIRE:) I’ll just get my things together and I’ll be with you. I don’t know which goddess is responsible for Mondays, but I could strangle her.

  CLAIRE (helps POPPY on with her coat). Ready, love?

  POPPY. She forgot the scissors.

  CLAIRE (smiles). I think she was only joking.

  Scene Four

  Staff room. Before school. MARION and ANNETTE are marking exercise books. CYRIL is reading the sports pages in The Times. LINDA is sorting out arm bands. ROGER appears to be trying to mate two paper clips. There is a knock at the door.

  CYRIL (without looking up). Go away and come back after the nuclear war or Easter, whichever happens to be the latter.

  ANNETTE. Honestly, Cyril, it’s lucky they can’t hear you.

  CYRIL (mumbles). Blasted kids.

  Another knock.

  ROGER. Well, whose turn is it?

  ALL OTHERS. Yours.

  ROGER. Okay, okay. (He goes to the door and opens it to DIANE and TERRI.) Yes girls, what can I do for you?

  DIANE. We’d like the key to the stationery cupboard in the commerce room.

  ROGER. What? (He looks at his watch.) Is this shift work? We haven’t had assembly yet.

  DIANE. Miss Grimble wants some stuff run off and we didn’t finish it on Friday.

  ROGER. And where’s Miss Whatsit Evans who’s supposed to be in charge of that room?

  TERRI. She’s off sick again.

  ROGER. Well, I don’t know …

  TERRI. Ahh, go on, Sir.

  ROGER. Don’t go away. (He goes to the board, which has various keys on it, and selects one.)

  ANNETTE (curtly). Really, I think you should go with them, Mr Cunningham. Keys are not to be taken from this room without being accompanied by the teacher.

  ROGER (defensively). But Miss Do-da Evans is off sick.

  ANNETTE. Precisely.

  DIANE. We’ll bring them straight back, Miss.

  ROGER (giving DIANE the key). Here you are, but if we read that the Russian warheads were made from two dozen gross of Her Majesty’s drawing pins, we’ll know who the culprits were, ha ha!

  TERRI (forcing a laugh). Thank you, Sir.

  MARION (calls). Please shut the door.

  No response.

  CYRIL. They’re all born in a barn.

  ANNETTE. Someone should make sure the key is retrieved. Those two aren’t renowned for their reliability. (She sighs.) I don’t see why it should always be me. (She exits.)

  ROGER. Suit yourself, Annette. At the beginning of the day some of us enjoy our little peace.

  CYRIL (mutters). Piss off.

  MARION (shocked). Pardon, Cyril?

  CYRIL (smiles innocently). Piece of sanity.

  MARION (nodding towards the open door). Some chance with the whole school gawping in.

  ROGER (hotly). All right, all right, I’m shutting the door. (He goes over to the door, slams it in MISS GRIMBLE’s face. She promptly opens it, pushing him out of the way.) Sorry Miss Grimble, didn’t see you there.

  Enter BEA GRIMBLE.

  BEA (briskly). Obviously. (To the others.) Morning all.

  EVERYONE (various versions of). Good morning Miss Grimble.

  BEA. Is Mrs Anderson here yet?

  MARION. Not so far, Miss Grimble.

  BEA. Bother.

  LINDA (helpfully). It’s very unusual. She must have got held up – the buses on Mondays are …

  BEA. No matter, I’ll try and catch her later on. (She turns to go, then, as an afterthought:) No more disgusting business in the toilets to report then, Miss Landsdowne?

  MARION. Not as far as I am aware, Miss Grimble.

  ROGER. Aye, aye, what’s this then?

  BEA (coldly). Since when have the girls’ lavatories been your concern, Mr Cunningham?

  ROGER (weakly). I beg your pardon.

  Exit BEA GRIMBLE.

  CYRIL. She was looking for Claire on Friday evening as well. Wonder what that’s about.

  ROGER. I’m more interested in Marion’s revelations. (To MARION:) Come on, don’t keep us guessing.

  MARION. I’d have thought Miss Grimble made it quite plain that it was nothing for you to worry about.

  ROGER. I’m sure you’ll tell me at your own convenience. (He laughs at his own joke, probably because nobody else does.)

  CYRIL. It’s bad enough starting a new week without you cracking on like a crazed cockatoo, Cunningham. Give it a rest.

  ROGER. Cyril, you are dry to the point of being wooden.

  CYRIL. The rot has set in. What d’you expect? This place is a blight on my life.

  MARION. Boys, boys.

  Enter CL
AIRE.

  ROGER (ever jocular). Why, if it isn’t Ms Anderson at last.

  CLAIRE (fake smile). Master Cunningham, fancy seeing you here on time.

  ROGER. And a bit ruffled you are too. Where have you been hiding him, down the leg of your dungarees?

