Lies, lies and more lies. There are so many damned lies in Brookside now, it’s difficult to know exactly who is telling the truth. And the truth - the truth is never spoken, or it’s glossed over or ignored, or used as it suits the character, much in the same way Dire Murray uses her Catholicism.
Anthea has made Ron a cup of tea, for which he is grateful. He has, he informs his wife, a mouth like Ghandi’s flip-flop, which, I surmise, to mean that he’s thirsty.
Sitting down oppisite Ron, Anthea asks precipitously if Ron plans on seeing Jacqui today. Ron makes a dismissive gesture, being lost for words, whilst Anthea takes advantage of his speechlessness to observe that, in her opinion, Ron is being too hard on Jacqui.
Ron reminds Anthea that Jacqui, his own daughter, reckons that Ron’s going to get a prison sentence. Anthea is trying to smooth things over for Jacqui, and she suggests to Ron that perhaps Jacqui didn’t mean what she said to come out the way it did. Perhaps Jacqui meant that she wanted to get married soon and for Ron to be there for her, before he had all the distractions of the imminent trial. Ron’s approval, Anthea says, means a lot to Jacqui.
Ron won’t be moved. He reminds Anthea that he’s lived next-door to Max Farnham for a decade now. He’s seen his sordid comings and goings. And anyway, why was Anthea all of a sudden in Jacqui’s corner over this dilemma?
Anthea says that Ron should have been at home yesterday when Jacqui first called on her. She listened to Jacqui talking about Max and heard real passion in her voice. Jacqui loves Max, says Anthea, but she loves Ron too, and the girl is torn between the pair of them.
Ron reiteratest that the thought of Jacqui together with Max Farnham makes him physically ill. Why, Max Farnham changes women like seasons. And anyway, if Jacqui couldn’t assure him of her support in his hour of need, she could whistle for his support. Ther would be no blessing of that union on Ron’s part.
The doorbell rings in the first segment of the Murray sitcom. Marty answers to find Brigid (as usual) on the doorstep.
‘No Great Grannies today then?’ Enquires Marty in pseudo-politeness.
Brigid retorts that she’s not cleaning today, if that’s what Marty means. She’s come to look after her grandchildren, whilst Marty and Diane are off to see the consultant. From the kitchen, Adele shouts that she could look after herself. Marty sarcastically remarks that Brigid could have saved herself some bus fare by staying over from tea last night, and anyway, they would only be gone for the afternoon. Adele could get Antony’s tea, unless Brigid were planning on staying for tea tonight as well.
Antichrist Ant, the little bigoted prick who’s a future recruit for the IRA (another potential Brookie storyline), enters, followed by Adele. Ant annouces that he’d rather his Nin fixed his tea, as Adele would probably poison his (of course his sister is such a well-known murderer).
Adele asks Brigid if, by any chance, she’d bought Adele’s birthday present yet. Brigid admits that she hadn’t. In fact, she was going to suggest that she and Adele go downtown the following day in order that Adele could choose something nice. Adele mentions the possibility of Brigid getting contact lenses for her, but Antony bitchily remarks that sticky tape suits Adele.
The Divine Miss D sits at a desk in the Farnham household, working at some sort of paper chase. Maxim enters, with a mysterious smile on his face. Jacqui looks tearful and worried. Max left that morning before she was even awake. Jacqui’s been sat there all morning, worrying about what she had said to Ron the previous day. She was awful to say that; no wonder he sent her packing, she witters. She made it sound as though she wanted a quickie wedding before Ron was off to prison.
Well, Maxim smiles cryptically, he’s got some news that just might bring Ron around. Ron would have to accept them as a couple once he knew that a date had been set for the wedding. Jacqui is all smiles now. Max has managed to get a date. When?
Two weeks from Friday, announces Maxim, 14th September. He’d booked the venue and the licence could be picked up the morning of the ceremony. Jacqui wants to know where the wedding’s going to take place, but Max is adamant that that’s to be a surprise. AND, he says, he’s booked the registrar as well.
