The Slide and the Swing

Scene 1


Lunchtime on an October day. A New Town in Essex. An unlit
stage. The song 'I Can't Stand the Rain' by Ann Peebles fades in as the
stage is revealed. The audience see a swing centre stage and a slide
positioned upstage right, implying a children's playground. There is a
backcloth lit in a blue-grey hue. Two characters, April and Joe, both
in their early forties, enter stage left. April is holding an umbrella.
The song fades.


APRIL: Why have you taken me here, Joe? It's freezing. This
rain is going to get heavier. They said so on the car
radio.


JOE: Look at this old swing, April. It resembles a cold
drunken soldier, waiting for someone maybe.


APRIL: It's just the wind, Joe, and it's just an old swing.
No one should be out in this weather. Come on, love, let's go back to
the car, I've got a lovely flask of sweet tea and some paste
sandwiches.


JOE: I loved it here when I was a child; it used to be packed
with kids. They used to scream like banshees while their mothers smoked
Rothmans and moaned about their respective 'old men', their Eric's,
Dave's and Frank's and how they drunk too much and never did the
decorating. We used to wax that slide with crayons so that everyone
would go faster. I want to go down it now.


APRIL: Well don't, Joe. Those jeans are clean on today. They
took twenty minutes to iron.


JOE: Steve Berry went for a right burton on the swing once.
He flew off the thing as if catapulted. There was blood everywhere. The
ambulance came and we all thought it was the ice cream man. There was
pandemonium, loads of kids screaming for ninety-nines.


APRIL: I bet all the mothers went mad, as if they had enough
to contend with.


JOE: He was all right. He came to school the next day with
his head all bandaged. We called him the Sheikh for a bit. I wonder
what happened to him. He was always a bit of a wild
boy.


APRIL: Can we go, Joe?


JOE: Yeah.


APRIL: You will be fine Joe. You are not finished yet you
know. It's just some more tests.


JOE: I just want the feeling of being a boy again. Just once
more. What on earth ever happened to Steve Berry?


APRIL: I'll catch you at the bottom then.



A slow fade to black and the return of the song 'I Can't Stand the
Rain'





Scene 2


Dawn on a January day in the park. As 'I Can't Stand the
Rain' fades out from the previous scene, the song 'Pink Moon' by Nick
Drake fades in. A slow lighting build to reveal the backcloth lit in a
light shade of pink with a light box projecting a sickle moon in the
right hand corner. The audience sees Joe, heavily coated and with a
rucksack on his back. He is attempting to walk uphill on the slide.
Music fades.