  In fact ROGER has never seen CLAIRE wearing dungarees, but this fits his image of her.

  CLAIRE (ignoring ROGER). Morning, Linda, Marion, Cyril.

  They respond appropriately.

  ROGER. Our beloved Virgin Queen was looking for you.

  CLAIRE. Typical, the very morning I’m late. What did she want?

  ROGER. Didn’t say, but it’s my bet I’m conversing with the next deputy headmistress.

  CLAIRE. Don’t talk rubbish.

  Enter ANNETTE.

  Morning, Annette.

  ANNETTE. Good morning, Mrs Anderson.

  ROGER (to CLAIRE). Anyway, she dropped a bombshell about some goings-on in the girls’ toilets and Marion was too abashed to enlighten me. I was wondering if you could put me in the picture.

  CLAIRE. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Marion?

  MARION. I found some graffiti last week.

  CLAIRE. Oh, that.

  ROGER. Something juicy, I hope it was about me.

  MARION. Hardly.

  ROGER. Come on, then, you’ve got us all on the edge of our seats.

  MARION (embarrassed but trying to be nonchalant). It was a phone number amongst other things … for a gay switchboard.

  ANNETTE. That euphemism is quite disgusting. It’s quite wrecked the poetry syllabus. Instead of being an expression of joy, it’s an excuse for muffled titters. Who do you think wrote it?

  MARION. More than likely one of the sixth form. There’s some queer fish in your group, Claire.

  CLAIRE. I wouldn’t say that.

  ROGER. Queer being the operative word. I was only thinking when Diane Collier came to the door that she was a bit butch.

  ANNETTE. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  CLAIRE (to ROGER). Just because she can see through you. In fact she’s probably more intelligent than you.

  CYRIL (to ROGER). That’s not saying much.

  MARION (to ANNETTE). I’ve always found her strange. Do you remember that campaign she started in the third year for girls to do metalwork? Luckily it was knocked on the head.

  ANNETTE. Humm. She was so good at home economics, but had the audacity to tell me it was boring. At least, I think that’s what she meant by announcing it was creatively deflating.

  CLAIRE. This is supposed to be the age of equality.

  MARION. Whatever it’s supposed to be, it’s certainly not the age of perversity. Not in this school anyway. We must be on guard for hanky-panky or horseplay.

  CLAIRE picks up a copy of the Daily Mirror, which is on the table, and hides behind it.

  ANNETTE. You know, I saw a marvellous version of Macbeth a couple of years ago, with Peter O’Toole.

  ROGER. Did you pay for him to accompany you?

  ANNETTE (coldly). He was in it.

  MARION. How wonderful.

  ANNETTE. Roger, I’m sorry to say this but you make me ill.

  MARION (to ANNETTE). Go on, dear.

  ANNETTE. Mind, not that the blood wasn’t ridiculously overdone.

  ROGER. I bet you’d have preferred it medium-rare.

  ANNETTE (regardless). But it brought a whole new perspective to the characters of the three witches, you know, a hint of, er, female intimacy … between them … which gave a real tinge of reality to their evilness.

  CLAIRE’s newspaper twitches.

  CYRIL (with laboured consideration). You know when I was at college -

  ROGER. Shakespeare was still doing the rewrites.

  CYRIL. Cunningham you are more stupid than most of the fourth form.

  MARION. Just take no notice, Cyril.

  CYRIL. We had an extraordinary woman in our year, trained to be a PE teacher – always wore men’s clothes, rumour had it that she wore a truss on the hockey field.

  On the words ‘PE teacher’ LINDA grabs a newspaper and hides behind it.

  ROGER. You ever heard of pre-penile dementia, Cyril?

  CYRIL. It’s true.

  ANNETTE. In any event, Marion’s right, we better keep our eyes well-peeled.

  The bell goes.

  ROGER (eagerly). Unto the breach, dear friends, or fill the gap with our non-sexist teaching.

  The others start to make a move. CLAIRE puts the newspaper down.

  CLAIRE (smiles). I wish someone or something would fill that gap in your face.

  ROGER. Ah ha, the pink maiden surfaces from under The Mirror – well read?

  CLAIRE (stonily). What a big wit you are.

  Scene Five

  The same day. The staff room after school. Everyone except ROGER is collecting books etc. to go home.

  ANNETTE. Miss Grimble’s having a word with them now, before they go home.

  MARION. Were they kissing on the lips?

  ANNETTE. Yes.

  ROGER. I presume you mean …

  MARION. Mr Cunningham, you are obscene.

  ANNETTE. I can quite believe it of the other one, but not Terri, I mean, she’s quite attractive.

  CYRIL. I don’t believe it of Diane. Like I said, this woman at college wore men’s clothes and when she played hockey …

  ROGER. Just because one doesn’t wear a codpiece does not necessarily mean avowed heterosexuality.