The Murray sitcom is doing its infomercial bit, advising all interested viewers on the step-by-step In-Vitro Fertilisation procedure. Brigid, Diane, Adele and the Antichrist sit huddled together on the sitcom sofa in the sitcom front room. Diane has effected a miraculous transformation from the evil, selfish, hypocritical stepmother, to the beatified sometime Catholic Madonna - well, actually, the closest she comes to any Madonna is possibly Mrs Ritchie on a bad hair day. She sits beside her mother, who’s curious about the treatment Dire will most likely receive after this trip to the consultant.
This time, Dire explains patiently, as if to a child, because the whole world is a child to the maternally-challenged Dire in her wisdom, the procedure is more natural.
Good, Brigid declares stoutly, for it’s all this poking and prodding that she hates. She asks the whereabouts of the Plank, and Antony informs her that he’s ‘doing a foreign’, or working on cars for cash, as he’s unemployed and skint. (Am I to assume that there are no vacancies for qualified mechanics in Liverpool?)
Dire begins the explanantion in the tones of telling a bedtime story. The next stage of the procedure, boys and girls, will involve a great, big freezer. This procedure has a name. It’s called ‘Frozen Embryo Replacement’, and everyone has to sit quietly and wait patiently until the blessed, patient Dire has her next period. (Er, sorry, but does Antichrist Ant know what a ‘period’ is - apart from being the American expression for a ‘full stop’?)
During the next stage of the procedure, the consultant fairy godmother will net the frozen embryos from the great, big freezer and insert them into the blessed, sainted Dire, in hopes that some of the embryos will survive the thaw. Antichrist Ant, anxious to confound the world with his preponderence of knowledge of female reproductive systems (a good thing to know if one plans to become a priest) decides to interject his comments, saying that it would be necessary for Marty to fertilise the embryos first. He says this with an authority which is frightening. (In fact, I wonder if anyone, particularly his grandmother, has thought to inform this pious little religious bigot that the procedure that Dire and Marty are following, IVF, is against the teachings of Holy Mother Church. So Dire is committing as much of a sin in taking over the creating of a life, as Adele did in ending one. And they both will burn in Hell. No Purgatory, no penance. Go to Hell. Go directly to Hell. Do not pass Purgatory. Do not collect £200. In fact, if I were Dire Murray, I’d be seriously worried about the sort of person Antony’s becoming. I wonder if the mother of Saddam Hussein or Hitler felt the same way when their boy wonders approached puberty).
Dire gently informs the boy that the embryos have already been fertilised, and that an embryo was, indeed, my son, a fertilised egg. So when Antony eats his soldiers in the morning, he’s eating embryos.
After hearing such a moving explanation, Adele demonstrates her recumbant naivete and solemnly swears off her desire for contact lenses, saying she’ll be content with her glasses for the time being. Dire smiles indulgently, as this is exactly what she wanted to hear, and Brigid pats the girl comfortingly on the leg.
Anthea and Rachel are sitting in the bar, sharing a drink. Rachel either must squander all her earnings on drink, or else she must be the biggest scrounger in the world, for there she sits on the razz again, and Beth is nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, she’s not even been mentioned. Anthea is having qualms of conscience about Ron again - the truth of the matter, truth being the operative word, is Ron took a life. Maybe Jacqui’s being the only realistic one in the Dixon family in reckoning that Ron very likely could go to prison.
Rachel, all of a sudden, has forgotten her previous behaviour in this dilemma. She advises Anthea that she can’t allow herself to think that way. (The fact that Rachel previously was very condemning of what Ron had done and wasn’t even willing to consider his version of events is just more evidence that Rachel HAS NO BRAIN). She tells Anthea that Anthea must remember that she is Ron’s wife, and that right now she is the only thing holding Ron together.
She assures Anthea piously that if Mike were in Ron’s position, she would be beside him every step of the way, supporting him. (Sure, you would, Rachel. Pull the other one, it has bells. You’d be out of Scouseland so quick on the next transport for Bristol that we wouldn’t even notice your arse wobble as you ran).
At that very moment, Jacqui is ringing the Dixon doorbell. Ron answers, telling her shortly that Anthea is out and Mike is at physio. Jacqui stops Ron from shutting the door, by telling him that she was wrong to say what she had said the previous day. It came out the wrong way. As she speaks, she nervously fingers the engagement ring, drawing Ron’s attention to her hands. Ron remarks on the ring, assuming correctly that she’s going ahead with the engagement and the wedding.
