Plays One Page 5

  ANNA. Mum, we are not married.

  MARY. And why not, that’s what I’d like to know. I wouldn’t put it past you.

  JULIE (lightly). I wouldn’t have her, she can’t iron a shirt to save her life.

  MARY. I can quite believe it, Julie. I tried, oh yes, but Madam didn’t want to know. I’m surprised she’s not entirely defunct on the domestic front.

  ANNA (hurt). Mum.

  MARY. I wouldn’t put anything past you. I’m still waiting to find out what was wrong with Kevin.

  ANNA. Mum don’t …

  MARY. He was such a nice boy.

  JULIE. Kevin?!

  ANNA. He was training to be a butcher when I was doing my eleven-plus.

  MARY. And he worked really hard at it as well. He’s his own boss now, you know. (To ANNA.) If she’d played her cards right she could have been living over the Dewhurst shop in Camden by now.

  ANNA. Am I ever going to win?

  Pause.

  MARY (deep breath, then quietly). Oh dear, I’m sorry, it’s lovely to see you. Both of you. The last thing I meant to do was go ranting on. For ages now I’ve not felt quite right, must be the change of life, but I can’t keep blaming that for everything. I became aware that something was definitely wrong when I started to beat the tank.

  ANNA (mouths at JULIE). Beat the tank?

  JULIE (shrugs and mouths back). A Potter’s Bar expression for masturbation?

  MARY. But now I’ve had the luxury of a whole week to myself and I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t really mind about it … umm, you. You two. Both of you. You know.

  ANNA. I’m very pleased. Thanks.

  MARY. To tell you the truth, in many ways it comes as a big relief.

  ANNA. That’s great.

  MARY. From the day you were born I’ve dreaded the speech your father would make at your wedding.

  ANNA. Now, in all honesty, I can’t say that was one of my reasons.

  MARY. I know, I know, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve worried about a lot of silly things. All my life I’ve dreaded being thought of as abnormal, while I’ve based my ideas of normality on David.

  ANNA (ruefully). Fancy thinking Dad was normal.

  MARY. Quite. Mind, you should meet the vicar. He’s even more normal.

  ANNA. So, you’re going to leave him.

  MARY. No.

  JULIE. Er, I think I’ll go and fix dinner. You will stay?

  MARY. That’s very kind, but I really haven’t got time. I’ll have to be back at two. David – that’s my husband, Anna’s father – is picking me up then.

  JULIE. Won’t they wonder where you’ve gone?

  MARY. They’ll wonder all right, but the irony of it is that they won’t be able to say anything.

  ANNA. How morbid.

  MARY. I found it all rather intriguing. Agatha Christie fashion. I kept expecting to find a body in the linen cupboard, but no such luck. Although somebody had torn the last page of Revelation out of the Bible by my bedside.

  JULIE. On that optimistic note I’ll put the potatoes on.

  JULIE goes out.

  MARY. How nice, you can both make lunch.

  ANNA. See, having one daughter-in-law too many could be advantageous.

  MARY. Don’t push me. Mind, it must be lovely not to have the whole day centred around mealtimes. You know, a lot of things you’ve said often to me have had a chance to sink in this week and I’ve made up my mind that when I get home things are going to be done on my terms. (Pause.) There, what do you think of that?

  ANNA. I don’t want to appear to be pouring cold water …

  MARY. Then don’t. I thought you would be pleased.

  ANNA. Oh, I am. It’s just that you might find it harder than you think. I mean, good intentions are one thing, but trying to put them into practice with Dad …

  MARY. It’s not as though he’s a monster, now is it? (Slight pause.) Of course, he’ll see reason.

  ANNA. But …

  MARY. He’s a very reasonable man. He is. Your father is a very reasonable man. Believe it or not he is reasonable. Not quite reason itself, I grant you that, but …

  ANNA. The words clash.

  MARY. Pardon?

  ANNA. ‘Reasonable’ and ‘man’. You can’t have them together in the same sentence.

  MARY. I hope that’s not a sample of what gets taught in the classroom today, that half of the population is unreasonable.

  ANNA. No.

  MARY. I suppose that if it was up to you, the male half of the human race would be cut up for dog food.

  ANNA. Don’t be daft.

