David Hare Plays 1

by David Hare

  Max Can also be hired out on eviction jobs.

  Curly But Malloy sold up.

  Max Not at first. He wouldn’t be bought. So they decided to flush him out of the house. Mrs Malloy was at the cinema. Malloy was alone. Hart stole the fuses. Then put an Alsatian in.

  Curly What happened?

  Max Malloy blew it apart with a shotgun.

  Curly God almighty.

  Max He did it in the dark. It was the fight of his life. He knew it was Hart’s, he phoned him. I’m going to be sick.

  Curly Don’t – be sick. That means Patrick wasn’t there that night. And it wasn’t his dog. And it’s not even publicly his profit. You had nothing on him. Why did he pay?

  Max I had something on him. I had Sarah on him. He was terrified she’d find out that he was behind it. He was thinking of Sarah. He paid up. He loved her.

  Curly Mistake.

  Max On the last day – Sarah found out. It had been – it had been …

  Curly Like holding Niagara …

  Max Yes …

  Curly Everyone should know everything.

  Max Yes.

  Curly How did she take it?

  Max She was possessed. She’d killed a dog before.

  Curly Yes.

  Max When she was a child.

  Curly Yes.

  Max She kept saying: what happens to dogs.

  Curly What happens to dogs.

  Max What happens to people.

  Pause.

  Curly Finish the bottle.

  Max I …

  Curly Finish.

  Max drinks again. Curly makes him finish; then bangs down his fist on the end; then gets up.

  Now get up.

  Max I can’t.

  Curly Take your empties. And go.

  Max crawls off. Curly stamps out the cigarette ends. The lights change.

  So it came back to Spats. It would always come back to Spats. The world is not run by innocents or small men who happen to believe the wrong thing. It is run by uncomfortably large, obscenely quiet men called Spats. The time was coming when I’d have to face Patrick. Patrick was no longer perfect. I had found a way in. In the thick, densely carpeted air of a merchant bank, the sound of a slight scuffle and the warm red smell of dog. Glimpsed for a second the implausible face of a man who loved his own daughter. I was in.

  Music starts.

  SCENE FIFTEEN

  The Delafields’ drawing-room. Night.

  Curly is sitting in his overcoat with his feet up, waiting. The door opens and Patrick comes in, bleary-eyed, in dressing-gown and pyjamas.

  Patrick Curly.

  Curly Happy birthday, Spats.

  Patrick Did you just wake me up?

  Curly Come in. Sit down.

  Patrick What’s happened?

  Curly You’re OK. Sit down.

  Patrick sits.

  Patrick I’d like a glass of hot water.

  Curly Not yet.

  Patrick gets his little box out.

  Put your eyes in. Attaboy.

  Patrick leans back and dabs contact lenses on to his eyes.

  Can you see me now?

  Patrick Yes.

  Curly I have my fingers on your throat. Feel anything? There’s been a development. Stray dog. About a year ago. You were avoiding a public inquiry, I should think. Irreparable damage to the character of Guildford. So someone decided to flush out Malloy.

  Patrick Well?

  Curly Well?

  Patrick I know what you’re talking about. And I didn’t condone their methods. Stupid. I was appalled.

  Curly You didn’t know at the time?

  Patrick I run a merchant bank. I sanctioned the purchase – not the method of purchase.

  Curly But he brought you the corpse.

  Patrick The dead dog? Yes. He left it on my doorstep. A tuppenny gesture.

  Curly How did he know that you were behind it?

  Patrick He worked in the City. Remember. He could fight his way through. He knew the routes.

  Curly But why did he sell? After he’d blown the dog apart. It was his victory. Why did he not seize it?

  Pause.

  Patrick Why do people give in? Because they recognize the way things are. He had made his point. He’d planted his tiny flag on the hillside and now – well, if you saw the site – there was just this old Victorian house, alone among the rubble of a demolition site. You looked at it. It was aching to come down. It had to.

  Curly I don’t understand.

  Patrick Think. Even after that night, to hold on to the house would have meant turning your life into a battlefield, a constant act of self-assertion. Nobody wants to live like that. Straining endlessly to make your point. And why? He already had the moral victory. I glimpsed his face the following morning on the eight thirty-three. He looked up at me. A pleasurable glow of self-righteousness – the fight of his life and he’d won …

  Curly Weren’t you ashamed?