Jacqui tries to explain that she didn’t want to get married quickly because she thought Ron was going to go to prison, she merely thought that if they got the wedding out of the way sooner rather than later, because she thought perhaps Ron might be involved for months in his trial procedure and he wouldn’t be available to attend the wedding.
Ron laughs shortly. For Jacqueline’s information, his solicitor has told Ron that the trial shouldn’t last more than a week - two, at most. Jacqui quietly tells Ron that Max has booked the venue and set the date for the wedding - 14th September. Ron remarks that that happens to be a few weeks before the trial is due to start.
Jacqui is a clever girl, isn’t she? Remarks Ron, acidly. Of course, she would want to get the wedding out of the way, before all the pre-trial publicity starts. It wouldn’t do for the bride to walk down the aisle with all and sundry whispering about her al’fella. Or maybe she thought that she would give off a good do for the old man before all the hoo-ha about the trial starts. She probably thought Ron would be so emotional and so caught up with worry about the trial and the thoughts of his daughter’s happiness that he’d probably forget all about the fact that she was marrying that ‘hoormaster’ Farnham. Probably assumed Ron would be dead grateful and all emotional. Just set a date and old Ron will come around.
Well, he advises his daughter, Ron didn’t plan on attending. In fact, he’d rather be bunged up than see her wed to Maxie Farnham.
Rachel is working her shift at the bar, when Nikki arrives late, to begin hers. Hurriedly, she asks where Leanne is, only to be told by Rachel that Leanne had swanned off on some business lunch. She’d been gone for hours, Rachel says.
Nikki apologises for being late. She’d dropped by Hotel Corkhill in order to try to talk some sense into Emily. Rachel wants to know what happened, and Nikki explains that the previous evening, she’d had a barny with Tim after Emily had invited her to dinner. It was all Tim’s fault, she explains, only now EMILY wants NIKKI to apologise to Tim.
What’s Tim done? Asks Rachel.
Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, for Tim, says Nikki - robbing, breaking into people’s houses, giving Ron Dixon a gun ... (And so, Nikki proves too, that the fatal brain-eating disease has entered the Hilton household and devoured Nikki’s brain. Oh well, at least she has a doctor in the house).
Rachel is shocked, to say the least. Suddenly, Nikki’s mouth catches up with her brain, and she realises that Rachel was in ignorance of this fact. (Nothing unusual - Rachel is in ignorance about most facts).
Jacqui Dixon has stopped by the garage for petrol and walks inside to pay. As she reaches the door, she passes poor, pitiful, filthy, scruffy Katie. Once again, Jacqui greets her in a subdued, but polite manner, asking how she is.
Top of the world, snarls Katie and she starts to leave, but Jacqui stops her. She only wants five minutes of her time. Katie snarls again that there’s no one on reception, which never seemed to bother Katie before as she hated the job so much.
Warily, Jacqui informs Katie that she’s set a date for her wedding to Max, and she wants Katie to attend.
Why? Growls Katie. To catch the bouquet and fantasise that the next time just might be her turn? All semblance of mourning has ceased, long ceased, and Katie’s puerile jealousy boils over. Katie screams that she isn’t going to Jacqui;s wedding, but she wants Jacqui to be happy. Callously, she picks up one of the many bouquets of flowers for sale outside the garage and throws it viciously at Jacqui, telling her to have some flowers. Here, have some more, she says, throwing all the bouquets at Jacqui and finally, picking up the pail of water in which they lay and tossing it over Jacqui. (Funny how in the blurbs in the soap mags, this scene occurred in the bar. Consistency was never Brookside’s strong point). Katie slopes off quickly, as Lindsey runs from the garage to try to stop her. She almost slips and is caught by Jacqui.
Rachel is still quizzing Nikki about Tim’s role in providing Ron with a gun. Where exactly did Tim get this gun? She wants to know.
