Complete Works, Volume I (28 page)

ALBERT
: Uh.

GIRL:
Do you know what I've actually heard? I've heard that respectable married women, solicitors’ wives, go out and pick men up when their husbands are out on business! Isn't that fantastic? I mean, they're supposed to be . . . they're supposed to be respectable!

ALBERT
[
muttering
]: Fantastic.

GIRL:
I beg your pardon?

ALBERT
: I said it was fantastic.

GIRL:
It is. You're right. Quite fantastic. Here's one thing, though. There's one thing that's always fascinated me. How far do men's girl friends go? I've often wondered.

[
Pause.
]

Eh?

ALBERT
: Depends.

GIRL:
Yes, I suppose it must.

[
Pause.
]

You mean on the girl?

ALBERT
: What?

GIRL:
You mean it depends on the girl?

ALBERT
: It would do, yes.

GIRL:
Quite possibly. I must admit that with your continuity girls and secretaries, I don't see why you . . . had to approach me. . . . Have you been on the town tonight, then? With a continuity girl?

ALBERT
: You're a bit . . . worried about continuity girls, aren't you?

GIRL:
Only because I've been one myself. I know what they're like. No better than they should be.

ALBERT
: When were you a . . .?

GIRL:
Years ago! [
Standing.
] You're nosey, aren't you?

She goes to the window.

Sometimes I wish the night would never end. I like sleeping. I could sleep . . . on and on.

ALBERT
stands and picks up the clock.

Yes, you can see the station from here. All the trains go out, right through the night.

He stares at the clock.

I suppose we might as well . . . [
She turns and sees him.
] What are you doing? [
She
crosses to him.
] What are you doing with that clock?

He looks at her, slowly.

Mmnn?

ALBERT
: Admiring it.

GIRL:
It's a perfectly ordinary clock. Give me it. I've seen too many people slip things into their pockets before now, as
soon as your back's turned. Nothing personal, of course. [
She puts it back.
] Mind your ash! Don't spill it all over the floor! I have to keep this carpet immaculate. Otherwise the charlady, she's always looking for excuses for telling tales. Here. Here's an ashtray. Use it, please.

She gives it to him. He stares at her.

Sit down. Sit down. Don't stand about like that. What are you staring at me for?

He sits. She studies him.

Where's your wife?

ALBERT
: Nowhere.

She stubs her cigarette.

GIRL:
And what film are you making at the moment?

ALBERT
: I'm on holiday.

GIRL:
Where do you work?

ALBERT
: I'm a free lance.

GIRL:
You're . . . rather young to be in such a . . . high position, aren't you?

ALBERT
: Oh?

GIRL [
laughs
]: You amuse me. You interest me. I'm a bit of a psychologist, you know. You're very young to be—what you said you were. There's something childish in your face, almost retarded. [
She laughs.
] I do like that word. I'm not being personal, of course . . . just being . . . psychological. Of course, I can see you're one for the girls. Don't know why you had to pick on me, at this time of night, really rather forward of you. I'm a respectable mother, you know, with a child at boarding school. You couldn't call me . . . anything else. All I do, I just entertain a few gentlemen, of my own choice, now and again. What girl doesn't?

His hand screws the cigarette. He lets it fall on the carpet.

[
Outraged.
] What do you think you're doing?

She stares at him.

Pick it up! Pick that up, I tell you! It's my carpet!

She lunges towards it.

It's not my carpet, they'll make me pay—

His hand closes upon hers as she reaches for it.

What are you doing? Let go. Treating my place like a pigsty. [
She looks up at him as he bends over her.
] Let me go. You're burning my carpet!

ALBERT
[
quietly, intensely
]: Sit down.

GIRL:
How dare you?

ALBERT
: Shut up. Sit down.

GIRL [
struggling
]: What are you doing?

ALBERT
[
erratically, trembling, but with quiet command
]: Don't scream. I'm warning you.

He lifts her by her wrist and presses her down on to the stool.

No screaming. I warn you.

GIRL:
What's the—?

ALBERT
[
through his teeth
]: Be quiet. I told you to be quiet. Now you be quiet.

GIRL:
What are you going to do?

ALBERT
[
seizing the clock from the mantelpiece
]: D
ON’T MUCK ME ABOUT
!

She freezes with terror.

See this? One crack with this . . . just one crack . . . [
Viciously.
] Who do you think you are? You talk too much, you know that. You never stop talking. Just because you're a woman you think you can get away with it. [
Bending over her.
] You've made a mistake, this time. You've picked the wrong man.

He begins to grow in stature and excitement, passing the clock from hand to hand.

You're all the same, you see, you're all the same, you're just a dead weight round my neck. What makes you think
. . .
[
He begins to move about the room, at one point half crouching, at another standing upright, as if exercising his body.
]
. .
. What makes you think you can . . . tell me . . . yes . . . It's the same as this business about the light in Grandma's room. Always something. Always something. [
To her.
] My ash? I'll put it where I like! You see this clock? Watch your step. Just watch your step.

GIRL:
Stop this. What are you—?

ALBERT
[
seizing her wrist, with trembling, controlled violence
]: Watch your step! [
Stammering.
] I've had—I've had—I've had—just about enough. Get it? . . . You know what I did?

He looks at her and chuckles.

Don't be so frightened.

GIRL:
I . . .

