The doorbell rang while Jill was washing up and Sam was on his PlayStation. He went and opened it, “Hullo Dad. Hullo Gran.”
“Hello son. Is your mother ready?”
“Dunno.”
Jill dried her hands as they entered the living room. “Hi. How are you?” She kissed her ex-mother-in-law. “Thanks Ivy. It’s really good of you to come. We shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
“Don’t even mention it,” replied Ivy, settling herself on the sofa. “I’m always glad to spend time with my favourite grandson.”
“I’m your only grandson.”
“So?”
Sam snorted in exasperation.
“Female logic, eh son?” said Neil. “What can you do?”
Ivy tutted at him. “Go on then if you’re going. Do you mind if we watch Coronation Street Sam?”
“Course not, Gran.” Sam looked furtive. “Long as I can you know what.”
She pursed her lips conspiratorially and glanced at Jill and Neil. “Shh. Not in front of the parents.”
Sam laughed and waved them off. “Bye Mum and Dad. Have a lovely time.”
“What was all that about?” Neil asked Jill as they walked downstairs to his car.
“God knows. I’m just glad he’s friends with his Gran. He’s entitled to have a few secrets from me. Us, I mean.”
Neil agreed. They got into his comfortable car and set off down the road towards Sam’s comprehensive school.
“How’s Sandra?” asked Jill.
“Fine thanks. She sends her love. Actually we’re, er, we’ve decided to get married.” Neil glanced sideways at his ex-wife but he needn’t have been concerned as to her reaction.
“About time.” She hesitated. “Congratulations, I suppose!”
“Thanks,” he grinned sheepishly.
“I suppose you’ll be starting a new family,” observed Jill, looking out of the window. Neil didn’t answer as he negotiated a clogged junction where several drivers were exchanging insurance details. Jill watched him: his face was lined now, but attractively, his hair was pepper-and-salt, and his neck flopped a little on top of his shirt collar. He was a good deal less handsome than when she had met him, and she allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction. Much as she liked Sandra, she preferred to feel that she herself had had the better part of Neil.
“Actually that’s not part of the plan at the moment. I’ve decided I want to be an MP.” He held a determined, responsible expression, but it didn’t fool Jill, who laughed.
“An MP? Surely they have to be the organised type, selflessly devoting themselves to other people, giving up weekends to sort out visa problems and get council flats repaired.”
“I can do that.”
Jill looked at Neil again. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Which party?”
He frowned. “Labour of course. I wouldn’t leave Labour, would I?”
She shrugged. “I wondered why you’d started wearing suits. I thought perhaps your allegiance had shifted.”
“Don’t insult me. I’m New Labour. I really believe we can win the next election, provided the party gets its act together. I’m an economist. There’s a lot I can contribute.” He drew up in the school car park, and put the handbrake on, turning to face Jill as if she were a voter he had to convince. “I’ve grown up, Jill. A lot of us radicals from the seventies have realised that persuasion is more effective than confrontation. Look at Clinton. Who’d have thought someone like him would beat Bush? He used to smoke dope, for God’s sake! He’s a groovy guy! Tony Blair’s our Bill Clinton. We’re determined to pull the country round again.”
Jill nodded and smiled, almost impressed. “I hope you do,” she said, and meant it. “Which constituency are you standing in?”
“I haven’t been selected yet.”
A light went on in Jill’s head. “So that’s why you’re getting married! Oh Neil, how could you?”
“It’s not just that,” he muttered. “It’s what we both want. Come on, we’ll be late.” He climbed out of the car and locked it after Jill, ushering her towards the main entrance.
In the school hall dozens of parents were milling about.
Jill and Neil joined a short queue for Sam’s form teacher, a very thin, bespectacled man in his thirties.
“Mr Speed? We’re Sam Watkins’ parents.”
“Glad to meet you, sit down – I’ll get another chair,” he said, fetching one. “It’s not often the kids have two parents nowadays! Lucky old Sam.”
Jill and Neil sat down feeling slightly fraudulent, but didn’t feel it was the time or place to discuss their domestic arrangements.
