LINDA
There speaks the fellow who probably can’t manage even ten press-ups.
TOM
Anyway, have you ever seen Dad do two hundred and fifty? Go on, Dad, get down on the floor and do two hundred and fifty.
NORAH
This is an exceedingly boring subject. Can we drop it, please?
TOM
And if it truly is a matter of strength…well, if Trevor and Dad were to have an arm wrestle, I know which I’d lay my money on.
NORAH
Did you hear what I said?
WILLIAM
Yes, stop it, Tom! I’ll come and hold my skin over you.
LINDA
Oh, Dad, you went and spoilt it. If there is anything wimpish about you, it’s the way you don’t keep that boy in order.
TOM
You cow! There are times when you make me positively sick!
NORAH
Oh ye gods, ye gods, ye gods! Why, why, can’t we be like other families? Why can’t we, for instance, be a little more like Trevor’s? Here a much loved daughter—and sister!—comes home one night and says she’s getting married. It’s never happened to us before. Yet how do we behave? Do we ask this happy couple where they met or if they live in the same college? Do we ask how long it took before suddenly they knew? Do we discuss weddings and plans and where they mean to live? Trevor, I’ve not even learnt if you take sugar in your tea! It’s all very well being a family with—what did you call it?—vitality, and trying to show that at least superficially we’re alive; but this…all this…! Do forgive us. I know that—being you—you almost certainly will, but just the same it seems to me…it really does seem to me…
She is very close to tears. Again, there is a short, stunned silence. LINDA jumps up and puts an arm round her shoulders. Everyone looks concerned—in the case of WILLIAM and TOM, actually a bit contrite.
TOM
Well, anyway, isn’t it more important, Wobbles, to have found out that sort of thing about him? I mean, you know now that he has a forgiving heart; does it matter so much if he has a sweet tooth? After all you’ve got two whole days to winkle that one out.
All look at TOM in disbelief. He shrugs.
WILLIAM
Has there just been a sign? A miracle? A message of encouragement? Should we sink down on our knees and praise the Lord?
TOM
May I have another drink?
WILLIAM
Everyone may have another drink. From now on we shall raise you exclusively on whisky.
TOM gulps his glass empty for a refill. WILLIAM goes round pouring drinks. Only LINDA declines.
TREVOR
(To NORAH) So yes, as Tom said, we have two whole days to start learning about one another. All of us.
NORAH
I’m sorry I made an exhibition of myself.
TREVOR
If that’s what you term making an exhibition of yourself I wish my own mum would sometimes follow suit. And believe me, Mrs Freeman, I do mean that.
NORAH
I suppose you couldn’t see your way to calling me just Norah?
TREVOR
Thank you. I’d like to.
WILLIAM
So long as you don’t call me just William.
TREVOR
But he was always one of my very best friends! William the Bold, William the Showman, William the Pirate. Other people may have had James Bond as their hero. Never me…What should I call you, then?
WILLIAM
Why not simply William?
TREVOR
Are you ever Bill?
WILLIAM
No—for some reason. Nobody ever calls me Bill. I don’t feel like a Bill.
TOM
You see, we can’t present him. On the other hand, you could say he’s something we shall never stop having to pay for. Of course, it could be Bill of Health. Even Clean Bill of Health.
WILLIAM
You simply hate to let things go.
TOM
Funny…I thought that was you.
WILLIAM
Anyway, I suppose I should feel grateful for ‘clean’.
TOM
Yes, let’s be fair. One never quite knows where you’ve been but you do at least give the impression of cleanliness.
WILLIAM
Thank you. Only one step away from godliness.
TOM
I say the impression. Of course that might be partly all the after-shave you splash on yourself: in the pitiful hope that it will drive the women crazy.
LINDA
(To everyone except TOM) Wait for it.
TOM keeps quiet; the others look at her inquiringly; she shrugs, with slightly awkward air.
LINDA
(Cont) Some crack about the men as well.
TOM
Why should I say that? Now, honestly…!
NORAH
(To TREVOR: indulgently) Such silly children. What were we talking about?
LINDA
(A shade sullenly) Wedding plans and how we met and all that sort of nonsense. You didn’t give me any whisky.
WILLIAM
I didn’t think you wanted any.
LINDA
I’ve changed my mind.
WILLIAM
Attagirl! (Gets up to give her some)
TREVOR
(To NORAH) But in fact there are some other things I’d like to talk about first. I’ve made no reference to your husband’s writing. That strikes me as rude: to come into the house of an acclaimed and well-known novelist and not show any interest in his work.