  MARY. Sorry. Look, I don’t think what you’re doing is wrong. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, but it can’t be right for everyone. How can it be? Where would we all be then?

  ANNA. Look, I’m not putting it very well. If any change is …

  MARY. Change? Change? You can’t change the weather. Some things you can’t change.

  ANNA. You just said that you were going to change things at home.

  MARY. Quite, but it’s one thing claiming to try and change nature, I’m only going to reorganise my kitchen, for goodness’ sake.

  ANNA. But you’re not going to change Dad.

  MARY. I don’t know why you have to keep putting him down all the time.

  ANNA. Because you’ve wasted the last thirty years of your life wading through the valley of the shadow of marriage.

  MARY (kindly). Really, dear, there’s no need to take that tone. Goodness me, you make it sound like a living death. You might think that they’ve been wasted, but let me remind you that you are a direct product of them. I don’t think you realise what you’re saying half of the time.

  ANNA (snaps). That’s right, I’m mad.

  MARY. I’m sorry.

  ANNA. No, it’s me. It’s just that Dad’s so set in his ways – still, that’s not for me to say. You know him better than I do.

  MARY. At least we’re agreed on that. (MARY gets up.) Well, I’d better be …

  ANNA. I was so worried about you.

  MARY. It’s me that’s supposed to worry about you. It’s been lovely to see you. (She turns to go, then says as an afterthought.) I’ve often wondered, if anything happened to me, would you ever consider going home to look after them?

  ANNA. Let’s not end on a sour note.

  MARY. Good, I’m very glad of that.

  JULIE enters.

  MARY. Thanks. Bye love.

  MARY goes out.

  JULIE. Better?

  ANNA. I don’t know.

  JULIE. She didn’t seem very vague to me.

  ANNA. Bloody hell.

  JULIE. Shall I run a hot bath?

  ANNA. I hope she’s all right.

  JULIE. Here, do you want to come with me this evening?

  ANNA. Where?

  JULIE. I’m meeting Susan, remember? Oh, I don’t know, perhaps I better see her on my own, she might be in trouble.

  ANNA. Do you mean ‘in trouble’ trouble or in trouble, trouble in general?

  JULIE (sarcastic). I really wish I was as well read as you and then I might be able to express myself with such articulate coherence. (Slight pause.) I didn’t particularly mean pregnant but anyway, if she needs to, she could come here.

  ANNA. What, come here to live?

  JULIE. Yes, it would be a great idea, me and her can …

  ANNA. Look, why would she want to live here?

  JULIE. You saying she can’t?

  ANNA. No, well, yes.

  JULIE. What, why not? Don’t tell me, let me guess. You read it in a book. The law according to Sheila Rowbotham. ‘Thou shalt not take thy lover’s half-sister into your flat.’

  ANNA. Our flat.

  JULIE. Well then. She’d really enjoy it and the two of us could step up Operation ‘Bugger the Open University’.

  ANNA. While muggins here goes to work.

  JULIE. I can’t help your self-righteous fetish for always having to be in the min
ority.

  ANNA (exasperated). Oh, I give up.

  She slams an exercise book on the table and goes out.

  JULIE (shrugs). Just a joke.

  Blackout.

  Scene Eight

  SUSAN sits in the pub, an orange juice in front of her. She is nervous, intensely absorbed in the pattern of her skirt. A YOUNG MAN stands at the bar.

  Presently he comes over to her.

  YOUNG MAN. Quiet in here tonight innit? I don’t think I’ve seen yer in here before. (He finishes his drink.) I was jus’ about ter git meself another drink, can I git you one?

  SUSAN shakes her head but doesn’t look up.

  Not very talkative are yer? I was wondering like, I know this great disco up the road and like it …

  JULIE bursts in.

  JULIE (oblivious of man). Hello, sorry I’m late.

  SUSAN (looking up relieved). That’s okay.

  YOUNG MAN. You two on yer own? I was just explaining ter yer mate, if yer wanted ter come ter this disco … it wouldn’t cost yer anything on account of…

  JULIE (turns to him). Fuck off.

  YOUNG MAN. Like I know the bloke on the door, don’t I?

  JULIE. Bloody well piss off.

  YOUNG MAN (moving closer). What about yer friend? Ain’t yer goin’ ter let ’er speak fer ’erself?

