I'm only saying this out of a mother's love, dear. Your
best friends won't tell you the truth, but a devoted
mother will. Perhaps you don't have any friends here,
being so far away from civilization. Where are we?
Cumberland? You do live like monks here, the two of
you. Well I'm not used to living a monastic life. It is
very frugal here. I had a cucumber sandwich for
supper. That's all Ruth offered me. How do you
survive? Well I shall be returning to boarding house life
next week. It is not that bad. The food can be quite
good and this place is in Brighton which is full of
fascinating people to talk to. I may find someone
interested in another rescue attempt…. I know they're
both still alive… despite what most people say. I know.
And there are yet more, willing to lay down their lives
to search for Puggy. The Royal Geographical Society
forwards their letters weekly! Why don't you have
another go? That air search of yours the Daily Mail
financed was not thorough . A really devoted son would
try again. I'm sure you could find them . If you
wanted to. But you're not that interested are you? You
have too much to do here. Gardening. Growing your
sprouts etc. Oh, well. I don't want to nag. I think I'll go
to bed. There's an interesting talk on the wireless. I
won't have it on loud. Sleep well dear. Ruth may be
unattractive but at least she's better than that last
wife. Charlotte, was it? God, she was a bitch. Never did
a stroke around the house. Oh well. You're slightly
better off now. Goodnight.
NINA leaves. BRIAN
Charlotte. Charlotte. I'm sorry I ever introduced you to
Mother. And I'm sorry you had to be sacrificed.
BRIAN goes to his precious cupboard and gets out a certain volume of his journal. He finds a particular page. BRIAN
"Charlotte had said she was going to try and have a
baby if it killed her". I was outside the operating room.
Afterwards I said to the doctor "I heard her pitiful
moaning". "But she never made a sound the whole
time" he replied. "She was unconscious from the start
and never recovered consciousness".
I couldn't accept the end. I was determined to
celebrate her birthday the following week. I put on
Charlotte's little gramophone and played the old dance
records. They just tore my heart. So vividly did it bring
back memories of parties long forgotten. I almost
heard the swish of my Charlotte's long dress. I could
almost breathe her perfume and feel her warm body as
I danced with her in my arms. No, I had nothing in my
arms as I danced. But I held her three beloved rings
and her silver bracelet. I saw the imaginary guests off
at the front gate and said to my beloved shade "Well it
was a darned good party, my sweetheart. I think
everybody enjoyed it". We sat a while staring at the
embers of the dead fire and then went up to bed. Did I
love her in sleep? Maybe…
He puts back the journal and slams the cupboard door. BRIAN
Charlotte's departure was one of the divine
arrangements that had to be made so that my quest
could proceed. Mother would never understand my
life's dedication to the Fawcett saga or my unique
protection of Daddy and his secret fate. I have
important work to do for the powers that be. The
distractions of doing it while married to a woman I
deeply loved would not have permitted me to do it
properly. So I lost the only thing I ever loved. But also,
I had to understand what I must transmit. The "lesson"
of death had to be learnt from personal experience.
Now the work will be done. And if I am to be the
"mouthpiece" of the Gods, then the honour is indeed
The lights dim except for a spotlight on BRIAN'S face. BRIAN
And so to bed. Mother in her room. Still up, listening to
the loathsome voice of the BBC. I only hope her visit
will leave us with some dregs of sanity.
In the bathroom, the sight of Mother's false teeth on
the basin, terrified me. The teeth were not content at
just grinning. They actually snapped at me. Luckily I
was able to jump out of the way in time. But I'm
terrified the teeth may find their way into my room at
night and bite me to death in my sleep.
Blackout. SCENE FIFTEEN. THE STAGE.
An audition in progress. "FAWCETT" comes in, hands full, holding a polystyrene cup of tea, a script and a full plastic carrier bag with a baguette sticking out of it. He puts some of it down and shields his eyes trying to see into the auditorium. He looks like the real Fawcett but has a camp, Larry Grayson northern accent.
Anybody there?… Oh, yeah. There you are. Where do
you want me, Mr. Director?
ALBERT replies from the back of the auditorium. ALBERT
Hullo. Just come "down-centre", would you.
He does so, opening his script. ALBERT
Thanks. OK. Ready when you are.
Eee! Hold you horses, Chuck. My agent Effingham
Associates told me nothing about this. Well, they're