BROOKSIDE WOMEN
Has anyone ever given serious thought to the women characters on Brookside? I mean, how essentially UNBALANCED they are. I mean, some of them DO give the female gender an appallingly bad name. Quite frankly, the females on the Close and elsewhere are increasingly approaching the male scale of negativity. Women on Brookside used to be the bastions of strength and sensibility, and as far as I can see, at the moment, there are only three women on the show with any sort of positive role model potential - the divine Mrs F, the pre-Raphaelite Miss Shadwick and the in-your-face Miss Powell.
Now look at the rest - scatty, batty or dim - and all ages as well: Anthea and Jessie (hypocrites, par excellence), Brigid (bigoted old battleaxe), Dire (wicked, evil, selfish stepmother), Adele and Emily (wannabe criminal Lolitas etc), Rachel (dim beyond belief), Katie (whingeing, whining, jealous moaner), Nisha (a slut by any other name), Lindsey (all of the above and more), Jackie (saint turned into a negative loser). All fun and games ...
The action opens at Hotel Corkhill, where Jimmy is preparing to do the shopping, whilst Lindsey, excitedly prepares to go to work. Lindsey is childishly excited and has reverted to her latent adolescent state (bordering on the emotional age level of a 12 year-old). The reason for her happiness is that there is a distinct possibility that Jackie might be returning to reside in the fold, which means that Lindsey will be relieved of all the mundane duties of a housewife and mother - cooking, cleaning and (most importantly) caring for her child, that Cabbage Patch reject, Kylie.
Lindsey remarks to Jimmy that by this time next week, it just might be Jackie, referred to as ‘me moom’, who’ll be doing the weekly shop. Is Jimmy REALLY serious about a proper reconciliation? She wants to know.
Jimmy is distinctively less than enthusiastic about the prospect of his wife’s return to the marital home. He’s not sure if it will be a proper reconciliation at all, he informs his daughter.
Lindsey sobers herself for a moment to issue a warning to Jim. It better be the real thing for the real reasons, she says. It’s not fair to effect this thing for the kids’ sakes or even to give Jackie false hope.
Jimmy digests her words in silence (but really, he doesn’t need to heed them, does he, as he’s become the resident Sage of Brookside Close?). He does, however, admit as much that he feels ‘hopeful’ about the situation with Jackie.
Lindsey twists her generous, collagen-enhanced lips into a sardonic moue. The Corkhill marital situation could do without the extra houseguests, she reckons, sullenly. (Or an overaged adolescent daughter who’s thirty going-on thirteen, and who refuses to acknowledge adult parental responsibilities, for that matter).
Over at the Shadwick-Hiltons’, Jessie is ironing, whilst glaring jealously in the direction of her elder granddaughter, who’s sharing a joke with Do-A-Little. On closer inspection, we see that Nikki is actually sewing a button on one of Do-A-Little’s shirts. (Now, if Dazza were unprofessional in bonking Susannah, what the hell is Do-A-Little playing at?)
Nikki remarks blithely to Do-A-Little that he’s honoured that she’s condescended to do such a menial task for him - usually it was her Nan who was the dab hand at mending shirt buttons. Do-A-Little embarrassingly points out that ‘Nan’ is the one who’s doing his ironing at the moment. Nikki is impressed.
Jessie tetchily asks Nikki if she shouldn’t be studying. Do-A-Little probably has other more important things to do and she could be bothering him. Do-A-Little blithely says that he welcomes Nikki’s diversion before heading off to a drudging afternoon of seeing patients at the surgery. Nice to see a doctor happy in his job, and here I thought that saving lives was a vocation!
Nikki swiftly moves from her perch on a chair to sit beside Do-A-Little on the couch, asking Do-A-Little cheekily what’s more interesting for him - lancing a boil on Ron Dixon’s bum or treating Leanne Powell’s piles? It’s a joke, but Do-A-Little is immature enough to begin to answer, before Jess appears suddenly, looming threateningly over Nikki, and harshly reminding her that she should have more respect for Ron Dixon in his current predicament. The poor man has enough with which to contend without being the brunt of her coarse jokes.
‘Grow up, Nicola!’ Snarls Jessie, before stomping off.
As she departs, she frowns at the sounds of the couple enjoying a tussle on the sofa.
The newest newlyweds are beginning their second full day of wedlock. In the Farnham kitchen, Jacqui is confronted with her status as the third (or fifth, depending on how you view the situation) Mrs Farnham, by a laundry basket (DA-DA-DUMMMMMMMM - ominous music required, considering the lethal potential of recent laundry baskets on Brookside) full of Max’s clothing. Max teases her about having second thoughts about marriage. But today is a special day. The Farnham family are about to leave on honeymoon. Jacqui asks Max to pour her a cup of tea, as she practices the time-honoured Brookside female preoccupation of phaffing about a kitchen doing nothing.
Max remarks on the amount of tea Jacqui drinks and she jokes that that trait must be the ‘council estate’ in her. Max is about to scurry off to do a half-day’s work at the restaurant before scurrying home again to leave on the honeymoon. Jacqui can’t wait.
As Jimmy plods along The Parade, he encounters the menopausal matron, Anthea - how else to explain her vicious swings of mind and her poor judgment of character? Has Brookside forgotten the storyline it began with her hot flashes shortly before the sainted Clint was shot and shortly after the first burglary?
As she hasn’t seen Jimmy since the reception two days before and hasn’t had a chance to have a proper conversation with him since then, she asks if he’s heard from the Court Welfare Officer about William’s custody.
Jimmy informs her that Jackie has been awarded custody. Anthea commiserates, but Jimmy is philosophical. ‘That’s the way the mop flops,’ he shrugs.