“He made a good start in the first term, but his work’s tailed off considerably since. Seems to have lost interest rather. Do you have any idea why that is?”
Jill was taken aback. Sam had always been a model pupil. She had no idea that anything had changed.
“He hasn’t said a word about it. He does his homework, doesn’t he?”
“Ye-es. More or less. How about you, Mr Watkins? Have you noticed anything?”
Neil shook his head, feeling guilty. He’d been concentrating on his own life lately, and had taken it for granted that Sam was getting along well. Sam spent every other weekend with him and Sandra, but they had got into the habit of having fun together and treating it as holiday time. He left the main tasks of parenting to Jill. He looked at Jill questioningly, hoping she would come up with something. She didn’t.
Mr Speed carried on. “He doesn’t appear to have made friends within his form, hangs out with a group of Year Eights. Did you know that?”
“No!” said Jill in surprise. “I thought his best friend was Tom, they came through primary school together.”
“These kids like to think they’re stylish, you know the kind of thing. Into hip-hop.”
“And what else?” asked Neil. “Not drugs, I hope?”
“Not that I’m aware of. If they are then at least they’ve got the sense not to bring any to school.” Jill started to feel cold. She swallowed. “If I were you, Mr and Mrs Watkins, I’d have a talk with him. I’m not saying these kids are a bad influence on him, but it may not be ideal. Sam has a lot of potential. He could do very well if he applies himself.”
Other parents behind them shifted their feet, and Jill and Neil took their leave in a state of mild shock. They drifted round meeting a few other teachers who had little to say and left the school feeling depressed.
“You’d hardly believe he was the same child,” mused Jill, remembering the glowing reports Sam used to receive.
“I suppose we got complacent. It’s my fault. I haven’t been giving him a strong enough role model.”
Jill’s silence endorsed this view. They drove home lost in their own thoughts.
*
SCENE 1 / 2 INT. CLASSROOM
ABOUT THIRTY FIFTEEN AND SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLDS LAZE AROUND IN THEIR PLACES, GOSSIPING. LUKE AND RICKY SIT TOGETHER BY THE WINDOW. THE DOOR OPENS AND SHARON ENTERS CAREFULLY, BALANCING A LARGE PILE OF BOOKS AND HER BAG, WHICH SHE MANAGES TO PLONK ON HER DESK JUST BEFORE SHE DROPS THEM.
SHARON:
It’s alright, thanks, I can manage.
THEY ALL IGNORE HER. SHE LOOKS UP, EXASPERATED, AND ADDRESSES THE GIRL NEAREST THE DOOR.
SHARON:
Shut the door for me, would you Eleanor?
ELEANOR LEANS FORWARD AND SHOVES THE DOOR SHUT. THE BOYS SITTING BEHIND HER TAKE THE CHANCE TO LOOK UP HER SKIRT: SHE GIVES THEM A FILTHY LOOK.
SHARON:
Right. Good morning everyone.
ABOUT HALF OF THEM RELUCTANTLY MURMUR SOMETHING IN RESPONSE.
SHARON:
(AS IF THEY HAD POLITELY ASKED AFTER HER HEALTH) I’m very well, thank you for asking. Right. King Lear. I’ve marked your essays. Not bad, most of you, pretty good, some of you, completely useless, one of you. (SHE HOLDS UP AN A4 PAGE HALF FILLED) What’s this supposed to be, Jack?
JACK SMIRKS IN THE BACK ROW
JACK:
It’s my character study, Miss.
SHARON:
(WALKING DOWN THE ROW TO JACK) You mean it’s the first two paragraphs of your character study. Do it again please. I want two full pages by Friday.
JACK ACCEPTS THE PAGE WITH A GRIMACE. SHARON HEADS FOR THE FRONT OF THE CLASS.
SHARON:
Next is… Luke Woodward. Nice work, Luke. Carry on like that and you could get a top grade.