ALBERT
[
casually
]: Don't be so frightened.

He squats by her, still holding the clock.

I'm just telling you. I'm just telling you, that's all. [
Breathlessly.
] You haven't got any breeding. She hadn't either. And what about those girls tonight? Same kind. And that one. I didn't touch her!

GIRL [
almost inaudible
]: What you been doing?

ALBERT
: I've got as many qualifications as the next man. Let's get that quite . . . straight. And I got the answer to her. I got the answer to her, you see, tonight. . . . I finished the conversation . . . I finished it . . . I finished her . . .

She squirms. He raises the clock.

With this clock! [
Trembling.
] One . . . crack . . . with
. . . this. . . dock . . . finished! [
Thoughtfully.
] Of course, I loved her, really. [
He suddenly sees the photograph on the mantelpiece, puts the clock down and takes it. The
GIRL
half rises and gasps, watching him. He looks at the photo curiously.
] Uhhh? . . . Your daughter? . . . This a photo of your daughter? . . . Uuuh? [
He breaks the frame and takes out the photo.
]

GIRL [
rushes at him
]. Leave that!

ALBERT
[
dropping the frame and holding the photo
]: Is it?

The
GIRL
grabs at it.
ALBERT
clutches her wrist. He holds her at arm’s length.

GIRL:
Leave that! [
Writhing.
] What? Don't—it's mine!

ALBERT
[
turns
the photo over and reads back
]: ‘Class Three Classical, Third Prize, Bronze Medal, Twickenham Competition, nineteen thirty-three.’ [
He stares at her. The
GIRL
stands, shivering and whimpering.
] You liar. That's you.

GIRL:
It's not!

ALBERT
: That's not your daughter. It's you! You're just a fake, you're just all lies!

GIRL:
Scum! Filthy scum!

ALBERT
,
twisting her wrist, moves suddenly to her. The
GIRL
cringing, falls back into her chair.

ALBERT
[
warningly
]: Mind how you talk to me. [
He crumples the photo.
]

GIRL [
moans
]: My daughter. My little girl. My little baby girl.

ALBERT
: Get up.

GIRL:
No . . .

ALBERT
: Get up! Up!

She stands.

Walk over there, to the wall. Go on! Get over there. Do as you're told. Do as I'm telling you. I'm giving the orders here.

She walks to the wall.

Stop!

GIRL [
whimpering
]: What . . . do you want me to do?

ALBERT
: Just keep your big mouth closed, for a start.

He frowns uncertainly.

Cover your face!

She does so. He looks about, blinking.

Yes. That's right. [
He sees his shoes.
] Come on, come on, pick up those shoes. Those shoes! Pick them up!

She looks for the shoes and picks them up.

That's right. [
He sits.
] Bring them over here. Come on. That's right. Put them on.

He extends his foot.

GIRL:
You're . . .

ALBERT
: On! Right on. That's it. That's it. That's more like it. That's . . . more like it! Good. Lace them! Good.

He stands. She crouches.

Silence.

He shivers and murmurs with the cold. He looks about the room.

ALBERT
: It's cold.

[
Pause.
]

Ooh, it's freezing.

GIRL [
whispering
]: The fire's gone.

ALBERT
[
looking at the window
]: What's that? Looks like light. Ooh, it's perishing. [
Looks about, muttering.
] What a dump. Not staying here. Getting out of this place.

He shivers and drops the clock. He looks down at it. She too. He kicks it across the room.

[
With a smile, softly.
] So you . . . bear that in mind. Mind how you talk to me.

He goes to door, then turns.

[
Flipping half a crown to her.
] Buy yourself a seat . . . buy yourself a seat at a circus.

He opens the door and goes.

SCENE THREE

The house.

The front door opens.
ALBERT
comes in, a slight smile on his face. He saunters across the hall into the kitchen takes off his jacket and throws it across the room. The same with his tie. He sits heavily, loosely, in a chair, his legs stretched out. Stretching his arms, he yawns luxuriously, scratches his head with both hands and stares ruminatively at the ceiling, a smile on his face. His mother's voice calls his name.

MOTHER
[
from the stairs
]: Albert!

His body freezes. His gaze comes down. His legs slowly come together. He looks in front of him.

His
MOTHER
comes into the room, in her dressing gown. She stands, looking at him.

Do you know what the time is?

[
Pause.
]

Where have you been?

[
Pause.
]

[
Reproachfully, near to tears.
] I don't know what to say to you, Albert. To raise your hand to your own mother. You've never done that before in your life. To threaten your own mother.

[
Pause.
]

That clock would have hurt me, Albert. And you'd have been . . . I know you'd have been very sorry. Aren't I a good mother to you? Everything I do is . . . is for your own good. You should know that. You're all I've got.

She looks at his slumped figure. Her reproach turns to solicitude.

[
Gently.
] Look at you. You look washed out. Oh, you look . . . I don't understand what could have come over you.

She takes a chair and sits close to him.

Listen, Albert, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to forget it. You see? I'm going to forget all about it. We'll have your holiday in a fortnight. We can go away.

She strokes his hand.

We'll go away . . . together.

[
Pause.
]

It's not as if you're a bad boy . . . you're a good boy . . . I know you are . . . it's not as if you're really bad, Albert, you're not . . . you're not bad, you're good . . . you're not a bad boy, Albert, I know you're not . . .