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"INVISIBLE"
AN EXTRACT FROM ACT ONE.
it is Cherry's wedding night and she is waiting for her husband to be Den. he problems are all ib the future but her first monologue gives clues as to what is in store.
"Invisible" is about doemstic violene and one couple in particular; their parents and friends and the consequences of it on all of them. It is intended to be a two-hander along similar lines to Jim Cartwright's "To"..
You thought you were invisible,
For no-one one saw your pain.
Didn’t see the fear.
Didn’t hear the threat.
Didn’t feel you hope ---- in vain.
You tried to be invisible,
It seemed the way to cope.
It blocked all pain.
It blocked all sense.
It blocked all life ---- and hope.
WEDDING NIGHT
As she sings and sways the actor takes her hand from her pockets and begins to waltz with an imaginary partner, squealing with delight as she sings. After a few steps she throws off the bathrobe and lets it fall where she stands. She kicks it away and still singing and waltzing makes her way over to the chest. Opening it she removes a beautiful white wedding dress. She is wearing a midi length white satin slip over what we can now see are white stockings. From the chest she takes a wedding wreath and puts it over her hair.
As she picks up the dress and begins to dance with it in sheer joy the actor becomes Cherry, all giggly and excited and a little tipsy on her wedding night.
CHERRY The happiest day of your life they say – so I’m waiting for it to happen.
I’ve had butterflies in my tummy so big they’ve made me feel sick and I don’t think that would have gone down too well in the church.
It’s all the champagne has made me tiddly so now at least I’ve stopped feeling sick and didn’t have much to eat at the reception so Den was worried and teased me in front of everyone that I might be pregnant and that didn’t go down too well with his mum but then nothing would. Face on her like a wet weekend in Cleethorpes and I’ve seen enough of them.
Still I wasn’t going to let her and her little bit of shit on her shoe looks ruin my perfect day. He’s going to have to stand up to her sooner or later as well but let’s not spoil it. This is going to be the best bit. Just me and him and I want it all clean and new so that I can – you know – pretend I’m as fresh as the sheets.
That’s when he’s finished drinking with his mates. If he can tear himself away for long enough.
I told him – when we’re married he’s going to have to --- . But I don’t want to ruin it.
I love him. I really love him. I can’t imagine ever ever loving anyone more.
I live for his touch – on me – in me – all over me. And he’ll learn – y’know – what I want. He’s often tired after work – after the pub.
Wistfully. If he could just touch me a bit more first.
He is trying. He really is.
She grabs the dress again and begins to dance with it.
I’m so excited. You should see the house. I can hardly wait to move in.
And because he’s in the trade and knows lots of mates in it he’s been able to save money and get things done as favours. And none of it’s cheap. None of it’s tat.
A proper palace he calls it. “A Palace for my Princess”.
You should have seen his face when he showed me round last week. He’d been keeping me away until then you see. Big surprise until it’s all ready and I almost wet myself with excitement when I finally saw it.
He’d given his mum and dad a sneaky look or two of course. But you try stopping her getting what she wants.
But I don’t want to ruin it.
I suppose I’d better go and do something. Have a shower. Turn back the sheets. Lay out the box of Black Magic or whatever. Just for something to do. Just to show willing. He could be ages yet.
I should have stayed down there with the girls for a bit but I was feeling a bit tiddly and a bit heady and Joan his mum said I ought to go and have a lie down before I made a show of myself and I thought it was a good idea.
But now I feel a bit daft. Bride wandering around in sexy underwear without anyone to take it off her. I’ve got this weird urge to find my oldest dressing gown and my teddy bear and go to bed early with a good book.
Might as well. He’ll be a good while yet.
Oh why am I being so daft? Why did I let her tell me what to do again? I could be down there with Debs and Claire and Carlie and the rest and having a good time and then we could come up together and we’d both be sort of even then.
Sighs and sits rather abruptly on the edge of the bed.
But I don’t want to ruin it. I really don’t. He might surprise me. He might be early and leave off his mates for once. After all we don’t get married every day.
It was nothing like in the films either I didn’t keep him waiting. Dad’s always been good at timekeeping and he must have checked the Rolls over at least ten times before we left.