  Patrick He had the righteousness. I had the house. (Pause.) Peace with honour. That is the phrase. It means surrender. But of a very special kind. With the sweet heart of your integrity intact. (Pause.) He had that. I had – well, so far it’s nudging into its third million …

  Curly This moral victory – the fight of his life …

  Patrick Yes?

  Curly Wasn’t much use in his dying year.

  Patrick That wasn’t my fault. Peace with honour – peace with shame. It’s a very thin line. A matter of believing – your own propaganda. (Pause.) And all for a girl.

  Curly Everyone loves Jenny.

  Pause.

  Patrick Stick to your story I used to say. When I met Malloy later in the street. In the last days of alcoholic collapse. I told him. Stick to your story. You killed the dog. You revealed my corruption. Great victory. Old man. (Pause.) Curly. Life is pain. Pure and simple. Pain. Around. Below. All pain. But we have a choice. Either to protest noisily – to scream against the pain, to rattle and wail – or else – to submerge that pain, to channel it … (Pause.) Preferably in someone else’s direction. (Pause.) If I admitted everything that had happened in my life, laid it out in a field like the contents of an air disaster, would it really help?

  Curly Go back to Sarah.

  Patrick No.

  Curly Everyone should know everything. That’s what I believe.

  Patrick Very well.

  Curly You went to Max.

  Patrick Not at all. He came to us. Saying he knew about Mrs Malloy. We had nothing to fear …

  Curly You’d have kept your nerve.

  Patrick I should hope so …

  Curly And a plausible story.

  Patrick He said he knew about the dog. Again it was nothing. We could have denied all knowledge.

  Curly In fact you do.

  Patrick Oh, yes. (Pause.) Of course. We sent him away. It was rubbish. But as an afterthought he said he’d tell Sarah. (Pause.) Curly. You may not believe it. The City of London once enjoyed a reputation for unimpeachable integrity. My word is my bond. So fabulously wealthy as to be almost beyond wealth. But in the last twenty years we’ve been dragged through the mud like everyone else. The wide boys and the profiteers have sullied our reputation. We work now like stallholders against a barrage of abuse. (Pause.) Who is to set standards? Curly. Who is to lead? You have to be able to believe – my daughter should not be given the chance to doubt – we were honest men … (Pause.) We are honest men. She had always abused me. But she had never been able to fault me. (Pause.) I had to buy Dupree. Do you understand? For her sake.

  Curly smiles.

  Curly How did you buy him?

  Patrick A package. Rather lurid. I got him – a job in London and a series of leads on my younger, less scrupulous colleagues, gave him a little money …

  Curly Is that all?

  Patrick No. We negotiated.

  Curly What?

  Patrick A large anonymous donation to an anarchist party of his own choosing. (Pause.) On those terms he cou
ld take it. Do you see?

  Curly Go on.

  Patrick That was it.

  Curly Apart from Sarah.

  Patrick Apart from Sarah that was it. (Pause.) Sarah. Unquenchable. A deep well of unhappiness down which I could have thrown anarchist subscriptions, dead dogs, pints of my own warm blood, I could have turned on my head, destroyed my own life, and she would not have been satisfied. (Pause.) Like you. (Pause.) The two of you. Like woodpeckers. Nothing will stop you. In her case it was pity for the world. In yours …

  Curly Go on.

  Patrick In yours …

  Curly Go on.

  Patrick Disgust. (Pause.) You have a beady little heart, Curly. It pumps away. I’ve watched. One thing fires you. The need to ensure everyone is as degraded as you are.

  Pause.

  Curly Go on.

