Peter--Search for a Title

A ONE-ACT  PLAY

An ancient, flint-stone Tudor house in King Street, Norwich.  An attic-like room at the top with beams.  A large table is in the centre with chairs and paper and pencil in each place.

A white board stands at one end.  Two steep staircases opposite each other lead into the room.

The chimes of midnight are ringing as a ghostly young woman with long hair tied in a bow appears in the room. She is young but a touch schoolmarm'ish and dressed in clothes befitting a person of the eighteenth century. She drifts across the room and, taking a taper, on tiptoe lights the candelabra set over the table and then goes over to the whiteboard and writes in large letters the words:  A  TITLE.  She then takes a seat at the head of the conference table and studies a list.

(Steps  are  heard  coming  up the stairs)  A short, determined-looking man in an oilman’s overalls and a vermilion hard hat enters the room.

BOB :  (Comes in panting) Good evening.  My, those steps are steep.  Have I come to the right place?  I was asked to come here on some kind of errand to do with a title, I think.

ELEANOR:  Yes. That’s right. Bob Newington isn’t it, Radex Oil from Howlett’s Island ?

BOB: (Look of surprise) Yeah that’s right. How did you.....?

ELEANOR:  Simple. Your hat, Mr Newington.  Please take a seat while we wait for the others.

BOB:  What is this old place anyway.?  It’s kind’a neat.

ELEANOR: It used to be my home before my tragic accident.... (she sighs)... But that’s a sad story and a long time ago. Today it’s called Wensum Lodge and acts as  an education and craft centre.  (Sounds of more  steps and jumping. a boy emerges, staring anxiously down the staircase)

NED:  Come on Nochoska. You can make it.  (A heavy, pounding sound and a polar bear  appears,  head  swaying  from  side  to  side,  staring warily about the room)

BOB:  (Stands  up  indignantly)  It’s that kid – the one who’s giving me all the trouble on the island and that darn bear....I’m not staying here. (Makes for the staircase but his way is barred)

ELEANOR: (Sternly) Sit down, Mr Newington. You have nothing to fear. (She turns to the new arrivals)  You’re Ned Blake, I believe, and this is your companion Nochoska.

NED:  (Looking annoyed)  Yes.  And that’s the head of the oil-drilling outfit who's destroying Howlett’s Island. (Pointing angrily at Newington) I’d never have agreed to come, if I had known HE was going to be here too.  This isn’t fair. 

BOB:  Just my feelings about you, son!

ELEANOR:  Stop it, you two! And, Ned, please do something about that bear and then sit down. (She ticks her list).

NED:  Well, I’m not sitting next to him. (Sulkily, he sits at the far end and Nochoska squats  down  in a nearby corner, sniffing copiously)

(An insistent drumbeat can now be heard accompanied by an eerie wailing. It gets  louder and  fills the shadowy, candlelit room.  A shaman in seal furs appears at the top of the stairs)

NED:  Niquishin, Niquishin, you’re here too! (Ned stands and smiles, arms welcoming)

(The  shaman smiles back but continues to dance around the table.  His drum is thin and circular and he strikes  either side of it with a small hammer -like stick. With a final flurry of beats he stops in front of the whiteboard. From within his fur he takes a seal’s tooth and begins  to  draw  figures. The others  watch, transfixed) 

 

BOB:  That’s Risik. He’s drawn Risik!

NED: And that’s Maisie!

ELEANOR:  Watch!

(The figures come to life. The ugly, loathsome Risik, with tusks that grow from his nostrils.  The  creature peers beyond  the whiteboard and steps down to join those in the room.  A halter is put round Maisie’s neck.  Risik gives it a vicious tug and the pale  shadow of a girl is forced to follow)

RISIK:  Good evening everyone.  What a strange gathering.  Ah... Mr Newington. How are you, sir?   I’d better sit next to you, if you don’t mind, I don’t think the boy looks very friendly..  Come on, Maisie.

NED:  Let her go.  Let her go you brute. (Ned struggles to get round to the other side of the table  but Eleanor fixes him with her gaze and he finds it impossible to move.)

RISIK  (Giving a sneering smile)  Calm down, Ned.  You’re getting yourself over-excited..... Why, Papa isn’t here.  Normally he doesn’t miss important occasions like this.

ELEANOR:  He’s coming now.

( Niquishin finishes drawing the  picture of Griselm, King of the Walrus, who slides from the  whiteboard onto the floor and joins his halfling son.)

GRISELM:  What a grand gathering.  Good evening, Mr Newington. Ah, Risik. You’ve brought the child I see.

RISIK:  Just a precaution, father.

NIQUISHIN:  My task is finished.. (The shaman picks up his drum and sits next to Ned)

ELEANOR:  Now that we are all here, I think we can begin.  My name is Eleanor and I have been asked to organise this meeting to find a title for the book of which you are all a part. Your creator thought it was only democratic to ask your opinions.

BOB:  Part of a story!  What nonsense is this.  I’ve got a responsible job to do on Howlett’s Island. I can’t waste any more time here..

G RISELM: (Snorting and grunting)

RISIK:  My father agrees with Mr Newington. He was only persuaded to come because he thought something important was going to happen. Instead, this is a trumped-up meeting. Besides it’s too warm here for us. We want to leave.. And you agree too, don’t you Maisie? (They stand up)

ELEANOR:  SIT DOWN ALL OF YOU!  Whether you like it or not you are all characters in a story that has been created in this room and your creator is having trouble finding a title.

THE ASSEMBLED CAST:  Characters!  Us?  Characters!  This is absurd!. 

ELEANOR: Sit down!  You’re not leaving here until we’ve got a title.  Understand?

NED:  Who is this storyteller anyway and why isn’t he here?

BOB: Snuckered down comfortably in bed somewhere, I bet.

ELEANOR:  His name’s Peter and he promised to come.

(Footsteps  on  the  staircase)  Ah, that might be him now.

PETER EMERGES TO HISSES AND CATCALLS.

PETER:  Well, that’s a nice welcome. I thought I was doing you all a favour, arranging a break from that godforsaken island for a night.  Besides, it’s not me that started all this. The person you should blame is Gary Dexter, the lecturer here. He’s the one that triggered it all off with those provocative writing exercises and he suggested you might all come up with a decent title. Not much hope of that, the way things are going.

ELEANOR:  Just ignore them, Peter. They’re an ungrateful lot. You’d better sit next to me.  Nochoska is beginning to look menacing and you can never be sure what treachery Griselm will get up to. I just don’t trust him at all.  Now listen, all of you. You can go as soon as we have a title for the story – not before. There’s paper and pencil on the table. Before you begin, I’m going to give you a few tips. Titles should be descriptive of the story, brief, enticing and have a rhythmical ring. Are you listening, Griselm? (The walrus shakes his great head and splutters all over the table)  They can have a magical realism too, Nishquin.  I’m going to give you ten minutes and if Mr Bennett here likes one of your titles, Nishquin and I will see you get safely back to your Arctic home. You can begin now.  (They settle over their sheets. Risik helps Griselm.  You could hear a pin drop)

PETER: (Whispering) What about the bear, Eleanor?  He plays a leading role. He should have a choice, surely?

ELEANOR:  I’ve thought of that. Nishquin is going to help when he’s finished.

(Nishquin finishes writing quickly, picks up his drum and goes over to the corner where Nokoscha  is squatting. He stands in front of the bear, tapping his drum hypnotically and singing.  The bear’s eyes begin to look glazed.  He rolls over onto his side. In his sleep he begins to make murmuring sounds.)

