WALLY. You seem it.
PATSY. Well I’m not.
WALLY (without moving). Hello Mr West.
The light changes, behind in the utility room, revealing WEST from the shadows. Only then, he moves forward.
WEST. Hello Wally.
Pause.
WALLY. The door was open. There was a light on.
Pause.
WEST. The dog’s run off.
WALLY. Has he?
WEST. She.
WALLY. Bitch, is it?
WEST. Muddy, was it?
WALLY. We lost the path.
WEST. You do what I say? Turn left at the hill.
WALLY. Thing is, yes. Thing is... There’s loads of hills.
WEST. You turn right at the sheep.
WALLY. We did. We did. Thing is –
WEST. Turn left at the hill, right at the sheep, you can’t go wrong. You want to watch that track up. It’s treacherous. Each spring, when the snow clears, they find three or four down there. It’s ramblers mostly. Last ones they brung up was a couple of Welsh. Just married too. Skeletons they was. Huddled together. He’d been Young Welsh Businessman of the Year. What took you so long?
WALLY. The rivers are up. We got to Bridgetown, the road was closed.
WEST. Bridgetown.
WALLY. The Bridgetown road was closed. Something to do with the bridge.
WEST. The bridge at Bridgetown.
WALLY. It’s been condemned.
WEST. The bridge at Bridgetown’s been condemned? Well. That’s bad news for Bridgetown. That’s a disaster for Bridgetown, you’d have to say.
WALLY. We had to go the long way round. The car got stuck. It’s only a little two-seater.
WEST. A two-seater.
WALLY. We come up on foot from the road.
WEST. You see the fort.
WALLY. The what?
WEST. You pass by the fort? Iron Age fort. You can’t miss it. Been there since the Iron Age.
WALLY. That’s just it. It was that dark –
WEST. But you can’t have missed it. You go straight through it. You must’ve blundered clean through it. Now you’re all muddy, you must be perishing. You want to pop yourself in front of the fire. Don’t stand on ceremony. Come in. Come in. Make yourself at home. I see you found the wine.
WALLY. Yes.
WEST. Is she a nice drop?
WALLY. It is. It’s very tasty.
WEST. He was always fond of a red. That was his tipple. Red. So bloody hell, Wally.
WALLY. I know.
WEST. Bloody hell.
WALLY. Bloody hell.
WEST. Don’t. Please.
WALLY. Three. Four years.
WEST. And the rest.
WALLY. Must be. Must be.
WEST. How’ve you been, son?
WALLY. Mustn’t grumble.
WEST. Don’t give me that.
WALLY. I toddle along.
WEST. Don’t give me that. You’re a picture of it. The very picture.
WALLY. Nothing changes.
WEST. Bollocks, mate. You look ten years younger.
WALLY. Time flies.
WEST. Fuller, but younger. You’re a breath of fresh air.
WALLY. Am I? Fuller though...
WEST. Bollocks. You’re a fresh breeze and no mistake. That hair lacquer? You been at the boot polish?
WALLY. Not me, Mr West.
WEST. You lacquering the mane. That Just for Men?
WALLY. Just for Ladies more like. From here down...
WEST. You dirty git. That’s my Wally. That’s my Wally. Seriously, chum, you been at the cold cream. Got a stylist now, have you? They had you in a tank? Up there in the smoke. You’re all at it. I bet you’ve got a dermatologist, you gay prat.
WALLY. Cheeky sod!
WEST. That’s more like it. So what is it then? Up there in the smoke. All the latest. You’ve had a face-peel. Admit it. You’ve been under the knife, you gay berk.
WALLY. You look well yourself.
WEST. Fresh air, Wally. No hokey-pokey. Hundred press-ups for breakfast. Squat thrusts for lunch. Star jumps for prayers. Pelting across fields. Come rain or snow. Not tucked up in some fucking clinic. Rigged up to some poncey piece of kit. Paying through the nose like a fucking woman. Look at you. Look at yourself. Look at yourself. I’ve missed you, Wally.
WALLY. I’ve missed you too, Len. Come here.
WEST. Where’s Jerry?
Silence.
WALLY. He’s not here.
WEST. I can see he’s not here. Where is he?
WALLY. He couldn’t make it.
WEST. Couldn’t make it?
WALLY. Thing is... see. He couldn’t come.
WEST. He couldn’t come.
WALLY. No. So I brung Patsy.
Pause.
WEST. Who’s Patsy? Who’s Patsy, Wally?
