Plays One

by Sarah Daniels

  ROGER. No, Cyril, she’s not a thespian, you dozy cart-horse.

  CYRIL. Oh, that’s funny … there was this girl at college …

  CLAIRE. Thanks, Cyril, but I don’t bother with jock straps, not in the warm weather, you know.

  CYRIL (shrugs). D’you know something, nobody ever bothered much about sex until 1960.

  ANNETTE. People have been bothering about reproduction since long before you or I were born.

  ROGER. We don’t need any reminding. It’s us that educates the product.

  CYRIL (incensed by the atmosphere). Shall I tell you something? I might as well because I retire at the end of the summer term, and the nub of it is that I’ve hated every day of it.

  ROGER. Steady on, Cyril.

  CYRIL. Oh yes, and I know what they call me – Polly Mr Barrett, Polly Parrot and the only privilege I ever enjoyed was reading their names out of the detention book in assembly. I’ve seen generations of kids when all LSD meant to them was pounds, shillings and pence through the acid summer, when all that conjured up for them was litmus paper. Eras have come and gone. And what happens? They internalised the cliché of our times and spend their lives running scared. And whose fault is it then that they vote Tory? Ours.

  ROGER. Not all of them are Conservatives.

  CYRIL. Not for the want of ramming an ever-narrowing definition of choice down their necks so that it can be interpreted for ‘status quo’ and today, today, I took this (Indicating the pamphlet.) to discuss nuclear physics with the A level group and they looked at me as though I’d just announced the Pope had the clap. All but two of them thought the nuclear deterrent absolutely necessary and those two are in Mrs Anderson’s tutorial group. Teaching is supposed to be about enabling development to make choices, not being trained by a parrot to recite received information. I don’t care what you are, Claire, you’re a bloody good teacher, which is more than anyone will ever say of me – surgical support and all.

  CYRIL gets up – crosses to the door.

  ROGER. Where are you going?

  CYRIL. Pub.

  ROGER. I’ll stand you a pint.

  ROGER and CYRIL exit.

  MARION. Seems the whole place is erupting. I for one can’t loll about here all day. (She gets up.)

  ANNETTE. Neither can I. (Crossing to the door with MARION.)

  MARION and ANNETTE exit, leaving the door ajar.

  LINDA. Was it worth it?

  CLAIRE. I almost got a standing ovation from Cyril.

  LINDA. So what? I didn’t exactly see him making a bee line for Grimble’s office.

  CLAIRE. Or Roger Cunningham leaping up and down about NUT regulations.

  LINDA. Actually, I don’t know why they’re here.

  CLAIRE (shrugs). Nor do I. Except to give Annette and Marion something to cling on to.

  LINDA. Them, they’re so … words fail me …

  CLAIRE. They do take the theory of false consciousness a bit far.

  LINDA. That’s a polite way of putting it.

  CLAIRE. Marion is jealous – she thinks she should have been made acting deputy – and Annette is afraid.

  LINDA. Yes, much too dangerous an atmosphere for the likes of us. Why did you do it?

  CLAIRE. I was beginning to feel very guilty about being a Judas.

  LINDA. I wouldn’t have imagined you worrying about any character in the Bible.

  CLAIRE. If I’d had the courage of those girls, at their age, everything would have been different.

  LINDA. You think? This won’t make any radical change except to the lives of those involved, they’ll have to leave, eventually get one job, if they’re lucky, after another, until they learn to conform. Go and explain to the Queen Bea that it was a mistake, an experiment, in pupil-teacher empathy.

  CLAIRE. No. I’ve said what I’ve said.

  LINDA. Now you’re quoting Pontius Pilate, only at least he didn’t crucify himself.

  CLAIRE. All I did was tell the truth.

  LINDA. Claire, please don’t drag me into this. I couldn’t cope.

  CLAIRE. I’m not about to drag anyone anywhere.

  LINDA. It would be much worse for me.

  CLAIRE. How do you make that out?

  LINDA. Use your head, I see them in the showers for Christsake, besides it would kill my mother.

  CLAIRE. And I’ve got to fight for custody of my daughter.

  LINDA. Christ, Claire, I didn’t realise.

  Enter ROGER. He hovers. Exit LINDA.

  ROGER. Err, hi, you still here?

  CLAIRE. No, this is an apparition. I thought you were supposed to be down the pub.