JOE: (breathing hard) I can do this, come on Joe for Christ's
sake. (He makes it to the top, raises his hands in celebration) Yes!
(He slides down the slide, pauses for a second, and then stands up. He
pulls his rucksack off and throws it at the swing) Fuck this! Fuck all
of this. (Then to the audience) Fuck all of you to. (He walks over to
the swing and sits on it. He once again addresses the audience) I'm
sorry, I should not have said that, I don't know you and you don't know
me, we don't know each other do we? Sometimes we don't even know
ourselves. (Joe leans forward on the swing trying to scan the audience)
You see, I say this because I am buggered, truly fucked. Someone who I
thought I knew once has taken me to the cleaners. We were mates once, a
long time ago, used to play in this very park when we were about ten
years old. He fell off this swing once, a right old car crash, I think
it affected his head forever, made him a little touched, if you get my
meaning. His name was Steve Berry, Bloody Steve Berry. We lost touch
when we were about eleven, I went to a comprehensive and he went
somewhere where the eleven plus exam counted for something. I was
always brighter than him I think, just a bit more of a little dreamer
maybe. (Pause then a little self-mocking laugh). Anyway, I went through
school then college and then poxy Polytechnic. I came out with a
compromised English degree and went to work in a public library, took
my exams and hey ho I am now head honcho in the smashing New Town
library, I fought my way to the top oh yes (hysterical laugh) beat all
those horrible ladies with their spectacles, their Joni Mitchell albums
and absurd addiction to the novels of Jane Austen hands down of course.
(Reflective pause with perhaps a look to the hard ground then
readdresses the audience). Now that's a little rude is it not? I'll
tell you why. My friend and colleague April is one of those
bespectacled wonders and she has done more for me than anyone else
really, cooked for me, kept me company, put me to bed, the lot, she is
what we call around here in this shitty town 'a diamond'. (Pause, Joe
starts rocking on the swing). I love April in a way, not sexual or
anything that dramatic, but as a soul mate. I have not had a girlfriend
for years and now I don't think I ever will. (Pause). Steve Berry made
sure of that. (Joe picks up his rucksack, puts it on his back and makes
to leave the stage, he turns back at the final moment, carefully takes
the rucksack off again, stands and addresses the audience once more.) I
ran into him again five years ago in London. I suppose it was one of
those freak meetings that only occurs convenient fiction but this was
real, bloody real. I was in a bookshop in Convent Garden quite late
just before closing time on a summer Saturday, I was looking for a good
biography on Oscar Wilde but failing, booksellers can be such snobs,
and one even suggested that I could find out all I need to know about
Oscar by listening to the work of Morrissey. (Short giggle). Anyway, I
left the shop in a rage and went to a pub Long Acre to calm down.
(Pause). He spotted me straight away did Steve Berry.


'It's Joe Waterfall is it not?'
'Blimey, it's Steve Berry.'
'How are you mate? It's been years.'
'Decades Steve, bloody decades.'
'Let me buy you a drink, I can't believe it.'
'Excellent. How's your head these days?'


(Pause). And so we went on. We chatted about the old days
school, old girlfriends, jobs you know the stuff, the potted history.
We drunk a lot of beer and then Steve asked me to a club. I told him
that I would have to get back home to Essex but Steve said I could stay
at his 'gaff' in Kennington.


'Joey boy, after a couple of hours at this place you won't
want to go home forever.'


I agreed and went along to this club. I thought that I looked
out of place, but Steve said that I looked fine, I was very tipsy at
this point and Steve suggested that I take one of these pills to keep
me awake. (Pause) I did and it did. I danced like a loon and sweated
buckets, smiled and fell in love a hundred times. Come three in the
morning. I had taken another one of these pills and was flying. Steve
suggested that we go on to a party in South London and at that point
who was I to argue. (Long pause.) The last thing I remember was a
needle going into my arm, delivered by a naked girl who was dripping in
sweat. (Pause). I woke up late afternoon the next day in a room that
resembled an earthquake. There was no one there, just vile smells. I
went home on a slow Sunday train. I put it all down to experience and
did not want to repeat it but at the time rather enjoyed the whole
thing. (Pause). I have not seen Steve Berry since. (Pause). I would
love to see him now. (Joe returns to the swing, rocks gently). About
three years later I started to feel tired and listless. I went to the
doctor and now I have this, full blown and on the way out. As the song
goes, 'The drugs don't work'. They did not then in that room all those
years ago and they don't now in my bathroom cabinet. No one knows about
this except April and I have been a burden to her enough. I'm going
away. There is a place in Spain for me, for special people like me.
(Joe reaches for his rucksack, clutches it to his chest as a very slow
lighting fade starts, starting with the backcloth, then the moon and
then finally on the swing. The song 'Pink Moon' by Nick Drake
accompanies this. This whole effect should last no longer than twenty
seconds).



Scene 3


Midnight on a balmy Easter Sunday in the park. The live
recorded version of the song 'Fly Me to the Moon' by Frank Sinatra and
The Count Basie Orchestra fades in as 'Pink Moon' fades out. A single
top lit shaft of light fades in and hits the swing. The backcloth
slowly lights up in midnight blue, then lighted stars (as many as
possible, the cloth should be virtually covered). Finally, a large full
moon appears dead centre of the backcloth). The audience sees Steve
Berry standing on the swing and swinging vigorously throughout this
lighting transition. Steve Berry jumps off the swing at its forward
most point when the stage is fully lit.


