Act Two - Black Teeth and a Brilliant Smile
By Adelle Stripe
Act Two
The Fine Young Cannibals play on the jukebox.
Andrea is at the bar. Mo serves her.
Andrea Another half when you’re ready.
Mo Feeling any better?
Andrea Worse.
Mo Maybe you should go home? Try and have ten minutes before your kids get home?
Andrea Maybe.
She takes her drink and returns to her table. She lights a fag and watches as Claire dumps two bags of clothes and toys in front of Young Andrea.
Young Andrea And where are am I supposed to go?
Claire Not my problem. You knew the rules. No men allowed.
Young Andrea Mick were never here!
Claire He was seen climbing in through the window!
Young Andrea How do you even know it were him?
Claire Tight white jeans and the unmistakable smell of Blue Stratos? Bit of a giveaway, Andrea. And you’ve been seen in his car on a night. Up on Baildon Moor?
Young Andrea So?
Claire You’re not the only one. He’s been seen with another girl as well.
Young Andrea I know! We take it in turns so there’s allus someone to watch each other’s kids!
Claire Bloody hell, Andrea.
Young Andrea I don’t see the problem.
Claire His wife trying to kick down the front door? That’s a problem. The neighbours complaining to the council? That’s a problem. Mick in the front yard, pissed and shouting for you? I’m sorry, Andrea. You’re going to have to go.
Young Andrea Fine. I’m about done with this place anyway.
The sound of a train and then hustle and bustle of King’s Cross.
Young Andrea carries her overnight bag. She approaches Liane.
Young Andrea Are you Liane?
Liane Andrea? Welcome to London. How was the journey?
Young Andrea Fine.
Liane Let me take your bag.
Young Andrea No you’re alright. It’s warm down here, isn’t it?
Liane Wait until you get on the Tube. We’re going to head to my office at Broadcasting House. Home of the BBC.
Young Andrea I’ve seen that on telly.
Liane I thought we could do a bit of work on your play before your meeting at the Royal Court. And then we’ll get fish and chips back at mine. How does that sound?
Young Andrea takes a seat and takes off her coat.
Andrea Liane worked in radio drama at the BBC. She took me up to the third floor and found me a desk to work at.
The sound of Liane’s busy radio office gradually – a snatch of The Archers theme tune, a news bulletin, a Desert Island disc – rises as . . .
Andrea All around there were people talking and listening to stuff on spools of tape over and over. And bits of music and that.
Liane Sorry about the racket.
Young Andrea Nowt compared to the mill.
Liane (amused) I suppose not. Well. I’ll leave you to it.
Young Andrea gets her battered manuscript out of her bag and starts working.
Andrea I just tuned it out and got to work. Having all that time to write down my thoughts . . . It were a luxury. Especially with Liane bringing me cups of tea and that. It were like the words just flowed out of me. And there it was, my play.
Andrea finds a neat manuscript on her table and rifles through the pages appreciatively. She hands the manuscript to Young Andrea who swaps it for her scrappy version. Young Andrea clutches her new manuscript to her chest and takes a deep breath as . . .
Sophie Sorry to keep you waiting. Can I help you?
Young Andrea panics and turns to leave.
Young Andrea No. Sorry.
Sophie catches her arm.
Sophie Are you sure? Were you looking for someone?
Young Andrea Max. I’m supposed to be seeing Max.
Sophie Well, I’m Sophie, his assistant.
She looks expectantly at Young Andrea.
Sophie And you are?
Young Andrea Andrea. Dunbar. From Bradford.
Sophie Oh! We’ve heard so much about you. Listen, Max is in a meeting but he’ll be down soon. Why don’t I give you a quick tour of the theatre? You can leave your things down here.
(Of the manuscript.) I can put it somewhere safe.
Young Andrea Safe enough wi’ me.
Sophie As you wish. So, this is the Royal Court. More than a building. It’s a way of life, an attitude, a form of thinking. You see?
Young Andrea Yeah, it’s nice.
Sophie Built in 1888. So, it’s a bit antiquated. Unreliable lighting which can be a bit of a fire risk. Last week we had a flood. Something to do with the drains . . .
Young Andrea So, the floor was covered in shit?
Sophie Yes, I believe so. The mighty excrement of the London’s theatre community.
Young Andrea And this is where you’ll be putting on my play?
Sophie I don’t think you’re quite ready for the main stage just yet.
Young Andrea/Andrea We’ll see.
Sophie leaves Young Andrea to contemplate this. She looks out into the audience as if on the stage. We hear the sound of an audience clapping and laughing, getting louder. Young Andrea is clearly exhilarated.
We hear the sound of a train. Young Andrea turns and smiles to see Alma with her smart clothes, shiny handbag, lipstick.
Young Andrea So? What did you think?
Alma Well, it’s summat a bit different.
Young Andrea It’s sold out, you know.
Alma Oh, that’s good.
Young Andrea And they’ve asked me to write some more. And it wouldn’t be in that poky little hole this time. Max thinks I’m ready. I thought I might write summat about Yousaf. You know, what happened last year?
Alma says nothing, her silence speaking volumes.
Young Andrea Mum?
Alma Is that a good idea? Dragging it all up?
Young Andrea shrugs.
Alma You be careful. I mean it. Don’t push yourself so much. You know how tired you get.
Young Andrea Not like I’m on my feet all day. Like when I were at ‘mill.