PETER:  What is Niquishin doing, Eleanor?

ELEANOR: I understand he is communicating with the spirit of the bear.  Look, he has stopped. Have you got an answer Nishquin?

SHAMAN:  Yes, Eleanor. I will write it down  on the paper for him.

ELEANOR: (She looks at her sand timer)  STOP, everyone! Now, who would like to read theirs out first.  (Complete silence).  Come on, someone.  You were all so noisy earlier. Bob?

BOB:  All right, I’ll have a go.  Mind you, I don’t think it’s very good.  How about The Oil Crusader, which seems to sum up what Radex Oil are trying to do to provide oil for the world.

NED: (Incensed) Crusader?  Despoiler, you mean. That’s what you’re doing on Howlett’s Island.

ELEANOR:  Well, what is your suggestion, Ned?

NED:  The Boy and the Bear versus  Big Oil.

BOB:  That’s a travesty of the truth.

ELEANOR: Gentlemen, I promise you that we will be here all night if we argue about each title.  I’m going straight round the table now.  Nishquin?

SHAMAN:  The  Struggle for the land of the Black Canoe.

GRISELM:   War of the Walrus.

RISIK:   Mystery on the Enchanted Isle.

SHAMAN:  Nochoska has written  the Island of Vanishing Ice.

MAISIE:  The Battle for Howlett’s  Island.

ELEANOR:  Good.  At last.  What do you think, Peter?

PETER:  Yes, I think we have some possibilities here. This one in  particular.  Thank you all.

BOB:  Now that’s done, can we go?

ELEANOR:  But one at a time.  I don’t want any fights.  You first, Bob.

(Bob gets up and makes his way to the stairs. He stops to point a warning finger at Ned)

BOB:  You keep out of my hair, kid ,or there’ll be big trouble.

NED:  I’m not afraid of you or your powerful friends in Washington.

(Nochoska moves menacingly towards Bob)

ELEANOR:  You’d  better go, Mr Newington.  Nishquin, can you prepare the whiteboard?

(The shaman draws a typical Arctic scene of a icy waste and a big sky)

ELEANOR:  Griselm and Risik, your way is ready.

(To the sound of the shaman’s drum the two approach the whiteboard. Grunting, Griselm climbs into the scene and begins  to make his way across the ice.  Risik follows, pulling Maisie after him.  She resists and, turning, appeals desperately to those still at the table.)

MAISIE:  Please don’t let them take me away.  Please, please….

(Eleanor and Peter sit,  concerned but transfixed.  Risik lifts Maisie into the frame of the whiteboard  and, with the help of Griselm, drags her across the ice.  A furious Ned races over but finds  it impossible to enter.  Halfway across the ice, Risik stops, turns, gives Ned a taunting smile  and wave, and continues after his father, with Maisie trailing  behind. Ned bangs his fists in frustration on the whiteboard, then turns to  Peter.)

NED:  If this is just a bloody story, can’t you do something to save the girl?  Don’t just sit there. Think of something!  Invent something!  Quick, before it’s too late.

PETER:  I know how you feel, Ned.  I feel as angry as you do.

NED:  Well, do something.  Do something!

PETER:  I can’t. 

NED:  Why not?

PETER:  I don’t know any more than you do what’s going to happen.

NED:  You know what?  You’re hopeless.  All you care about is that bloody title.  Much good may it do you. ( Ned picks up the one Peter has chosen, screws it up and throws it at him.) Come on, Nochoska. These people are not worth the time of day.  We’ll get back to the island and show them.

(The door slams and boy and bear descend noisily down  the stairs.)

SHAMAN:  I will go with them to see that they come to no harm. (He follows them, banging his drum and singing in a low dirge-like voice.)

PETER:  I’d  better go too, Eleanor. I’m  sorry about this.  Thank you for organizing the meeting anyway.   (He  gets  up  and  makes  his way  towards  the  door)

  

ELEANOR:  It’s  not your fault.  It was bound to be a difficult meeting.  (Crestfallen, Peter disappears down the stairs. Eleanor gets up and gathers the pencils and papers.  She notices the screwed-up title on the floor.)  Oh, he’s forgotten  to take the title, after all that.  Peter, Peter, you’ve forgotten to take the title name that you chose. (She opens the door at the top of the stairs,  but he has gone)  Nothing for it – I’ll have to leave it somewhere for one of the Thursday  novelists to find when they come.  (She snuffs out the candles and in the moonlight vanishes through a partition at the far end of the room.)

Julie - Title Discussion

‘What’s wrong with naming the book after me?’ Cassie demanded, turning to give her brother, who was sitting next to her on the settee, the full force of her icy stare.  ‘I am the heroine.’

Greg laughed.  ‘Heroine?  Now it really does sound like a Jane Austen novel.’

Helen, who was sitting on a reclining chair to their left, reached over and selected a chocolate from the box on the coffee table.  ‘As a matter of fact,’ she began, ‘Most of Jane Austen’s novels weren’t named after the heroine, they were thematic, like “Pride and Prejudice” or “Sense and Sensibility”.’  She paused to pop the orange crème into her mouth and through it continued thickly, ‘And anyway, I wish you two would stop arguing about it.’

‘Sorry Mum,’ they said in unison.

‘Well, what do you think it should be called then?’ Cassie asked.

Helen frowned, sucking vigorously on the orange crème.  Before she had a chance to answer, Gran leaned forward in her chair opposite Cassie and Greg and piped up, ‘Is someone writing a book about you, Cassandra?’

Greg coughed extravagantly.

‘Yes, Gran,’ Cassie said, glaring at Greg.  ‘We’re all in it.’

‘Well, some more than others,’ Helen muttered, glancing up at the clock on the wall.  ‘Perhaps it should be called “The Absent Father”.’

‘Or what about “Who’s the Daddy”?’ Greg joked.

Cassie punched him on the arm.  ‘That isn’t funny.  I’m going to suffer a lot of angst over that one.’

There was a pause.  Helen, who was gazing thoughtfully into space, finally broke the silence.  ‘What about “Separate Ways”?’

Cassie and Greg exchanged glances.

‘Or “A Fool Such as I”,’ Helen continued.  She looked round the room.  ‘“Heartbreak Hotel”?’

‘Oh, I get it,’ Greg said.  ‘Elvis songs.  Well, if we’re doing songs what about “Can I Play with Madness”?  Quite appropriate,’ he continued in an undertone to Cassie, ‘Bearing in mind the circumstances.’  He indicated Helen with a discrete jerk of his head.

‘Greg!’ Cassie hissed indignantly.  ‘This is 1977.  Iron Maiden haven’t even written that one yet and anyway,’ she continued quietly, ‘That isn’t fair on Mum.  She will get over her psychiatric troubles.’

‘Yeah, point taken.  Sorry Sis.’

Helen, who was once again studying the chocolate selection, was oblivious to their exchange and seemed to have lost interest in the whole discussion.

‘What about “Love and Forgiveness” or “Love Hurts” or “For the Love of Joe”?’ Cassie suggested.

Greg pretended to gag.  ‘I’m not getting involved with anything to do with the “L” word.’

‘You will, brother.  You will,’ Cassie replied.  ‘OK.  We could use an old catch-phrase, or come up with a new one.’

‘Come up with a new catch-phrase?  What, jus’ like that?’  He said it in the style of Tommy Cooper, fanning his fingers out in front of him.

Cassie giggled.  ‘Yeah, that sort of thing, but I think that one’s been done.’

‘I reckon it should be something clever, or ambiguous; a song title, or a really good quote – from a book or from a song,’ Greg said.

