Alan Ayckbourn Plays 1

by Alan Ayckbourn

  Jerome Jokes?

  Zoë Just then. I made a joke. Didn’t you –? Oh, you meant the laugh? You liked the laugh?

  Jerome Very good. Excellent. (He has risen.)

  Zoë Thank you. I’ll put that on my CV. (scowling) When I get some more done. Special skills include laughing.

  Jerome Let me show you something …

  Jerome goes to the console and starts the video recording he has located earlier. In a moment, the screen lights up. A young girl of about nine appears on the screen. Conventionally pretty, fair-haired and slightly self-conscious.

  Young Geain Hallo, Daddy. This is Geain. I’m just calling to say thank you very much for all my presents. They were all really live. Especially the disc voucher which I’m going to spend on the new Jamie Butterscotch and one by The Grind. Mummy gave me a long dress which is really live. It’s yellow and grey and Granny and Grandpa gave me some live jewellery to go with it and I’m going to wear that tonight because we’re going out to dinner to Del – to Del something – I can’t remember. I wish you were coming, Daddy. And I miss you very much. And I hope to see you soon. Bye. Love from Geain. (She makes a big cross in the air with her finger.) That’s a kiss.

  Jerome stops the tape and looks at Zoë who realizes she is supposed to comment.

  Zoë That’s your daughter?

  Jerome Yes.

  Zoë Lovely.

  Jerome Thank you.

  Slight pause.

  Zoë I couldn’t play her.

  Jerome Oh, no …

  Zoë You don’t want that?

  Jerome No.

  Zoë Oh, good. (Pause.) How old is she?

  Jerome Geain? She’ll be thirteen.

  Zoë Thirteen? She looks quite young for her age.

  Jerome Oh, that was recorded – some time ago.

  Zoë I see.

  Jerome That was probably the last occasion I was permitted to see her.

  Zoë Really?

  Jerome Her mother – my wife wouldn’t let her phone me after that. She wouldn’t let me visit her. She wouldn’t let Geain visit me.

  Zoë Why not?

  Jerome Why not? Because my wife is a selfish, vindictive, unforgiving bitch.

  Zoë Oh, I see. Yes. (A pause.) Do you want me to play her, then?

  Jerome (angrily) No, I don’t want you to play her.

  Zoë No, right. Sorry, sorry.

  Nan comes through again with the same bundle of sheets, bound for the bedroom once more.

  I think I’d better go and give her a hand in a minute.

  She laughs feebly. Jerome is silent again.

  It’s a nice name, Jane. Jane Eyre. We did that one. I played the mad Mrs Rochester. Behind the panelling. Not much of a part. I should have played Jane, really. I’d have been really good.

  Jerome G–E–A–I–N.

  Zoë Sorry?

  Jerome Ours is spelt G–E–A–I–N. At her mother’s insistence.

  Zoë How unusual. What is it? Gaelic?

  Jerome No, just pretentious.

  Zoë I’d love to have children of my own. Well, for about twenty minutes, anyway. Sometimes I think, wouldn’t it be lovely to hear them rushing about the flat, laughing and yelling? And then – at about six in the morning I think, no, it wouldn’t at all, I can’t think of anything worse. But I suppose with the right man – someone who’d share them – do all the cleaning up – possibly they’d be everything I ever wanted. But I doubt it. I suppose you’re either maternal or you aren’t. I know which I am.

  Jerome (who has been staring at her, coming to a sudden decision) All right. We’ll give it a try. The proposition is this. I want you to live here with me for twenty-four hours as my loving, caring companion –

  Zoë Ah, now, listen, I thought we’d been through all that –

  Jerome In just about a week’s time – my wife and my daughter, together with some – petty official from the Social Services – are coming here, to this flat, for the first time in four years. And between them, my wife and this official will decide whether or not they consider this a fit place and, more important, whether they consider me a fit person for her to spend time with in the future. On their one visit everything rests. If I fail to meet their high standards of homeliness and hygiene, then it’s unlikely I shall be allowed to see my daughter again.

  Zoë Unless you visit her.

  Jerome Visit her? Where?

  Zoë Where she lives.

  Jerome She lives with my wife. How can I visit there? The woman loathes the sight of me.

