The Tale of Little Bevan
Page 2
Five forty-five.
Okay. Time to kill. The Bell about a two-hour cycle.
Far enough away so he wouldn’t bump into anyone.
Will they serve him? Shit.
‘Pint of …’
‘Lager.’
‘Lager.’
‘Pint of lager, please.’
‘Hi.’ ‘Hey.’ ‘Hey.’
Imagines meeting the guy.
‘Yeah.’
‘Thanks. You too.’
Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God oh God.
He gets really panicked.
Calm. It’s fine.
(Looking at his phone.) Re-reads every line.
Calms him. He’s funny.
Mikey looks at his own profile pic.
A man called Nick.
From a blog Mike had found on the internet.
Tanned. Standing on a mountain. Smiling.
And then more; hiking, sky-diving. He was travelling the world in a camper van. And every photo, every update was … it made Mikey hurt, or ache, or something like that. This perfect life being lived. When his was so … small.
And … he hadn’t meant to, but just to see. He’d used it.
‘Got any pics?’
‘Yeah. This is me’.
And the response. My God! This is what it was to be loved.
The sound of Grindr messages coming through.
Over and over.
To look like that. To be him.
And now a date.
He should send a picture.
The real him. So he knows.
Pose.
He takes a photo. Looks at it.
Skinny little shit.
Can’t even look at it.
Delete. Delete it all.
Six o’clock. That’ll do.
Should he leave a note for his mum?
Split shift, she wouldn’t be back till two or three.
He puts out all the things to make a cup of tea, so she’d know he’d thought of her.
Mug, tea-bag, fills the kettle just right. He could do it later, be back way before her.
But somehow it calms him to think of her now.
Always has.
Wishes he could tell her. A knot he’s carried round for so long.
The time when he was twelve and sat on the stairs, daring himself.
Just do it.
Just do it.
She wouldn’t even care.
But the knot would rise and wrap round his neck. Slowly tighten, till he was choking with it. And all he could do was crawl up to bed. Another night where he hadn’t said. Anything.
SEVEN
Six-fifteen and Mikey can be seen cycling off out of the village.
Hey, Pat.
Hi, Mikey. Not going to the party?
Maybe later.
Nice boy. Shame there’s no one else his age.
Pat off to post a letter. The phone box was gone, but they’d left them this one thing. The postbox.
And the notice board. Pat always liked to take a look. Even though it hadn’t changed from yesterday.
She’d re-read everything.
THE VILLAGE NOTICE-BOARD SONG
One the first of September, yoga resumes
At the back of the hall in the old snooker rooms
Remember to bring your own mat
Weight-watchers for seniors
Eat healthier dinners
There’s no need to diet
We help you get thinner
Time to get rid of that fat
Everything you need to know
On the village noticeboard
Car-boot fundraiser
For a defibrillator
Please spread the word
Tell friends and neighbours
Friday in the cricket ground
Holistic bee-keeping
Homeopathy for pets
Natural healing
Recommended by vets
Six classes for thirty-five pounds
Everything you need to know
On the village notice board
Landscapes by Andy, decking and patios
No job too small. No job too grandiose
Idiots guide to the personal computer
Classes with Steve, accredited tutor
That’s an interesting font
For a Michelin star restaurant
Everything you need to know
On the village notice board
But Pat’s car is still for sale
Since her eyesight started to fail
Her son said it wasn’t safe
She drove the wrong way on the motorway
Pat’s car’s still for sale.
One last chore and Pat could go get ready.
EIGHT
The sound of a church door closing.
Tony jumps.
Half past six.
Tony standing waiting. His pupils dilating as he adjusts to the sudden hushed dark.
All clear. He was alone.
And looking for what …?
It had happened like this.
After the shed, the statue, the smashing to bits. Tony had taken his find.
Carefully unfolded.
Lo and beholded.
The music of St Agathus. We see him unfold the parchment. It is like a light shines out at him.
Tony reads, roughly translating on the fly.
Something something. ‘Agathus, daughter of Anna. Protector of … lonely.
Below North Folk’s earth, uncorrupted she lies.
Come to her through the church of the open skies.’
The rest a blur. But it didn’t matter.
He was going to secure his name in the early medieval historians’ hall of fame.
Which admittedly didn’t have that many people in it. But still …
Because Tony was one of very few people who knew that the church of the open skies was what they once called Little Bevan’s very own St Peter and St Paul’s.