  JULIE. Make one more move, and I’ll slit yer throat.

  YOUNG MAN. Okay, okay, love. Point taken. (To SUSAN.) A real vicious piece of skirt, her. Yer didn’t let on you ’ad a bloody guard.

  Pause.

  Slags.

  He goes out.

  JULIE (sits down). You haven’t been here long? Have you?

  SUSAN. Nope.

  JULIE. Come on, let’s get a drink.

  Pause.

  JULIE. How’s things?

  SUSAN. Okay. (Pause.) You know, awful.

  She starts to cry.

  JULIE. Hey, I mean, look, I wouldn’t have really slit that bloke’s throat, would I? I mean if you’d have wanted ter …

  SUSAN. Christ, no, not that …

  An OLD MAN sits next to them, staring into a half-empty pint glass.

  OLD MAN (looking up). Here, you two aren’t punks, are you?

  SUSAN (to OLD MAN). Pardon?

  JULIE. Take no notice.

  OLD MAN. This used to be a nice pub, till those noisy green-haired punks got in.

  SUSAN (to JULIE). It’s just that I want ter talk ter somebody and you’re …

  OLD MAN. What they need is National Service. We need another war. Wouldn’t worry about ’ow many earrings they ’ad then, if they was trying not to get their balls shot off.

  JULIE. A man after my own heart.

  OLD MAN. I was at Dunkirk, y’know, I’ve got the VC. We saved thousands of men that day. So frantic to get in the boats, they was paddlin’ with rifle butts. I bin’ in the trenches too, y’know. My best mate got shot to bits. Lay next to me for a fortnight in a canvas bag.

  JULIE. All right, mate, what do you want to drink?

  OLD MAN. That’s very kind of you. A pint of bitter, please.

  JULIE goes to the bar.

  OLD MAN. Not all that bad, you youngsters. What sort of life you got here, eh? This country’s all full of lazy jobless scroungers.

  JULIE returns with a pint and a brandy.

  JULIE. On yer bike, action man.

  OLD MAN. Why, ta very much, son.

  SUSAN (hisses to JULIE). Why d’yer do that? He’s a fascist.

  JULIE. No, he’s just a bloody old fool. They all bloody well are. Don’t look like we’re going ter be able ter git much talkin’ done ’ere. Let’s go somewhere, an ’ave something ter eat.

  SUSAN. Yeh.

  Both go out.

  Blackout.

  Scene Nine

  RENE’s kitchen. One o’clock in the morning.

  RENE sits in a chair reading Woman’s Own.

  ALF, purple-faced, is slumped over the table with a currant bun in his mouth.

  SUSAN enters.

  Silence.

  RENE (looks up. Then flatly). Your father’s choked to death on a scone.

  Blackout.

  Scene Ten

  ANNA and JULIE’s kitchen. Two o’clock in the morning.

  JULIE enters, slumps in a chair, head in hands. Pause.

  ANNA enters wearing a dressing-gown.

  ANNA (forced). Hi, did you have a good time?

  JULIE (quietly, aggressively). Barrel of laughs.

  Pause.

  ANNA (sarcastic). Oh good. It’s nice to know that you weren’t being raped. (She explodes.) Where in fuck’s name have you been? The pubs shut hours ago. I’ve been worried sick. Christ, I thought…

  JULIE. That I’d run off with the bus conductress on the number ninety-eight.

  ANNA. You could have phoned.

  JULIE. We went for a meal. (She sighs.) Do you ever git the feeling that all happiness is at someone else’s expense?

  ANNA. What did you do? Eat the waiter?

  JULIE (angry). You want to know something, you can be such a patronising bleedin’ … bloody …

  ANNA. Who’s stuck for an expletive which isn’t exploitative, then?

  JULIE. You bleedin’ thick dickhead!

  ANNA. Well, where is she?

  JULIE. What d’you mean, ‘Where is she?’ You bleedin’ well told me she weren’t to stay here.

  ANNA. When did that ever stop you? Your idea of democratic reasoning can be likened to the chances of a blind cat running in front of a speeding juggernaut.

  JULIE. Oh dear me, we’ve been trying to read Muggeridge again.

  ANNA. But of course, once it got out that you were looking for someone to live with she got killed in the crush.

