Alan Ayckbourn Plays 1

by Alan Ayckbourn

  He looks towards Desmond.

  Desmond (pointing, gently) That’s Jack, Dad …

  Ken Yes, it’s Jack I’m talking to, not you, you fool. (turning to Jack) Jack. Thank you, for everything. And you know what I mean by everything. And, happy birthday, son.

  He raises his glass. Everyone, rather startled, toasts Jack.

  Jack Well. This is an unexpected anniversary pleasure. (Reflects.) I’ve made my speech for this year. It still stands. I’d simply like to propose this toast. Here’s to you, Ken. Here’s to us. Here’s to the family. And finally, here’s to the business. We’ve had our share of troubles and we’ve seen them off. And together, I can promise you this, we will continue to see them all off – whoever they are and wherever they come from. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you – the family business!

  All The family business!

  As they drink, the lights fade on the party guests – leaving, for a few seconds or so, the image of Samantha, huddled and alone. Then, as we lose her too:

  Blackout, Curtain.

  HENCEFORWARD …

  Characters

  Jerome, a composer

  Corinna, his wife

  Geain, their daughter

  Zoë, an actress

  Mervyn, a welfare officer

  NAN 300F

  Note

  NAN 300F is played by the same actress as Corinna in Act One and by the same actress as Zoë in Act Two.

  Setting: Jerome’s studio.

  Act One: Friday night/Saturday morning. Sometime quite soon.

  Act Two: A few days later

  Henceforward … was first performed in Scarborough at the Stephen Joseph Theatre in the Round on 30 July 1987. The cast was as follows:

  Jerome Barry McCarthy

  Lupus Robin Herford

  Zoë Serena Evans

  Geain, aged nine Victoria Horsfield

  Geain, aged thirteen Emma Chambers

  Corinna Penny Bunton

  Mervyn Michael Roberts

  It was subsequently performed at the Vaudeville Theatre, London, on 16 November 1988. The cast was as follows:

  Jerome Ian McKellen

  Lupus Robin Herford

  Zoë Serena Evans

  Geain, aged nine Victoria Horsfield

  Geain, aged thirteen Emma Chambers

  Corinna Jane Asher

  Mervyn Michael Simkins

  Notes on the Music

  Paul Todd’s music which was used in both the Scarborough and West End productions of Henceforward … is available for hire from Casarotto Ramsay Limited on cassette tape. Should the production require the actual voices of an individual company this, too, can be arranged through Casarotto Ramsay Limited. Care should be exercised in attempting special composition: the original score was constructed on a Synclavier, and the text requires an instrument of similar sophistication.

  Act One

  SCENE ONE

  A darkened living room of a flat. The only light is from a video/sound console system, at present inactive. We can make out very little or guess the time of day. All at once, a large wall-mounted video screen lights up. Or perhaps a series of screens. We see the picture as from a front-door video entryphone system. Jerome, a man of about forty, can be seen at the door. He is carrying three carrier bags, together with a somewhat incongruous walking stick. We see Jerome inserting his key and struggling and muttering as he opens his front door. He enters the flat. As he closes the front door the screen blanks again. After a second, the hall lights come on and Jerome approaches down the hall. Then the lights come on in the living room.

  It’s a curious room. No windows, or, at least, what there were are curtained off and no light comes through the heavy steel shutters outside. There is a sofa, two swivel chairs and a low coffee-type table – all modern. That’s really the extent of the recognizable furniture. The remainder of the room is filled with some very sophisticated electronic equipment. Not an amateur electronic rat’s nest of wire and cable but custom-built units containing computers, tape and disc recorders – racks of amplifiers, filters, reverb units and gismos of all descriptions. At one end, several keyboards. Some of these are covered and remain so until much later in the play when we realize for the first time what a vast array of equipment Jerome actually owns. The room, in fact, betrays the contradictions in his own character. For while the immaculate technical equipment is kept lovingly protected from the slightest speck of dust, the rest of the room – the living area – is in fair chaos. Remnants of instant meals, old tea and coffee cups, the odd item of clothing. The signs of someone who lives alone and has stopped caring much. And, strangely, the overall impression given off, despite all the modern paraphernalia, is of something faintly Gothic. Three ways off, one to the hall and front door, one to the kitchen and one to the rest of the flat – the bedrooms, bathroom, etc.