WILLIAM
Acclaimed, you say? Well, yes, thank God—to some extent. Well-known? Unhappily not very. But it was nice of you to pretend otherwise.
NORAH
You will be, darling. Oh, you will. One of these days. I promise.
TREVOR
About a week ago Linda made me a present of The Swimmer and I don’t know when any novel has affected me so much. I started it, I have to say, more out of a sense of duty than anything else—but now I’m telling all my friends about it; making them buy their own copies, of course. I can’t wait to read the other two. I felt such sympathy for Mark. I swear by the time I was a quarter of the way through I knew it would become one of my all-time favourites.
TOM
You mean, along with Just William?
WILLIAM
I feel…quite overwhelmed. I must give you copies of the earlier ones.
TREVOR
I’ve already bought them. Blackwell’s had them both. I’d like you to sign them for me, though.
WILLIAM
On every page if you request it.
TREVOR
And Linda tells me there’s a new one with your publishers.
WILLIAM
Not any more there isn’t. The bloody fools don’t want it.
LINDA
(Her sullenness forgotten) What! You’re not saying they sent it back?
WILLIAM
They told me it was…non-commercial.
TREVOR
They must have had a brainstorm.
WILLIAM
That’s what I said, too. I spoke to my editor direct. She said they still had faith in me. That was nice. And that I mustn’t look upon it just as three years’ wasted effort. That was nice as well. And when I felt I had a new idea, perhaps I’d like to go to talk it over with them. I had a new idea right then, but apparently it wasn’t the kind she’d been hoping for; she slammed down the telephone. Severance of connection.But if she really thinks I’m going to fall to my knees to apologize…Besides, their marketing was crap.
LINDA
But some other publisher will take it—won’t they?
WILLIAM
Ask me another. No, don’t; not at the moment. It’s been a slightly discouraging two days.
LINDA
(Pause) You’re very quiet, Tom. Are you all right?
TOM
What?
LINDA
&
nbsp; I said—are you okay?
TOM
Sort of. Bit sleepy, maybe.
WILLIAM
Do you want to go to bed?
TOM
I just want to sit here quietly. Leave me alone.
NORAH
He’s had too much to drink. I told you not to let him have it.
WILLIAM
No, you didn’t.
NORAH
Well, I meant to.
LINDA
I think the time may now have come for coffee. I’ll go and see to it.
NORAH
You know…I remember when Willie used to stand like that for me. He used to open doors, as well.
WILLIAM
Yes. Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing. I used to open doors for people.
NORAH
And especially for me.
TOM
I think maybe I will go to bed.
At this, LINDA pauses on her way out; returns for a moment; TREVOR remains standing at the door.
WILLIAM
You don’t feel sick? (Moves across to TOM)
TOM
No, Dad, I do not feel sick. After just a couple of measly drinks?
WILLIAM
Three. And they were pretty far from measly.
TOM
Well—I can tell you—I get through a lot more than that when I go to the pub.
As he begins to get up, WILLIAM tries to help; TREVOR also moves forward. TOM immediately sits down again, shaking off his father’s hand with some violence.
TOM
(Cont) I promise you: I’m not going to stand till you’ve moved right away. I hate it when you fuss. Don’t be more of a prat than necessary. (WILLIAM backs away. TOM stands—a bit unsteadily) There. You see. I’m perfectly all right. (Going towards the door) Good night.
WILLIAM
LINDA
Good night, Tom.
TREVOR
TOM half turns to raise his hand in farewell; gives a slight lurch.
NORAH
I’ll come with you, darling. Tuck you in. Just like the old days.
TOM
Oh, Mum!
NORAH
Lean on my arm.
WILLIAM
Talk about the blind leading the blind! I’ll take him, Norah.
TOM
I told you: I can manage.
NORAH
What do you mean: the blind leading the blind?
WILLIAM
Stop it, Tom. No nonsense. Don’t be a fool.
NORAH
Anyway, I’m perfectly capable of taking him.
LINDA
Mum, it’s much better for Dad to do it.
TREVOR
Can I help, perhaps?
TOM
(To WILLIAM) Listen. I don’t want you to come.
WILLIAM
That can’t be helped. I’m coming.
TOM
Oh, for God’s sake! Fuck off!
BLACK OUT
Act Two
A few moments later. TREVOR and WILLIAM wander about the sitting room.
TREVOR
He’ll be all right.