STEVE BERRY: YES! (As he lands expertly, the music fades and
Steve rustles in his trouser pocket and fishes out a small hand made
pipe, from his other pocket he pulls out a small polythene bag and a
cigarette lighter. He carefully empties some of the contents of the bag
onto the pipe, lights the top of it and inhales it, keeping the lighter
lit and trained on the pipe, after a pause he exhales). Ahhhhhh!
(Pause, then he addresses the audience). I LOVED CRACK! (Pause). It got
so much more expensive than heroin, but then again it gave me double
the pleasure. I just wanted more and more of it. One night I went
mental with it, blew about four hundred notes with a couple of Latin
looking bints from Kings Cross. It was a dirty, filthy, fucking time:
really seedy. (Pause). I loved it of course. (Pause). I loved it so
fucking much that it gave me a heart attack and killed me. (Pause). I
died with a smile on my face by all accounts so that's all right.
(Pause). They all came to the funeral, which was fantastic. The
journalists, the rock stars, the whores, the hangers on, the bleeding
lot. (Pause). Oh and my Mum. She cried like a good one she did, a real
old fashioned three o'clock matinee. (Pause). She looked great in her
hat. (He sits on the swing). I fell off this fucking thing once when I
was a nipper. Smashed my head right in. It gave me headaches for years
and years. That's why I started doing the gear I suppose, my head still
hurt, but all of a sudden it hurt with a purpose and a bit of a laugh
if you know what I mean. It was so easy in the line of work that I did.
Music and comedy promotion by the way since you're not asking. Putting
funny people and rock and roll on the stages of Britain and beyond. It
was rife the drugs. We were all on it. It started with speed, then
moved up to coke, the smack, then the most beautiful, gorgeous fucker
of them all, crack. It was all so fucking brilliant! (Pause). I suppose
it all had to end somewhere though. (Pause). I don't regret anything,
absolutely none of it. (Pause). Well actually I do. (Pause). God I was
a cunt, a real fucking prize cunt. (Pause). I should have had just one
beer with him that's all, done a little bit of reminiscing and then
fucked off. I should never have asked him to the club, gave him that
pill and let him go wild. He was the fucking one who wanted to go to
that fucking party in South London and he virtually dragged me along. I
could not leave him could I, that would have been shit. (Pause). But I
did leave him though, so that was shit. I dropped him off at this
derelict flat and then funnily enough fucked right off. I had something
far tastier cooking back at my groovy little pile in Camden if you know
what I mean. (Pause). Sacha, who used to do a little dodgy touting for
me outside Wembley Arena for me told me that he overdosed and then
everyone scarpered. (Pause). Fucking wankers. (Pause: then he walks
downstage, very close to the audience). He is dead as well I suppose.
Little Joe. I never enquired to find out, did not want to seem as if I
was involved if you know what I mean. I was 'Charlie Big Potatoes ' you
see. I was big time with plenty of dough and a growing rep. I could not
let anything like that fuck it all up could I? Well could I. (Pause).
Would you? Come on ask yourself that question. (Pause). I used to like
Joe when he was a kid. He always knew a lot about stuff, books and
music, that kind of thing. We lost touch though. I went to a minor
public school and he went to the local comprehensive. He would have
done all right though, became a banker or something, couple of kids
with a lovely wife, maybe the odd Eric Clapton gig. (Pause). Why the
fuck did I take him to that party? What was I doing, showing off?
Trying to show that I was better than him? That I had a better life
than all those nobodies from that shitty town where we both came from?
(Steve Berry walks back to the swing and then sits on it). Oh well, its
all-fucking wank sometimes I suppose. My old Mum used to say something
similar and she would know. She drinks these days, drinks like a
fucking fish by all accounts. Bless her. (Pause. Steve starts to rub
his head, and then fumbles into his pockets again, pulls out his drug
paraphernalia again). Blimey o Reilly me head is starting to hurt. Time
for another one of these I think. (He goes through his pipe routine
again and lights and inhales, holds and then exhales). Ahhhh. (Pause
then winks at the audience). See you around then. (Steve begins to sing
"Fly Me to the Moon' to himself. The backcloth starts to fade, then the
stars then the moon. Finally all that remains is the top shaft of light
as Steve slowly rocks on the swing. Then fade to
black).