  ROGER. I changed my mind. Claire, I know you won’t believe me, but I’m sorry, I mean, I’ve always liked your spirit, always have, but I overheard about your daughter.

  CLAIRE. You’re the limit.

  ROGER (long pause). Look, Linda, well, she’s one thing, you’re different.

  CLAIRE. You’re not …

  ROGER. No, I’ve told you. Her secret’s safe with me, you forget I’m one of the Rolling Stones generation. I’ve done things that would make your hair curl.

  CLAIRE. Save it for your memoirs.

  ROGER. Linda, well, it’s obvious about her but you, I mean, you’ve been married, got a little girl, we all fancy a change from time to time. Monogamous sex can get boring.

  CLAIRE. I’m sure you’ll understand that I don’t have any energy to put into your problems.

  ROGER. Okay, I know you’re bitter but I do like you. You must know I’ve always been attracted to you.

  CLAIRE (genuinely aghast). I had no idea. I thought our feeling for each other was one of mutual dislike.

  ROGER. Ah, this sad little boy’s inability to express himself.

  CLAIRE. Please spare me.

  ROGER. Claire …

  CLAIRE. Perhaps we could change the subject?

  ROGER. Listen, if I was to say on oath in court that I was having a relationship with you, there would be no problem.

  CLAIRE. You’d do that for me?

  ROGER. Yes, I would. We’ll have to go out to the pictures or somewhere and then the evidence would tally.

  CLAIRE. I’ve misjudged you. (She turns.)

  ROGER. And then perhaps, depending on evidence, genuinely consummate it.

  CLAIRE (almost speechless with rage). You bastard. (She exits, slamming the door.)

  Scene Three

  CLAIRE’s living-room. POPPY, in dressing-gown, sits on CLAIRE’s lap.

  POPPY. Can we get on with the story now?

  CLAIRE. Where are we? (Opening the book.)

  POPPY. We haven’t even got to the bit about what they chose for themselves.

  CLAIRE. Are you ready? (She reads.) Psyche went home to plead for a husband. Demeter and Persephone were astounded by such a strange desire, yet they knew it must be satisfied. In secrecy, for such a thing had never before happened, Psyche was married to Eros – to Love himself, to Cupid, Aphrodite’s son. Psyche lived alone with her husband, in a splendid palace, set high on a nameless mountain. Silent, invisible servants brought her whatever she wished. At night, and only at night, Love came to visit: Psyche’s husband, but she didn’t know who he was or what he looked like. Love had warned her never to look at him, but to love him in ignorance.

  POPPY (sleepily). What is ignorance?

  CLAIRE. It means not knowing.

  POPPY. Go on.

  CLAIRE. Athena never returned to her mother’s house. Instead she went straight to Zeus, the god of gods, and proposed a bargain much to his vain and clever liking: to be reborn of him. She asked him to become her mother. And so Athena became twice-born, the second time of a man. She emerged fully grown from Zeus’s head, wearing the armour she so desired. This daughter of Demeter seemed to have no memory of her earthly female origins. (Pause.). Are you asleep?

  POPPY (almost asleep). No, no. Go on.

  CLAIRE. Artemis, the youngest of Demeter’s daughters, returned to her mother’s house. First she h
ad Demeter consecrate her to the moon, so that no matter how far she’d have to wander, she would never forget, never betray. (She looks at POPPY.) Poppy? (POPPY is asleep.)

  CLAIRE carries POPPY out in her arms. LAWRENCE enters followed by JEAN.

  JEAN. She’s upstairs with her daughter.

  LAWRENCE. Good, excuse me.

  JEAN stands in front of the door.

  JEAN. She’ll be down in a minute.

  LAWRENCE. Let me past.

  JEAN. Lawrence, you shouldn’t be here at all.

  LAWRENCE. Just keep out of this.

  JEAN. Sit down if you must but you’re not getting past me – not unless you want to appear twice in court on Friday.

  LAWRENCE (reluctantly sits down). Your affidavit had better be good because we’re going to make mincemeat out of the fact that you chose to live with a sordid pervert.

  JEAN (moves away from the door). I am quite capable of holding my own, Mr Anderson.

  LAWRENCE. I’m sure you are.

  JEAN. Look, Lawrence, Claire hasn’t done anything wrong.

  LAWRENCE. Oh no? Only turned my own daughter against me.

  JEAN. That’s not fair, she’s always seemed very unbiased. Much more than I’d have been.