WALLY. This is Patsy. Patsy, Mr West. Len, Patsy.
Beat.
WEST. Watcha, Patsy.
PATSY. Watcha, Mr West.
WEST. Who’s Patsy?
PATSY. He’s –
WEST. Patsy.
PATSY. Yes.
WEST. Who’s Patsy, Wally? Who’s Patsy?
WALLY. This is Patsy.
WEST. Is this him? Is this Patsy?
WALLY. Yes.
WEST. You’re all dirty, Patsy. You’re covered. You’re worse than Wally.
PATSY. I’m a bit mucky.
WEST. You’re a state, Patsy. You’re filthy. We’ll need to give you a bath. You cold, Patsy? You want to stand by the fire?
PATSY. Actually –
WEST. We spoke, Wally. We spoke on the phone.
WALLY. We did. We did.
WEST. You remember?
WALLY. You was in some phone box.
WEST. I tried to call Jerry. I couldn’t get Jerry. So I called Wally. And what did I say?
WALLY. You said –
WEST. What did I say, Wally?
WALLY. You said –
WEST. I said bring Jerry.
WALLY. Len –
WEST. Jerry, Wally.
WALLY. Len –
WEST. Jerry, Wally –
WALLY. Len –
WEST. It’s not pick-your-own strawberries, Wally. Come one, come all. Where’s Jerry? I asked for Jerry.
WALLY. Len –
WEST. Where’s Jerry, Wally? I asked for Jerry. Where’s Jerry, Wally? Where’s Jerry?
WALLY. Jerry’s dead. (Pause.) He died. (Pause.) He’s no longer with us. He passed on last March.
WEST. How?
Beat.
WALLY. He jumped in the Thames.
Pause.
WEST. He jumped in the Thames.
WALLY. Yes, Mr West. He jumped in the Thames.
Silence.
WEST. Why don’t you stand in front of the fire, Patsy? Like Wally. Warm yourself. You’re all mucky. That’s it. (Beat.) It’s nice and warm. Isn’t it?
WALLY. It’s toasty.
WEST. See? Get in there, snug next door.
PATSY. Thanks, Mr West.
WEST. That’s better. Dry yourself off. You pair of twerps. That’s better. Forgive me. I’m catching up. Patsy is –
WALLY. Right. Patsy’s my...
WEST. Yes.
PATSY. I’m his –
WALLY. He’s my stepson.
WEST. Are you his stepson? Are you his boy?
PATSY. Yes. (Beat.) Well no. Well yes. Sort of.
WEST. Are you or aren’t you?
PATSY. Well –
WEST. Forgive me, Wally. I’m just catching up.
WALLY. See, the thing is Len...
PATSY. What Wally is –
WALLY (interrupting). Stay out of this, Patsy –
PATSY. What?
WALLY. What I’m trying to say is –
PATSY (interrupting). Wally’s with my mum. He’s seeing my mum. He’s... you know... (Beat.) With my mum.
WEST. What you talking about? Wally’s with Sarah.
WALLY.
Well that’s just it.
WEST. You’re with Sarah. Lovely Sarah.
WALLY. See, that’s just it, Len.
WEST. It was Wally and Sarah. Wally and Sarah.
PATSY. Not any more. Sarah left him.
WEST. Is this true, Wally? Has Patsy got this right?
WALLY. You know how it is, Len. Matters of the heart. Situations change. People drift apart. It was six of one –
PATSY. She was shagging some Turk.
WALLY. Half a dozen the other –
PATSY. She run off with some Turk. To Turkey.
WALLY. Shut it.
PATSY. Now it’s Rita.
WEST. Who’s Rita?
PATSY. My mum.
WEST. Since when?
WALLY. Two years March.
WEST. Why didn’t you say? You’re with his mum. Here I am. Eh? Here I am... He’s your boy. This is your boy.
WALLY. Well –
WEST. You’re his boy...
PATSY. Well see...
WEST. Why didn’t somebody tell me. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m catching up. Father and son. Man and boy.
WALLY. Sort of. Exactly.
PATSY. Yes and no. Not really but yes. Exactly.
WEST. Me and your old man, Patsy. Me and the old man. We go back. Has he told you? I bet he did. I bet he did. He told you, didn’t he? What did he tell you? What did he tell you, Patsy? What did he tell you? Did he leave out the best bits? The dirty stuff. You don’t know the half of it. I’ll tell you stories’ll put hair on your chest. You got hair on your chest, Patsy?
PATSY. I have as it happens.