Scene Four


A summer mid morning in the park. The Joni Mitchell song 'The
Last Time I Saw Richard' fades in. The lights fade up on the backcloth
lit in cornflower blue. A light box reveals a blazing sun high left on
the cloth. The stage lighting builds brightly to reveal April sitting
at the bottom of the slide holding a photograph of Joe, a flask of tea
on the floor.


APRIL: He has gone, I don't know where but Joe has gone.
(Pause, she puts the photograph next to the flask and addresses the
audience). He pushed a card through my door a few months ago. I thought
he would come back you know, thought he would need me to wash, feed him
and massage his neck. His got keys to my house you know on a ring that
I bought him. (Pause, stands up and walks downstage centre). I love him
so much you see. He is a great librarian and can talk about books and
writers all day, He taught me about Oscar Wilde, James Joyce and Jack
Kerouac. He is kind of sexy as well in a clumsy kind of way; he could
trip over a shadow and graze his knees like a little boy. He never
looks after himself, especially after he got ill. I always try and cook
for him when I can and I make him a packed lunch, he likes fish paste
and exotic fruit. (Pause). He'll come back you know, he will. (A long
silent pause, then April breaks down in overwrought tears, she stops,
composes herself and then returns to sit on the bottom of the slide and
pours herself a cup of tea from the flask. She fleetingly looks at the
photograph). It's me who is killing him you know, me who gave him the
virus. (Pause). It was just the once, a hungry half hour of passion as
Joe said the day after in the staff room. We had a large bottle of wine
back at his after staying late at the library unpacking new stock. He
played Jazz on an old record player; Chet Baker was the musician as I
remember. He picked me up from the settee and started dancing with me.
The song got stuck on its groove and then Joe kissed me and then, and
then, well you know. (Pause and then more tears. April walks to the
swing, stands and rocks it, then confronts the audience). We all need
love! Go on, tell me that we don't. You can't can you? (Pause). I knew
I was ill when we slept together, knew that I had the virus, knew that
I could possibly pass it on to someone, but I needed love you
understand! Just love like you. (Pause). I got it in Portugal, from a
man in a bar. I was on holiday with my sister Jude and her boyfriend
Martin. I left them alone for a few hours in the apartment. I wanted
sex with this man but hated it as well. (Pause). It was all over very
quickly. (Pause). I went to give blood outside the library one lunch
time about six months after and the health centre called me a couple of
weeks later. They only really check a few so I've read since, so I am
very lucky on unlucky depending on which way you look at it. (Pause). I
don't know what I'm going to do now. The drugs seem to be keeping me
calm, my cell count is holding. There plenty of life in this old dog
yet. (Pause). I suppose I am a bit of a dog you know. (Pause). Joe
never knew it was me you know. He thought he got it at a party in
London from a drug addict. I loved him too much to tell him. That's
maybe why I looked after so much, guilt and love you see, guilt and
love. (Pause). They are knocking this park down tomorrow; they are
going to build some shops here. (Pause). And I am going to work at the
library alone, amongst books and order. (Pause, April sits on the
swing). Come home Joe please come home, please. (April softly starts to
cry as she swings. The lights fade slowly to blackout accompanied by
Chet Baker's version of 'My Funny Valentine').


The End