Alma I know that.
Young Andrea is annoyed at her lack of enthusiasm.
Young Andrea Do you see that sign, up there? My name’s gonna be on it, Mum. My name actually in lights. Can’t you be happy for me?
Alma I am happy for you.
Young Andrea Well, you might want to tell your face.
Alma bristles at her sulky cheek.
Alma I just don’t want you to get carried away with all this, Andrea.
Young Andrea How am I getting carried away?!
Alma Like what you said to them journalists, in the papers . . .
Young Andrea What?!
Alma It were a bit much, that’s all.
Andrea is looking through yellowed newspaper cuttings. She reads the headlines with disgust.
Andrea A divided community. Nasty brutish Bradford life. Brafferton Arbor, the worst street on the worst estate in Bradford.
Young Andrea Mam, they twisted it. I mean, how do they know? Have they been to every bloody street in Bradford to check? It’s a load of shit.
Alma Tell that to the neighbours, Andrea! And the way they always go on about you being an gymslip mum with a half-caste kid. Why does that even matter?
Young Andrea Because it’s what I write about.
Alma And don’t I know it?
Alma leaves. Young Andrea looks to Andrea: Is it just me? Andrea shrugs and uses a foot to push a stool out from under her table. Young Andrea hesitates before taking a seat. Andrea hands her some paper and a pen.
Young Andrea writes, scribbles and thinks as Andrea lights two cigarettes. She hands one to Young Andrea who barely looks up as she takes it. Andrea looks on indulgently before . . .
Andrea Mam were right. It wasn’t as easy writing the next play.
Andrea and Young Andrea mirror each other as they stretch and rub their temples.
Andrea And Max nagging at me didn’t bloody help.
They both look at the phone on the bar as it rings. They stare at until it falls silent. A blessed relief. Young Andrea gets back to her writing as . . .
Andrea Full of useless advice about letting it all out through my characters and how I should just write what I know.
Young Andrea (pissed off) What do you think I’m trying to do?
The phone rings again. Andrea and Young Andrea both hold their heads as if the noise is causing them pain. They wait until it stops ringing.
Andrea What Max couldn’t understand . . . Writing it was like living it again. Yousaf. The arguments. Getting pregnant. The refuge. Mick.
Young Andrea looks up at this and looks around as if looking for Mick.
Young Andrea Mick? You here?
Andrea He went to the shop one night and never came back.
Young Andrea shrugs and returns to her writing. The pay phone rings and they stare at again. Finally it stops. They enjoy the peace for a moment but then the jukebox springs to life and a cracked version of I Wanna Kiss You All Over by Exile.
Young Andrea Oh, for fuck’s sake!
Andrea I hated it in that flat. I missed the Arbor. I missed me mam. I missed David, Kathy, Jean. I even missed our Pam.
Young Andrea/Andrea Gobby Cow.
Andrea I wanted my own place. I wanted a better life for Lorraine. I wanted to write. Because . . .
Young Andrea Either I write or I go back to the mill.
Suddenly Young Andrea stands, scattering her papers everywhere. She goes over to the jukebox and gives it an almighty kick as . . .
Young Andrea Will you shut the fuck up!
The music stops.
Andrea Neighbours put me windows through for that.
Young Andrea realises that her papers are on the floor. She drops to her knees to pick them up, trying to make sense of this as . . .
Andrea I told Max about it all. The neighbours, Mick, the flat . . .
(As Max.) Good!
Young Andrea You what?
Andrea (as Max) Nothing is wasted. Put it all in the play!
Young Andrea Like that’s all my life is good for? Just stuff to put in a fucking play for folk to pick over. Eh?
Young Andrea and Andrea look at the audience as if accusing them of the same.
Andrea In the end, Max decided I should come down and stay with him at his house in London. So, I talked Eileen into coming down too. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Eileen comes on with three overfilled glasses of wine, slopping it about as she looks around Max’s house approvingly.
Eileen Eh! Look at this place.
She hands a glass to Andrea, who silently toasts her.
Young Andrea Careful. You’re getting it everywhere.
Eileen Sorry.
She hands Young Andrea a glass and joins her on the floor.
Eileen Who the hell has white carpets?
Young Andrea Someone who doesn’t have kids.
Eileen Christ, how long do you think they’d stay this colour in Bradford?
Young Andrea They’d be black bright within a week.
They laugh and take a drink.
Eileen You know what? If I had somewhere like this to stay, I don’t think I’d ever come home.
She looks at Young Andrea – is that her plan?
Young Andrea I’ll be back in Keighley next week. Have to be. There’s a lot to sort out. I’m late.
Eileen I thought you and Mick were being careful?
Young Andrea I was, but Mick was being Mick. You know how it is.
Eileen Andrea . . .
But Young Andrea doesn’t want to talk about it. She stands and looks into the audience.
Young Andrea Here, you see that house over the way?
Eileen gets up, glass in hand, and peers across.
Eileen Which one? That one with the mucky van on the drive?
Young Andrea Alan Bennett lives there.
Eileen Who?
Young Andrea He’s writer an’ all. But famous. He’s from Leeds.
Eileen Have you been over to say hello?
Young Andrea Nah. I’ve seen him though. Shuffling around in his mac. He looks a right maungy get.
They laugh and drink.