Rolls. Sorry - should have said Nissan Bluebird. Not got quite the same ring to it has it but he got it into his head about mum didn’t he and he had it cleaned “til it gleaned. It wasn’t that he was some cheap skate either, like Joan kept on saying.
Wistfully. I would have liked a Rolls though. Or a Merc.
Suddenly laughing. Or even a soft top two seater with just me and dad and me in my scarf and sunglasses like some mysterious film star – what was that Swedish one called yonks ago who never wanted to be alone.. Or Grace Kelly. I love her films and she was a real princess with a proper palace that wasn’t just finished by the time she had her fairy tale wedding to an, admittedly, older bloke. But full of special things just for her I bet.
My dad said that if it was him marrying me instead of Den he’d give me the whole world if he could. I know what he meant but it felt a bit funny.
But there was a moment – just before we got out of the car when he patted my hand and then squeezed my hand for that “here we go – this is it – no turning back” bit, and I just wanted him to pull me back into the car and speed me away and take me back to my childhood where it was safe and I could still play with dolls and make up silly names for things and it was a treat to stay up and watch stuff on Friday night.
I love my dad. He’s been everything to me since mum died and he says he’s going to be fine without me and I know I’ll phone him every night and go round at weekends but I’m going to be so far away and I should drive the car more if Den would let me ‘cos I’m a wee bit of a nervous driver. I just do round the corner and to the shop trips and Den’s car is much bigger than the one I learnt in and he doesn’t like it scratched.
Dad says that if Den ever lays a finger on me he’ll be round there like a shot and lay him out. And I believe him. He says he hates that more than anything because of what Cousin Jackie went through.
I wish he was happier about my marrying Den.
I so want a ciggie at the moment but I’m trying to hold off just now and I know I’d just have to be half through smoking it and I’d hear the lift coming up and wouldn’t have chance to clean my teeth and he’d be that mad.
I mean I try – I really do but it’s not easy and he should know. I don’t see why if I can put up with his stinky breath he can complain about mine. Another thing Joan’s been wheedling at him I daresay but I noticed she had them out her handbag as soon as we got out the church.
I thought the smoking ban would have helped but it’s made things worse really and I should know ‘cos until recently I was doing three nights at the pub and I’m going to miss it – it was a real laugh and you get some right characters. But Den says there’ll be plenty for me to do at the house and besides he’s got me this plasma tv so I can watch all the soaps I want.
I’ll find things to do though. I’m sure I will. And he’ll be in some nights. Especially if they get knocked out the darts early this year.
I was dead upset about the china dog. I was never that fond of it but I know how much mum was and dad tried to hide it but I could see he was trying not to cry. Must have been such a shock for him. Ugly thing – but it meant a lot.
Den said he didn’t mean for me to fall and I believe him. We were just larking about a bit and it got out of hand. I can’t remember what it was I said but he just got up so suddenly it took me by surprise and I must have just tripped over the rug because I ended up in the fireplace and giving my head a hell of a thump on the mantelpiece. I don’t know how the dog got broken but Den says I must have brushed it when I fell and I’ve always been clumsy. It was in that many pieces there was no chance of glueing it back together again.
I didn’t invite Den round after that and he wasn’t that bothered about coming so that didn’t matter, did it. He said he was getting sick of dad’s funny looks.
Oh listen to me going on about all that old crap on my wedding night. Look at all the things I’ve got to look forward to. Giggles. And not just on the wedding night either.
I’ll want for nothing. He’s told me that. He’s not short of money is Den and he doesn’t want dad putting his hand in his pocket anymore. I’m his princess now.
With her very own perfect palace.
Suddenly attentive.
Oh bless him. He said he wouldn’t be long and he wasn’t. The lure of the bride in her sexy underwear must have proved too much.
Oh well best go and dab on the Chanel Number 5 and set bout reminding him why I’m worth it. Good job I didn’t have that ciggie wasn’t it?
COPYRIGHT STEPHEN J. W. GLADWIN 2010
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'SINGING HEAD" CHAPTER ONE
Tony lives with his dad and sister Sophie in a small Welsh village in the Vyrnwy Valley. His mother had died the previous year and he misses her. Because he has spent a lot of his time in Sheffield he is teased at the village school by two bullies called Chris Lord and "The Weasel".