Some low-life he met in prison, says Nikki. Named Sotto. In fact, Tim got it shortly after he returned to the Close from honeymoon. Fancy that, she muses, he’s not out of prison two minutes and he’s up to his old tricks. She feels sorry for Emily, she knows the pair are skint - goodness knows, she, Nikki, is up to her eyes in debt, herself, but the bad thing is that Ron’s told the police that this Sotto provided the gun, so Tim’s off scot-free again.
Rachel finds this hard to believe. She assumed the story of Ron not knowing the man who provided him with the gun to be true. Nikki is so incensed, she declares she’s of a mind to grass Tim to the police, herself. Rachel stops her in a panic. What’s Nikki thinking of? If she tells the police that it was Tim who gave Ron the gun, then the police would know that Ron lied, and it could be worse for him. Was she really going to grass on Tim?
Nikki ponders a minute and thinks better of the threat. Of course, she wasn’t she says. Emily would never forgive her if she did that. But it angered her to know that Tim had committed a serious crime and wouldn’t even be punished for it. She has to get Emily away from him.
Tentatively, Rachel asks Nikki if she reckons Mike knows about Tim providing the gun. Nikki isn’t sure, but she has noticed Tim and Mike being exceptionally pally recently. Rachel’s minute mind is left to ponder this thought.
Back at the garage, Lindsey is drying Jacqui’s handbag and helping Jacqui dry herself off from the dunking. Jacqui offers to pay for all the flowers that Katie destroyed, but Lindsey demurs, saying it wasn’t Jacqui who scattered them all over the place. She was amazed, Lindsey continues, Jacqui and Katie used to be such good friends.
Jacqui ruefully admits that, because of her family, Katie reckoned she could never be happy again, after Clint’s death. Maybe it was a mistake to ask Katie to her wedding. Wedding? Questions Lindsey. Showing the engagement ring to Lindsey, Jacqui tells her that she and Max are planning to be married. Lindsey is amazed.
Anthea returns home to find the house dark and the curtains drawn. Ron sits alone in the front room, tears streaming down his face.
Jacqui and Lindsey are now sharing a cup of tea in the back room of the garage. Jacqui admits it was a stupid thing to do, trying to invite Katie to the wedding, but Jacqui genuinely wanted her there. She couldn’t blame her, really. Even Ron didn’t approve.
Well, says Lindsey. Jacqui and Max Farnham, hard to get your head around that combination.
Jacqui replies that Max makes her feel loved and wanted, and Lindsey admits that that sounded good enough for her.
Jacqui asks if Lindsey is seeing anyone, and Lindsey replies that she feels married to Jimmy. Ever since Jackie left, she felt she had to care for him, wrap him in cotton wool, so to speak. Jacqui asks if Jimmy’s better, and Lindsey replies that he’s loads better, but manic depression is a lifelong disease. Of course he’s on tablets, but they only help so much. One never knew with what Jimmy could cope and what he found to be too much.
For example, Lindsey explains, the electric bill arrived this morning, and Lindsey had to hide it. It was the final reminder and they wouldn’t be able to pay right away; but because it might worry Jimmy, she had to conceal it. Lindsey is despondent. She has this nightmare of being fifty years old and STILL caring for Jimmy. Jacqui admits that there are some people in the world who do just that.
‘Who’d have thought it?’ Wonders Jacqui. ‘You and me, involved with two middle-aged men.’
Lindsey smiles sadly, asking Jacqui if she fancied a swap.
After drawomg back the curtains and discovering Ron in a state, Anthea sits down with him in an effort to comfort him (as if she hasn’t done enough in the past few months to ensure that he remains in a state of constant turmoil). Basically, Ron’s having a fit of conscience, brought on by the knowledge that Max and Jacqui have set a date for their wedding. He tells Anthea the date, and Anthea agrees that things are happening too fast on that score. But there’s more to it, says Ron. This is living proof that his own daughter believes he’s going to go to prison. Ron breaks down and begins to cry openly.
He goes over the events that happened the night Clint died, saying that he’d killed the lad, that he blasted away and never gave him a chance or time enough to leave. He was a murderer. All the time he’s blabbing and blubbing, Anthea makes clucking mother-hen, comforting noises, trying to jolly him around, saying everything she’s ever denied during the past few weeks - that Ron did what he had to do, that he was protecting his family.