  Jerome is standing in the hall doorway having just switched on the lights. He dumps his packages on the sofa and replaces his stick near the hall doorway. Also on the sofa, slumped, face down in a somewhat undignified posture is Nan, who remains motionless for some time. Jerome, ignoring her, crosses to the console, where he switches on his answering machine. As he moves back to the sofa, on the screen and through the speakers, the machine fast-rewinds. He doesn’t take much notice of it, though. He gathers up two of the carriers which appear to be filled with tinfoil-sealed instant meals and goes off into the kitchen. As he does so, the answering machine starts to play back both sound and vision. An introductory beep. A logo appears: The Department of Social Services. ECONOMY. Except in special circumstances all calls made are NVR. 01–993–9000.

  Mervin’s voice Mr Watkins, this is Mervyn Bickerdyke from the Department of Child Wellbeing …

  Jerome groans.

  I’ve been trying to get hold of you for some days now, regarding a meeting. The time is nine forty-six. I wonder if you would call me. My number is on screen. Thank you.

  He hangs up. The screen blanks, the audio beeps. In a second, the next message appears.

  Jerome (On his way to the kitchen, in reply to Mervyn) No, I won’t and I’m not.

  A fanfare-like tune from the answering machine and a logo appears: BLAISE GILLESPIE – Escorts for the Discerning.

  Choir (singing, from the video) Blaise Gillespie! A call from Blaise Gillespie!

  Voice (cheerfully) Hallo, Mr Watkins, this is Mary Hope-Fitch, calling once again from the Blaise Gillespie Agency. It’s ten forty on Thursday. Just to remind you of your appointment today with Zoë Mill who plans to be with you by fourteen hundred this afternoon. I hope that’s still convenient. She’s looking forward so much to meeting you. We feel certain she’ll answer all your rather specialized requirements. If there’s any problems at all, please don’t hesitate to call. Thank you.

  Jerome returns from the kitchen for his third carrier bag.

  Choir (singing, from the video) Blaise Gillespie! A call from Blaise Gillespie …

  Jerome (mimicking them) From tone-deaf Blaise Gillespie …

  Another couple of beeps as the message ends and moves on to the next. It is the same logo as the first call.

  Mervin’s voice Mr Watkins, this is Mervyn Bickerdyke from the Department of Child Wellbeing …

  Jerome groans. And he goes into the kitchen with the carrier.

  It is urgent that I speak to you. I realize you may be – busy with your compositions – but it is a matter of some importance. It’s eleven seventeen and my number is on screen. Thank you.

  Jerome returns with one of the tinfoil food packages in one hand, a palm-sized section of printed circuitry in the other. A beep as the message ends on the answering machine.

  Jerome Look what I’ve brought for you. (He balances the circuitry casually on Nan’s back as he passes her.) Who’s a spoilt girl, then?

  Jerome sits on the sofa and studies his purchase. Another beep. The screen crackles and flickers with a fuzzy image that could be anyone’s.

  Zoë’s voice (faintly) Hell
o, this is Zoë Mill I’m from the Blaise Gillespie Agency. And it’s eleven fifteen … Hallo? Hallo, this is Zoë … Hallo? Can you hear me? Oh, dammit …

  Another beep. The screen clears. Jerome, unperturbed, continues to read. Another beep. Interference as before, if not worse.

  Hallo, this is … Oh, Jesus! Don’t any of these bloody things work at …?

  Another beep as Zoë is cut off. Jerome reads on. As he does so, there is a swift beep – a yell from Zoë and another beep – qualifying as the shortest message ever.

  (in fury) Aaarrrgggh!