Andrea Max hated Eileen being there. He was absolutely livid that I’d invited her down when I was supposed to be writing. But he didn’t shout at me. Or slam the doors off their hinges. Or throw his plate across the room. Or just chuck Eileen out. Like he would have done if he were from Buttershaw. Like a normal bloody person. Still found a way to let us know how he felt though.
Eileen and Young Andrea take their seats. Andrea sips her wine and crosses her legs.
Andrea (as Max) So, tell me how things are on the estate at the moment?
Eileen Same old, same old. Nowt changes there.
Andrea (as Max) Come on. There must be something juicy you can tell me.
Eileen smiles and slurps her wine. She turns to Young Andrea.
Eileen We could tell him about Julie.
Young Andrea He doesn’t want to hear that.
Andrea (as Max) Oh but I do.
Eileen So, she’s one of our mates . . .
Young Andrea Eileen. Don’t.
Andrea (as Max) Oh Andrea, I don’t know who Julie is. So, it really doesn’t matter. Come. Pray tell!
Eileen So, Julie is one of our mates, right? Off the estate. Well, weird things happen in Buttershaw. And Julie has this baby, right? When she was still at school. And it were born with no skin.
Andrea (as Max) Oh God. How awful.
Eileen You don’t know the half of it. Turns out it had no skin ’cause its dad were her brother, Steve. Mind, if you saw him . . . Steve, not the baby. If you saw him, you’d get why he could only get his leg over with his sister. He’s like Bernard bloody Manning.
(To Young Andrea, laughing.) We’re not even sure how he bloody managed it! Are we?
She nudges Young Andrea who is not amused.
Andrea (as Max) I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to respond to that. But you clearly find it amusing.
Eileen senses she is being censured.
Eileen You’d be laughing if you’d seen him. Wouldn’t he, Andrea?
Young Andrea is seething to see her friend hurt. She explodes.
Young Andrea That’s enough, Max. Alright? I know how shocking you find it all. How we talk. How we carry on. But for us it’s nowt new. What goes on up there. Yeah, we probably shouldn’t even talk about it. Let alone laugh. But if you don’t fucking laugh, you cry. And what good did that ever do? Fuck all, that’s what. It certainly won’t get this fucking play written. That’s for sure.
She knocks back her wine and hands her glass to Eileen, who leaves. Young Andrea goes back to writing.
Andrea Max banned Eileen from the theatre in the end. And if I’m honest, it wasn’t really helping with the writing having her there. But it were helping me. Cos every time I thought that bloody play were finished there were more to do. More scenes, more notes.
Max ended up locking me in my room with a pack of lager, Told me he wouldn’t let me out until I finished another draft. Told me he did it to all his writers, so I’d no need to think I were getting special treatment or owt.
Young Andrea has finally pulled her crumpled, wine-stained play together. She hands it to Andrea, who accepts it with the commensurate sense of importance.
Andrea But finally it were finished.
Alma sits beside a nervous Young Andrea who is fiddling with her clothes and chewing her nails. Alma quietly puts her hand on Young Andrea’s to stop her fidgeting.
Young Andrea I hope you like it, Mam.
Andrea They’d all come down for it. The whole bloody family.
Alma Look, it’s starting.
As the curtain goes up we hear the audience applause. We hear laughter from the audience. A few titters to start with that build into gales of laughter accompanied by applause.
But whilst the audience is enjoying itself, Young Andrea is not. She looks increasingly disquieted until she finally jumps to her feet. She berates the audience as if they are Max.
Young Andrea What are they all bloody laughing at, Max?
There is another laugh.
Young Andrea No! That’s not . . .
There is an explosive laugh.
Young Andrea They’re laughing at the wrong bits, Max.
She looks distraught.
Andrea They were laughing at me. At my family. At Buttershaw.
Young Andrea turns to Alma.
Young Andrea Mam?
Alma (unconvincing) Very nice, love.
Young Andrea is hurt as Alma leaves her to it.
Andrea Mind you, when they asked for another play . . . Well, I didn’t say no. I’d moved back to Buttershaw and I’d had our Lisa, but I couldn’t help myself. It were like the stories and the characters were just there. Waiting. Couldn’t get away from ’em. Didn’t matter where I went.
The sound of a flushing toilet. Young Andrea takes a bit of loo roll out of her pocket and sits as if she’s having a wee. Rita and Sue appear behind the bar, leaning over it as if checking the make-up.
Rita I’m telling you. It looked just like a sausage!
Sue Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.
Rita A frozen chipolata!
They scream with laughter. Young Andrea silently laughs, listening to every word.
Sue Did you have a jump, though? Cos I bet he’s a right goer.
Rita How long have you known me?
Sue Since infants.
Young Andrea goes to Andrea, frantically signalling for her hand her a pen and paper. She scribbles as the girl’s conversation continues.
Rita Of course we had a jump. And do you know what, Sue? He is a right goer.
Sue Bloody hell, Rita.
They laugh and disappear back behind the bar. Young Andrea continues to write as . . .
Andrea Buttershaw hadn’t changed a bit. It were still a bloody tip. Dogs everywhere, motorbikes and joyriders. But at least it were home. I were stopping at Mam and Dad’s until the flat were ready for me and the kids.
She produces a pile of brown envelopes from her carrier bag and spills them across her table.
Andrea I’ve no idea how the Inland Revenue found me. Well, they could bugger off. I only got six hundred quid for the play. I told Mum that the only brown envelopes I’d open were giros.