Ron argues that the judge won’t see it that way, that the court won’t view punishment as a slap on the wrist. This is true, says Anthea, they will take what Ron did very seriously, but under the circumstances, the court will see why he reacted the way he did, and he won’t go to prison.
Ron argues again, that he’d killed a lad. He couldn’t cope with the thought of going back to prison; he’d seen enough of prison when he was on remand. Oh, he’d been stupid and he’d lost everything - his family, his wife.
Anthea continues making cooing and comforting noises, encouraging Ron not to give up. He hadn’t lost everything. Ron was a decent man, and the court would see that. They would do the right thing by Ron, and that wasn’t going to be served by sending him to prison. Anthea assures him that he hasn’t lost her; she would be there for him, every step of the way. She reminds him that she’s his only witness to the events that occurred that night. She was willing to testify that Ron gave Clint a fair enough chance to identify himself and leave - at least five or ten seconds.
She realises she’s been wobbly in the past in her convictions, but she’s been under a lot of pressure now. Ron interjects to remind Anthea that, in saying that Ron gave Clint a chance (which he really did in actuality, but somewhere the writers have had a change of mind too late), she would be perjuring herself. Now Anthea sings a different tune that’s truly mind-boggling: Perjury, she says, is a small price to pay to keep Ron out of prison; because ... get ready for this ... she loves Ron.
The couple exchange a kiss, and Ron begins to cry again. Anthea, he says, is his only hope; her testimony could save him. Anthea promises him, yet again, that she’ll see that he gets off this charge. The court would have to believe her, as she was his only witness.
Ron suggests that the pair of them adjourn upstairs. Anthea is surprised at this suggestion, observing that it isn’t Saturday, which is obviously their regular night for nookie (and another unfunny moment on Brookside). Ron tells her that if they draw the curtains, they wouldn’t even realise it wasn’t Saturday.
Dire Murray has returned from her appointment with the consultant and sits performing an infomercial with Brigid on the sitcom sofa. Brigid wants to know what the consultant said, assuming that the consultant is a man. Dire primly and smugly informs her mother that the consultant happens to be a woman. In fact, the consultant, if she’s the same Mandy Jordache clone she saw previously, is now singing a different song. She says Dire’s age, 37(!), Shouldn’t be a problem. (Well, it shouldn’t be, except when Dire arrived on the Close in March 2000, she happened to be 39 and should have turned 40 this year, but by January 2001, the writers had chopped three years off her age!). In fact, the consultant said she’d successfully treated many 37 year-olds.
But, Dire warns ruefully, that was as good as saying that had she been any older, the treatment wouldn’t have worked. She was on the cusp.
Nonsense, says Brigid, scornfully. Everyone knows that you read daily in the papers about some fifty year-old woman giving birth with IVF.
And here comes a supremely ignorant piece of writing on the part of Brookside, showing all and sundry how obtuse and ignorant the writers are. Diane remarks that those women are probably all American, with loads of money and a dozen embryos in mint condition.
(WELL, MRS SMUG-FACE, I DON’T RECALL ANY. AND WHAT A STUPID, NATIONALISTIC AND DOWNRIGHT IGNORANT ASSUMPTION TO MAKE. THE ONLY ELDERLY WOMEN I RECALL HAVING IVF BABIES IS THAT 62 YEAR-OLD HIPPY FARMER WOMAN, WHO WAS ENGLISH, THE OTHER FIFTYSOMETHING WOMAN WHO HAD TWINS BECAUSE SHE WAS LONELY DUE TO ALL HER OTHER KIDS HAVING FLOWN THE NEST (ENGLISH AGAIN), THE FRENCHWOMAN WHO HAD HER BROTHER’S BABY, AND A 65 YEAR-OLD ITALIAN WOMAN WHO HAD A CHILD. NO AMERICANS THERE, YOU ARSEHOLES! GET A GRIP!!!!!)
Dire goes on to explain to her daft mother serenely that it has to be seen whether or not the embryos survive the transfer, as 25% of previously frozen embryos don’t.