  From the machine, another beep and Lupus appears on the screen. He is a forlorn sight, a harassed, careworn man in his forties. He wears a T-shirt reading MUSIC IS A LIVING THING. It appears he is at home, from the background we can see behind him. The sound of a child playing out of sight.

  Lupus Hallo, Jerry. It’s me. Lupus. I thought I’d just call you, mate …

  Jerome, reacting to Lupus’s voice, gives a terrible groan.

  … keep you up to date with how things are –

  A ball, presumably thrown by a child, bounces of Lupus’s head. The child laughs.

  (ineffectually) Ah, now don’t do that, Orson … That hurt Daddy. The point is, Jerry, it’s come to the big N.C.H. Ultimatums from Deborah. Threats from the Bank Manager. I mean real threats, Jerry. Two heavy lads in camel-hair coats kicking at my front door. So it looks like I’m going to have to take that job with those geriatrics. I never thought it would get this desperate, Jerry. Look at me, I’m a top session-player –

  He is struck again by a projectile.

  Orson – don’t do that, darling, Daddy’s talking – Jesus – what am I reduced to –? – relief drummer in a three-piece band for an old folks’ dance in Finchley. Who needs it, Jerry? Answer. I need it. Desperately I need it.

  Jerome, apparently following the instructions he has been studying, removes the tinfoil package from its sleeve and searches for an insulated surface. In the end he decides to place the container on one of his discarded items of clothing, a shirt, which he spreads on the coffee table.

  My God, I do. Because there’s nothing else. But I don’t have to tell you.

  Jerome, having positioned his container, holds it in one hand, and tugs at a red ring in the lid. This pulls out a length of metal strip which he is left holding in his other hand. He stares at both items suspiciously. Jerome, during the next, goes to the answering machine, tossing aside the packet.

  And if Deborah leaves me, Jerry, which it looks as if she’s going to – it’s sorting out the suitcases time, you know – but if Deborah goes – on top of everything else … I mean, I’ve been a loving husband. I’ve been a forgiving husband. God, have I been forgiving? I let her play around with – every bastard who could make it up our stairs. Present company excepted. I just don’t know what I’m going to do, old mate …

  Jerome pushes a button on the console and Lupus goes into fast-forward mode. He spools jerkily on for some time. The odd child-aimed missile hits him on the head as his high-speed voice twitters on. Jerome finishes his instructions. He shrugs and moves over to Nan, picks up the printed circuit card and examines it. He goes to a cupboard beneath the console and gets out a large loose-leaf manual. He studies this. As he does so, Lupus’s message on the tape ends, the machine beeps and resumes normal speed. Another beep. The screen reads: FAULT: VISION TEMPORARILY INOPERATIVE.

  Zoë’s voice (rather distraught) Hallo. This is Zoë Mill from the Blaise Gillespie Agency at – God, what’s the time? – it’s twelve thirty-one – All right? I’ve been trying to phone you for ages – Only none of the – And I keep getting your machine. My train is – my bloody train – pardon the language – is delayed – and I’m now at – God knows where I am – Oh, where the hell am I? Just hold on a second.

  Station sounds as, apparently, she opens the call-box door.

  (calling to someone) Excuse me! I say, excuse me. Could you tell me where I am, please? … Where? … Hendon Central? Thanks so much.

  Door closes.

  Hallo, I’m at a place called Hendon Central, apparently. So I don’t know when I’ll reach you. More important, I hope you’re there because I’d hate to think I –

  She is interrupted by a series of beeps.

  Oh, I’ve no more on my card, that’s it. See you shortly. I hope. Otherwise I –

  The screen goes dead and then reads: MESSAGES END.

  Jerome remains impervious to this. He is still intently studying the manual. After a second, the screen blanks.

  Jerome (at length) All right. Let’s see what we can do.

  He rather unceremoniously puts his hand up the back of Nan’s skirt and fumbles for a moment.

  Pardon me.

  There is a click and his hand re-emerges with an identical piece of printed circuitry.

  Ah-ha!

  He studies it critically for a moment and then throws it aside. His hand goes back under her dress as he replaces the circuit with the new piece. There is a series of clicks.