There’s a whoop and a giggle as Eileen sits at the bar wearing Union Jack deely-boppers and carrying a plastic flag.
Eileen (to Young Andrea) Come on! It’s starting!
Mo serves them drinks, wearing a wedding hat.
Young Andrea It’s bloody rammed in here.
Eileen Can you see alright? Maybe we should move?
Young Andrea It’s fine. I only want to see her dress. Not bothered about the rest of it.
Eileen Aw, it’s nice. It’s like were all invited to their wedding. Charles and Di. Do you reckon you’ll ever get married?
Young Andrea I bloody hope not. Men are all the same, Eileen. They all let you down in the end.
Eileen isn’t listening. She watching TV.
Eileen That’s her carriage. Here she comes . . .
Eileen and Young Andrea watch with interest and then both grimace.
Eileen What the hell is she wearing? All that bloody money and she couldn’t afford an iron?
Young Andrea Christ, she looks terrified. Like she’s making the biggest mistake of her life.
She looks like he is watching a car crash. But then she spots something that makes her laugh. Mo is dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She nudges Eileen.
Young Andrea Look at ’em all! Crying like it’s their daughter getting wed or summat. Soppy cunts.
Mo Oi! Language, you.
Eileen Shurrup. Don’t want her to stop serving us.
Young Andrea So what if she does? Come on, let’s go down ’Cap and Bells. Maybe have a game of pool?
Eileen Or maybe see that Jim who works behind bar?
Young Andrea Maybe.
Eileen laughs.
Eileen You know what they call him . . .
Young Andrea I know . . .
Eileen Wiggy. And you know why?
Young Andrea Cos he wears a wig, Eileen.
Eileen laughs, highly amused. Young Andrea downs her drink and walks off.
Eileen Oh aye? All the same are they? You’re only fooling yourself, Andrea Dunbar!
Andrea (affectionately) Silly cow. But I missed her when I had to be back to London. Missed everyone. But, I had a bloody play to write. And it suddenly it was really starting to come together and make sense. Moving away from what really happened and taking on a life of its own.
I made Rita and Sue fifteen, underage. That were important. For when Bob’s wife finds out. Means she can take all his money in the divorce. He ends up with nothing at the end of the play. Nothing at all. And all because he couldn’t keep his cock in his pants.
Speaking of which. Max wanted me in for the first day of rehearsals. But when I get there he’s . . .
Young Andrea (wide-eyed) . . . stark-bollock naked.
Andrea Well, apart from his socks. And he’s not the only one. The actors an’ all. Even Max’s assistant, Simon. Poor sod.
(As Max.) Simon, if you’re going to work in the theatre and have a serious career, then you have to get over your reserve. Ah, Andrea! Do come in.
Young Andrea What the fucking hell is going on in here?
Andrea (as Max) It’s absolutely nothing to do with perversion. It’s simply to break down the barriers for the opening scene. Chop, chop, Simon. I haven’t got all day . . .
Young Andrea The opening scene? When they’re up on the Baildon Moor?
Andrea (as Max) It’ll have them rolling in the aisles if we do it right.
Young Andrea Jesus! It’s too bloody cold for that sort of thing in Bradford. They’d bloody freeze to death!
Young Andrea shakes her head. We hear the chatter of people and clinking of glasses.
Andrea Still rather face a room full of bare arses than a first night. Everyone asking me things. I don’t feel much better once the lights go down.
We hear the opening applause as the curtain goes up. Young Andrea is not happy.
Young Andrea I hate this set. Broken fences and corrugated iron, for fuck’s sake? This isn’t like Buttershaw at all. You’ve made it look like a fucking scrapyard. Too bloody late now.
Eileen is sat at the bar as if watching. She laughs loudly along with the audience.
Andrea She’s gonna laugh like that all the way through. Like a bloody seal. Honk, honk.
Eileen laughs again. Young Andrea crosses her arms and regards the audience. She turns her head as if watching someone leave.
Young Andrea Oh! There we go. First walk out of the night. Won’t be the last, I reckon.
Andrea But by the end some are crying. Some are laughing. In a good way, in the right places this time. I reckon.
We hear enthusiastic applause. Young Andrea is visibly relieved. She goes to the bar and is handed a drink.
Andrea In the pub after, I get introduced to this bloke, Oscar. He asks me if I’ve ever thought about writing a film.
Andrea looks expectantly at Young Andrea.
Young Andrea Nah. Don’t like films much.
Andrea Truth is, I didn’t even think I wanted to write plays anymore.
Young Andrea Causes too much fucking bother.
Andrea holds up a letter triumphantly. She takes it out of the envelope and then reads . . .
Andrea Dear Miss Dunbar, it is my great pleasure to inform you that you have been awarded this year’s George Devine Award for Most Promising Playwright. Please find a cheque for your one thousand pound prize money enclosed.
Young Andrea Drinks are on me!
Andrea Of course, everyone were full of ideas about how I should spend the money. Well, I had plenty of ideas of my own thanks very much. Paid of some debt and then I went on a three-day piss up to Ostend with Wiggy Jim. Best chips in Europe he reckoned. Liar. They had mayonnaise all over ’em! Mam warned me to keep it quiet; the money. But they’d already written about it in the T and A.
I got home to find out the Dole Office had stopped my giro. They’d read about me winning that prize in the paper, hadn’t they? So, I had nowt coming in. And another kid on the way.