  JULIE (quieter). She won’t leave her mum in the shit, will she?

  Pause.

  ANNA (relieved). That’s settled then.

  JULIE. Yeah. Want ter know something, eh? You’re positively repulsive when you’re smug.

  The phone rings. Both exchange puzzled glances.

  JULIE picks up the receiver.

  JULIE. ’Lo. Christ, hello. What’s happened? Did the old git try and lay inter yer when … (Slight pause.) Well, what? (Long pause.) Yes, love. Right, see yer. Ta taa. Oh, was it a scone or a scon? (Pause.)

  She replaces the receiver. To ANNA:

  My father’s dead.

  ANNA (amazed). God Almighty.

  JULIE (flatly). No, my father, Alf.

  ANNA. How? I mean …

  JULIE. Drunken sod. Choked to death.

  ANNA. Hell … what do you feel?

  JULIE (thinks). Relieved … glad.

  ANNA. But, Ju, he’s dead. I mean it wasn’t all his fault.

  JULIE (lightly). Look love, don’t try and spring your ideological unsound criticism crap on me.

  ANNA. But …

  JULIE (quietly, angry). You can theorise about anything else you fucking want but don’t ever say that to me, not until you’ve been smashed from one side of the fucking room to the other.

  ANNA. Sorry.

  Pause.

  JULIE. Does that mean Susan can …

  ANNA. But why should she want to, now?

  JULIE. Oh, fuck off!

  She goes out.

  ANNA. Ju?

  Blackout.

  Scene Eleven

  Monday morning. MARY’s kitchen. MARY is mopping the floor.

  Presently DAVID enters, fully dressed with the exception of his trousers.

  MARY (softly singing).

  ‘Glorious things of thee are spoken,

  Zion, City of our God,

  Heaven and earth …’

  DAVID. Good morning, dear. It’s so nice to have you back and in such good spirits. A change is as good as a rest. Now you haven’t forgotten that Dr Hutchinson, although he may prefer you to call him Marshall – no side to these professionals – is due in a few minutes?

  MARY (pleasantly). No, dear.

  DAVID. I know you�
�re fine, but it’s just a check-up, a safety valve. And he’s a very useful person to know. I must say that we’ve all been at sixes and sevens in your absence. Simon tried to iron a shirt but soon found that he had bitten off more than he could chew, ha ha.

  MARY (kindly). Did he, dear?

  DAVID. Still, Mrs Roberts has been a tower of strength, an absolute gem. But it appears that the same old problem has returned, namely that my suit trousers are missing. (Pause.) I wonder if you could shed any light on the problem?

  MARY mops and sings with an edge of venom.

  I can hardly greet a psychiatrist in my underpants, now can I dear?

  MARY (genially). They’re in the garden.

  DAVID (crosses to window). What, may I presume to ask, are they doing out there? Mary, I can not believe my eyes. My trousers are on the lawn, with a garden roller on top of them.

  MARY. Getting a damp press.

  DAVID (anxious not to aggravate her ‘problem’). Curiouser and curiouser.

  MARY. Saves pounds on dry cleaning.

  DAVID. Would you please bring them in from the garden and I’ll be prepared to turn a blind eye.

  MARY. David, you are about to hear something which has never been uttered in this kitchen before.

  DAVID. Which happens to be what?

  MARY (firmly). Do – it – yourself.

  DAVID (becoming impatient). Just how much longer are you going to keep this ‘dog in the manger’ facade up, eh? Marshall’s visit hasn’t come a moment too soon. Let me assure you that immediate steps will have to be taken to get you cured. That will knock this stuff and nonsense out of your sails. (Pause.) Mary, I can’t go out into the garden in my underwear. Please.

  MARY (sighs). Don’t go away.

  She goes out.

  DAVID (mutters). Why couldn’t you take a leaf out of Daphne’s book? She’s always so sophisticated.

  MARY enters with the trousers.

  The doorbell rings.

  DAVID (hastily putting on his trousers). That’ll be him now.

  DAVID goes out to open the front door and enters with MARSHALL HUTCHINSON.

  DAVID. Hello, Dr Hutchinson.

  MARSHALL. Hello, David. Do call me Marshall.

  DAVID (squirming slightly in his very damp trousers). Marshall, this is Mary. Mary, this is Dr Hutchinson.