Twilight Song
Page 4
Beat.
I dream of him sometimes, my little Laurence, what he was like, what he might be like now… what I’ll say to him when he comes back…
BARRY (not taking his eyes off the television). And how is that going to happen?
ISABELLA. There are more things in heaven and earth –
BARRY. Mothers always think their children will return but they hardly ever do.
ISABELLA. That’s a cruel thing to say. He was my son, my baby!
BARRY (engaging with her). You’ve tried everything, Mother, even contacting the spirit world in Dunstable! But you have to accept things as they are. It’s hard, but there it is – and you do still have a son who loves you.
ISABELLA. You’re a chump!
He turns his attention back to the television. She swigs her drink and stares up at the stars. Pause.
By the way, there’s a bloodstain on the sofa.
BARRY (thrown). Is there? I haven’t noticed.
ISABELLA. On the arm next to you.
BARRY (glancing at the arm). Oh that! (Unconvincingly.) It’s been there ages.
ISABELLA. It wasn’t there this morning. You’re not even a good liar.
Beat.
Chump.
Pause.
(Her speech now quite slurred.) What’s for supper?
BARRY. We’ve had it.
ISABELLA. I fancy Melba toast with a big blob of faux pas.
BARRY. Foie gras.
ISABELLA. Just the ticket.
BARRY. You’ve drunk too much.
ISABELLA. Why don’t you give me something nice instead of the usual muck?
Her head lolls to the side; she’s dropped off again. A brief, dying gurgle of the upstairs pipes. BARRY continues watching television, lit by its flickering images and the moonlight.
BARRY (eyes fixed on the screen). You won’t leave me, will you? Please don’t leave me.
ISABELLA (back in her reverie). My angel… My sweet boy…
Morten Lauridsen’s ‘O Magnum Mysterium’ sung by Norwich Cathedral Choir starts playing as the lights fade.
Scene Five
The room as in Scene Two, the moment after. ISABELLA (late twenties) is leaning over the table, her head hanging down, the late golden sunlight, now tinged with red, streaming through the French window. A GARDENER (late thirties) silently appears at the French window, silhouetted in the dusky golden-red light, and leans against a jamb watching her. At first she doesn’t notice him, then turns with a start.
ISABELLA. Oh!
GARDENER. Sorry. I didn’t mean to –
ISABELLA. What?
GARDENER. Startle you.
ISABELLA. No.
Beat.
GARDENER. It’s just that I’ve –
ISABELLA. Finished, have you?
GARDENER. Yes, and Mr Pritchard –
ISABELLA. Pritchard?
GARDENER. Harry.
ISABELLA. Oh, Harry!
GARDENER. Yes, he told me you’d be going out.
ISABELLA. We’re going for dinner to Le Caprice.
GARDENER. Ooh, that’s nice. Bit of French.
ISABELLA. Yes.
He watches her, making her self-conscious.
Have you known him long?
GARDENER. Not really. We met through a mate over a jar. He needed a job doing, then he got me a few more. Good bloke, Harry.
ISABELLA. Yes, he is.
Beat.
GARDENER. Was that you on the old joanna?
ISABELLA. Oh… no. That was the gramophone. We don’t have a – piano.
The GARDENER steps inside. As he saunters over to the gramophone:
It was an ‘Étude’. By Chopin.
GARDENER. An ‘Étude’, eh? Well. Do you like Elvis, Mrs Gough?
ISABELLA. I suppose I do.
GARDENER. He’s the king, he is, young Elvis. (Stroking the gramophone.) This has seen some service, I bet. Twenties, isn’t it?
ISABELLA. Probably.
GARDENER. You should get your hubby to buy you a Dansette. Lovely little numbers. You can get them that you can carry around and that.
ISABELLA. Oh.
GARDENER. Not like this old thing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s alright for what it is, but it’s a bit – ungainly, isn’t it?
ISABELLA. It does keep sticking and – slipping and sliding.
GARDENER. That’s no good, is it? Sticking and slipping and sliding. You won’t find a Dansette doing that. No, they’re lovely little numbers.
ISABELLA. Yes, you said.
Beat.
Well, I have to…
GARDENER. Course you do – if you’re going to Le Caprice. Is that your Rover outside?
ISABELLA. No, I’m afraid not.
GARDENER. She’s a beauty. Which one’s yours then?
ISABELLA. The Morris Minor.