  Zoë She’s coming here, though.

  Jerome She’s coming here to make damn sure she prevents any future visit by Geain. I’ve told you, Corinna is a very vindictive, unforgiving woman.

  Zoë Unforgiving of what?

  Jerome (evasively) Unforgiving of – anything you care to mention.

  Zoë So you need to present them with a solid domestic front.

  Jerome I want to present them with a relationship that’s so perfect that not only can she not find fault with it, but it doubles her up with jealousy. It leaves her eating her heart out with envy and frustration.

  Zoë Yes. (tentatively) If you don’t mind my saying so – it’s beginning to sound a wee bit vindictive on both sides –

  Jerome How do you mean?

  Zoë Well –

  Jerome I have cause. I have cause to be vindictive –

  Zoë Oh, yes. Only –

  Jerome (excitedly) She’s not the one who’s been forbidden to see her own daughter. Denied all those precious moments watching her child grow up. She’s not the one who’s been left to live alone in an empty flat. Unable to work – unable to write a single note of music for four years. Four years!

  Zoë (alarmed) Yes.

  Jerome Nothing.

  Zoë No.

  Jerome And you talk about me being vindictive. (turning on her, angrily) Who’s side are you on? You’re taking her side and you haven’t even met her …

  Zoë No, I’m not. Honestly, I’m not –

  Jerome Do you want this job or don’t you?

  Zoë Yes, yes …

  Jerome Because if you don’t, I can quite easily …

  Zoë No, I do. I want it very much. I do honestly. Please, please, please!

  A silence. Jerome simmers down.

  Jerome (muttering) God, you bloody women. You don’t half stick together, don’t you?

  Zoë Not really.

  Jerome My sister, right or wrong. Yes?

  Zoë Not at all. Don’t be –

  Jerome What? Don’t be what?

  Zoë (changing tack) I think I could be the perfect female companion. For twenty-four hours, anyway. I think I could do that. Not much longer though. Mind you, my ex-boyfriend would claim I couldn’t even manage it for twenty-four hours. (expansively) Hallo! Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!

  Jerome (anxiously) Yes, I don’t want anything too …

  Zoë No, well, I’ll work on it. Do you think I should wear glasses? Do you think it’s a glasses part?

  Jerome No, I don’t.

  Zoë No. Still, I need something. I always need some little thing to start off with. Some actors always start with the shoes. (gazing at her feet) I don’t think I’ll start with these, somehow. I can do quite a deep voice. Shall I give her a deep voice? Like this?

  Jerome (alarmed by her enthusiasm) No, no, please. Just your normal voice. Just be your normal self. Please.

  Zoë (calming down) OK. I could do the limp like that thing out there … (She mimics Nan’s walk) No, only joking. Well, OK. I accept.

  Jerome Good.

  Zoë Actually, it’s quite handy me being stuck here. I mean, it gives me a chance to research, you know. Talk to you. Find out what constitutes your perfect mate.

  Jerome So long as we convince them.

  Zoë Oh, yes. Only it helps if I don’t pour you a large Scotch when you’re a teetotaller. Those sort of things tend to give the game away. (Pause.) Or cooking you chicken when you’re a vegeta
rian. (finding the burnt tinfoil dish) Or baking home-made cakes when you’re on a diet … Is this one of those new self-cooking dishes?

  Jerome That’s right.

  Zoë How was it?

  Jerome Delicious.

  Zoë (doubtfully examining the burnt dish) Yes. (Pause.) Talking of food and drink. Would it sound awful –? Only I did start out very early this morning. And my ex-boyfriend had polished off the muesli.

  Jerome Oh yes, certainly, I’ll see what we have. I’ve just stocked up, there’s quite a bit of frozen stuff.

  Zoë No, I’ll do it. Don’t bother.

  Jerome That’s OK, I’ll …

  Zoë No, no, please. Let me. Start getting into the role. Little woman in kitchen. (She starts for the kitchen, then stops.) Where’s the thing?

  Jerome In the bedroom.

  Zoë OK. Watch this then. A startling character transformation.

  Zoë marches out to the kitchen while Jerome watches rather apprehensively. She comes straight back again.