Third time lucky, a boy. Our Andrew. But how are you supposed to write with three kids in the house? So, when Oscar gets in touch about the film and offers to put me up at his house in Brighton . . .
She turns to see Young Andrea is wearing sunglasses and eating candy floss.
Young Andrea What?
Andrea But even that doesn’t get me writing again.
Young Andrea gets rid of the sunglasses and floss. They both look at the phone on the bar – waiting.
Andrea Me and Max sort of lost touch, I suppose. Every idea I sent him . . .
Young Andrea picks up the phone to check it is working. She shakes her head at Andrea.
Andrea And then Carole, Max’s ex, said she’d direct something of mine.
Young Andrea Back in the little theatre!
Andrea Yeah, well . . . Beggars can’t be choosers.
She looks at Young Andrea expectantly. She shakes her head.
Andrea And I needed the money.
She offers a pen and piece of paper to Young Andrea who crosses her arms. Not interested.
Andrea So, Carole put me and Andrew up at her house.
She looks pleadingly at Young Andrea.
Young Andrea No.
Andrea is pissed off but decides to plough on.
Andrea She were nice. The place were nice. But it was still like pulling teeth.
Carole comes and stands at Andrea’s table, wearing an apron and wiping her hands on a teatowel.
Carole And how has it gone today?
Andrea Alright.
Carole Well, can I read what you’ve written?
Andrea No.
Carole Andrea, I know it’s a work in progress and it will be a little rough around the edges.
Andrea You can’t read it if it’s not written yet.
Andrea cracks open a can of beer she takes from her carrier bag.
Carole How many have you had today?
Andrea Not enough.
Carole Okay. Have you made the changes we discussed?
Andrea I told you I wasn’t changing it. It’s how it happened.
Carole I know but . . .
Carole accidentally kicks something under the table. She picks it up. It is an empty bottle of vodka.
Andrea Don’t start.
Carole takes a deep breath.
Carole Maybe we should have something to eat. It’ll be ready in a minute.
Carole goes to leave. A guilt-ridden Andrea calls after her.
Andrea Sorry.
Carole turns and looks at her expectantly.
Andrea About the vodka.
Carole Does it help? Honestly?
Andrea I don’t know. I just like getting shit-faced.
Carole looks hard at her.
Andrea Yeah, it helps. I can forget about everything. Stops the fire coming off me head.
Carole Writing’s meant to be not easy.
Andrea Nowt’s easy. Life’s not easy. It’s just when I’m drinking I can switch the noise off.
Carole leaves. Andrea shouts after her.
Andrea I’ll find somewhere else to stay next time.
But Carole has gone. Andrea holds her head again, the pain worsening. Patsy comes on and obliviously joins an annoyed Andrea at her table in a bustle. She gets stuff out of her bag as she talks, including a thick screenplay.
Patsy (East London accent) Alright, darling? I’m Patsy. Casting director for the film. Love the script. I mean, it’s pretty raw but I can see how it’ll work. Reminds me of where I grew up to be honest.
Andrea Didn’t think it were like that down here. Plenty of money in London.
Patsy Not everywhere.
Andrea Yeah well, I haven’t had any for this film yet. They’ve got me writing and coming down here but nobody’s saying owt about when I’ll get paid.
Patsy Oh, first day of filming.
Andrea And when will that be?
Patsy Your guess is as good as mine. But it’s always like this. Nothing’s set in stone.
Andrea Yeah, but I don’t get why I have to wait. It’s been two years. I’ve three kids to feed. I had to borrow off Jim to get down here today.
Patsy Like I say, we’re all in the same boat. Hand to mouth.
Andrea Hand to mouth? Try living on a bloody giro. I’m behind on everything. Rent, clubman. I owe my mam money.
Patsy It’ll be worth it. If this films a hit, and everyone thinks it will be . . . Well, you’ll be a very rich lady.
She notices someone come in.
Patsy That’s Alan, the director.
Andrea And he’s two bloody hours late.
Patsy That’s pretty good for him. I’ll give him a hand at the bar. You and him are going to get on like a house on fire.
Patsy goes to the bar. Andrea has to take a moment and swallow her distaste before . . .
Andrea Yeah, just like a house on fire. A fucking disaster with no escape and people got burnt. I should have known from the minute he opened his mouth that he were full of shit. Banging on about how he couldn’t go back to Halifax because the coppers didn’t like him there. Reckoned they’d thrown him down the stairs and split his head open last time he’d been there.
I don’t fucking blame ’em.
The jukebox begins to play Venus by Bananarama. Andrea is really getting worked up as . . .
Andrea When he came up here, he was in the pubs every night. They fucking loved him in the Beacon; Eileen, Pam, Jim. All of ’em. Me father thought the sun shone out of him. A crowd wherever he went. Got even worse when they actually started filming. They all wanted to be in it. They had no fucking idea. What he was doing to them. To Buttershaw. But I did.
Andrea struggles with her emotions for a moment. The anger rising as she remembers. She gets to her feet as she leans into her rant.
Andrea I saw the script he were using. Scenes I hadn’t even written! That twat had brought in another writer. But it was the ending . . . It all came to a head one night in The Beacon.
She turns on Young Andrea at the bar. Young Andrea adopts a swaggering persona – a parody of Alan’s machismo.
Young Andrea (as Alan) Look. This is how it is. You write the script. Give it to the production company and they change it. Make it better.