GARDENER. Right. I’ve always fancied a sporty Merc myself. One day. Who knows?
Muffled voices from another part of the house. A door shutting. Silence.
ISABELLA. I really must –
GARDENER. Now how’s that for a sunset?
She looks out at the golden-red light.
You’d be hard pushed to get that down on canvas.
ISABELLA. Yes.
GARDENER. I like this time of day, with night just round the corner. I love the night, Mrs Gough.
ISABELLA. Do you?
GARDENER. That’s when our real hearts beat, under cover of darkness. I saw you just now, all by yourself, flapping around the room.
ISABELLA. You’ve no business spying on me!
GARDENER. I just happened to look up, that’s all. You didn’t look very happy, Mrs Gough – if you don’t mind my saying.
ISABELLA. I do mind your saying, actually. I think you’re rather impertinent.
GARDENER. Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. That’s my trouble: can’t keep it shut.
She lights a cigarette as he leans against the window looking out, and starts singing quietly to himself a few lines of Elvis Presley’s ‘It’s Now or Never’.
ISABELLA glances at the door to the rest of the house, then at him. She drags on her cigarette.
ISABELLA. I feel trapped sometimes, that’s all.
He stops singing.
At home I did, at school – and now. I think I know what I want but then life dishes up something quite different, and to get through, you convince yourself that’s what you wanted all along. You have to, don’t you? Else you’d go mad.
GARDENER. I think you should take what you want when you want, that’s what I reckon. It’s over in a minute; there’s no time to fanny around. We don’t have the first idea, Mrs Gough, none of us. We’re just tiny little grains on a tiny little planet in a tiny little system. There’s other worlds out there, worlds of wonder, but this is our lot, so better make the most of it. (Looking out.)
ISABELLA’s now next to him.
The kind old sun, nearly gone.
ISABELLA. I think I’d better –
GARDENER. Listen!
ISABELLA. What?
GARDENER. That bird…
Silence.
ISABELLA. I can’t hear anything.
GARDENER. A nightingale.
ISABELLA. I don’t think so.
GARDENER. It is. Listen.
Only silence.
ISABELLA. There’s nothing there.
GARDENER. It’s a nightingale, Mrs Gough.
ISABELLA. You’ve a most poetic nature.
GARDENER. A nightingale. It was.
Beat.
ISABELLA. You can call me Isabella, you know.
GARDENER. I don’t want you thinking I’m not a gent, Mrs Gough.
He embraces her and kisses her with passion.
One day you’ll be carrying my baby. Would you like that?
She stares at him.
I promise.
They kiss again.
Come with me.
ISABELLA. What?
GARDENER. Slip out the g
ate, easy as pie.
ISABELLA. Why would I want to do that?
A distant church bell starts playing ‘The Angelus Hymn’ as he pushes up the skirt of her dress and puts his hand between her legs. Their embrace becomes more intense, then subsides as ‘The Angelus’ ends.
(Quietly.) I can’t.
BASIL (from another part of the house). Izzy! Izzy!
She leaves the room. The GARDENER reflects for a moment, lights a cigarette, then stands at the French window and looks out at his handiwork. HARRY enters.
GARDENER. All done, Mr Pritchard.
He’s about to discard his cigarette.
HARRY. No, you enjoy your smoke. You deserve it.
GARDENER. Thank you, Mr Pritchard.
HARRY (looking out). Good work. Yes, jolly good work.
GARDENER. You know me, Mr Pritchard. You can always rely on me.
HARRY. Yes. Reliable. I like that.
GARDENER. Always do what I say I will.
HARRY. Yes, yes, I know.
Beat.
GARDENER. Scrubbed up well, Mr Pritchard. (Inhaling.) Mm. You smell lovely. All fresh and clean.
HARRY (checking they’re alone). Little bit of a hitch.
GARDENER. Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that.
HARRY. But I will see you alright.
GARDENER. Will you?
HARRY. I always do, don’t I?
BASIL suddenly bursts in.
BASIL. Harry, we’re off! Oh, sorry…
HARRY. No, no, I was just… admiring his handiwork.
BASIL. Yes, splendid job…
GARDENER. Thank you, Mr Gough.
BASIL. Splendid.
GARDENER. A few more days should do it.
Beat.
Well, better get my stuff. Don’t want to keep you gents from Le Caprice.
HARRY. No, that’s right…
GARDENER. Very smart. I’d like to go there myself one of these days.
