Alan Ayckbourn Plays 1

by Alan Ayckbourn

  Oh, dear God, it’s them … (She hurries towards the bedroom doorway.) Mr Watkins … Mr Watkins … I think it’s them. They’re at the door –

  Jerome hurriedly returns with a long dress, similar to the one that Nan was wearing, a blouse and a pair of shoes. The face remains on the screen murmuring inaudible obscenities.

  (indicating the screen) There! That’s one of them.

  Jerome Oh, she’s OK. That’s Rita. She’s our local representative. She’s fairly friendly. I’ll have a word with her. (handing her the clothes) Try these. The dress should be all right. I don’t know about the shoes. We can always buy some others.

  Zoë Don’t let her in here.

  Jerome Certainly not. She’s not that friendly.

  She takes the bundle. He picks up his swordstick and goes out. After a second he appears on the screen and we see him and the Daughter of Darkness engaged in an inaudible, urgent-looking conversation. Zoë, rather nervous now she’s alone, glances at the screen, notes Jerome is busy and decides to change where she is. She undresses to her slip. There is a small sound from the direction of the bedrooms. Zoë starts, glances at the screen and, hearing nothing more and seeing Jerome, relaxes again. She sits and taking up the clean blouse is fiddling with one of the fastenings on it, prior to putting it on, when Nan appears in the bedroom doorway. Zoë does not see her. Nan watches her for a moment, then produces her face flannel.

  Nan (playfully) Booo! Nan’s coming to getcher!

  Zoë turns, sees her, but is too late to dodge. She screams. Nan sets about Zoe’s face with her flannel. Zoë screams and struggles but her cries are mostly muffled. Unnoticed, Jerome finishes his on-screen conversation. In due course, he closes the front door on Rita and the screen blanks again.

  Zoë (spluttering) Hot hoo hooing hoo hee? Het ho! Hoff! Het Hoff!

  Nan That’s better. That’s better. There’s a nice clean face.

  As she says this, Nan goes off at speed to the kitchen.

  Zoë (calling after her, indignantly) What were you doing?

  What did you think you were doing? Oh, dear God.

  She grabs up the clothes and prepares to flee towards the front door. She all but runs into Jerome.

  There’s a – There was a –

  Jerome Anything wrong?

  Zoë A woman just came in and washed my face –

  Jerome Oh, yes.

  Zoë What do you mean, ‘oh, yes’? Who is she? What was she doing?

  Jerome It’s all right, she registered you as a child, you see. That’s all.

  A crash from the kitchen.

  Unless she’s told otherwise she registers everyone as children.

  Zoë Who is she? Is she your wife?

  Jerome No, no. She’s a NAN 300F. She’s a machine. She’s just a machine.

  Zoë That – was a machine? I don’t believe it.

  Jerome Oh, yes.

  Zoë Well, what is it? Where did it come from?

  Jerome It – er – it came from the man just down the hall, actually.

  Zoë The man down the hall?

  Jerome Yes.

  Zoë I’m going. All right? I’ll borrow these clothes. I promise to post them back. I’m sorry, I don’t think this job is for me after all. I think I’ll just stick around a little longer and hope for a fringe revival of Hedda Gabler. (She makes to go into the hall.)

  Jerome Are you thinking of leaving?

  Zoë I most certainly am. I’m not stopping here with that – deranged machine, thank you very much.

  Jerome I – wouldn’t go just yet –

  Zoë Why?

  Jerome Well, I don’t think the Daughters would be too happy if you tried to leave. Not until your case comes up before Council.

  Zoë Council?

  Jerome They’re considering it at the next Council.

  Zoë When’s that?

  Jerome Midnight.

  Zoë Midnight? I’m not sitting here till midnight … I mean, they can’t … I’ve got masses of … They can just – they can simply go and –

  A single loud clang on the shutters.

  (facing the inevitable) What happens at midnight, then?

  Jerome They’ll consider your case.

  Zoë Do I have to be there?

  Jerome Not unless you want to be.

  Zoë No, thanks very much. What’ll happen?

  Jerome Rita thinks you’ll get away with a fine. It would have been worse but – I put in a word.