Brigid wants to now how Diane will know if they do. Diane suddenly queries her mother’s sudden interest in the proceedings, before telling her that on the day of the transfer, Diane will have to phone the unit. Because she’s ‘regular’ and ovulates naturally, there won’t be any drug therapy this time. The consultant will just see that the embryos are injected high within her uterus as before. It’s good that she doesn’t have to have drugy therapy. That would be more expensive. Still, this procedure has only a 17% success rate, she finishes sadly.
Brigid urges Dire to be positive; she still has a fighting chance. But, Dire reminds Brigid yet again, the embryos aren’t optimum because they aren’t fresh. But, she never expected miracles from this procedure - just a waste of Marty’s and other people’s money, you selfish bitch.
Jacqui and Lindsey are still having a conflab in the garage. Lindsey remarks that this is indeed a milestone - the pair of them having a civil conversation. She reminds Jacqui that the two used to be mates (when, exactly?). Lindsey surmises that business and friendship didn’t appear to mix.
Jacqui succinctly reminds Lindsey that they didn’t exactly have a playground tiff. Lindsey stole money from her, and brought gangsters and drug dealers into the business that they shared. No, reiterates Jacqui, the days of being mates are long gone.
Lindsey pleads that she’s paid her dues and would like to make it up to Jacqui, but Jacqui refuses her overtures of friendship.
Adjourning to the flat poor pitiful Katie shares with the Naughty Nurse, we see Ma Moffatt has paid a visit to Katie. She’s brought a packet of love letters that Katie had written to Saint Clint the Duck. Greasy Katie stares at the packet in wonder - why, Clint kept them all.
Ma says she found them in a couple of boxes. She’d been clearing out Clint’s cupboards week by week. It was her way of letting go and remembering him at the same time. As she hands the packet to Katie, the grimy self-pitying wretch asks the poor white trash woman if she’d read the letters.
Of course she did. Any woman of her ilk knows no respect for others’ privacy, but she is adept in masquerading this fact as concern. She had to read them, she says. She had to experience the joy her boy must have felt at being in love. (Yeah, sure, you nosey old cow).
‘Boot,’ says Katie, ‘some of’em were filthy.’ (As filthy as your appearance is now, Katie).
Ma Moffatt reminds Katiet that she, too, was young once.
Katie amends her statement by saying that most of them were filled with ‘when will I see you again I’m jealous of girls in bikinis’ sentiment.
Ma Moffatt remarks that she would have been ‘made oop’ to have had Katie as a daughter-in-law, which is tantamount to admitting that Katie is white trash too.
Katie feels denied, she says. Ma Moffatt agrees that she and Robbie feel the same way.
No, Katie explains. She feels denied the opportunity of getting married. Why, Jacqui’s planning a weddding already, as if nothing had happened, she spitefully tells Ma.
Getting married? Queries Ma in surprise. To whom?
Katie asks Ma if she knows Max Farnham. (How would she?) Ma admits that the name sounds familiar. Yes, Katie snipes bitterly, Jacqui even expects her to come to the wedding and clap hands at Jacqui’s happiness. Ma remarks, equally bitterly, that Jacqui had not long jumped out of Robbie’s bed.
When is this wedding going to take place, asks Ma. Katie tells her (and this is about the fifth time we’ve had this date mentioned) that the wedding will be on the 14th of September.
Where? Asks Ma. Katie admits that she doesn’t know. She didn’t stick around long enough to find out. Ma comforts the filty, grubby little cow, telling her she’s right not to attend the wedding, out of respect for Clint and Robbie.
Max returns home to a distraught Jacqui. He immediately surmises that Jacqui’s seen Ron and failed to sway him in his opinion. Jacqui admits that she’s had it from all angles today. In fact, it seems that the only person who wants to come to their wedding is Lindsey Corkhill.
Max reminds Jacqui that with their wedding, they are making a statement of commitment to one another. A wedding isn’t all about the day, it’s about the future; and people will be around for years just to see that they are committed to one another.
Jacqui can’t understand how what she and Max feel for one another upset so many people? She wonders if she is really being selfish.
Max asks her if she loves him? Yes, answers Jacqui. And does she love Harry and Emma, he asks. Yes.