WEST. I bet you have. So that’s that. You’re a hairy boy. Bloody hell, Wally. They grow up fast, don’t they?
WALLY. Well see, I’ve only known Patsy for –
WEST. You turn your back for five minutes. It’s horrifying. Hang on. You uncomfortable, Patsy? You uncomfortable in your soggy trousers?
PATSY. It’s not as bad as it looks, Mr West.
WEST walks forward, stands in front of PATSY.
WEST. May I?
PATSY. What?
He kneels, maintaining eye contact. Slowly, he feels the bottom of the trouser.
WEST. Whoops-a-daisy. (Stands.) Someone’s telling whoppers. Patsy’s sopping, Wally. He’s soaked to the bone.
PATSY. I’m fine actually.
WEST. Nonsense, Wally. You know what he should do? You know what you should do, Patsy? You should pop them off. Hang them in front of the fire. They’ll dry in no time. Go on, Patsy. Pop your slacks off. Pop them off. (Pause.) Why don’t you pop yours off, Wally? Show him how it’s done. Pop them off, Wally.
Pause.
WALLY. They are quite muddy.
WEST. Muddy? They’re caked. Come on, you prat. We’ll have them dry in no time. Take your slacks off, Wally. Show him how it’s done.
WALLY. Well then. That’s that, isn’t it?
Beat. WALLY takes his trousers off.
WEST. That’s the way. Off they come. That’s it.
WALLY stands there, holding them.
Now just like Dad, Patsy. Just like the old man. Follow the old man.
WALLY. Come on. Mr West is right.
WEST. There’s no point stood there. We’re halfway there.
PATSY undoes his belt. He takes them off.
That’s the way. That’s the way.
PATSY tosses them to WEST who catches them. Pause.
And the funny thing is, I wouldn’t say you were that hairy after all. I’d say you were average. Nothing to write home about.
PATSY. Thanks, Mr West. I appreciate that.
WEST. So what do you think, Dad? Can he have a glass of wine?
WALLY. What? Oh. Yes. Of course. Sure.
WEST. Is that all right? I don’t want to, you know.
WALLY. No. He likes wine. I think.
WEST. Patsy?
WALLY. Yes he does. Of course he does. He loves a drop. Don’t you, Patsy?
WEST. You take after Dad, Patsy. Drop of the old red. You fancy a drop. Like the old man?
PATSY. If it’s all the same, Mr West, I’ll have a Scotch.
Pause.
WEST. You sure? You sure, Patsy?
PATSY. If it’s all the same.
Pause.
WEST. Well that’s that, isn’t it? Wally’s red. Patsy’s a Scotch. Hang about, Patsy. I’ll fetch you one. Don’t you worry. I’ll warm you up.
He takes WALLY’s, and hangs up the trousers.
So you came, Wally. You came.
WALLY. Yes we did. We did, sir. We did.
Silence. Exit WEST. They stand there, side by side, trouserless, before the fire. A plane tears over. They both duck. Silence.
PATSY. Nice man. What?
WALLY. ‘I’ll have a Scotch.’
PATSY. He’s asked me a question. You said. You said in the car. If he asks you a question –
WALLY. Soda? Cherry? On the rocks?
PATSY. You said. Look him in the eye –
WALLY. Umbrella? Angostura bitters?
PATSY. – tell the truth. You said. Tell the truth. Well the truth is I fancied a Scotch.
WALLY. I’ve got a hairy chest.
PATSY. I can’t drink wine, Wally. It gives me the hives. I go blotchy. What do you want me to do? Drink it down, have a fit on the man’s carpet. How’s that going to help?
WALLY. You tit.
PATSY. Wally –
WALLY. You prannock. You prannie. Keep your big mouth shut.
PATSY. It’s just a Scotch.
WALLY. Keep your big gob shut.
PATSY. Okay. I’m sorry.
WALLY. You blundering tit.
PATSY. I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry. (Beat.) Daddy.
Beat. WALLY glares.
Well we sorted that out.
WALLY. What?
PATSY. I think he seems fine. I don’t think he seems – (Makes the mad sign with his finger to his head.) at all. I mean, look at it. There’s three of us here. Right now, he’s the only one still got his trousers on. So go on.
WALLY. What?
PATSY. I don’t want to rush you. It’s just this seems a good time to ask.
WALLY. What? Ask what?
PATSY. The phone rings. ‘Patsy. Ten o’clock. Outside Costcutters.’ Passport. Toothbrush. Roll-on. Bam. I’m there. No questions asked.