‘Brilliant!’ Cassie agreed.  ‘All we have to do is think of one.  Do you have something in mind?’

‘“Revelations”.’

‘Too Biblical.’

‘“Forgive us our Trespasses”.’

‘Ditto.’

‘“Secrets and Lies”.’

‘Been done.’

‘“True Lies”.’

‘That’s going to be a film in 1994 with Arnie and Jamie Lee Curtis.’

‘“The Secret Truth”.’

‘Rubbish!’

‘“An Uncertain Truth”.’

‘Hmm.  Better.’

‘If you go to trial later in the book, it could be called “Nothing but the Truth”.’

‘I like the idea of using “Truth” in the title,’ Cassie said, ‘Work with that.’

There was a short pause, then ‘“Truth is a Distant Planet”,’ he suggested, triumphantly.

Cassie pursed her lips.  ‘Why?  How do you mean?’

‘Well,’ Greg said slowly, ‘Like a distant planet, the truth is often difficult to comprehend and even harder to get to.’

Cassie nodded thoughtfully.  ‘I like it,’ she said finally.

Gran, who had been watching this exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, leant forward again, cupping her hand against her ear.  ‘What’s everyone talking about?’ she asked.

‘A book, Gran,’ Cassie replied, raising her voice slightly.

‘A book?’ Gran repeated.  ‘A book, you say?  What’s it called then?’

Greg thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead in a gesture of exasperation. 

Cassie smiled.  ‘I think this is where we came in.’

***

What does everyone think about ‘Truth is a Distant Planet’ as a title?  I quite like it.

J

Steve: 3 tweets

Scene 1 - day 1
Said goodbye to Kesa, met Shadow.  Hate him.  He smells and hit me.  Packed my satchel ready.  Please let me come back to Kesa.  I miss ma & pa already.

Scene 2 - day 48
Disaster!  Shadow dead!  Lost!  Am so hungry.  Sheltering in house of Jee-sos.  Kesa why did I leave you?  An animal is moving outside the door.  They're coming.

Scene 3 - day 168
2 days from village.  Wanted to walk on, too dangerous.  Slavers everywhere.  Must be gone before 1st light.  Have to warn Elders.  Kesa I'm  coming!  O love!  Gruff is growling.

Steve: Synopsis

400 years after a cataclysmic event on earth, the ancestors of the survivors have formed their own communities and traditions to slowly re-poputlate what remains fo the land which is habitable. 

Our story centres on a 14 year old British boy named Ty who is about to undergo his 'Manning Trip',  a rights of way trek from his village in what used to be Derbyshire to the Southlands accompanied by 'the Manning Master', a full grown adult who is hired by his parents to aid him in becoming a man in his village's eyes. 

The manning trip must be completed in six months and the candidate must bring back proof of his successful quest.  The path however is dangerous, for outside the borders of the protected village, the land is inhospitable, and for the most part anarchy reigns over the humans who live to survive another day.  Success is by no means guaranteed, for many Trippers never return.

Our story starts on the eve of Ty's Trip, when his parents call him in to meet his master....

Sam: 3 tweets

Scene 1:
OMG!  Would never have guessed what we now know about the riddle!  Who would have known it could be solved like that LOL!  LMAO!

Scene 2:
Just looked in THAT room.  Can't believe what I've found out but it means that one of us isn't who they seem.  Keep eyes peeled for oddness.

Scene 3:
Really worried Seb gone missing, been gone now for 3 days!  Some of us are thinking it may have something to do with a certain person beginning with E.....

Sam: Synopsis

Four friends of old each receive a photograph.  All of the photographs are different and each one shows the individual with someone they have never seen before.  There are no notes with the photographs but on the back is written part of a riddle.

This is a story about four friends whose lives are inextricably linked beyond friendship.  To solve the riddle is to solve the mystery of the photgraphs.  But what follows could not only shatter their friendships but the whole world as they know it. 

The story is based on 4 characters Ellie, Damo, Elizabeth and Seb.  They each posess different qualities that are vital to solving the initial mystery but on solving this it only leads to more questions and reveals that not everyone is what they seem....

Tweets - Ros

1.  Birth certificate found!  Hidden in Mum's old chest of drawers.  She's furious.  Oh well.  I'm elated.  What now?

2.  Met Dad today.!! Scary. He's handsome - I think.  Was he what I expected?  I can't decide.  Is he pleased to see me.  He said he was.  But.. BFN

3. England.  Bars, boys, BBQs - delicious.  Food, rain, shoes - rank.  Family - mother OKish, Holly- down trodden, twins - terrible.  Dad - fit.  Miss everyone. Txt, e-mail, tweet - please.

Sandra: Tweet-a-woo

1.  Someone grabbed Fred's ankles. Pulled him back. 'Sid' he shouted. Loud gunfire.No-one heard. Sid's 
body is left where he fell.

2.  2 boys banged  the dustbin lids together. BANG,BANG. Fred screamed and covered his ears. 'Funny
farm Fred' the boys taunted.

3. May crushed sleeping pills. Mixed them into a glass of whisky. Holding Fred's head still she encouraged him to drink...

Hilary - three twitter scenes - (actually mobile phone txts but kept to 140 characters)

Scene 1

Wr r u Jason ? bn trying to get u for hrs? in trouble. Need 4 u to cum get me. In Paris with NBF but can't b 'lieve wot just happened x:-(

Scene 2

Carrie ru ok? you shudn't have run. glad we xchanged nos! Dont worry. im fine now. w8 till u know more abt me bfore u judge me pls. Josh x

Scene 3

Wr r u? will cum out on nxt flight. Do u need hlp?  Are u ill? Let me know wr u staying. will need 2 spk 2 ur mum tho' luv u  Jason

Key
NBF =New best friend

Hilary - Colin and Jennifer

“So – Colin.” Jennifer smiled as she eased herself back into the soft leather chair behind her desk and placed her pen on the pad in front of her. “There appears to be a bit of a problem – do you agree?” she cocked an eyebrow as she gazed intently at Colin, the smile still playing on her lips.

“Not really a problem Jennifer – no, I wouldn’t say that” Colin drew himself up in his chair and faced Jennifer squarely, on the other side of the large desk.

Jennifer sighed deeply “Well what would you call it then Colin?”

Colin’s eyes darted around the room as if looking for assistance to help him out of the situation that he found himself in. “Well, I certainly think ‘problem’ is too strong a word for what is in effect a small temporary set back”

“Really? So the fact that you failed to reach your target by 40%  last month and were 30% down on the previous is only a temporary set back is it?"

“Look, the issue isn’t about my targets, it’s the general down turn”

“I have spent fourteen years building up this firm up to what it is today and your lack of commitment is tiring me out. The rest of the team are able to reach targets, why not you?”

“My lack of commitment? I can’t believe you think that. I have always reached target – it’s just at the moment…..”

“No excuses. We have to face up to the fact that you don’t have the drive to do this anymore. I cannot keep baling you out, eventually something has to give – you do see that don’t you?”

Jennifer moved impatiently in her seat. The smile had vanished.

Colin had experienced these situations before, he knew the signs.

“Are you letting me go?”

“The company is experiencing a  downturn of the worst kind. It happens in this sort of financial climate”

“So you are saying you are letting me go?”

“We are looking to downsize our sales team, that’s what I am saying. We cannot afford to support dead wood any more – I’m sorry”

Jennifer walked toward the door and opened it. “Thanks so much for coming in today- can you drop off the BMW keys at the front desk when you leave”

Sue: three tweets

Lilaslife

Just finished packing. This is it!  Circus life sucks; my new, real world beckons. Scared but excited. Car’s here. Got to go. Wish me luck.