Andrea Better? That script is not . . .
Young Andrea (as Alan) Look, even if we’d shot your script word for word, we’d still butcher it in the edit.
Young Andrea holds her hands up as if she has had the last word. Andrea rounds on her.
Andrea This is my story. Not yours, not anybody else’s.
Young Andrea (as Alan) Well . . .
Andrea Well what?
Young Andrea (as Alan) Yes, it’s your story. But it’s my version of it.
Andrea Well, it’s a shit version. The ending’s wrong. You’ve made Rita and Sue look like a right pair of slags.
Young Andrea (as Alan) Andrea, this is what I do. Gritty social realism . . .
Andrea It’s not fucking real! Bob should be left with nothing!
She takes a step towards the bar, but she is getting dizzy.
Listen to me! You don’t go back to someone who’s rejected you. They’d never go back to Bob. You hear me?
The dizziness is gripping her.
Alan? Do you hear me?
Young Andrea shrugs and turns back towards the bar. Andrea struggles back to her seat and holds her head in her hands for a moment.
Everyone in Buttershaw wanted to see it. Folk knocking on my mam’s door all hours asking for tickets. But when I saw it . . .
She shakes her head, as bile rises in her throat.
All I could think about was the bits I didn’t write and Alan banning me from the set when they were filming outside my own house. They invited me to the premiere. But it were my birthday. Decided I’d rather go out on the tiles with Eileen. Yorkshire was the only place I wanted to be. But I didn’t need to be there for ’em to start in on me. The papers.
Journalist One, Two & Three appear behind the bar.
Journalist One One cannot imagine the need to create such a dreadful film.
Journalist Two It has no redeeming features, no moral compass and it contains foul language throughout.
Journalist Three It is a disgrace that such a film has been funded by Channel Four.
Journalist One How can you justify this?
Andrea tips a carrier bag of press cuttings on to her table.
Andrea Everyday for weeks. Article after article.
Journalist One Lust for life in slumland!
Journalist Two Land of blighted glory!
Journalist Three Bonkers in Bradford!
Journalist One Frozen sausage frenzy!
Andrea Even Bradford Council had summat to say. Apparently I was the reason that Bradford wasn’t bouncing back. Me. The unmarried mother with three kids to different dads. Oh, yeah. They never failed to mention that. To them I was the genius straight from the slums with black teeth and a brilliant smile.
Andrea puts her head on the table, hiding beneath her arms. Eileen comes on with a rolled-up newspaper under her arm. She regards Andrea for a moment before opening the paper with a snap and reading . . .
Eileen My neighbours are the most miserable bastards in the world. They hate me cos they’ve got nowt.
Andrea I never said that.
Eileen But if they’re attacking me, they’re leaving some other poor bugger alone. I can take it. This lot around here, they deserve what they get in life.
Andrea Or that!
Eileen Blobbin’ off school, expecting everything for nothing. They’ll never change their lot.
Andrea For fuck’s sake! Will you give it a rest? Are you trying to send me fucking mental?
A beat. Eileen realises that Andrea is in a bad way.
Eileen Christ Andrea, when did you last leave the house?
Andrea shrugs.
Eileen Maybe we should go out for a bit.
Andrea Fine, let’s go to ‘Beacon.
Eileen No, not there. I’m not only one who’s seen the paper, Andrea. Let’s go for a walk. Get some fresh air.
Andrea Fuck that.
Eileen Well, you can’t stay here like this. Tell you what . . .
She looks around and then grabs a metal wastepaper bin. She starts sweeping the cuttings into it.
Andrea What are you doing?
Eileen Let’s put ’em away.
Andrea Leave ’em.
Eileen I’ll put ’em somewhere safe.
Andrea I said leave ’em, Eileen. If you want to make yourself useful then go to the offy for me.
Eileen No! I bloody won’t.
Andrea Oh fuck this.
Eileen watches her go to the jukebox and choosing a song; Silly Games by Janet Kay. She listens for a moment and then turns to face the audience.
Andrea Right, who wants a drink? Come on. I’m buying.
The other actors are also watching her. With concern. With contempt. Andrea points to them as . . .
Andrea Come on, you’ll have a pint with me. What about you? Pint? Yeah, have a short if you like. I might even join you.
She turns to Mo behind the bar.
Andrea Did you get all that?
Mo Andrea . . .
Andrea It’s alright. I’m good for the money.
Mo I don’t doubt that. But some of these folk have money of their own they could be spending.
Andrea It’s only money. Come on!
Mo puts a pint on the bar and Andrea snatches it up and downs it. She wipes her mouth and then staggers a little.
Mo Steady!
The music changes to Everlasting Love by Elvis Presley.
Andrea Hey, can you turn this up? Wiggy Jim’s favourite this! Bloody karaoke king.
Andrea sings along, waving her arms. She staggers a couple of times and recovers, laughing. The third time, she can’t get her balance back and she falls backwards. We hear the crash of smashing plate glass and then see blue lights and hear sirens.
Andrea tries to get up, but she can’t. Mo, Alma and Young Andrea rush over and help her up and into a chair. Alma stays with her as the others go back to the bar.
As Andrea comes round she realises she is in pain and damaged. She holds her head as . . .
Alma Shouldn’t be long now.
She turns to see that Andrea is tentatively touching her face as if checking her wounds.
Alma Leave ’em alone or they’ll never heal.