But Tony is about to meet a new and mysterious friend who will change everything.
Tony had never quite got trees. He’d never been able to see what the
fuss was about. As far as he was concerned there were loads of them and
they never did anything more than just stand there.
He had felt that way about trees before they had moved to Wales and had felt it even more since..
After mum died there was of course one less of them and no need for
such a big house, dad had said. Apparently what they needed to do now
was to “downsize” - whatever that meant.
Tony did however like the village they’d moved to. He liked the fields
at the back which were full of either sheep or cows depending on what
time of year it was. He liked all the odd and different types of houses
from different periods of history on both sides of the street and he
liked the post master’s liver coloured dog.
Weirdly he liked the churchyard, which they said was the biggest in
Wales, most of all. He liked it right from the start and it quickly
became a second home to him; that one special place where he could
explore and imagine himself lost, where he could tell himself stories
and forget who he was for a while.
It didn’t bother him that the place was full of graves and that that
brought his mum’s death closer to home. Instead he was sort of
comforted by all the old stone and the trailing ivy, and he felt
something like protection from the two great yew trees which formed a
nicely overgrown archway on one side of the church.
Quite often Tony would take a book with him and, sit himself outside on
one of the memorial benches near to the newer family plots. People
coming to lay flowers for their loved ones grew used to seeing him in
the late afternoons and early evenings, and soon an embarrassed nod
became a cheery wave, until finally Tony, (never confident with new
people), was all “how are you” and “Nice days”.
Most days though he spent time with the one special tree; staring at it
and the little brook over which it daintily stretched its roots -
telling it about his life and how rotten it had become since mum died..
He had no idea what made this tree feel special. Maybe it was because
this was the place he’d ended up after that first time; the business
with Chris Lord and the maths book, and he’d had to let it all out to
someone, hadn’t he?
School had been a big problem here right from the start and was so
different from the one he’d left and had got so used to. Wrenched out
halfway through his last year to go and live with his grandad in
Ireland while his mother was ill,, which meant that he had to then
repeat his final year in a new school with no friends and none of the
things or places he remembered.
You’d have thought that a tiny village school of only two classes and
40 plus pupils would have been a piece of cake really but it hadn’t
turned out that way at all. Tony was English, and although often being
English in a Welsh school didn’t matter, if you were new as well it did.
Chris Lord made it matter. He and the kid with the sticking out teeth
who was his sidekick - Owen by name but everyone called him “the
weasel” behind his back, (but not to his face because of Chris Lord).
Chris and Owen. They were it. Everyone knew that.
Chris was one of those lads who always looked to be on the point of
bursting. Because of his red bursting face out of which two piggy eyes
were almost popping - because of his belly threatening to burst over
his belt at any minute - because of the two gorilla like arms with the
red ham hands on the end which looked as if they were bursting to punch
the next person who upset him..
Chris’s lived with his parents, four brothers and two sisters in
several converted mobile homes on the permanent site where his dad did
odd jobs and was the sort of caretaker cum security guard. They said
Chris’s parents had given up trying to control him. The class teacher
Miss Davies had never really tried, and never seemed to notice what he
and Owen got up to. That was one of the main reasons everyone called
her “Dizzy Davies”.
It was Tony’s strong northern accent which had given him the perfect
excuse to become Chris Lord’s latest victim. The third day he’d been
there it was, just after Tony had decided everything might be alright
in this odd little school after all. That was when the weasel had first
snorted his ratty laugh and pointed it out to the slower moving Chris.
“Can you hear him Chris? What does he sound like?”
“Clogger”, Chris had said and fifteen or so other kids had laughed with
relief that it wasn’t them. So a new nickname was born and with it a
fresh excuse for bullying.
That day Chris had ripped the maths book from his hand just at the end
of the lesson and then gone and stuffed it down the toilet. Without
thinking Tony had bent down to grab it back, and of course that was
when Chris had shoved his head down while Owen had hoisted his legs in
the air. He’d overbalanced panicking and then cracked his head on the
bowl struggling to get away.
Fifteen minutes after he’d left school with a plaster on his forehead
that he didn’t want his dad fussing over, Tony had his first
conversation with the little alder. Of course he didn’t know what kind
of tree it was then.