  Patrick Max was like the rest of us. He got worn down. By the endless wanting to know. Now he wanted to know why the story had never appeared. (Pause.) He told her. Your father is financing the building. I have been paid off. Malloy was paid off. A dog is dead. Everyone should know everything. She went mad. (Pause.) The dog in particular. She was obsessed with the dog. She went straight to Victoria. I followed as soon as I could. (Pause.) I got into Eastbourne at midnight. The last train down. It was too late to try all the hotels. I went down to the promenade. By the silver railings there was a girl in a light-coloured raincoat. She had black frizzy hair. It was dark and drizzling and I couldn’t see. She was squatting down. As I got nearer I could see she was pissing. On the promenade. She finished. She got up. And her coat was open. She was wearing nothing underneath. It was raining and it was very cold. She just wandered away. (Pause.) That’s Eastbourne beach. (Pause.) I started to follow her. I had no choice.

  Curly What did she say?

  Patrick She said nothing.

  Curly Go on.

  Patrick We walked. A procession of two, through acres of bungalows to the open land. A flat rocky patch stretching away to the sea. The distance between us religiously observed. (Pause.) She sat down on the concrete jetty. (Pause.) Those who wish to reform the world should first know a little bit about it. I told her some stories of life in the City – the casual cruelty of each day; take-over bids, redundancies, men ruined overnight, jobs lost, trusts betrayed, reputations smashed, life in that great trough called the City of London, sploshing about in the cash. And I asked, what I have always asked: how will that ever change?

  Curly Tell me of any society that has not operated in this way.

  Patrick Five years after a revolution …

  Curly The shit rises …

  Patrick The same pattern …

  Curly The weak go to the wall …

  Patrick Somebody’s bound to get hurt …

  Curly You can’t make omelettes …

  Patrick The pursuit of money is a force for progress …

  Curly It’s always been the same …

  Patrick The making of money …

  Curly The breaking of men.

  Patrick The two together. Always. The sound of progress.

  Curly The making of money. The breaking of men.

  Pause.

  Patrick If I didn’t do it …

  Curly Somebody else would. (Pause.) And what did she say?

  Patrick She said nothing. (Pause.) Finally, after twenty-one years she said nothing. Wrapped the mac tighter about her body. (Pause.) We watched the dawn. If I’d moved towards the jetty she would have thrown herself in. At five-thirty she was calm. She still said nothing. I took the decision. I walked into the town. I rang Hart from the Cavendish and told him to come and collect her. Then I got a train up to town.

  Curly What?

  Patrick I had a meeting. (Pause.) Money. (Pause.) Hart arrived to look after her at a quarter past seven. He was to drive her back. He followed my instructions to the beach. She was gone. Her raincoat was on the jetty. It was the only article of clothing she’d been wearing. It’s safe to say she killed herself. (Pause.) The suicide was calculated from the start. Not uncommon. She had challenged Max to make me come to Eastbourne. Two malicious gestures. She had chosen to die at a place famous for a ghastly murder. And second, she had left two first-class tickets behind. The clearest possible way of saying – someone else is involved. (Pause.) It was me. (Pause.) She had to bang down her flag. Like everyone else.

  Curly How do I know this is true? (He rises.) For all I know, you travelled down with her. You could have killed her.

  Patrick Is that what you think?

  Pause.

  Curly No. I believe you absolutely. The story has just the right amount of quiet. She slipped obligingly into the sea. An English murder. Who needs ropes or guns or daggers? We can trust our victims to pass quietly in the night. Slip away into the bottle. Or the loony bin. Just – fall away with barely the crack of a knuckle as they go. (Pause.) I’m sure she died on the beach. I’m sure that you – were sixty miles away.

  Patrick I didn’t go to the police. I rigged up the alibi with Hart and Dupree.

  Curly You left her to die.

  Patrick No, that’s what the police would have said.

  Curly That’s what you did.

  Patrick It was a knife-edge decision. In the morning light. To stay or go. I had to decide which was better. Then something she said made up my mind for me.

  Curly She spoke.

  Patrick Just once.

  Curly What did she say?

  Patrick A single thing. ‘What I despise most,’ she said, ‘is your pretence to be civilized.’ (Pause.) I was reassured. The same old propaganda. The noise of someone who’s going to live. The same old drivel. She was bleating again. So I left.

  Curly In fact …

  Patrick In fact she meant it. (Pause.) And that is the nail on which my life is hung. She meant it. (Pause.) But I see no reason to drag it out in public.