There is a sound. He jumps. It echoes in the church.
Is she somewhere here? Agathus.
Buried below.
No. That doesn’t feel right.
What would Indiana Jones do?
Tries to think back to the films, one and two.
He’d have found a crystal, something along those lines.
So when the sun shines in the east window a beam of light would fall from heaven, on to a map of Little Bevan and reveal in a moment of total glory where Agathus was buried, end of story.
Tony sits.
No beams shone.
Just the sound of Andy’s mower far away. He’d bought a sit-on.
Two pews up. Cut out for him in time and space. His mum’s place.
Where she sat every Sunday.
Came here almost to the end.
Spat on him the day he said he could no longer take her.
His back knackered, and her so weak it would break her.
The vicar came, but it wasn’t the same.
Some kind of shame, she felt. For what was happening to her.
Godless man. Cruel son.
Pull yourself together.
Breathing heavy now.
He goes and sits where she once did. And it’s true that at that moment the sun slid in through the window at the end.
Jesus illuminated. Nice smile. Tony leans back for a moment. Lets himself go. For the first time in …
We feel the presence of Agathus.
Tony has nearly nodded off.
He suddenly sits bolt upright.
Tony Mum!?
Something. A hand had held his head.
Let him rest. That feeling.
From the ceiling Tony sees something fall.
A moth. Flutters. Down.
Brushes his arm.
Tony Mum?
Mum wasn’t a moth.
He was going soft. No sleep.
The moth flies up to the altar and then …
There.
In the corner.
Sitting on a ledge high up in the dark.
A statue of Mary. Her bleeding heart.
Something about the eyes, he knew. If his mum’s was number one, then this was number two.
Drawn toward it, he can’t reach.
The pulpit then …
He leans. Still can’t reach.
And like he was a kid again.
He counts down from ten and on the final ‘go’ he launches himself at the ledge.
Catches it. The statue grabbed and he’s on the ground.
And yes the adrenaline kick. The church gloom.
It feels a bit like the Temple of Doom.
Looks at the statue, if what he thinks is true …
What would Indiana Jones do?
Of course! He throws the statue to the floor.
The statue smashes.
And that’s when he sees someone at the door.
Staring at him. Horrified.
Tony Hi, Pat. Nice day.
He suddenly drops to the floor.
He’s on the floor and feeling through the smashed bits of the Madonna.
Then accidentally sneezes and there’s bits of Polo on her.
Pat Tony? Is that you?
Ah! There. Holy moly, he had it in his hand. Bolt upright Tony stands.
Tony Yes. It’s me.
I was just …
Pat Tony. What happened?
Tony I’m afraid there’s been an accident.
Pat It didn’t look like an accident to me.
Are you having a breakdown, Tony? Is that what this is?
With your mum and …
Tony No.
I mean maybe. Yes. Maybe that’s what it is.
I’m having a breakdown, Pat, and I’m going to go home now.
And deal with it.
Pat Well, can I do anything to help?
Tony I think I just need to be by myself.
Pat Right. Okay.
Only, I will have to say.
About the statue.
I can’t lie.
Tony Yes, Pat. I understand. Goodbye.
Go. Go.
Round the corner he stops. Finds a nook.
Unrolls the scroll. Takes a look.
Tony Dear God. I’m sorry I never believed in you before.
And with that he’s lost to the parchment in his lap. Faded, yes, strange, for sure. But he can see that it’s a map.
NINE
We see Mikey cycling along.
We see Gill getting ready for her party.
We see Tony studying the map and putting on his explorer outfit.
THE SONG OF LITTLE BEVAN
The Roman legions passing by stopped to have an ale
The alehouse went from strength to strength
The Roman horses needed shoes, a blacksmith came and opened too
A mobile brothel travelled up from Kent
Oh Little Bevan
So small and yet so fine
Oh Little Bevan
You’re growing all that time
The Angles, Saxons and the Jutes, came to Norfolk, put down roots
The Vikings came and stirred it up again
The Normans came in sixty-six and added to the crazy mix
They all got medieval on the Fens.
Oh Little Bevan
I’d love to settle here
Oh Little Bevan
If property weren’t so dear
Too many empty second homes around here.
(Eight hundred thousand for what is basically a shed. Where were we? Oh yeah!)
Instrumental.