Andrea Still feels swollen.
Alma What do you expect? Sixty stitches and two pints of blood, Andrea. You’re lucky to be alive.
Alma is upset. Andrea can’t cope with it.
Andrea Mam. Don’t.
She stands up and looks into the audience as if looking at the view through a window.
Andrea Miserable bloody day. No change there.
Alma is still composing herself.
Andrea Keep thinking about Sundays and Dad taking us to the skating rink in town. All of us. It were great.
Alma Until he couldn’t afford it anymore. Mind, you did love it. And you allus slept like logs after. Which were a blessing.
Andrea I remember there were this woman on the rink. Teaching her little lass to skate. I were watching ’em wobbling from the side.
Alma Is this the woman who fell? You’ve told me about this, Andrea.
But Andrea doesn’t care. She ploughs on.
Andrea And they put on that Torvill and Dean music over the tannoy. Bolero. And the woman were doing circles in the middle of the ice. Trying to get her kid to do it but she wouldn’t let go of the side. And this woman’s saying ‘Come on, this is how you do it. It’s easy’. And I could see what were going to happen . . .
Alma I know, she fell and everyone laughed. Andrea, you’ve already told me all this.
Andrea That’s not the point. Nobody went to help her. They all just laughed at her. I did an’ all. I was roaring along with everybody else while she just lay there.
Alma ’Cause she’d broken her leg.
Andrea ’Cause she’d broken her leg. Still feel bad about it. Lots of things I feel bad about. I must be clocking ’em up now.
Alma Andrea . . .
Andrea Shit.
Alma What’s wrong now?
Andrea There’s a reporter in.
(Nodding towards someone.) Him, I recognise him, he’s from The Telegraph and Argus.
Alma Might not be here for you.
Andrea (sarky) Aye, there might be another writer being done for robbing off the social in Bradford Magistrates Courts today.
Before an annoyed Alma can answer, the Court Clerk stands by the bar.
Court Clerk Miss Andrea Dunbar to Court Six, please.
Andrea stands behind a chair, gripping its back – she is in the stand, answering unheard questions.
Andrea Andrea Dunbar. Twenty-second of May, nineteen sixty-one.
Single, unmarried.
Yes, I understand the charges but . . .
No, listen. It’s not my fault. I didn’t know I had to declare all my money. And even if I had, I wouldn’t know how to go about it . . .
Yeah, I’ve been getting my giros . . .
Well, if you lot reckon it’s five and half grand then that must be right. But it’s not been a good year. You just have to look at my bloody face to see that.
Fell through a glass porch.
No, it were an accident.
(Close to losing her temper.) I get it you know. I get why I’m here. You think I’m rich because I’ve been on the telly but I swear to you I’ve got nowt. I live with my parents. Me and three kids.
And so if it makes you feel any better, I’m giving up writing. Okay? I promise I’ll never pick up a bloody biro again. Does that help? Is that what you want to hear?
Christ almighty, I wish I’d never bloody started in the first place. Cos it’s brought me nothing but trouble.
She gets down from the stand and goes straight to the bar.
Andrea Half a Castle.
She drinks it quickly as she calms down.
Andrea And another.
Mo gives her an expectant look.
Andrea Please.
As Mo serves her, Kay approaches.
Kay Andrea? I’ve rung every pub in Bradford looking for you.
Andrea And why the fuck would you do that?
Kay I need to speak to you about this thing for Yorkshire telly. The producer says you haven’t sent him your script yet?
Andrea Who are you? His secretary?
Kay No, I’m not. I’m the other writer. Kay? Look, I know you’ve missed your deadline a couple of times . . . I just wanted to see if there were anything I could do to help.
Andrea I can manage.
Kay Can you?
Andrea doesn’t answer. She turns to face the bar and takes a long drink.
Kay They showed me what you sent in.
Andrea turns to face Kay. Face like thunder.
Andrea They had no right to do that.
Kay Maybe so. I’m glad they did though.
Andrea realises that Kay is standing her ground.
Andrea So, what did you reckon?
Kay I reckon it’s a bit rough, to be honest.
For a moment it looks Andrea might slap Kay, but then . . .
Kay But I reckon I don’t have to tell you that.
Andrea No. You don’t. It’s shit. But I’ve already spent the money they paid for it, so tell ’em they’ll have to whistle if they want that back. Tell ’em I’m not a bloody telly writer. Never was. I write plays. Or, at least, I used to.
I don’t think I’ve owt left, Kay. I can’t even finish a scene. Or think of what to say. All that stuff in my head, the lines. They’re gone.
Kay doesn’t know what to say.
Kay Andrea . . .
Andrea I had a fall. But it’s not just that . . . I lost it all and I don’t know if it’s coming back.
Kay It will. I’m sure of it.
They both know that might be a lie.
Kay And until it does, I can help.
Andrea How? Gonna write for me?
Kay If that’s what you need.
Andrea You won’t sound like me.
Kay Well, you’d have to read it first. Before we hand it in. We could make a start today.
Andrea Best get yourself a drink.
Andrea picks up her drink and makes her way back to her table as Kay orders a drink from Mo.
Andrea Kay started popping round. Even after we’d handed in the stuff to YTV. It were good to talk to another writer. Someone who got it. Who knew how it all worked.