 Dorsetnews

Circus fight leaves man hospitalised. Was female witness too scared to intervene/give evidence? Or is she protecting her newfound friends?

 LottieTwolife

@Sara12. Got urgent, similar dilemma re revealing my double life to my family. Did your approach work? LMK. More advice needed from all.

@= A reply to Sara’s tweet, which other followers can see.

 LMK- let me know

Julie - Cassie 3 Crucial Tweets!

Bombshell! Just found out David not my real Dad. Helen is my Aunt, Mum is Aunt Christine – never met her.  Father unknown. WTF!

Met Joe at G’s party – not seen him for 5 yrs. It was all my fault but he forgave me. Feel so stupid but so lucky. A 2nd chance, I hope.

Envelope delivered to work 2day. Photo inside of a bar. Says on back 'Ask Charles about Gloria from Virgin Isles'. OMG may have to go there!

Peter: Three Tweets

Maisie  @  Magi
Walrus is gloating @ his 5 spirits ...we  thrash  endlessly  2  and  fro  in  the  moonlit   lagoon   beneath  the  mountain..help.


Debbie  Newington   @  Boogie
Sleeping  out  on  steps  of  Radex  Oil  HQ  in  protest  against  Arctic  drill.  What  would  Dad  say  if  he saw me now?


Ned  at  Hatunquit
Shivering with fever in igloo...dreaming  of   meeting  Mum  and  Dad  again   on   pier  on  St.  Eloysius  eve.
.

 

Tony: the new car (dialogue)

“It’s an Alvis”, Colin said, getting out of the driver’s seat, and closing the car door with obvious reverence.

“Isn’t it wonderful!” Jennifer cooed.  She walked towards the vehicle, entranced, the sway of her slim legs adding to Colin’s already considerable enthusiasm.  Fingering the stylish fittings of the car, Jennifer turned towards him with an adoring smile.

“When can we …. take a ride?” she asked sweetly.

“Well, there’s just one little problem, dear – it’s not quite my own car, as yet”, he replied, his face turning a tinge more red.

“Not yours?  You mean, you haven’t paid for it yet?”

“That’s right, darling, I haven’t.  You see, I just need a little bit of extra cash.”

“And where might this …. cash, be coming from?”

“Well, dear, you remember your grandmother’s jewellery, which was left to you when we were married?  I was just wondering ….”

Character counters

Hi all

The sites below have character counters - just cut and paste your text into the box and they auto count.

http://www.lettercount.com/

http://www.webworldindex.com/countcharacters.htm

Sue

Homework and new class times

Hi all

The homework for this week is to write three crucial scenes of your novel as three tweets.

The new class times are:

March 17
March 24
BREAK on March 31
April 7
April 14
BREAK on April 21
April 28...and onwards

Many thanks for cooperating on this altered schedule.

See you on Thursday to talk about titles,
Gary

Dialogue - Ros

Colin and Jennifer wandered aimlessly along the beach.  Colin put a tentative arm around Jennifer's shoulders but she didn't respond.  Her hands stayed firmly in her pockets and her gaze resolutely scanned the horizon.

"This isn't working, is it?" started Colin.
"Nope", replied Jennifer.
"I thought a weekend in our favourite place might help, but I see now I was wrong," said Colin.
"As usual," retorted Jennifer.
Colin sighed.  That's hardly fair.  "You used to love coming here.  We, or at least I, have such happy memories".
"That was then, this is now."
"Then why did you agree to come if you thought it was all so hopeless. I..."
"But that's it, isn't it.  'You.'  You only ever see things from your point of view."
"You're saying I'm selfish.  But what about the time I didn't want to go to your mother's for Christmas; I went didn't I, because it was important to you.  It was just as horrible as I feared, but I went.  That's just one occasion that I can remember when I did something for you .  I'm sure there are lots of others. "
"It's no use.  I'm sorry."

Sue:dialogue

Colin walked back to the house, cursing  himself for his lack of will power. 

Maybe she wouldn’t notice. He could slip upstairs for a wash and to brush his teeth.

“Hi Honey, I’m home’ he called, as he lurched towards the stairs. His heart sank as he saw Jennifer emerge from the upstairs bathroom.

‘ I’ve got the DVD from Andy’, he continued, hoping for Brownie points.

‘That’s good,’ she replied, carefully watching his ascent.

When he reached the landing, Jennifer took a closer look at him.

‘You’ve been drinking’, she said. ‘Don’t deny it, I can see it in your eyes. What happened to the new start? You promised me you would keep off the booze but you haven’t even managed one day’.

‘For goodness sake woman, get off my back. I had to buy Andy a pint as a thank you.’

Colin moved towards the bathroom. As he brushed heavily past Jennifer, her eyes widened. She took a quiet, deep breath, and then turned to face him.

 ‘You promised...  we can’t go on like this. Please don’t make it worse’.

‘Make what worse? I’ve not done anything. I’m back early aren’t I?’

‘What time did you go out?’

‘Bloody Hell; here comes the Spanish inquisition. I’ve no idea. I wasn’t aware you had set new rules about clocking in and out.’

‘We said we’d be honest with each other. I’m not going to turn a blind eye or tiptoe around you any more. You’ve had more than a pint.’

‘Yeah well, you’d drive any man to drink. I can’t stand your nag, nag, holier than thou attitude.’

Jennifer flinched. Colin felt an unstoppable wave of power and resentment surge through him. 

Sam: Dialogue

In an isolated cabin, miles from anywhere....
'Oh Colin, what a wonderful place!  I can't believe you've never told me about it before.'  Jennifer gushed excitedly.
'I wanted it to be a surprise, it's been in the family a long time,' Colin explained, 'I wanted to make sure you were the one before I brought you here,' he finished, fingering the photographs on the mantle.
'Well I certainly feel relaxed here, or maybe that's something to do with the wine,' Jennifer laughed.  'So am I the first girl of yours who's been here?'  she asked, half teasing.
Colin paused and turned his back to her, 'Well I didn't want to say, but there was another girl, but that was a long time ago.' he sighed.
'Oh, what first love?'
'Mm, yeah, something like that.'
'What was her name?'
'Crystal.  Crystal Jones.  We had a thing when we were younger, you know how these things go.'
'Crystal Jones?  I recognise that name.  Do I know her?'
'Nah, I doubt it.'
'No, I'm sure, yes, hang on, wasn't that the girl who went missing?'
'Well, yes, I'm afraid so.  Her body was found in the river not far from here.  It, it's hard to tell you but I thought you should know.'
'Oh God!  What a tragic way to lose someone, I'm so sorry.  You must have been devastated when you heard about it?  Was it an accident?'
'No Jennifer, that's what I wanted to tell you,' he said as he started toward her, 'it was no accident.'

Steve: Dialogue

The park bench was in dire need of a lick of paint, and the sky matched the dark grey of the pond in front of which Colin & Jennifer sat, a foot between them, not touching or facing each other.  A minute passed in silence between them, before Colin turned his head toward her,
'When were you going to tell me?' asked Colin,
'I tried', she replied, 'but you were always too busy, and the moment was never right.'  She looked away at the solitary dog walker in the distance.
'WHEN?'  he demanded, anger rising in his voice.  'When did you try?  When did you think the time would be right?'
'I don't know', said Jennifer on the verge of tears, 'but you don't know how hard it's been for me.'
'HARD FOR YOU!'
'YES!  HARD FOR ME!  IT'S MY BODY!'
Colin swallowed what was about to come out of his mouth and composed himself,
'Ok, when did you do it?'
'Two weeks ago on Monday.'
'While I was in London?'
'Yes.  In the morning.'
'Did it hurt?'
'A bit,' a pause, 'a lot actually.'
'Look Jen, I'm not angry, I'm upset that you never told me until after, don't I matter?'
'Course you do, you mean everything, just stop twisting it so it's all about you!'