  MARION. There just isn’t anything natural about women kissing each other.

  CLAIRE (blurts out in spite of herself). Oh yes, there is. (Silence.) I mean, er, there can be, for comfort, you know, at a funeral or such like.

  ROGER. If I dropped dead, would you kiss Marion?

  CLAIRE. If you dropped dead, I’d kiss everything in this school, including the dog shit in the playground.

  ROGER. You’d do that for me. I’m so honoured.

  ANNETTE. Spare us, Mrs Anderson, don’t encourage him.

  MARION. Ignore him. You know social intercourse only excites him.

  LINDA. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re on about. I practically had to prize Terri off one of the boys from Drylands Park on the playing field this afternoon.

  CYRIL. Could have been after his box.

  LINDA. The cricket season hasn’t started yet.

  ROGER. How’s that then, you’ve awakened our games mistress. Interesting to see who comes out to defend what. Next into bat, Mrs Anderson.

  CLAIRE. I’m not defending anything. (She starts to collect her stuff together.)

  LINDA. And I’m off home. Bye all.

  Chorus of goodbyes. Exit LINDA.

  ANNETTE. It’s the parents I feel sorry for.

  ROGER. Can’t be very fruitful knowing there are bent genes in the family tree.

  CYRIL. Luckily they can’t reproduce themselves.

  MARION. Public tolerance wouldn’t trust them with the next generation.

  ROGER. Some of them do have children, though.

  ANNETTE. Don’t be ridiculous, how can they?

  CYRIL. You’d be surprised, Annette, there are ways to get round anything these days.

  ROGER. Even nature.

  MARION. Not many ways round the unhappiness it must cause.

  ROGER. I wouldn’t worry, Marion, it only affects women who can’t get men.

  CLAIRE, bag packed, coat over her arm, is about to slink out.

  ANNETTE. Oh, Claire.

  CLAIRE (startled). Yes? What?

  ANNETTE. I’d almost forgotten. She wants to see you as well, before you go.

  CLAIRE. Me? What for?

  ANNETTE. I don’t know. She didn’t say.

  ROGER. Oh dear me, what are you teaching them, Mrs Anderson?

  ANNETTE. Roger, I hate to say this, but could you please shut your mouth?

  ROGER. She’ll probably want to see me next, with some winge about there not being enough Romeo and Juliet on the syllabus.

  M
ARION. Rest assured, no one in their right mind would want to see you.

  ROGER. Just let her try. I’ll give her a run for her money.

  MARION. And if we’re lucky, she’ll give you your money and tell you to run. Can I give you a lift, Annette?

  ANNETTE. Very kind of you, dear, goodnight everyone.

  CYRIL. Come on, Cunningham, buy me a drink down the pub.

  ROGER. What? And miss the revelations of Mrs Anderson’s hush-hush rendezvous with our revered leader?

  CLAIRE. I do not intend to be any longer than I have to. I’m going straight home after the confrontation.

  ROGER. Oh go on, tell us, I’ll wait.

  CLAIRE. You’ll be waiting a long time then, won’t you? You know your problem, you’re all id.

  Exit CLAIRE.

  ROGER. What’s id?

  CYRIL. Short for idiot.

  Scene Six

  The Headmistress’s office. DIANE and TERRI stand in front of the desk. BEA GRIMBLE sits behind it, fiddling with her fountain pen.

  BEA. This, as it appears to me, is a very serious matter. Would you care to offer any acceptable explanation?

  TERRI (spilling words in panic). Yes, yes, it wasn’t what you think at all. I was, er, like, just daydreaming about my boyfriend, with my eyes shut, you know how you do. Sorry, how one do … does?

  BEA. No. Do enlighten me.

  TERRI. A real good-looking, I mean, clever, intelligent, nice, very decent boy and Diane didn’t see me and bumped into me by a mistake and we lost our balance, very silly, really.

  BEA. Really. Is that a fact? Because it seems to me that maybe I should introduce school medicals, as everyone lolls round this place with their eyes shut. And tell me, Terri, do you often spend your days in the cloakroom, eyes closed, daydreaming about boys?

  TERRI. Oh yes. I mean no. Although I’ve had hundreds of boyfriends but I’m going steady now with a boy, but I don’t let it interfere with my school work.

  BEA. I’m very pleased to hear it. What have you to say for yourself, Diane?

  DIANE. Not a lot.

  TERRI (quickly). It’s true.

  BEA. What is?

  TERRI. What I’ve just said. She means she’s got nothing to add.

  BEA. Do you speak for Diane as well?

  TERRI. No, no. I hardly know her.

  BEA. I thought you were good friends?

  TERRI. Oh no, that was the third year, second year, well not even in the first year. We were friends at primary school but we lost touch.