I told her I was going to write something about money lenders. They were all over Buttershaw. Vicious bastards. Folk taught the kids to look out for ’em. As soon as one came on the estate, word would spread. Curtains would be drawn and doors locked. Or maybe I would write a follow-up to Rita, Sue and Bob Too. Set it in The Beacon.
But it were just talk because I still couldn’t get a fucking thing on paper. But Kay never stopped trying. Even found me an office. Not that I ever went there.
She tried everything to get me going again. Even sorted out for me to go to London to do a talk with her. First class train, nice hotel. All I had to do was turn up at the station.
Kay looks at her watch. Waiting nervously.
Andrea Easier said than done.
Kay sighs and looks around, close to giving up.
Andrea I rang her ‘night before. Told her I couldn’t do it. It were all kicking off with the kids and Jim . . . And what did I have to say anyway? It’s not like I could even call myself a writer anymore.
She told me she already had the tickets. So, if I changed my mind . . . I told her I probably wouldn’t. Probably.
Andrea hesitates before making a decision. She joins Kay as . . .
Andrea Do we get breakfast on this train or what?
Kay smiles and they take a seat facing the audience. We hear but don’t see the compère. Andrea becomes increasingly fidgety as the intro goes on.
Compere Welcome to Riverside Studios. This evening we are lucky to have two writers who represent the true voice of the North. Their unflinching portrayals of working-class women and the harsh realities of life have made them an essential part of our literary canon.
Andrea is nearly jumping out of her skin at this point.
Andrea Fucking hell.
Compere Ladies and gentleman please welcome, Kay Mellor and . . .
Andrea abruptly gets up to leave. She goes to the bar. Where Young Andrea is waiting.
Kay Andrea?
But she has gone. Kay turns back to the audience, not sure what to say. Andrea looks at Young Andrea.
Andrea What?
Young Andrea (highly amused) The true voice of the North, eh?
Andrea Fuck off.
Young Andrea Well, it’s a bit much.
Andrea I’ve been called worse.
Young Andrea So?
They stare at each other for a long time before . . .
Andrea Well, if it’s the true voice of the North that they want, that’s what I best give ’em.
She heads back to Kay as . . .
Kay Sorry about that. Looks like you might have to do with me . . .
Andrea returns, with another pint. Young Andrea watches from the bar.
Andrea Sorry, I got caught short. It’s a long way from Bradford. Right, who’s first? You? Fire away.
Someone stands in the audience.
Audience One In light of the recent government’s cuts to social security, do you have an opinion on the dismantling of the welfare state?
Andrea Yeah, I have an opinion on that. And I’ve got some about Maggie Thatcher. But as we haven’t got all night . . . Next!
This gets a laugh. Another question from the audience.
Audience Two Can I ask what your position is on the Asian community of Bradford?
Andrea Not sure what you mean by position, love. Listen, there are a lot of problems in Bradford but they’re down to money not colour.
Audience Two I’m not sure that’s how it came across in your first play.
Andrea I’m not a racist, if that’s what you’re getting at, love. I have a half-caste child, her dad is a Pakistani.
Audience Two Yes, but the portrayal of . . .
Andrea Listen, The Arbor wasn’t about race. It was about useless men. Doesn’t matter what colour they are. They’re all the bloody same. Alright? Who’s next
Audience Three What advice would you give to young working class writers?
Andrea Get a proper fucking job.
Kay laughs.
Andrea Seriously. Learn to be a fucking bricklayer, work in a shop . . . You’ll be happier, healthier and you’ll probably be better off. Writing is the hardest thing I’ve done. It’s a grind. You see me up here and you think I’ve made it. But it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You make money, but then you spend it. Come up with a good idea and they’ll only want you to come up with another and another and another. And when you haven’t got another decent thought in your head . . . That’s when they’ll send you back where you came from. Because you’ll always be an outsider to them. A novelty. You see, they think they want to hear the true voice of the North. But they don’t. Because the truth hurts.
We hear the sound of applause. Andrea picks up her drink and is about to leave when . . .
Kay You’re not going are you? There’s loads of people who want to talk to you.
Andrea I think they’ve heard enough from me.
Kay Andrea, I thought this was the whole point of coming down here? There are agents and producers in tonight.
Andrea And they’re all cunts, Kay.
Andrea goes to the jukebox, puts in 20p and selects her track; Not The Man I Used To Be by The Fine Young Cannibals.
As the music plays, the Christmas lights come back on around the bar. Andrea leaves, pausing only to nod to Young Andrea. She nods back, understanding where they are in their story.
A beat.
Mo bursts into the bar.
Mo Quick, someone call an ambulance. It’s Andrea . . .
Drinker Is she breathing?
Mo I’m not sure.
Drinker picks up the phone on the bar and dials 999 as Actor Two follows Mo out.
There are flashing blue lights and the sound of sirens whilst the music continues to play.
Drinker Ambulance please.
Young Andrea goes to her table and picks up the wastepaper bin. She starts throwing her papers into it.
Drinker Yeah, someone’s collapsed. We’re not sure. Someone’s checking.
Young Andrea takes a match out of her pocket and lights it.
Drinker It’s The Beacon pub. In Buttershaw. Can you come quick? Yeah, I’ll tell ’em that. Thank you.
The Drinker heads out as . . .
Drinker They’re on their way. And they say that you need to get her on her side . . .
Young Andrea drops the match into the bin and watches for a moment as her papers catch light before she smiles at the audience and saunters off the stage.
The End.