  LAWRENCE. You just keep out of this or I’ll drag you in.

  JEAN. Don’t be ridiculous.

  LAWRENCE. You won’t be so smug if you get publicly labelled a ‘practising lesbian ed. psychologist’.

  JEAN. I am practising as neither. I am a fully fledged educational psychologist and a sordid, perverted heterosexual.

  LAWRENCE. You’ll have difficulty proving it.

  JEAN. I have a well-oiled boyfriend.

  LAWRENCE. That wimp from some ‘Men Against Sexism’ group. The only thing you two practise together is probably Yoga positions.

  JEAN. In your position perjury is not going to …

  Enter CLAIRE.

  CLAIRE. Lawrence? What are you doing here?

  LAWRENCE. A word with you. In private.

  CLAIRE. It’s all right, thanks, Jean.

  Exit JEAN.

  I think you’ve caused enough trouble.

  LAWRENCE. Me? I’ve caused enough trouble?

  CLAIRE. Yes, I didn’t know you’d turned into a parrot.

  LAWRENCE. It’s not me who’s taught Poppy to be foul-mouthed.

  CLAIRE. I beg your pardon?

  LAWRENCE. My own daughter, my own flesh and blood, told me, her own father, to get stuffed.

  CLAIRE. She was upset.

  LAWRENCE. So, when she’s upset, she goes round telling everyone to get stuffed?

  CLAIRE. I suppose you like her to bottle it all up, smile sweetly and pretend nothing’s wrong, like your idea of the ideal model for adult behaviour.

  LAWRENCE. She’s too old for her years. The kid’s had no life, no childhood. A mother who has no time for her.

  CLAIRE. That’s not true, Lawrence, and you know it.

  LAWRENCE (calmly). I’m only thinking of Poppy, believe me.

  CLAIRE (quietly but firmly). Why don’t you ask her what she wants?

  LAWRENCE. Waste of time, you’ve well and truly poisoned her mind.

  CLAIRE. That’s not fair.

  LAWRENCE. Too right it’s not.

  CLAIRE. I know we haven’t turned out the best of friends.

  LAWRENCE (sourly). Ha bloody ha.

  CLAIRE. But I never thought it would turn out like this.

  LAWRENCE (wistfully). It was you who thought happily ever after was a cheap empty dream.

  CLAIRE (quietly). And I was right.

  LAWRENCE. It didn’t have to be like that. I didn’t go off with anyone else.

  CLAIRE (softly). No.

  LAWRENCE (with total sincerity). And I still miss you. You know, we had some good times together, didn’t we? It wasn’t all bad. You used to make me laugh. Sometimes, I still think you were the only real person I ever knew.

  CLAIRE. Then why? Why put me through all this then?

  LAWRENCE. Because I miss Poppy too. She’s my daughter as well.

  CLAIRE. But she’s lived with me all this time, you agreed access when we got divorced.

  LAWRENCE. I can give her so much more now and I want …

  CLAIRE. You mean now you’ve got married again.

  LAWRENCE. Yes, that’s partly it.

  CLAIRE. What can you give her, Lawrence, done purely out of motives of what you can take from me?

  LAWRENCE. It will mean she’ll have an ordinary home like other kids and not have to cope with snide remarks.

  CLAIRE. She can fend for herself.

  LAWRENCE (reasonably). Only because she doesn’t know anything else. I love her.

  CLAIRE (firmly). So do I.

  LAWRENCE. I really don’t want to put you through this, believe me.

  CLAIRE. Then don’t.

  LAWRENCE. It’s nothing to what you’ve put me through.

  CLAIRE Don’t be so stupid.

  LAWRENCE (bitterly). Always quick on the put-downs, weren’t you? Well, we’ll see just how well they stand up in front of an audience.

  CLAIRE (awkwardly). Please, Lawrence, you know I’m not …

  LAWRENCE (with conviction). You know I’m going to win.

  CLAIRE. You know Poppy means everything to me. You can keep anything, take anything, but not this, let me keep Poppy.

  LAWRENCE. It’s up to the courts to decide now.

  CLAIRE (with quiet dignity). You can change your mind. Anything else, you can have anything else.

  LAWRENCE. Can I have you back?

  CLAIRE. Oh, Lawrence. That’s impossible.

  LAWRENCE. Well, then. Can’t you see I have to go through with it?

  Exit.