Sandra: Dialogue

'Jennifer please get your dog under control' Colin shouted.
Jennifer called her unruly labrador back. 'Henry come'.
Henry looked at her and carried on sniffing the rear end of a rather attractive dobermann.
'Henry come' she pleaded.
Colin walked towards her 'No, no, no. that is no good at all.  You have to make yourself more interesting. Inject some enthusiasm into your voice'.
'It's no good is it? He is not going to leave that dog to come to me'.
'Watch and learn'.
Colin held up a titbit at shoulder height and running backwards called out in a voice reminiscent of a demented parrot. 'Hen-er-ry come'.
Henry looked up and ran at full pelt towards Colin who fed him the titbit.
'Good boy, What a good boy.  Treat and praise Jennifer, everytime treat and praise'.
'But..'
'No buts. Now get his lead on and walk him along the line of dogs. Do not allow him to pull you along'.
'How do I stop five stone of solid muscle from pulling?'
'Make him sit before you begin. You are forgetting the very basics. How do you expect him to remember if you don't'.
Colin raised his eyebrows in a way that Jennifer found intensly irritating
'Henry sit'.
Henry stood with one foot securely planted at each corner of his body.
'Henry sit'.
'No,no,no. never repeat a command. Ask him once and expect him to obey. You are the boss. Give him to me let me show you'.
Jennifer handed over the lead.
'Here you are boss'. she said as she turned smartly on her heel and walked out of the door.

Jacqueline: Unattributed dialogue

The house was larger than he'd expected and, as they drew up outside, he scanned the windows of the houses either side for evidence of the kind of people he didn't want as neighbours.  They sat, silently, for a few moments, both looking, watching, listening, thinking.

Jennifer spoke first.  "Looks good, doesn't it?"
"Mmm." he said.  "I s'pose so."
"Colin."  She spoke firmly now.  "This has literally landed in our lap.  We'd be mad not to..."
"Look at it?" he interrupted.
"I was going to say, take it!"
"Take it?  We're not even out of the car yet!"
"Well I can tell what it's like."
"How the hell can you tell?"
"It's the right street for a start...."
"And by the right street, you mean exactly.... what?"
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?"
"Yes.  You do.  We've talked about it."
"Wrong.  You've talked about it.  A lot.  I've listened."

She turned to look at him, and he saw her tight smile.   "Oh thanks." she said quietly.
She was hurt, but he really couldn't care less.  He just didn't want to to this.

SPEECH - Julie

‘Hard day at work, dear?’ Jennifer asked kindly, as Colin slumped down in his favourite arm chair.

‘I’ll say,’ he replied, ‘I’m cream-crackered.’

The front door slammed.

‘Is he going in or out?’ Colin asked, referring to their son who walked past the patio doors and waved.

‘He’s off out,’ Jennifer replied.

‘Why doesn’t he pull his jeans up properly?’

‘It’s the fashion, dear, they all wear them like that.’

‘He’ll never get a job dressed like that.’

‘I’m not sure he wants a job.  You know he’s waiting to see if he can get on that DJ course.’

‘DJ course?  And who’s going to pay for that, then?’

‘Well I suppose we will.  He doesn’t cost us a lot, he hardly ever eats here, and he doesn’t make much washing.’

‘You can say that again, he must have had those same jeans on for weeks.’

‘Oh, Colin, you’ll always on his case.  You know he has an allergy to detergent.’

‘An allergy to work, more like.’

‘Maybe only if it’s in a detergent factory!’

Tony: comma splices (Rushton's proposal)

Pamela sat reading in the blue armchair, Rushton walked up to her slowly, and stood beside her.

“As I’m here, well, to be honest, I wanted to ask you - if you would like to be my wife”, he said, he felt this was not quite the tone he had intended.

Pamela sat with her face still lowered, he noticed, however, that her eyes had closed briefly.

At last she turned towards him, with a smile which made him tremble, “Yes, John, you know I would,” she whispered, softly, simply and quietly.

The comma splice. Ros

That which she had most feared had come to pass, she could not pretend anymore.  In once sense it was a relief, she hadn't realised, until now, the toll which secrecy had taken. Whatever happened she couldn't turn the clock back, Holly wouldn't let her forget. She slumped in the chair, all colour drained from her face. 

Sue: comma splices

Lila hurriedly finished her packing, Charlotte was waiting for her in the car. Lila took a last look around her trailer, she was both excited and scared.  The steps she took towards the car seemed the most perilous of her life and more dangerous than any of her tightrope walks, her future was unrehearsed.

Charlotte opened the car door, Lila ran the last few metres as if completing a marathon, Charlotte turned on the ignition and Lila’s new life started.

 .............

 I found this exercise difficult, especially when trying for bad, but also acceptably readable if the comma splices were corrected. I wanted to add more detail, using allowed commas. (In my view, a "correct" version of this would sound like a Janet and John type narrative!). I also wish I had been taught grammar when at school...

Sandra - The dreaded comma splice!!

Fred walked impatiently along the street. It had started to rain, he turned up his collar and pulled down his cap. May was late, he wondered whether she would turn up at all.  He was just at the point of turning back for home, when he heard his name being called and the click-clack of May's heels on the pavement. Fred turned  to meet her and noticed that she was crying.

Using the comma splice - Hilary

Ellen was angry, she watched as Jason sauntered down the path and jumped into the Landrover.

She had tried hard to convince him that Carrie would be ok, her sister was in the hospital with her and he didn’t need to go there, Ellen had not, it seems, tried hard enough.

The tickets for their Paris trip lay on the bed where Jason had flung them, she gazed around the room, holding back the tears that were welling up, however much she told herself that he was only concerned for Carries welfare, she knew at that moment that she was wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This felt  very awkward as I was doing it. I found this quite a difficult exercise, not for the comma splicing, but because of all the other comma's that I needed to complete the piece and have it make any sense at all!

Julie - Comma Splice

Cassie walked up the path towards the imposing brick house, her heart pounded in her chest.  This was the moment of truth, nothing would ever be the same again.  She felt the piece of paper, deep in the pocket of her coat, she knew the address off by heart – 52 Belmont Gardens, Northwick.  The door was painted bright red, with a shaking hand she reached out and pushed the bell.

Peter--Four Comma Splice Sentences

Old Ted reached for his gun, Rover's big eyes were begging for mercy.

Slowly Ted loaded the rifle, the door blew open.

The ghost of Giles the gamekeeper came into the cabin, Rover shook with fear.

Terrified Ted cried aloud, Rover raced to freedom.

Tony: the end of the Rushton novel

The end of the novel (as envisaged!) involves a transition of mood.  To begin with, Rushton is depressed – death is seen as a threat, the “enemy”.  Then he decides to give up thinking about death and what might (or might not) come after it.  The imminence of some kind of “end” prompts him to give life the final say – he can gather together the things of his life which “endure”.  He contemplates these things as an end in themselves, rather than stages on the way to the end.  So those experiences, places and persons become objects of contemplation, and a source of fulfilment.

[What follows is a rough draft of the end of the novel(!)]