Well, Max says, they didn’t need all those people to witness their vows. They would see this thing through as a family, and then people would have to accept them for what they are.
The Murrays are having dinner at the sitcom table. The tea has been prepared by Adele, and Antichrist Ant is stuffing his mouth with bread rather than eat anything prepared by a murderess. He’s afraid Adele has poisoned his food. (Someone smack this kid, please).
Marty shouts at him to pack it in, and Diane reprimands him for stuffing his mouth with bread. As per usual, Diane wants to talk about her IVF procedure whilst everyone else is eating. (Does the woman have no tact? Or is she that selfish and self-centred? Both).
The treatment won’t start, she says, until her next period.
Brigid is squeamish and asks if her daughter must discuss this at the dinner table. Marty remarks on Brigid’s presence, yet again, for a meal, and sarcastically tells her the door is always open for her. Brigid enquires sarcastically if the same applied to Father Pat.
Diane shushes the bickering to make her little motherly speech. She reminds them pathetically that her chances for IVF success are low. But the consultant says that any stress endured by her would make the chances of success even lower. So, she asks, would the family please stop bickering ... Because ... ‘We loove each other, really, don’t we?’ (Yeah, sure).
Antony apologises to her, but pointedly not to Adele, the little prick. Anyway, Diane reminds them all that Friday is Adele’s sixteenth birthday, and they would all make an effort to get along for that day. (As if).
Interlude: Ma Moffatt lurks around outside the flats on The Parade. Like any self-respecting white trash woman, she - of course - carries a mobile phone. She makes a call to her lone surviving son, a son any mother would be proud of (not) ... Gobby Robbie the Blobby Yobbie. The call serves no other purpose than to stir trouble and this one phone call reveals to the viewing audience two things:- that Ma Moffatt is not the dignified lowlife that we have been previously asked to respect, and that Anthea and Rachel are singularly stupid to have been duped by her into sympathising with her.
Of course she tells Robbie all about the fact that Jacqui Dixon is getting married, as if it’s any business of his. She tells him the date, but regrettably, she doesn’t know the venue. She cracks an ironic joke about supposing the invitations are in the post. And it’s obvious she wants Robbie to do some sort of mischief that she can deny.
In the meantime, an angry Rachel has returned to the Dixon home. As she enters, she encounters a post-coital Anthea, smile plastered on her face and wearing Jackie Corkhill’s ubiquitous dressing gown. Anthea greets her by trilling that she had listened to what Rachel had earlier said and she had decided that Rachel was right. She was going to stand by Ron every step of his ordeal.
Rachel interrupts her to say that now RACHEL had changed her mind - in fact, she took back everything she’d said that afternoon. Suddenly suspicious, she asks Mike’s whereabouts. Anthea, perplexed, replies that Mike is out.
‘That’s just typical,’ she mutters in broad Lancashire dialect, ‘he’s off out doing as he pleases while I don’t know anything about it.’ (Well, you stupid twit, you do the same, only you try to lie your way around doing what you want and you’re too stupid to be adept at that. And here you go jumping to conclusions!)
Rachel proceeds to tell Anthea that Ron had been lying all along about where he had obtained his gun. There was no man in the pub. In fact, Ron had got the gun off Tim O’Leary.
Anthea is horrified. She asks Rachel where she got this information. Rachel replies that Nikki Shadwick told her, and she was really mortified to learn such information from a workmate. It was embarrassing.
Anthea asks how Nikki knew this. Oh, says Rachel in mock blase tones, Tim O’Leary told her. Tim O’Leary tells his family EVERYTHING. (Not). But that’s not all, Rachel continues. Tim got the gun off some lad he’d met in prison, Sotto. And Ron had even lied to the police and told them that HE’D got the gun off Sotto, thus protecting Tim.
Anthea is really angry now. The pair of them are, the pious hypocrites, forgetting all the lies and deceptions they’ve inflicted on Ron during the past months in order to coddle and sympathise with the Moffatts and Katie. That’s all by-the-by.
Anthea announces grimly that when she finishes with Ron, prison will seem
like the soft option for him.
Summary © 2001 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2001