  Zoë (sarcastically) Lucky I met you, really.

  Jerome Do you have money with you?

  Zoë I’m not a complete idiot … I have credit cards on me.

  Jerome (curious) Where?

  Zoë Never you mind. Will they do?

  Jerome Possibly. I know they take cheques. Listen, do you want to –

  He indicates her state of undress.

  Zoë Oh, yes. Since I appear to be here for the night, I’d better get dressed, I suppose.

  Jerome There’s a bedroom along there if you –

  Zoë Where is the thing?

  Jerome In the kitchen. It’s all right, I’ll keep her away.

  Zoë Please do. (She moves to the doorway.) There aren’t any more of them, are there?

  Jerome No. Second door on the right.

  Zoë Won’t be long.

  She goes off to the bedrooms. Jerome frowns, as he is still undecided about her. He crosses to the console and fades up a fader.

  (through the speakers, muttering) … trapped in this place till midnight with a raving lunatic and a homicidal tin woman is hardly my idea of a good time …

  Jerome fades her down. He stops a tape machine and rewinds it a little. He replays a section. The voices come over the speakers.

  Zoë’s recorded voice (spluttering) Hot hoo hooing hoo hee? Het ho! Hoff! Het Hoff!

  Nan’s recorded voice That’s better. That’s better. There’s a nice clean face.

  Zoë’s recorded voice (indignantly) What were you doing? What did you think you were doing? Oh, dear God.

  Jerome stops the tape and rewinds a fraction. He replays again.

  What were you doing? What did you think – (He rewinds.) What were you doing? (He stops the tape.)

  Jerome No. (He shakes his head.) No, no, no.

  He hears Zoë returning. He hastily switches on the recorder again and moves away from the console. Zoë enters. She has on the dress, blouse and shoes.

  Zoë The clothes are fine. The shoes are a fraction large but – What do you think?

  She poses to allow him to inspect her. Jerome studies her from several angles.

  Jerome Does your hair – Does it come down at all?

  Zoë Oh, yes. Do you want me to –?

  Jerome Would you mind?

  Zoë No. (She takes the clips from her hair.) I don’t usually wear it down because it makes me look about ten. But – if that’s what you’re looking for … There! Is that more the thing?

  Jerome (impressed) It’s – it’s excellent.

  Zoë Oh. Good. Well. Good.

  Jerome Excellent.

  Zoë You still haven’t really said –

  Jerome Would you mind laughing for me?

  Zoë Laughing?

  Jerome Is that possible?

  Zoë Yes. Hang on. That’s one of the things I’m never very good at. I can cry very well. Floods of tears at the drop of a hat. No? OK. (She tries.) Ha! Ha!

  Jerome looks dubious.

  Sorry, that was awful. I can do miles better than that. Ha! Ha! No. Think of something funny, Zoë. Ha! Ha! You don’t happen to know any jokes, do you? No, I didn’t think you did. Ho! Ho! Ho! God, this is awful. Thank heavens my drama teacher isn’t here. Haw! Haw! Haw! (as her laughs get progressively worse) Look, could we leave it for a second and come back to it. I could do you my piece of Shakespeare …

  Jerome No, that’s quite all right. Don’t worry at all. I realize it must be very –

  Zoë Well, it is very difficult if you haven’t any real – moti
vation, you see.

  Jerome Oh, yes.

  Zoë I mean, frankly, not an awful lot’s happened to me recently that makes me want to scream with laughter.

  Jerome Please don’t worry at all.

  Zoë So, you want me to walk about with my hair down, laughing in a long dress … Any other requirements? I mean, what’s it all for? Are we selling something?

  Jerome Please. Sit down.

  Zoë Thank you.

  She sits.

  Jerome Just a moment.

  He moves to the console again, this time looking for a video recording from the cupboards. Zoë waits patiently. Nan enters from the kitchen. She carries a drinking glass and a plate, both of which are upside down. Zoë, frozen, watches Nan.

  Zoë (in a whisper) Mr Watkins … Mr Watkins …

  Jerome (from the cupboard) Hallo?

  Zoë It’s – it’s back again.