The night was growing upon him, the early March night, with its tantalizing promise of spring.  He would not see the morning.  He would not see the new day.  The night beyond the high hospital windows was dark.  He no longer cared.  He knew, now, the things that were – those things which he had dug up out of the vast treasury of the past.

The windows, the faces, the conversations, the seasons, the landscapes.  An offer accepted, a decision made.  The woman who had loved him ….

His breathing had slowed.  The machines around his failing body would be stirred into life - the depths of the night would be stirred by the sounds and voices of alarm.  They would come, the men and the women, still fit for another day, ready for the touch of the sun and the ticking of the clock.  They would do what they could.  They would goad his weakening heart, bring in machines to rouse his fading body – they would strip him naked as a baby – they would try their best.  For them, it would seem like a failure – he knew that well enough.  They would reject it, then, his useless, failed body - they would register another death.

Against such an ending, he would do what he could.  He would rest, now, in the life he had regained.  To summon up those boundless days and nights!  Yes, he would call upon them now, and feel in his heart, once more, the wonder and the joy ….

Sandra: Ending (with guest appearance of apple).

Sarah turned sharply into the gravel drive of Oakdene residential home and looked for a space to park.  There were several cars parked in the parking area - including two police cars but thank goodness, there were a few empty spaces this afternoon.
She had been in the middle of composing a complicated report when her phone rang.  Sarah glanced at the phone annoyed at the interuption, she had asked her secretary to field off all calls.
"Sorry to intrude Sarah", her secretary Jane said apologetically "But the lady said she needs to speak to you urgently its Claire Dewbery and its regarding your grandmother."
"Put her through, Jane"  Sarah replied.
Claire Dewbery was the manager of Oakdene, where Sarah's grandmother had lived for the last year  after
Sarah had decided that it was no longer safe for May to stay by herself in her cottage. May had become very
forgetful and confused.Though she was still remarkably mobile for her ninety one years, Sarah was worried that she would leave the oven or the taps on and had found a place for May at the prestigous Oakdene.  Sarah wondered what the problem was, May had seemed fine when Sarah saw her at the weekend.
" I am sorry to trouble you Sarah but I am afraid I have to advise you that your Grandmother is missing!"
"Missing", Sarah repeated back to her incredulously. "What do you mean, missing?"
Claire hesitated " Well, she asked for breakfast in her room this morning and seemed well and happy.  The carer went up to her room to collect her breakfast things and her breakfast was untouched.  May was not
in her room but we were not unduly concerned as she often goes for a stroll in the garden in the morning.
It was not till lunchtime that we started to get a bit concerned and it then transpired that no-one  had seen her since early morning.  We searched the house and the grounds but there was no sign of her , so I am afraid I have had to call the police. I have two officers here with me now, who would like to speak to you as soon as possible are you able to come here now?"
"Yes,yes of course. I am on my way". Sarah replied, trying to collate all this information in her head.
Sarah grabbed her coat and picked up the apple she had bought in for her lunch but had been too busy to eat and ran out of the office to her car.
Sarah drove as quicly as she dared and all the while her eyes were scanning the passing landscapes looking
for some sign of her grandmother. 'Where was she? Had she fallen? Was she hurt? God forbid, was she already dead?'
As Sarah ran up to the heavy front door it clicked openn and Claire beckoned her into the office where two police officers were waiting.
"This is May's grandaughter Sarah Hewitt". Claire introduced her.  One of the officers got up from the chair
where he was sitting and offered Sarah his seat.
The officers tried to reassure Sarah that everything possible was being done to find May. A full search had been organized and police dogs would be arriving soon to start tracking the area. "Do you have any idea where she might have gone?. One of them asked< any favourite place where she liked to go?".
Sarah shook her head, she was baffled. May had never wandered off before.  She had seemed happy in the home.  Try as she might Sarah could not think where May might have gone.

========================================================================

May looked at the calender and wondered why she had drawn a circle in red pen around the date 'February 16th'. She shook her head several times trying to shake the fog that clouded her thoughts.
'I know, she thought. It's  my Freds birthday and I haven't got him a present.  May fumbled in her underwear drawer scattering  bras, knickers and stockings over the floor till she found her purse; which she had carefully hidden at the back of the drawer.  She opened the purse £1.52 and a book of six postage stamps.
May thought she should leave anote for Sarah, if she got home from school before May got back she would worry.
With a shaky hand, but perfect copperplate handwriting May wrote on the back of a brown envelope which was all she could find.
'Dear Sarah,
I have gone to buy a birthday present for your Grandad. We will have sauusages for tea, you know how Fred loves his sausages. Be a dear and peel the potatos for me.
Love Gran xx'. 
May then put the envelope in the back of the drawer and piled her underwear back in front of it, picked up her purse and shutting her room door softly walked out through the dining room and conservatory into the back garden.
She shivered as she closed the door behind her. She had forgotten her coat. May walked across the lawn to the yew hedge. The grass was wet and soon soaked through her pink slippers.  May looked with disgust at the wet stain creeping across the top of her slippers. 'I shall have to dry these in front of the fire', she thought.
May pushed her way through the gap in the hedge into the ploughed field. Now the wet clay soil clung to her slippers and each step was harder and harder.
May did not know how she came to be laying on the ground. She made one attempt to get up, but it was futile.Her hands grabbed at the soil and she held it close to her nose. She knew that smell of earth it reminded her of her garden. Full of lupins and roses, clumps of fragrant herbs scattered amongst the flowers.  May could hear the birds singing and then from behind the clouds the wintery February sun shone down on her briefly  and May was truly happy.
But why was she here? She had something important to do but what?
She managed to lift her head and there he was, her Fred, in his best suit smiling at her. 'Happy Birthday, my love' she whispered, 'Sausages for tea, tonight' and then May laid down and slept.

Jacqueline: apple/ending

"Jack, is that you?" All she can hear is static.  She waits.  "Jack?" 

The crackling on the line goes on, and she strains to hear his voice because she knows it's him.  Reluctantly, she presses 'end call'.  She walks back into the studio, phone on hand, wishing she'd brought it in with her when she'd started.  How long did the phone ring before she'd heard it?  If she's got there quicker, the bloody line might have been better.

She looks at the clay form, turns it slowly on its turntable.  It dawns on her that it looks like an enormous apple, which it patently shouldn't.  She picks it up and feels its weight.  She hasn't hollowed it out yet, and it's satisfyingly heavy.  She holds it in her left hand and with the other, feels its dry, carved smoothness.  She places it back carefully on its board, picks up the phone, and carries it back through the kitchen into the hall, and listens to the silence of the house for a few moments.  A photograph hangs above the hall table.  It's a scene of almost impossible beauty: mountains bathed in gentle evening light; a green slope of vegetation, and a familiar figure standing at its edge, above him three small words written in black.  "Peru and me!"  She  looks at the photo and smiles at his disbelief.

She thinks for a moment about going back to the clay apple, but instead, begins the walk upstairs.  The truth is that she doesn't know what she wants to do.  She's waiting, of course.  Halfway up, the phone rings again.

"Jack?"
"Hi Ma.  How's it going?"  She laughs in relief.
"Great!" she says, though of course it isn't true.  "How are you?"
"Good!", he says.  "..can't stop though.  Taken me ages to find a phone that works, then I couldn't get through..."  The line begins an ominous crackle.  "...email you....get to.......tomorrow."
"OK!" she shouts, not really understanding, and the line goes dead.

She sits, phone in hand, on the top stair, and thinks about Jack in Peru until evening gloom envelopes the house.  She hauls herself to her feet, pads into the main bedroom, and flicks on the light switch.  She walks to the oak chest, opens the top drawer, and rummages through the loose photographs until she finds what she wants.  She switches off the light, and goes downstairs into the studio, finds sellotape, and tapes the photo to the wall facing her workbench.