There were all varieties in the churchyard; scots pine, yew, hawthorn,
ash, elder, hazel and cherry. Tony didn’t know one from the other but
there was something about this one. He liked the fact that it wasn’t
very big and had only two real branches. He liked the reddish purple of
the bark. Best of all it had a face.
Tony had seen all of the “Lord of the Rings” films and finally after a
lot of protest his dad had bought him the DVD’s on condition he kept
them out of the way of 5 year old Sophie. Even though he’d never got
the point of trees Tony loved the section in the second film where the
trees came to life and swept away the machinery of the evil magician.
He knew what ents looked like and he thought his little purple tree had
an entish face.
There was a project that day in September at school in which you had to
choose something familiar and make it the cover image for a magazine.
Tony’s dad was an artist and he had offered all manner of suggestions
for what Tony might use, but he had already made up his mind. He had
taken a fallen twig from beneath the tree and stuck it in his school
bag so that you could see the top peeping out. Luckily the weasel was
off sick that day and Chris Lord spent most of the day groaning with
toothache.
The moment dopey Mrs Davies saw what Tony had brought in she clapped her hands with glee.
“You know what that is, don’t you Anthony? Where did you find it?”
“Er -- churchyard. Just by the stream there.”
“And isn’t it a lovely colour. “I know why the alder is purple coloured”
“Er sorry miss.”
“You know it’s an alder don’t you. The river tree?”
“I didn’t. Sorry miss - I was going to ask you.
And then she was off - going on for five minutes at least while Ceri
Watkins waited patiently to show off her feather collection and Kevin
West accidentally on purpose dropped a largish pebble from his box on
Calum’s toe.
Mrs Davies hardly noticed. All she did was twitter on about how the
alder was called the “Singing Head” tree and how it was all tied up
with some old Welsh tale about some nutter blinding horses and a
princess in Ireland having her ears boxed. There was something else
about a large head that entertained everyone for eighty years but Tony
had well and truly lost it by then.
He was pleased with the cover he came up with in the end, which he was
going to call “A Walk Around Our Churchyard”. He quickly realised he
was going to need to find out a lot more about lots of other trees, but
Mrs Davies still beamed at his effort.
It was too small a village to have anything other than a travelling
library but his artist dad had plenty of books. Big glossy books most
of them, and two of them all about trees. Tony quickly flicked through
the bigger of the two and found the alder almost immediately. It turned
out it was one of the water trees like the willow and people used it
for building ships and the beams at the top of ancient houses and all
sorts.
It was also the sort of book in which you could pick out the
interesting bits and look at the often amazing pictures without having
to do too much reading Soon Tony who had never “got” trees, was lost in
it all - not just in the alder but the beech, the hawthorn, the rowan
and the oak, the elder, ash and even more.
It had to be one of dad’s heaviest books and after tea and a couple of
hours half watching the television with the book propped on his knee,
Tony was now lying in bed with it still propped up awkwardly and
uncomfortably. His eyelids were just beginning to flutter when his dad
came up to give him his second shout. Sophie snored gently from the bed
on the far side of the room.
“Time you got down there. That book’s nearly as big as you”
“It is a bit heavy.”
“It was one of your mam’s. A present from grandad when she was at college. She loved trees.”
“Did she?” (How come he hadn’t known that?
“Loved them. She was brought up among trees see. The farm was close to
a wood. Oh yes she’d have been able to tell you all about them right
enough. Every one.”
“The alder?”
“Alder, beech, oak - any of them”. He paused in bending to kiss Tony on
the forehead like he always did. “The alder. Isn’t that the purple one?”
Did everyone know that but him?
“I know why the alder is purple coloured.”
“What was that boy?”
“Just a poem”
“Well if it is the purple one - that was a particular favourite I
think. And find a table or something to rest that great book on next
time you read it. You’ll give yourself neck strain you will.”
“Yes dad.”
“You can use one of the big ones in the studio if you like. You might find some inspiration for that project of yours too eh?”
“Thanks. Night dad. Night Sophie”, he whispered across the room.
The excitement of all that -- the book -- his mum and her love of trees
- being able to use his dad’s precious studio - all of it was lost the
next morning. Chris Lord had been to the dentist and the experience had
left him in a mean mood.