WILLIAM
Yes, I suppose he will. Tom will be all right. What—do you mean in the sense that tomorrow morning he’ll treat that little incident as though it simply never happened, and perhaps be extra cheerful for a bit in his attempt to re-establish the status quo? Or do you mean in the sense that he may not fiddle on his income tax, push drugs, plant bombs, molest old ladies? Hmm. Tom will be all right…Perhaps you were meaning in his closest relationships: inside his skin—inside his home? Because that’s at the base of it all, isn’t it? There have to be solid foundations in the skin and in the home before you can begin to build elsewhere. How are your own foundations, Trevor? The edifice looks fine.
TREVOR
I have my hang-ups—the same as Tom. The same as anybody.
WILLIAM
What! Sloth? Anger? Small misunderstanding here. I’m talking about Trevor Lomax. Who can you be talking about? Would you like another drink? (TREVOR shakes his head)
WILLIAM
You don’t think a drink might help you…if ever you should feel like it…to tell me to fuck off? (He pours himself one)
TREVOR
I’m really sorry about this trouble with your book. Surely it can only be a very temporary sort of hiccup?
WILLIAM
I heard of a hiccup once that turned into a choking fit, that turned into a death.
TREVOR
Oh, no! How ghastly!
WILLIAM
Well, don’t look quite so stricken. I only made that up. It was an allegory. I don’t go much on allegories. Do you?
TREVOR
Half the time I’m not even sure I get them.
WILLIAM
An honest man—obviously. It’s good to meet an honest man. (Holds out his hand; TREVOR shakes it; doesn’t at once relinquish it)
TREVOR
I was under the impression you thought me pseudo.
WILLIAM
Too good to be true. It’s not the same thing. Which was the public school?
TREVOR
What? Oh, yes—sorry. Eton.
WILLIAM
I somehow imagined it would be. I’d have liked to go to Eton.
TREVOR
Why?
WILLIAM
I like the Eton Boating Song. Also…to win the Battle of Waterloo.
TREVOR
If I could choose, I’d have chosen to write The Swimmer—rather than go to Eton.
WILLIAM
Life’s hell, isn’t it?
TREVOR
No, I was being serious.
WILLIAM
So was I. I should think you’re pretty serious about most things.
TREVOR
That makes me sound extremely dull.
WILLIAM
No. No. I’m the dullest thing since Bisto. If only you knew! Inside. There’s this thick sludgy brown gravy wrapped around my heart. Oh—do you think we could maybe set that to music? (Singing—to the tune of the Eton Boating Song) Thick sludgy brown gravy, wrapped all about my heart, I fancy boys from the navy, I yearn to make a fresh start. (Stops singing) Don’t follow the sense, just follow the spirit. When you’re looking for a rhyme you really have to prostitute yourself. But when you’re looking for a reason…Well, that’s more difficult.
TREVOR
Yes. Well. I…
WILLIAM
Yes. (He wanders over to the window; pulls back the curtain; stands in silence for a moment, staring out. TREVOR comes to stand beside him) I hate February. The worst things always happen in February. It was the month when my mother died. And when I die it will be on just such a day as this. Or on just such a night. Wet; windy; filled with snow. Snow on the ground and snow in the air. Seeping into your bones. Penetrating your soul. Cutting you off from all those around you—any who may still be around you—just as surely as it will cut you off from life itself. I’m afraid of snow. I’m afraid of being alone. I am very much afraid of dying.
TREVOR
I think you’re feeling a bit low, aren’t you? A bit tired.
WILLIAM
A bit drunk?
TREVOR
You don’t need to think about dying for another thirty years yet.
WILLIAM
You’re wrong. You should think about dying every day of your adult life. It helps you get things into perspective. You should wander through country churchyards; visit art galleries; watch old films. You should…Don’t you admire the way that I’ve got things into perspective? In another thirty years you won’t be much older than I am now.
TREVOR
Yes, I shall. Besides, it could just as easily be forty.
WILLIAM
Why not forty-five? Yippee! I’m only halfway there. Will you hold my hand when I’m dying? (Turns to TREVOR, takes his hand and studies it, but with apparent detachment) A strong young hand like
this. The thought would give me comfort.
TREVOR
It won’t be such a strong young hand in forty years.
WILLIAM
Forty-five.
TREVOR
Liver spots and things.
WILLIAM
I don’t suppose I shall much mind liver spots, once I have my own…Tell me something, what are your views on God?
TREVOR
That he exists.
WILLIAM
Oh, very good. I can see you’re going to pass with flying colours. Is he benevolent?
TREVOR
To me—yes—very. Always.
WILLIAM
Excellent. The Bomb?
TREVOR
One wishes that it didn’t exist. And it’s not at all benevolent.
Such Men Are Dangerous Page 30