She sits down, and in the near dark, concentrates on the face of the man in front of her.  She remembers taking the photograph.  It had been a conscious act.  She knew that one day, she'd want to remember.  Today was that day.  She picks up the clay form in her hand, and feels its weight again.  She breathes deeply, whispers "Goodbye Robert.", then hurls the clay with such force that it explodes into fragments.  Bullseye.  She allows the laugh to escape, then pulls a new piece of clay towards her, picks up the carving tool, and begins work.

Middle strands and possible ending: Sue

Middle bits and strands

Charlotte and Martin have come to terms with the realisation that their circus life has almost brought them full circle. Skills the circus wants and needs are ones that they excelled at in their old lives – organising, planning, running workshops, teaching, dealing with paperwork, finances and bureaucracy.

They are happy to be accepted and valued in their circus community. They love the freedom of travelling and of living an alternative lifestyle. They no longer take on interim work as they are committed to their “new” life.

Martin is increasingly asked to stand in for the ringmaster and circus owner, Alex who wants to retire. The circus has expanded; bookings and takings are up.

Their real life families, over the years, have accepted that this is what makes Charlotte and Martin happy but communication has been difficult. Contact has recently increased, as Martin’s Mother has heart problems, so they have visited her in hospital and taken time out from the circus to care for her.

Lila, in the sub plot, has run away from the circus and is happily employed as a traveller liaison officer in Somerset, where she has settled and enjoys life in the “real world”; she has sporadic contact with Alex, and with Charlotte who helped her escape from circus life and enabled her to pursue her dreams. Alex misses his (only) daughter and has never come to terms with her decision to leave the circus.

Climax  

Martin’s Mother dies, he was not there at her death, feels guilty that she died alone and that he did not do enough to support her.

Martin and Charlotte think about how their current life will pan out in their old age.

Martin feels that he should provide Charlotte with a more secure and stable future; Charlotte has an opposite reaction, wanting to make the most of life whilst they are fit and able. They go back to old arguments about lifestyles, norms, stability, freedom, expectations and obligations, financial security and agreement to a middle way.

Martin has been bequeathed the family house and has to decide what to do with it.

Alex sets out to persuade Lila to take over from him when he retires, Lila resists.

 Immediate Outcomes

Martin decides to rent the house and keep it as a pension plan and secure asset. Charlotte is angry at Martin’s decision, as she wants him to sell the house and persuade Alex to let them invest in the circus in return for them becoming part owners, or taking a share of the increased profits.

Lila is persuaded, against her initial wishes but in the interests of doing the right thing, to accept her natural inheritance, take over from Alex and keep the circus in the family. Alex signs over the circus to Lila who is welcomed back with open arms and becomes increasingly convinced she has made the “right” choice, despite feeling somewhat unhappy in her new role. 

Alex is concerned at her lack of recent experience and keeps interfering, unable to let go. Both he and Lila increasingly turn to Martin and Charlotte as sources of advice and arbitrators of clashing decisions.

 Denouement

Lila and Alex ask Charlotte and Martin if they would be prepared to buy them out and take over the circus.

Martin and Charlotte agree, but only if they can take over completely and change the circus family name to theirs. They sell the house to invest in the circus.

Alex takes his proceeds from the sale, which fund his retirement and opens up opportunities of a new life beyond the confines of the circus.

Lila happily stays with the circus, taking on educational workshop planning and community liaison roles, working alongside Charlotte and Martin to combine, build upon and share their collective skills and experiences in and outside the ring.

 Wrapping up

Stunning, final end paragraph/sentences yet to be written!

Hilary - Ending - apple based

Ellen had gone. She had left Carrie sitting on a bench at the edge of the park as dusk came. Carrie reflected on her mother's final words to her before she left.

" I thought you were the worst thing that could have happened to me, I know now that you were the best thing in my life"

Absent mindedly, Carrie fingered the tiny gold apple that hung round her neck. It was a promise from Josh that one day she would see the big one with him. New York. He had given it to her the day he left the apartment. He  would, she knew, come back someday. Meanwhile as she watched the shadows creep slowly over the green carpet of grass, enveloping the neat flower beds, the nodding tulips hanging their heads for the night, she realised with a relief that overwhelmed her, that the birds had ceased their relentless chirping.

Julie - The End

Cassie finally gets an address for her natural mother, Christine, and goes to her house.  (I’m considering that the novel may begin with Cassie’s journey to the house and the door starting to open, with mystery surrounding where she is going, why, and who opens the door….)   The surprise is that Cassie’s natural father is there, and it is not who Cassie (and the reader) has been led to think it will be.  Cassie is shocked and angered that she had not been told the truth sooner and walks out.  She goes home to her husband (her first love, Joe, with whom she has become reunited earlier in the book and had a child).  She gets a letter/phone call from Christine begging her to make it up with her father.  Christine says she did not forgive her own father for not letting her keep the baby (Cassie) and he died before she had the chance to make it up to him.  Cassie realises that all that she has now she owes to forgiveness, because when she met up with Joe again he forgave her for splitting up with him over a misunderstanding years before.  The book ends with Cassie reaching out for the phone to ring her father (or him answering the phone and Cassie saying ‘Hello Dad, it’s me…’)

Peter--Ending with an Apple

Midnight and the eve of St. Gelig.  Two forlorn figures, a man and a woman, walk slowly along the deserted promenade.  In the night sky above, occasionally the troubled light of the moon breaks through, casting pale shadows amidst the  swirling cloud.  Across the overcast beach the sea lies lost, impenetrable.. 

Supporting each other, the couple move like grief-stricken mourners following an invisible hearse.  They progress past a row of beach huts and sombre dunes until they reach the formidable iron gates of the pier and their supporting brick alcoves.  Sobbing, the woman bends and, with the aid of her husband, attaches a bouquet to the metal bars.  A card lies in the centre of the deep red roses:

                                         In memory of Ned, our beloved son

                                         Who disappeared here on St. Gelig’s Day 20l0.

                                         You will never vanish from our hearts.

Retreating a few paces, they hold each other close.  Only the murmur of the wind and the sound of the  sea breaking rhythmically on the shore can be heard.

Suddenly, a shadowy movement in the overcast alcove catches their eye.  The woman gasps,  her husband clutches her.  “Good God!  Who is it?  Peering forward in the dark recess of the alcove, they can now make out the crooked shape of an old crone squatting in front of a basket.  Her head slightly bowed, she is lost in a black shawl from which only her two bony hands protrude. The right one is clenched, the palm of the left wide open.

Puzzled, the man disengages from his wife, desperately feeling his pockets. He has nothing, nothing at all  but a small red apple.  He stares at it apologetically and places it  in the open  palm.  Without looking up, the crone, extending her arm, opens the  fingers of the right hand to reveal a key on a red ribbon. Without questioning, the  man takes it and as he does so the woman points to the gate.

Momentarily the couple look at each other; the woman nods.  The gate creaks as they enter the pier.  Not knowing what they are doing or why, slowly they advance like a couple of trespassers, each step making  a dull thud on the bare boards.  A sea mist is growing about  them, drifting like ghosts across the pier, and the boathouse at the far end is soon lost to view. They hesitate.  As they stand, perplexed and indecisive, the moon suddenly breaks through, casting  a bright glow.  Within the fog, shadows seem to be dancing and then a figure slowly emerges and walks towards them.