  Nan (putting the things down and turning to Zoë) There we are, doesn’t that look lovely? Doesn’t that look good?

  Zoë (nervously) Oh, yes. Lovely, lovely …

  Nan moves swiftly to her, producing a coloured bow from her pocket which she fastens in the protesting Zoë’s hair.

  (As Nan does this) Ah, now – don’t you – don’t you start that – Mr Watkins …

  Nan There! There! There!

  Jerome (seeing what’s happening) Oh, yes. Sorry – it’s all right, you’re perfectly safe … Nan, stop.

  Nan Stopped, Nan.

  Nan freezes by Zoë, who escapes, looking slightly ludicrous with her hair now in a top-knot.

  Jerome She’s still registering you as a child, that’s all. We’ll re-register you, then she won’t bother you.

  Zoë Anything. I mean, I know my hair like this makes me look younger but this is ridiculous …

  Jerome Could you just stand facing her, so she can scan you.

  Zoë stands some distance away.

  Zoë Like this?

  Jerome A bit closer. Would you mind?

  Zoë (moving closer) I don’t like the way it’s looking at me.

  Jerome That’s just your imagination. She’s not thinking of anything. She’s actually on standby.

  Zoë Yes, I think I’ve acted with one or two people like this.

  Jerome Nan, register.

  Nan Register, Nan.

  Jerome Not child. Not child.

  Nan Not child. Registered, Nan.

  Jerome There we are.

  Zoë (stepping away) Is that it?

  Jerome Yes. She’s now recorded you as an adult – well, rather as a non-child – so she shouldn’t bother you at all now.

  Zoë (removing the hair bow gingerly) Was it designed to look after children?

  Jerome Yes. Well, technically, narrower than that. To look after a child. It was felt that the programming got too complex to deal with several children. So it was designed to deal with just one individual. Then that was it. It shut down automatically and you had to give it a whole new factory programme. It was a safety measure to prevent one being reused, you see. On a mismatched child. Well, so this man was telling me –

  Zoë This would be the man down the hall –

  Jerome That’s right.

  Zoë Why did he give it to you?

  Jerome Ah, well. He was a designer for the firm that made them. But they went bankrupt and he moved away. He really only left me this for spares. I got her working again myself. Just for my own amusement, really.

  Zoë But how can it still work? I mean, I thought you said they shut down once they …?

  Jerome Yes, they do. I don’t think this one’s ever been matched to a child, though. She’s a prototype.

  Zoë You mean that’s why she thought I was …

  Jerome Yes. She lives in hope. Don’t you, Nan?

  Nan reactivates at the sound of her name.

  Nan I’ll do the beds now. Time to do the beds.

  Nan goes off towards the bedrooms.

  Jerome Random programming. If you don’t tell her what to do, after a time she just selects something from her memory.

  Zoë Seems quite sad, in a way. Wandering about, looking for a child to look after. Unfulfilled, almost. In so far as a machine can be unfulfilled, of course. I suppose no more so than, say, a coffee grinder that can’t find any beans to grind could be described as unfulfilled.

  Jerome Well, there’s more to her than a coffee grinder.

  Zoë Oh, yes. But one mustn’t empathize with machines, must one? They say that’s fatal. Mind you, I do that all the time. I shout and scream at my washing machine. (She laughs.) There! That was quite a good laugh, wasn’t it? Why did they go bankrupt? The firm that made them? I’d have thought they’d have sold like hot cakes. What happened?

  Jerome Er … They were very expensive. And – (he seems evasive) – there were teething problems.

  Zoë (suspiciously) Were there?

  Jerome (reflectively) I think the biggest mistake they made was to make a machine so sophisticated and then give it too small a function. I mean, I think a machine that complex needed more than just a child to look after. Otherwise there’s bound to be stress.

  Zoë Possibly. Yes. What an interesting theory. You mean, a machine with a certain sized brain can actually have too little to do?

  Jerome Too little to think about.

  Zoë Yes. Quite a theory.

  Jerome That’s why I tried for a time to –

  Zoë To what?

  Jerome Give her some other thoughts. Feed in other memories. Particularly with her having no chlid, I thought it might …

  Zoë Did it help?