  Curly Sure …

  Patrick If I wish to continue …

  Curly Making money …

  Patrick The facts must be suppressed. The girl is dead. It makes no difference now.

  Pause.

  Curly I possess a lethal combination of facts. Suppose I go to the press? The old woman, the dog, abandoning your daughter on the beach …

  Patrick (calling) Mrs Dunning. (to Curly) You let it out. You ruin me. He left his daughter to kill herself. A despicable thing to do. Bad publicity. I leave my job. What happens? Someone else pops up in my place. Life covers up pretty fast. Only the people bleed. (calling) Mrs Dunning. (to Curly) Both of you did well. You wrung from me the same confession. You wanted me to say I was degraded. Well … (Pause.) I am. (Pause.) OK? So now can I please go back to work?

  Mrs Dunning comes in, also in a dressing-gown.

  Mrs Dunning You must be quiet, Pat.

  Patrick I’m sorry.

  Mrs Dunning You must stay calm. You’d better go to bed.

  Patrick I’m sorry.

  Mrs Dunning That’s all right. You’ll be fine.

  Curly I just want to say …

  Mrs Dunning Sssh. Be quiet. Come to bed.

  Curly Let me say …

  Mrs Dunning Sssh. Quiet please. Let’s everyone be quiet. (Pause.) All right, Pat?

  She smiles and kisses Pat on the cheek.

  Patrick My darling.

  Mrs Dunning Good night.

  Patrick Good night.

  Patrick goes out.

  Mrs Dunning (at the door) And we’ll try to forget you were ever disturbed.

  Mrs Dunning goes out. Curly is left alone. The lights change.

  Curly Under the random surface of events lie steel-grey explanations. The more unlikely and implausible the facts, the more rigid the obscene geometry below. I was holding my father’s life in my hands. I had to make up my mind. If I ditched my father, told the newspapers the story of those days, all I would be doing would be to bang down my tiny flag on the same mountain-side as Sarah. Somewhere every so often in this world there will appear this tiny little weed
called morality. It will push up quietly through the tarmac, and there my father will be waiting with a cement grinder and a shovel to concrete it over. It is inadequate. It cannot help us now. There are no excuses left. Two sides. Two sides only. Lloyd’s of London was beckoning me. I could feel its soft fiscal embrace. I wanted its quiet and its surety. I would sit in Lloyd’s and wait for the end. I lay back. But I wanted Jenny beside me. I wanted to rest my head between her legs. I was ready to chase the same shadow, to tread the same path as Dupree and Malloy: all of us after the same one thing: the hard, bright, glistening girl who ran the Shadow of the Moon.

  Music, ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs’, very loud.

  SCENE SIXTEEN

  The Shadow of the Moon bar. Night.

  Jenny is in the bar. As the music stops, Curly enters.

  Curly Come for a quick one.

  Jenny Come in.

  Curly Bet I’m the worse soak you ever had.

  Jenny smiles and gets him a bottle.

  You’re up pretty early.

  Jenny Yes. Do you want some breakfast?

  Curly I …

  Jenny looks up.

  I talked to Patrick.

  Jenny What did he say?

  Curly He knew nothing. It turned out.

  Jenny You mean …?

  Curly He really is completely innocent.

  Jenny What about Malloy?

  Curly That was – quite another business.

  Jenny I see.

  Curly Nothing to do with it. Or with Patrick. He didn’t know.

  Jenny Why did she kill herself?

  Curly Well … (Pause.) You said it. She was paranoid. I think she got depressed.

  Jenny Nothing to do with Malloy …

  Curly No.

  Jenny Or Patrick.

  Curly No.

  Jenny I see.

  Curly She just wasn’t quite cut out for things.

  Jenny No….

  Curly Looking back. Inevitable. You understand.

  Jenny Oh, yes.

  Pause.

  Curly Some people. You can see it coming.

  Jenny I got a letter this morning. Shall I read it to you?

  Curly Please.

  Jenny takes out a sheet, leans against the bar, reads:

  Jenny ‘My darlings, whoops that’s fig juice if you’re wondering.

  Let us rejoice in the ugliness of the world. Strangely, I am not upset. I am reassured. I think I left a finger pointing on the beach.