The woman cranes her head.  The fear and pain on her face gradually dissolving as her eyes  light up and she races forward crying.  “Ned.  NED!   NED!”   

                                        

Tony: The banana

[set in one “house” of a boys’ boarding school – an evening in term-time – “settler” was the lowest position of authority which a senior boy could hold]

“Who drew on this banana?” asked Mason in distress.

The evening “preparation” period should have started, but there was no sign of the settler on duty.  A lively commotion held sway in the junior houseroom - not unusual for this time of day, with the evening meal just consumed, and no great desire to sit around in silence.

The main door of the houseroom opened, and Rawlings, the settler, entered.  A general chorus of giggles from the junior boys accompanied Rawlings wherever he went, and tonight was no exception.  He strolled forwards and set a chair beside the table-tennis table, on which he deposited some books.

“What’s going on here?  Some sort of trouble?” he asked languidly.

“Mason’s banana has been, er… defaced,” said Stewart.  “It’s unacceptable.”

Rawlings examined the banana.

“It portrays part of the human anatomy,” he observed, after turning the object this way and that.

“Ah, but which part?” a voice chimed in.

“That,” answered Rawlings, “should not require much thought.”

“Is it still edible?” asked Mason, wistfully.

“We’ll preserve it,” said Rawlings, emphatically.  “Perhaps the artist responsible will come forward?”

He cradled the banana carefully in his hands, and placed it on the table next to his books.

“Right, to work!” he uttered, dramatically.

A number of sighs were heaved, and with much thumping of books on desks, and clattering of pens, junior prep was begun.  A silence descended at last – too studious a silence to endure very long: a brooding atmosphere of concentration and virtuous thought.

At what point the operation to retrieve the banana was conceived, no-one could establish precisely.  The banana lay there, enticingly uneaten, behind Rawlings’ head, as he sat back in his chair, reading a large colourful book on the Russian ballet, periodically prodding his nose with the knuckle of one finger.

Any great subtlety might not have been expected from boys of this age, but, as things turned out, Rawlings was easy enough prey.

“You’re good at spelling, aren’t you, William?” Peverel enquired very meekly.

“My name is Rawlings during study periods,” was the measured reply.  “What is the word?”

“’Claustrophobia’.  Does this look right to you?”  Peverel took the neatly-written exercise book from his desk, and walked over to Rawlings, who sat casually sprawled on his chair, his eyebrows raised in a look of mild enquiry.

Peverel showed him the book.

“Does it look right?” he asked.

“No.  There are too many ‘o’s.”

"Too many ‘0’s?  O…. dear!” Peverel spoke deliberately slowly.  Another bout of giggles broke out – meanwhile, Mason, creeping on pointed feet, slipped quietly behind Rawlings’ chair, and expertly lifted the banana from the table with one hand.

“How many ‘o’s should there be?” pursued Peverel, mellifluously.

“As many as required,” answered Rawlings obstinately.  “Who’s got a dictionary?”

At this point, the main door of the houseroom opened, and Charlton, the housemaster, appeared.  He was in what was generally known as his “evening mood”, nonchalantly holding a pipe in his hand, and gazing with observant eyes around him.  He suddenly smiled, and walked towards the table where Rawlings was sitting.

“I left the book in your study, William,” he said, mildly.

“Thank you, sir,” answered Rawlings, rubbing his eyes slowly.  “I look forward to reading it.”

“Everything going smoothly here?” Charlton enquired, gazing at the quiet, studious faces.

“I think so, sir.”

Rawlings, remembering the banana, searched the table closely with his eyes.  He stared severely at Peverel, who was still beside him.

Charlton raised his eyebrows.  “Anything wrong?”  he asked.

“Just the question of some spelling, sir,” Rawlings answered wryly.  “The number of ‘n’s in ‘banana’.  I think a dictionary should resolve the matter.”

“Very well.  Keep up the good work.”  Charlton puffed on his pipe for a moment – then, as was his wont, he nodded briefly, and strode off quickly, looking neither to right nor to left.  The rich aroma of fine tobacco rose in a cloud behind him.

Hilary - Who drew on this Banana?

“Who drew on this banana?” . Francine giggled as she picked up a large banana from the pile on the stall.  

“I can see a face on it– It’s you Louis” she screeched  as she whirled round in the middle of the fruit market, twirling the banana between her fingers.

 “ OK,” she giggled again, throwing an accusatory look at a middle aged couple who were walking by  “ It was you two dope heads wasn’t it?” she wiggled the banana in front of the man’s face as she spoke. The pair hurried by, heads down, not wanting to engage in any conversation with the unhinged and unkempt teenager who stood in front of them transferring her weight from one foot to the other in a peculiar little dance. Her eyes were like black pools and her head lolled to one side.

“Francine, stop it” said Louis. “ There is nothing on the banana – it’s just a banana!” Louis tried to grab it back, looking apologetically at the stall holder, who by now was gesturing and shouting in an Eastern European voice” You want that fruit, you pay for it!”

“Come here Francine” Louis grabbed at her wrist and whispered in her ear

 “ You've  not come down yet. Let’s go back to the apartment and relax”

Francine looked at Louis, her eyes filled with tears. Her legs began to buckle as she put her full weight against Louis’ rough jacket. “ I want to go home, I want Maman” She wailed.

Louis knew that both their paths were already drawn out for them. He held her close to him. “Your Maman is not here Francie" he said quietly ." We will go home now Francie. We won’t have to worry about anything anymore”. The stall holder muttered something in Polish as he grabbed the fruit from Francine's limp hand.

Louis swore at him and put a protective arm around Francine's waist as he half carried her down the dirty and stinking alleyway towards the apartment they shared with Jean. The alley was where the stallholders left their stalls when the market closed for the evening. The smell of rotting food was overpowering, yet sometimes, it was the source of a meal to Francine and Louis. He sighed deeply as he recognised the depths to which they had both sunk as a result of their stupidity and greed.

Jean opened the apartment door and Louis deftly lifted Francines inert body over the steep threshold.

" How is she?" asked Jean, taking one of Francine's arms " Mon Dieu! You two are crazy people. Why are you doing this? You were supposed to stock the cargo, not use it " The anger in Jean's voice aroused Francine who was violently sick as they stood in the hallway.

Above her groaning Louis turned to Jean shouting " Tell that to The Canadian!"

Hilary -New character – subplot

Louis Arnaud pulled his coat around his thin frame as he walked past the grey apartment blocks which rose up either side of the walkway. This was a desolate place to visit after dusk.

He looked around him, his eyes darting from one doorway to another. He had hurriedly arranged the meeting with his dealer as he could see Francine losing the plot as she developed the cravings again. The muttering, the ridiculous gurning of the mouth and the shaking were all symptomatic of her need to shoot up. He knew them well. His own needs were even greater and he had lost count of the times he had lifted a purse or a wallet, or done even worse things, things he did not want to think about.

They were sharks, the dealers. They preyed on people like him and Francine. They got you hooked then left you to dangle on the end of their bloody hooks until they saw fit to reel you in for payment and more of the same.

Louis got to the meeting point and tried to ignore the smell of piss in the doorway and the discarded wraps. Some of his friends took their gear with them because they were unable to wait for their next fix until they got back to the safety of their own homes. They would sit amongst the filth and needles and shoot up there -  in the doorway. ‘God, that’s sick’  thought Louis.

“Hey, Louis”. A familiar voice shook him out of his thoughts and back to the present. The Canadian looked straight at him. “ You need some help man?”

************************************************************************

The subplot follows the French connection ( no pun intended!) and Josh’s links with Louis. Which may not be as they first appear.