  Jerome I don’t know that it did, really. Still. It was worth a try.

  A silence. He seems steeped in thought again. Zoë studies him.

  Zoë Did you say you were a composer?

  Jerome Right.

  Zoë What sort of music do you compose?

  Jerome All sorts.

  Zoë I mean, is it – you know – popular sort of music?

  Jerome Not very, no.

  Zoë No, you know what I mean – as opposed to classical music?

  Jerome I don’t write classical music, either. I’d need to have been dead several hundred years …

  Zoë Well, what do you write?

  Jerome I write – modern music.

  Zoë Would I know it? I mean, would I have heard any? Only it would be nice to tell people when I get home – that’s if I get home – I met the Mr Watkins.

  Jerome Jerome.

  Zoë Jerome, right. The Jerome. Do call me Zoë.

  Jerome Tell your friends that if they remember those baby-powder commercials they showed two or three years ago, ten times a night, every night for about eight months – then you met the man who wrote that music and wished to God he hadn’t.

  Zoë What you mean – the one with the singing babies?

  Jerome nods wearily.

  (excitedly) All those sweet little singing babies? But that was absolutely brilliant. Did you do the music for that? But that was absolutely fantastic. That was wonderful. That was so clever. That was completely and utterly brilliant. You’re an absolute genius.

  Jerome Thank you.

  Zoë Oh, I wish they’d bring that back. It was so good.

  Brilliant. Gosh. I’m very impressed. What else have you written?

  Jerome About three hundred other pieces.

  Zoë Any more with singing babies?

  Jerome No, no. No more singing babies.

  Zoë What else?

  Jerome (wearily) Three string quartets. An unaccompanied cello sonata. Several pieces for synthesizer.

  Zoë No, I don’t know any of those. Tell me, I bet everybody asks you this – how did you get all those babies singing in tune?

  Jerome looks at her incredulously.

  Or is that a closely guarded secret?

  Jerome Yes. I’m afraid it’s very – closely guarded.

  Zoë (disappointed) Oh. Brilliant, anyway.

  Jerome (without malice)
Would you describe yourself as an intelligent person?

  Zoë Me?

  Jerome Yes.

  Zoë Heavens! I don’t know. As an actress friend of mine used to say – it depends on the script, dear. (She laughs.)

  Jerome (nodding) Yes. That’s a good point. That’s a very good point.

  Zoë It’s an intellectual role this then, is it?

  Jerome No. Just reasonably intelligent. I was just wondering –

  Zoë Oh, I can come over as pretty clever, you know. I did Arkadina in The Seagull – do you know it?

  Jerome No.

  Zoë Chekhov. I mean she’s often played as quite stupid but I don’t think she is. Of course, I was much too young for her … (Pause.) Shall I walk around again for you?

  Jerome No.

  Zoë restlessly walks about.

  Zoë And I played the wife in See How They Run. She’s no fool, either. (Pause. At the console, pretending to play a keyboard) Diddly-diddly diddly dom. Is this where you compose?

  Jerome Uh-huh.

  Zoë Brilliant. What is it?

  Jerome It’s a digital audio system.

  Zoë Ah-ha!

  Jerome Which I use primarily for sampling and synthesizing aural sounds.

  Zoë Brilliant. Whey-hey. Diddly-diddly –

  Jerome Please don’t touch anything. Please.

  Zoë No, no. Sorry. I promise.

  Nan comes through busily with a bundle of dirty sheets en route to the kitchen, humming to herself.

  What on earth is it doing?

  Jerome Oh, she’ll do that for hours. It keeps her happy.

  Zoë Oh. (Slight pause.) Are you still deciding?

  Jerome Yes.

  Zoë OK. Don’t mind me. I can’t go anywhere, anyway. (She studies the console; reading) What do ‘bedroom one’, ‘bedroom two’ and ‘bathroom’ mean.

  Jerome Just an experiment.

  Zoë Something you were composing?

  Jerome That’s right.

  Zoë A bathroom suite. (She laughs.)

  Jerome (meaning her laugh) Very good, very good.

  Zoë Pretty good for me. (She laughs again.) I very rarely make jokes.