SHARON HANDS LUKE HIS WORK AS A FEW BOYS SAY “OOOHH!” IN FRIENDLY MOCKERY. LUKE SMILES AND GAZES INTO SHARON’S EYES. SHE HESITATES FOR A MOMENT, THINKING HE’S GOING TO SPEAK, BUT HE DOESN’T. HE JUST LOOKS AT HER AS IF HE KNOWS SOMETHING. SHE’S PUZZLED.
LUKE:
Thanks Miss.
RICKY:
It’s your superb teaching skills Miss. He’s hopeless at everything else.
HE MAKES A FACE AT LUKE, WHO LOOKS PAINED.
SHARON:
Shame they don’t work on you, then Ricky. Yours was uninspired. You weren’t watching the football while you wrote it, were you?
RICKY:
Dunno Miss. Might’ve been.
SHARON:
Because Lear’s youngest daughter’s name is Cordelia, not Chelsea.
THE CLASS LAUGHS AT RICKY. LUKE’S EYES FOLLOW SHARON PROUDLY AS SHE CONTINUES WITH THE LESSON.
The phone rang, interrupting Jill’s flow. She scribbled a note to herself, clicked on save, and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Jill? It’s Paul at YTS. Good news!”
It was her agent, she forced herself to focus on him.
“Hello Paul, how are you?”
“Fine thanks, you? – The BBC want to commission a script!”
Jill smiled. Bless him, she thought. “I know, Maggie called me three days ago. I’ve already started.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, as if he had wanted some of the credit for getting her the work. “Great. It’s a pity they won’t commission both episodes at once. Apparently that’s the policy now, take everything one step at a time.”
“I know. Tight bastards, aren’t they?”
“Did the Casualty office call you as well?”
“No. What do they want?”
“Availability check for next month. What do you think?”
Jill sighed. If she said yes, she would have too much on. If she said no, she might find herself without anything at all in three months’ time. She wanted to say no, she was sick of it, but continuous financial insecurity was hard to live with.
Paul tried to help, “After this there won’t be any more Casualties until next season, you know.”
“But I won’t be able to give Lover Boy enough attention, and it’s my big break. I’d better say no, Paul.”
“Sure?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
He rang off, disappointed again. Jill felt a sense of power mixed with anxiety. She had never turned work down before, it was a new experience. I could get used to this, she thought. Then she got back to work.
The script flowed easily until she reached the parents’ evening where Luke’s mum and dad discussed his future career with Sharon. This presented difficulties as last night’s experience was fresh in her mind, and she had not yet talked to Sam about it. She found herself identifying more closely with Luke’s mother than she wanted to. She had intended Linda Woodward to be an annoying, old-fashioned woman with narrow-minded views. Instead she had a hard time giving Sharon a convincing argument.
SCENE 1 / 4 INT. SHARON’S SCHOOL HALL
MANY PARENTS MILL AROUND AND QUEUE TO SEE STAFF. IAN AND LINDA WOODWARD SIT TOGETHER IN FRONT OF SHARON’S DESK. THEY LOOK CONCERNED.
LINDA:
Luke’s always been good at English, hasn’t he? It’s a valuable subject. If he took a degree in English there are all kinds of jobs he could go in for, aren’t there?
SHARON:
Yes there are. But I thought he didn’t want to carry on with it?
IAN:
He likes his handicrafts, but he’s very bright. A-level Art’s fair enough, but we want him to go as far as he can with proper studies. Qualifications are the most important thing these days, aren’t they?
SHARON:
(SMILING) Absolutely, Mr Woodward. Especially if you’re not sure what you want to do in life, university gives you more time to make up your mind. But I thought Luke had made up his mind – Ceramics and Woodwork?
IAN:
He thinks he has, but he’s only sixteen. What does he know? He doesn’t want to wind up in some dead-end carpentry job, or making pots. Pots, I ask you!
SHARON:
How times have changed. Ten years ago parents were telling me they wanted their sons to learn an honest trade, not stay on at school. You’re saying the opposite.