  I’m sorry, I’m not going in there. My God, what have you been doing?

  Jerome What?

  Zoë It’s disgusting out there. It’s revolting. It’s swimming in – yuurrrk. Uggh! Ugghh! It’s your ghastly machine. It must be.

  Jerome She does – spill things.

  Zoë Spill things? She’s tipped whole piles of festering food all over everything. You should be dead, you know. It’s a miracle you’re alive … I tell you, that machine is a –

  Jerome All right, I’ll do it.

  Zoë I’m not eating anything from there –

  Jerome It’s instant stuff. It’s sealed. I’ll just put it in the oven.

  Zoë Well, make sure we open it in here …

  Jerome Whatever you say.

  He goes out to the kitchen. Zoë, left alone, decides to practise her role. She takes up the stance of a beaming hostess.

  Zoë (brightly) Hallo! Hallo! Hallo! Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! Sorry. I completely lost track of the time. Typical. (turning as if hearing someone calling) What’s that? Just a tick, darling. I’m coming, darling.

  As she is doing this, Nan comes from the bedrooms. She has finally got rid of the sheets. She is heading towards the hall. But she sees Zoë and stops, staring at her impassively.

  (seeing Nan) Oh, hallo, I was just …

  Nan moves off to the hall and goes out.

  Mind your own business, anyway.

  She is about to start again when the phone rings.

  Jerome (off) Leave that. It’ll go on to answer.

  Zoë waits. Lupus appears on the screen after the phone has rung a couple of times. He is seated at a drum kit which he has set up around his video machine. We can see part of this. He’s slightly more wild-eyed than before and possibly suffering from the effects of some stimulant. Zoë stares at him incredulously.

  Lupu (from the video) Hiya, Jerry. I seem to have got the old answering machine again – but on the offchance you’re there and would like to register as the only person left in the world who is still prepared to talk to me, here I am. Calling on my final life raft, my only friend, my single ray of hope in the dark endless tunnel some of us laughingly refer to as life. I’m afraid it’s down to you, Jerry. You stand between one man and the end of his tether. His final straw. His last burning bridge.

  Under this, Jerome returns from the kitchen with two packets.

  Jerome Do you want Breast of Grouse en Croûte or Gourmet Chicken with Almonds and Wild Strawberry Sauce?

  Zoë (not inspired by either) Grouse.

  Jerome There is Sliced Beef in Clam Sauce.

  Zoë Grouse.

  Jerome OK. I think I’ll try this chicken.

  Zoë There’s an extraordinary man on your phone in a desperate state.

  Jerome Yes, I know. It takes twenty seconds. Can you wait?

  Jerome goes off to the kitchen. Lupus has been going under this.

  Lupu You may have gathered that my wife has gone. My son has gone. Our furniture has gone. Everything. But for the last time, Jerry. Whoever she’s with this time, she can stay with him. I’m not letting her back in. Not this time. She chose to leave, by the way, whilst I went for a job which incidentally I never got. The dynamic geriatric Finchley tea-dance trio decided they could manage without me. Their Arts Council grant came through and they celebrated by buying a drum machine. (He laughs heartily and mirthlessly.) So, here we are, sitting amongst this load of obsolete gear (smashes a cymbal) – that nobody wants – (hits a drum) – why hear the real thing when you can hear a synthesized mock-up – (another whack of a cymbal) – I thought you might like to hear it, Jerry, before I burn it all – the last live drum solo, as played by man. The very last.

  Jerome returns. He holds a cloth round the two now very hot tinfoil dishes. Zoë, who has been watching the screen transfixed, springs up. Lupus is preparing himself to start a drum solo.

  Jerome Look out, they’re hot.

  Zoë Sorry, I’ll – clear some space … There’s this extraordinary man. Is he all right?

  Jerome (dismissively) Yes, he’s fine. He’s always like that.

  Lupus starts to play the drums.

  Oh, for God’s sake, Lupus!

  Jerome dives for the console and turns down the volume. Lupus thrashes away silently for some minutes under the next.

  Hang on. I’ll get some cutlery.

  Zoë gives him a look.

  I’ll wash it first, don’t worry.