  (as he does so) Now … I’m not supposed to be doing this, you know … if they caught me doing this … they’d … aaah! … get in … they’d probably lock me up and melt you down for scrap … I had to steal this from a checkout machine at the supermarket when their backs were … aah.

  A final click.

  Nan (a little sigh) Aaah!

  Jerome Ah! There you go. Good girl. Now.

  He heaves Nan round and sits her up on the sofa.

  God, you’re a heavy old bag of bits. Come on.

  He grabs her neck on either side brings it sharply forward and then back. Nan clicks. A male voice, dedidedly not hers, probably a long forgotten technician’s, emanates from somewhere in Nan.

  Voice NAN 300F, series four, model 99148622G for Gertie. System check commencing – Go.

  Nan goes through her pre-check routine. This is rapid and comprehensive. A great deal of internal computer chatter as systems load. Her eyes blink rapidly, her mouth flaps, every joint of her body tenses then relaxes. She rises, sits, her limbs jerk.

  Nan (In her own voice, very rapidly) Modified Sampling Commences. Oh–for–God’s–sake–Jerome–can’t–you–think–of–anyone–else–but–yourself–for–a–change–just–for–once–I–mean–what–sort–of–a–person–are–you? Modified Sampling Ends.

  A few more whirrs and clicks.

  System check complete. Operational eighty-three point one seven. We are sixteen point eight three per cent unstable and are within eight point one seven per cent of permanent shutdown. (cheerfully) Clock set o-eight-hundred hours. Good morning. Rise and shine.

  Jerome Nan, walk about.

  Nan Walk about, Nan.

  She does so. She walks with a rather bouncy stride but has a slight limp. She clanks a little as she goes down on her bad leg. Jerome watches her critically as she circles a couple of times.

  Jerome That’s better. You’re not bumping into things like you were. I’ve still got to fix your leg, though. It’s the pivot. You need a new pivot, old girl. Only they’ve stopped making them, you see.

  Nan (banging into a piece of furniture) Oh, for goodness’ sake, you extremely stupid old bat. Who put that there, then?

  This last reveals the slightly tetchier side of Nan. In fact, as time goes on, we see that she is rather a Jekyll-and-Hyde creature. Her sunnier nature is the result of her initial ‘nanny’ factory programming; her darker side the result of subsequent modifications by Jerome himself – the source of which will become clearer later.

  Jerome Nan, come here.

  Nan Coming, Nan.

  Nan comes to him and stops in front of him.

  Jerome That’s it.

  Jerome crouches down and lifts her skirt to examine her knee. We see that at the knee joint her legs cease to be humanoid and are exposed metalwork. Nan licks her fingers and starts to smooth Jerome’s hair.

  Nan That’s better …

  Jerome Don’t do that …

&
nbsp; Nan That’s better.

  Jerome Nan, stop.

  Nan Stop, Nan.

  Nan stops. He rises.

  Jerome Nan, watch my finger.

  Nan Watching your finger, Nan.

  He moves his finger to and fro in front of her eyes. She follows it with her eyes very slowly.

  Jerome Yes, I think we can sharpen your reflexes a bit.

  He places his hand inside Nan’s blouse while continuing to move his other hand in front of her eyes. Nan’s response quickens noticeably.

  That’s it … that’s better …

  Nan suddenly twitches violently.

  Whoop! Too much. Sorry. That’s it. Nan, thank you.

  Nan Thank you. Lovely glass of orange? Lovely orange?

  Jerome Nan, lovely.

  Nan Lovely. Lovely morning. Rise and shine.

  She bounces off to the kitchen.

  Jerome (glancing at his watch) Oh, I never set your clock, did I? Never mind. You’re better than you were.

  He goes to the console and plays with a few switches. From the kitchen a crash.

  Nan (off) Oh, for goodness’ sake, you extremely stupid old bat. Who put that there, then?

  Jerome frowns but ignores the sound. He puts on some Bach. It relaxes him. The phone rings. He makes no effort to answer it. It continues to ring.