Then the plague came and they all died
Except for a brother and sister survived
They went forth and multiplied
Which is probably why I’m cross-eyed
Then the golden age of steam
A dirty smell came off the stream
And the washing on the washing lines went black
Then the Great War did come
The lads went off to fight the Hun
So many left and so few came back
Oh Little Bevan
Sweet beneath the Norfolk sky
Oh Little Bevan
You fall and then you rise
Well that brings us up to now
Is there anything that we left out?
Anything we left out?!
The General Strike, World War Two
the NHS and Doctor Who
That should do.
Oh!
Thatcher, Major, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown (gosh,
he had flair)
Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson and Brexit … nearly.*
* This should be altered accordingly.
TEN
Gill has finished putting on her Harvest Moon costume.
Gill looks at herself one last time.
The effect was … better than she ever could’ve hoped.
Listens for Rob down below.
This bit was always her favourite. The bit before, when everything is there. Ready. Gleaming. Not yet spoiled.
Still.
Rob would put a record on. The Moody Blues was the one she liked.
We hear the song play in the distance.
And together they would have just one glass of wine.
Cold. Fresh. Time together.
A finger in the pavlova. A scoop. A treat. Before all those feet traipsed through.
Time. Just the two.
Marriage. Mellow.
I have this. I have it.
ELEVEN
Mikey is cycling like mad.
Mikey Shit. Shit.
Come on. Come on.
Ten past nine. Late.
Because of some arsehole reversing out their gate.
AH!
Driver Hey!
Mikey Why don’t you watch where you’re going?
Driver Why don’t you get some lights?
Mikey What do you call this!
Mikey is holding up a tiny light.
Driver A piece of piss.
You shouldn’t be on a bike. The countryside is not for cycling.
Mikey That’s my wheel dented.
Driver Well, come on in. I’ve got the kit.
I’ll straighten it.
Mikey Really?
Driver Yes. And here. Have this.
Mikey is given a high-vis vest.
And this.
A massive bike light.
And this.
More high-vis, maybe taped round him with reflective gaffer.
Mikey Really?
Driver Yeah. I bought them for my son. Though he would never wear them either.
Then some driver killed him.
On the 143.
So, just watch it.
Mikey Right.
Light on tarmac. Nine miles, then ten.
Starts to feel like he’s a bubble, floating alone.
The occasional eyes lit, then gone.
Above the sky is this … majesty.
Weird tonight. He feels so … right. Here. Now.
Then … (Looking at the time on his phone.) Holy cow!
He pedals even faster.
Knackered.
There. The Bell.
Mikey Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.
Dumps his bike.
And it’s like he’s not really here.
A trance as he goes to the door.
Whoa!
Someone coming out.
Turn about.
No.
No.
No.
He’s done three quick turns. Away and back again.
You can do this.
But as he gets to the door. He sees him.
Sitting at the bar.
And …
Mikey freezes. Thumps himself, hard. Upset.
Mikey Come on! NO!
You pathetic piece of shit.
No.
Imagination. The killer. Because he imagines the next bit. Before it’s happened.
And that’s the
thing. What he always does. Like he imagines telling his mum.
And it’s there. Again. The slow thing. Rising up. This horrible slithering. A snake round his throat.
‘You can’t do it. You know you can’t.’
Stood. Still. His hand on the door.
He sees it fall.
Backs to the side.
And looks through the window.
The boy there.
Looking nervous too.
Mikey I want you.
But all he can do is stare.
Notices his breath in the air.
And thinks. That’s me. That breath there.
In. Out.
Clouds.
He’ll be dead forever.
Doesn’t notice the boy, his date, till he’s there.
Come out for some fresh air.
Looks at his phone.
Mikey just stares.
The guy looks at him.
Date Alright?
Mikey nods.
You got a light?
Mikey shakes his head.
Cool.
And then puts his cigarette away.
Mikey wants to say. Wait. Stay!
Please. Hold me.
Something. Something.
But the guy has gone to his car.
The Bell quite far.
To come for a date that doesn’t show.
Should’ve known.
Always the way. Nowadays. No one got any …
He seemed nice too. The chat good. 1984. At his car door.
Think we’re living it.
NOOOOOOOOOOO!
All of it.
Gone.
Mikey’s phone buzzes.
He’s actually got reception.
It’s a message from the guy.
— Came. Would’ve been nice to say hi.
Pedal.
Pedal.
Who cares.
This place.
This place is dead.
This place is gone.