  CLAIRE. Lawrence?

  The front door slams. Pause. Enter JEAN.

  JEAN. You all right?

  CLAIRE. Yes, I think so.

  JEAN. What did he want?

  CLAIRE. I don’t really know.

  JEAN. What happened?

  CLAIRE. I don’t really want to talk about it. How was your weekend?

  JEAN. All right, what did you do?

  CLAIRE. Oh, I saw Val.

  JEAN. How is she?

  CLAIRE. She’ll be home by the weekend.

  JEAN. That’s good. What will she do?

  CLAIRE. I’m not sure, I don’t think she is either. I couldn’t concentrate properly because it looks like I earned the sack.

  JEAN. What?

  CLAIRE. It’s still a no-win situation. Miss Grimble refuses to sack me. I refuse to resign.

  JEAN. What?! What for?

  CLAIRE. A small matter of non-pacification over Diane Collier.

  JEAN. Are you a complete babbling wally?

  CLAIRE looks at her.

  And for what – for one moment’s satisfaction – riding high on the crest of a wave of martyred idealism.

  CLAIRE (coldly). I can do without the objective heterosexual polemic. Thank you.

  JEAN. Claire, in the name of whoever, you’re supposed to stand before agents of the state.

  CLAIRE. Agents of the devil.

  JEAN. That they might be but they won’t take too kindly to you telling them to go to hell – you’ve got to say what a responsible job you’ve got – how you’ve got everything going for you and you chuck it all up for a moment’s unstable heroism.

  CLAIRE. That might be how it appears to you. Anyway the court shouldn’t find out unless Lawrence has hired tell-tale Marion Landsdowne as a private detective.

  JEAN. For God’s sake, Claire, compromise your principles.

  CLAIRE. It’s not a principle we’re talking about. It’s me. And what do you think I’ve done. I’ve compromised myself so much I’ve lied my way out of existence.

  JEAN. Then why wreck it over some headstrong schoolgirl who probably wouldn’t bother to turn round to thank you?

  CLAIRE (furious). Wreck it? Wreck what? Something I’ve got very little hope of and absolutely no control over wh
en the system dictates the outcome before the ushers clapped eyes on you. When welfare officers write down the names of books with the word ‘woman’ in the title and incriminate you. To be humiliated and ridiculed by a group of men and to gradually believe that the only thing that would change them is a bullet through the head. What sort of world is it where I have to plead for my own daughter?

  JEAN. Claire.

  CLAIRE (angry). And I will not calm down. I stand to lose Poppy, and in the face of current opinion the only weapon I have is compromise and you think that’s okay. And what the hell do you know, what difference does it make to you? None. None at all.

  JEAN does not respond. CLAIRE is too angry to apologise. Silence. The doorbell rings. JEAN exits.

  JEAN (off). Hello, Joyce.

  JOYCE (off). Hello, Jean.

  CLAIRE (doesn’t attempt to get up). Oh no, please God no.

  JEAN (off). Val’s okay, I hear.

  JOYCE (off). Yes, fine, she’ll be home in a couple of days. Much more positive, so they tell me.

  JEAN (off). That’s good.

  Enter JOYCE with JEAN. JEAN exits, shutting the door behind her.

  JOYCE. Whenever I come round she goes out of the room.

  CLAIRE (snaps). We share a house, not our relatives.

  JOYCE. I saw Lawrence in his car as I was walking up the hill from the bus stop. I don’t suppose he’s reached a reconciliation?

  CLAIRE. No, he bloody well hasn’t and I don’t want to hear a pack of rubbish about the sun shining out of his armpit either.

  JOYCE. Well I never really got on that well with him, no not really. Certainly not after the divorce. He never even sends me a Christmas card now you know …

  CLAIRE (aggressively). What do you want?

  JOYCE (very taken aback). Claire …

  CLAIRE. Oh stop dithering around and sit down now you’re here.

  JOYCE (sits). I haven’t been able to sleep this week.

  CLAIRE (sarcastically). Poor you.

  JOYCE. I don’t think I’ve had more than twelve hours’ sleep in the last fortnight. So I’ve been to see a solicitor.

  CLAIRE. Can’t you understand, I’ve got enough on my plate? I don’t care about your neighbours, there’s no law against do-it-yourself mania.

  JOYCE (firmly). Look, Claire, I’m very sorry we had words. I can’t stop thinking about it. I saw a solicitor about you.