LINDA:
There you are you see. There aren’t the jobs for skilled craftsmen any more. Ian knows, look at Ford: there’s nowhere near the need for skilled labour there used to be, is there Ian?
IAN:
That’s right. Will you talk to him, Mrs Morrison? He’ll listen to you. Tell him an English degree’s the thing.
SHARON:
I’ll try, but I can’t promise he’ll change his mind. It’s his life, in the end, isn’t it?
LINDA:
Tell him it’s about keeping his options open. He’s too young to leave school.
Jill heard the front door slam. Sam was home.
“Hi Sam,” she called, receiving an inarticulate response. She followed the sound into Sam’s bedroom and sat on his bed; Sam was switching on his computer.
“How was school?” she asked.
“Okay”.
“I thought we might go to the Music Café for tea.”
“I’d rather get fish and chips.”
Jill paused. She much preferred the Music Café. “Okay darling. Fish and chips.” Sam said nothing as he logged on to the internet, so Jill answered herself: “Great. Thank you mother dear.”
Sam grunted, concentrating on his search.
“How’s Tom? You haven’t brought him home for ages.”
“Alright.”
“You haven’t fallen out with him, have you?”
“No.”
“Have you got some new friends?” No reply. Jill persevered, cautiously. “If you have, why don’t you ask them back for tea?”
Sam sighed an it’s hopeless expecting you to understand sigh. “I don’t think so, Mum.” He ran his hand through his gelled hair. “Mum?”
“Yes?”
“Is it okay if I get my ear pierced?”
“Don’t be silly, you’re much too young.”
“Loads of kids my age have pierced ears. And that’s not all – ”
“I don’t want to know.”
Jill didn’t see why Sam should get his own way with everything, the least he could do was open up a bit and talk to her. Sam turned and looked at her, wearing the incredulous expression of a boy who has just been told he will have to marry a rich but ghastly old lady.
“I’m not a kid anymore, you know,” he said.
“I know, darling. But you’re not grown up either.”
“You don’t want me to grow up!”
“Of course I do.”
“Not really. Not deep down.” Sam stood up, still wearing his jacket. “Give us a tenner, then.”
“No, Sam.”
“Don’t you want fish and chips?”
The phone started ringing again, disconcerting Jill who felt suddenly wrong-footed. She pulled some money out of her pocket and gave it to Sam.
“Skate and chips and mushy peas, please.”
“Okay.” Hands in pockets, he walked out of the flat whistling.
Jill shook her head quickly to clear her confusion while she answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi Jill, is this a bad moment?”
“Oh Carmen, hi. No, it’s fine. I was just having a slight altercation with Sam.”
“Oh dear.”
“He wants to have his ear pierced, for God’s sake.”
“Is that a problem?”
“He’s twelve!”
“Twelve already. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Carmen was missing the point, so Jill changed the subject. “How are you, anyway?”
“Fine, great. I got an invite to the BBC writers’ party today – did you?”
“Oh yes, I did actually. Are you going?”
“Course I am, I wouldn’t miss a chance like that. It’s the first time they’ve asked me. I’ve arrived!”
“It’s only standing about with a glass of cheap wine, you know.”
“Sure, but standing about with whom?”
Jill smiled out loud. Carmen would have a whale of a time, she was a party animal, able to approach anyone and chat comfortably.
“I wish I wasn’t such a wallflower,” said Jill.
“Stick with me girl, I’ll show you a good time! I better let you sort out the family stuff. Call me sometime.”
“I will,” promised Jill. “Take care.”
When Sam came back with the fish and chips they sat down to watch the news. Jill noticed Sam’s new shoes.
“Nice trainers. Did Dad buy them for you?”
“Uh huh.”
“They look very expensive.”
Sam shrugged.
“Are you happy at school, Sam?”
He shrugged again.
“You don’t seem as happy as you were at Shepherd’s. And, er, Mr Speed seems to think you’re not doing as well as you could.”
Sam ate with intense concentration.
“I wish you’d talk about it, Sam. You used to tell me everything.”
“That was then. This is now,” said Sam enigmatically.
All to Play For Page 20