  Jerome goes out. Nan has entered, holding the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner but unattached to any machine. She stops behind Zoë.

  Zoë (calling to Jerome) I think I’d feel happier if you could boil everything before I touch it, please.

  Nan (quietly and venomously) Making ourselves comfortable, are we, Deborah?

  Zoë (jumping round in alarm) What?

  Nan I know what you’re after, dear, and you’re not going to have him. If you want Jerome, the only way you’re going to get him is over my dead body, you calculating little trollop.

  Zoë (very indignant) I beg your pardon.

  Nan You’d better watch your step, Deborah darling, or one of these nights you’re going to wake up with your throat cut.

  Nan moves away and goes off to the bedrooms. Zoë stares at her in horror. She clutches her throat. Jerome returns with some knives and forks and two tins of beer.

  Jerome Here.

  Zoë (recoiling) Ah!

  Jerome You OK?

  Zoë Yes – it was – hot.

  Jerome Good. I brought some beer. I thought you’d prefer the can rather than our glasses. (He opens both the meals.) That’s yours, I think.

  Zoë Thank you.

  Jerome (examining his own dish) Yes, I think these must be the wild strawberries. Do you want beer?

  Zoë Please.

  Jerome opens the beers.

  Jerome Go ahead, do start. Before it gets rusty.

  She tries it.

  Zoë Mmm! Not bad.

  Jerome Hot enough?

  Zoë Perfect.

  They eat.

  How long were you married? To Corinna?

  Jerome Eleven years.

  Zoë God. A lifetime. Must have felt very strange. Splitting up.

  Jerome Yes.

  Zoë I mean, even if you loathed the sight of each other.

  Jerome Yes.

  Zoë Was she a musician?

  Jerome Corinna? (He laughs.) No. She was my bank manager. Until I moved my account.

  Zoë Do you miss her?

  Jerome No.

  Zoë Would you ever consider going back to her?

  Jerome Look, what the hell is this? A census?

  Zoë I just want to know. I need to know.

  Jerome Why? Why do you want to know all that?

  Zoë Because I’ll need to. If I’m to behave like someone who’s been living with you for some time, I’ll need to know.

  Jerome Well, you don’t need to know all that. I’ll tell you what you need to know, d
on’t worry.

  Zoë OK. Fine. Fire ahead.

  A pause.

  Jerome (grumpily) What do you want to know?

  Zoë No, no. I’m not asking any more questions. You tell me.

  Jerome It’s all right …

  Zoë No, if I ask questions you just bite my head off. You can tell me, go on.

  Jerome I’m sorry. I – haven’t really talked to anyone – well, not face to face – for some time, you see. Since they fully automated the hypermarket, I don’t think I’ve spoken to anyone for months. So, you’ll have to make allowances.

  Zoë I understand.

  Jerome So. If you want to ask questions. Please.

  Zoë Right.

  They eat.

  Jerome Go ahead.

  Zoë I will. I’m just trying to think of some. Why did your wife leave you?

  Jerome I don’t think that’s any of your damn business.

  Zoë Oh, terrific … Forget it. I’ll just make it up. I’ll make it all up. Just don’t blame me if it all goes totally wrong. When it turns out that I don’t know vital facts about you that I should know –

  Jerome I just don’t see that you need to –

  Zoë Look. If it transpires that your wife left you because for eleven years – or whatever it was – you drove her absolutely mad whistling in the nude at breakfast time – then that’s something I ought to know. Because it just might crop up in conversation between the two of us. ‘Darling, doesn’t he drive you mad the way he whistles in the nude at breakfast?’ ‘No, not at all, dear, I love it, I find it totally refreshing …’

  Jerome All right, all right. My wife left me because … She claimed I drove her mad –

  Zoë Whistling in the nude at breakfast –? Sorry.

  Jerome She wasn’t, in the end, prepared to live with a creative person. That’s what it boiled down to. She wasn’t prepared to fit in with the lifestyle of a creative entity. Such as myself. That’s all. I’m not saying she was a selfish woman. Nor am I saying she was a woman who refused to adapt or even begin to understand the pressures that – a creative person can undergo. I’m not saying that about her. After all, why should she? She’s just a bloody bank manager.