BASIL. I’m sure you will.
GARDENER. Ooh, I don’t know about that, Mr Gough. We keep being told we’ve never had it so good, but I haven’t seen any of it yet. (Chuckling.) Have I, Harry?
HARRY. No, but as Mr Gough says, I’ve no doubt you will.
GARDENER. D’you reckon?
HARRY. You’re the sort of chap that usually get what he wants, aren’t you?
CHARLES (off). Where the hell has everyone got to?
HARRY (calling). We’re coming!
As HARRY turns to go:
GARDENER. I’ll call you tomorrow, then, Mr Pritchard.
HARRY. Yes.
GARDENER. I could pop round your house –
HARRY. No.
GARDENER. Or your office, if that’d be more convenient.
HARRY. A telephone call would be preferable.
GARDENER. Whatever you want, Mr Pritchard.
HARRY. Yes. Thank you.
He goes, leaving the two of them together, BASIL feeling a little self-conscious. Pause.
BASIL. Glorious evening.
GARDENER. Quite special, I’d say.
BASIL. Isn’t it though?
GARDENER. Better get packing.
BASIL. You carry on.
Neither of them move. Pause.
GARDENER. Looking forward to being a dad then, Mr Gough?
BASIL. Oh. Yes, I suppose I am.
GARDENER. You’re a lucky man. It’s what I’ve always wanted, a kid.
BASIL. Really?
GARDENER. More than anything.
BASIL. I thought it was women who got broody.
GARDENER. Seeing him grow, whether he’ll be like you, look like you. The best gift in the world.
BASIL. Put like that…
GARDENER. As I say, Mr Gough, you’re a lucky man. You make the most of it.
He goes into the garden, BASIL watching him. Beat. The sound of a taxi pulling up.
BASIL (lurching back to reality and checking his watch). Oh God!
He rushes out. The stage is empty as we hear the sound of doors opening and closing, muffled voices, and the taxi engine. Then ISABELLA appears. She goes to the French window and looks out expectantly; it’s obvious no one’s there. She looks back into the room, then out again at the garden, silhouetted in twilight.
(Off.) Izzy! Izzy!
ISABELLA (calling). Yes, I’m coming!
She’s about to close the French window when she suddenly hears something: a nightingale. She stands stock-still. The nightingale sings. She listens as the lights fade.
The End.
KEVIN ELYOT
Kevin was one of Britain’s most esteemed playwrights and screenwriters, who made his name with the hit comedy My Night with Reg. He finished this new and final play shortly before he passed away in 2014. For Reg, Elyot won the Olivier and Evening Standard Theatre Awards for Best Comedy, the Writers’ Guild Award for Best Play and a Critics’ Circle Award, having previously won the inaugural Samuel Beckett Award for Coming Clean.
Theatre includes: Coming Clean (Bush); Artists and Admirers, a new translation from Alexander Ostrovsky (RSC at the Barbican); My Night with Reg (Royal Court/Criterion/Playhouse, recently revived at Donmar Warehouse/Apollo – Olivier Award nomination for Best Revival); The Day I Stood Still (National Theatre – Evening Standard Theatre Award nomination for Best Play); Mouth to Mouth, (Royal Court/Albery – Olivier and Evening Standard Theatre Award nominations for Best Play); Forty Winks (Royal Court) and a new version of Agatha Christie’s masterpiece And Then There Were None (Gielgud).
His television drama Killing Time (BBC) won the Writers’ Guild Award for Best TV Play or Film. He adapted My Night with Reg (BBC) for the screen, while other notable works include No Night is Too Long, adapted from the novel by Barbara Vine (BBC Film/Alliance); Clapham Junction (Channel 4); Christopher and His Kind (BBC); Riot at the Rite (BBC); Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky adapted from the novel by Patrick Hamilton (BBC) and many episodes of Agatha Christie’s Marple and Poirot (ITV).
A Nick Hern Book
Twilight Song first published in Great Britain as a paperback original in 2017 by Nick Hern Books Ltd, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP, in association with Park Theatre, London
This ebook first published 2017
Twilight Song copyright © 2017 The Estate of Kevin Elyot
Kevin Elyot has asserted his moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Cover photography by Oliver Rosser for Feast Creative
Designed and typeset by Nick Hern Books, London
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 84842 681 8 (print edition)
ISBN 978 1 78001 919 2 (ebook edition)
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