The weasel was back as well and they rearranged the desks so that they
were both sitting directly behind Tony in the first lesson of the day,
which was history.
Needless to say Mrs Davies didn’t notice the shift. While she tried her
hardest to get everyone excited in every gory detail about the Aztecs,
Chris continually kicked the backs of Tony’s legs while Owen, who
seemed to have returned more sneaky than ever, poked the back of his
head with his sharp pencil. Of course Dizzy Davies didn’t notice. Here
we go again’ Tony thought.
Another sharper stab in the back of his head and Tony’s eyes filled with tears. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t.
11.00 just after break and two miracles happened at once.
Suddenly there is an addition to their class of 24 and Mrs Davies is
bustling about and getting all over excited. By this time the backs of
Tony’s legs are red raw and bruised where he has been repeatedly kicked
and the whispered threats of “you wait Clogger” from the weasel have
made him more miserable than he thought possible. He is lost in his old
small world of torment.
“This is Leonie children. Her parents have just -- I’m sorry my dear, what was that?”
“Just my mum,” said the slight red haired girl with freckles and green eyes.
“Of course. I”m sorry. Leonie and her mother have just moved to the
village and she is a welcome addition to our class. Say hello and
welcome to Leonie now.”
“Hello and welcome Leonie,” the class, well drilled and practiced, chorused beautifully..
“I hope you’ll be very happy here’, Ffion Williams added shyly and Owen snorted.
Mrs Davis seemed to stop dead.
“I’m sorry Owen Rees, but were you asked to add anything to Ffion’s kind comment. Such a nice girl”, she smiled at the newcomer.
“Miss?”
“A goldfish Owen is a creature expected to gape. You are not. I asked if you had anything sensible to say?”
The whole class apart from the new girl sat there stunned. Was this
Dizzy Davies up there, who usually missed everything important that
went on around her?
Her steely eye now fell on Chris Lord who was moodily scratching at his
desk with a compass point while deciding whether to kick Tony again.
“And I see that for some reason you’ve decided to push your desks
together with Christopher which I don’t remember asking you to do. The
places you were both allocated on the first day of term are perfectly
adequate thank you Christopher. There’s a reason I put you two on the
other side of the room from each other.”
“Which means once you’ve bestirred yourself to your proper place Chris,
and Owen has weaselled himself back to his side of the aisle there will
be a spare desk there next to Anthony, Leonie. I”m sure he can look
after you.”
By which time she had to hush the class again because they were in uproar. Had she really said that to Owen?
Everything moved very slowly after that and especially Chris who more
than anyone else in the room seemed to be be in a daze at this new and
terrifying version of meek Mrs Davies. While Chris parked himself back
at his proper desk and Owen made as much noise as he could sliding back
over, she beckoned Leonie forward.
Smiling the new girl prepared to park herself at her new desk. Having
almost sat down she suddenly swung her bag over her head, narrowly
missing Owen who was still rather stupidly leering into her across the
aisle with his desk on its end. The effort of having to duck
over-balanced him and slipping he tumbled to the floor with the heavy
desk crashing next to and just missing him. Everything in it came
pouring out, most of it hitting him. Even Chris was laughing at him
now. Everyone was laughing but Mrs Davies was having none of it.
“That’s enough’, she snapped. “Owen I want you to make sure you put
everything back neatly in your desk and it’s lucky you didn’t hurt
yourself.
When you’ve done it -- and silently, I want you to go and explain your
behaviour today to the head and there’ll be a letter home.”
“Now then if the clown princes have both finished we can return to the
Aztecs. And if they’re looking for sacrifice victims I can provide a
couple of volunteers”.
More laughs at the new witty Mrs Davies but that was it. Normal service
more or less resumed. Tony tried to concentrate but his mind was too
thrilled and excited by what had just happened and he wasn’t alone.
Suddenly he felt a nudge in his side and the fear gripped him again,
but it was only the red haired girl with the cheeky grin. Leonie.
“Is she always like this” she asked?
“No”, he said puzzled. “Never”.
And then mere seconds later, when like all of them he was opening his
workbook to page 19 he could have sworn he heard her mutter.
“Too easy”.
COPYRIGHT STEPHEN J.W. GLADWIN 2010
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