WALLY. Patsy –
PATSY. M4. M5. Not a sausage. Not a squeak. Not a prob. Wally’s in charge. The all-giving, all-seeing Wally. But now we’re here, now we have this moment alone, in our pants... I don’t need the blueprints. I don’t need a slideshow. Just throw me a bone, Wally. What’s going on? I mean, where do you want me, skipper?
WALLY. Shut your cakehole, leave this to me.
PATSY. See, that’s just it, Wally. I was leaving it to you. And now I’m stood here in my pants. We both are. You look nervous, Wally. You’re sweating. You are. Your top lip is shiny.
WALLY. Here we go.
PATSY. Your armpits are pouring. You’ve kicked right up. The glands have gone.
WALLY. Here we fucking go.
PATSY. You’ve done your trick. Your nervous trick. Like that barbecue. ‘Oh my marinade’s too salty.’ You’ve gone up chum. You’ve done the Sweaty Wally.
WALLY. Fuck off.
PATSY. You have. I can smell you. Dead of winter and you’re sweating like a rapist. (Offering him a roll-on.) You want to roll on, chum? I don’t mind.
WALLY. Why don’t you have a nosebleed?
PATSY. I’m not having a nosebleed, am I? But you’re indisputably doing the Sweaty Wally. Anyone can see it. Mr West can see it. He can smell it. Take the roll-on, Wally. Don’t be proud.
WALLY. You want to go back to washing cars. Eh? Rolling cabbies on the Great West Way? Don’t bite the hand, Patsy. You’re lucky to be here. There’s five or six blokes –
PATSY. Here we go.
WALLY. Fuck off. There’s six or seven blokes could be stood here in your shoes.
&nbs
p; PATSY. I bet they’re right jealous. Six hours in a car with Wally. Shit coffee. Poo muffin. I bet they’re all crying into their pillows. Verily. For I am the chosen one.
WALLY. You watch your step –
PATSY. So what is my task, O Wally? Fight a Centaur? Steal Mr West’s magic bow? What is the task I am so honoured to perform by you, O Wally? O Sweaty Wally?
WALLY. You keep it down, you bumboy. Watch your step, you squashy-headed nit. I’m watching you, bumboy. Don’t bite the hand.
PATSY. Why are you sweating? Eh? Wally? What’s he doing here? In the middle of nowhere. Throw me a bone, Wally. Throw me a bone.
WALLY. You want to wake up tomorrow? Get back in that car? Eh? You want to spend the rest of your life in some home doing jigsaws. Colouring things in. Wake up spread all over some field. I’ll throw you a bone, Patsy. You don’t know where you are. You Don’t Know Where You Are.
PATSY. Please, Daddy. You’re scaring us.
WALLY. Watch your step. Watch your step, son.
PATSY. You watch your step, son.
Pause.
Re-enter WEST.
WEST. Patsy, you’re in luck. By chance. I keep half a bottle upstairs. Under the sink. I rub it on my tummy when I’ve got the flu.
PATSY. I’m sorry to be so much trouble, Mr West.
WEST. Don’t be gay, Patsy. It’s a pleasure. Now I warn you. It’s not a malt. It’s not some prim job’s sat in a barrel since the First World War. It’s not been filtered through six millennia of granite and peat nor sieved through Rob Roy’s sporran. It’s good old-fashioned, straight-up-and-down Tesco’s Scottish Whisky. I like it that way. Let’s see if you like it that way too.
PATSY. Let’s.
He pours. Raises it.
WEST. A toast. To the newcomers.
Pause.
WALLY. To the newcomers.
WEST regards PATSY, who knocks it back.
PATSY. You know what that is, Mr West? That is extremely palatable. It don’t taste cheap and nasty at all.
Beat.
WEST. So who’s your mum?
WALLY. What?
PATSY. What?
WALLY. Rita.
WEST. Rita?
WALLY. You know Rita.
WEST. No I don’t.
WALLY. Yes you do. Rita.
WEST. Who’s Rita? (Stops.) Rita?
WALLY. Yes.
WEST. That Rita?
WALLY. Yeah.
WEST. I see.
Beat.
WALLY. Yes, Len.
WEST. You’re with Rita.
WALLY. Yes, Len. Patsy’s mum.
Pause. WEST doesn’t take his eyes off PATSY.
Bugger.
WEST. What?
WALLY. Blast.
WEST. What’s wrong, Wally? What is it?
Jez Butterworth Plays Page 16