But Anthea is concerned for her new-found friend. Is Jimmy certain that Jackie won’t get the house as well? (Anthea’s concern is nauseating. Surely she must know from Ron and others the abject hell Jimmy’s put Jackie through in the past. Yet she’s prepared to reckon someone of his stature more apt to be a better parent than Jackie. This woman defies belief. She is possibly more blinkered than the witless Rachel).
Jackie’s bound to get the house, admits Jimmy, frankly. Unless, he continues, he and Jackie get back together.
Hearing this, the patron saint of hypocritical wives, looks distinctly uneasy. Jimmy notices, sensing a kindred soul, and suggests having a cup of tea, an invitation which Anthea readily accepts.
Poor pitiful Katie stands unsteadily on her forlorn feet in the middle of
the surgery, being ministered to by that naughty Nightingale Nisha. Nisha is
administering another dose of the morning-after pill to the stinking mass of
flesh, even though it’s the morning after the morning after. Katie,
it seems, up-chucked the original pill after drinking in excess the previous
day.
As she hands Katie the pill, Nisha advises her to lay off the booze. Katie protests that the pill makes her feel nauseous (although that could be the booze as well), but Nisha asks her what is worse - feeling a bit nauseous or being pregnant by Gobby Moffatt? Thinking that having intercourse with the Devil is preferable to the latter suggestion, Katie gulps down the pill.
At that moment, Do-A-Little shows his vile head above the parapet of the receptionist’s counter. Nisha informs him that Katie is not well and really should be at home for the rest of the day. Katie objects, but Nisha insists. (Maybe now is the time that either of the two medical professionals should say something to Katie about her personal hygiene). But the wretch leaves, and Do-A-Little suggests as she departs, that he will be ensconced in the bar all evening if she should care to join him for the hair of the dog. (What a doctor - drink is the panacea for everything). Nisha advises him that that isn’t such a good idea.
Jimmy and Anthea have arrived at Hotel Corkhill and are sharing a pot of tea. Anthea is intent on subtly stirring shit, rather than her stewing tea - she’s so obviously run out of shit to stir in the Dixon household. So she starts on the Corkhill’s. Is Jimmy sure that Jackie isn’t holding him to ransom over custody of William? She wants to know. You know, threatening to take the roof over Jimmy’s head as well as his son if he doesn’t accede to her demands for a reconciliation?
Jimmy admits that Jackie is playing fair ball over access to William. He’ll be allowed to see the child whenever he wants. It’s the practicality of the situation that tempts Jimmy to reconcile with Jackie, he explains.
Anthea, however, is intent on playing devil’s advocate - or meddling bitch who knows nothing about the situation, more likely. Does Jimmy seriously want to risk his sanity by getting back together with the woman who drove him mad in the first place? She asks. (THIS IS RICH!!!!! IF ANYONE SHOULD BE LAUDED FOR MAINTAINING HER SANITY AFTER BEING SHAT UPON FROM A GREAT HEIGHT BY PRACTICALLY EVERY MEMBER OF HER FAMILY, IT’S JACKIE CORKHILL - MARRIED TO JIMMY AND MOTHER TO THE UNLOVEABLE LINDSEY AND LITTLE JIMMY IS ENOUGH TO GET THE SANEST WOMAN SECTIONED INTERMINABLY. HOW DENSE, THICK, BLIND AND GENERALLY STUPID IS ANTHEA? SHE MAKES DIANE MURRAY LOOK AN INTELLECTUAL!)
Jessie and Nikki are having a talk. Jessie apologises to Nikki for coming down hard on her previously. Nikki profusely apologises, saying that Do-A-Little brings out the kid in her. It’s hard to believe Do-A-Little is actually a doctor, says Nikki. He’s really little more than a scally with a stethoscope.
Jessie, however, warns her to be careful. Nikki hardly knows Do-A-Little. After all, it’s not been long since she broke up with Jerome. Come to think of it, says Jess, she ran into Jerome just the other day. Poor Jerome! He was deeply sorry for having hurt her so. Nikki, on hearing this, is not at all convinced. ‘Sorry’ was easy enough for Jerome to say after the event. If he were truly sorry, she says, why did Jerome draw this whole thing out for so long?
Nikki wasn’t interested in Jerome anymore, she says. All she wants is a laugh at the moment. After all, girls just want to have fun. And Do-A-Little looks as though he’s fun.
Jimmy and Anthea are still mulling and musing over tea. Jimmy begins a bit of a mild rant, admitting that Jackie was bad for him - grassing him over his fraudulent school certificates and trashing his computer. (Hang on ... Does the sainted Anthea, who cannot abide lies and deception, know about Jimmy’s fraud at perpetrating a teaching career? Shouldn’t she be shocked and horrified? Or does she accept that it’s O.K. to lie and deceive in order to hone a fraudulent career for oneself - as a doctor or a teacher, perhaps? Or because it’s Jimmy, her new-found friend, does this make it O.K.? You know, O.K. as in she knows that Jimmy was responsible for Tony Dixon’s death, but he’s an O.K. guy?)
However, Jimmy admits that, to get back at Jackie, he had told the Court Welfare Officer initially that Jackie had lost Wills in the shopping precinct downtown, but Anthea reckons that he’s broken the pattern of a lifetime - the pattern of wanting to hurt Jackie. (Just a thought, but is Jimmy still under psychiatric out-patient care?)
Anthea enthuses that Jimmy has done brilliantly in coping since he was sectioned. Of course, she’s in a position to know, hardly being a seasoned professional anything other than busybody and hypocrite, along with poor judge of character.
Yes, Jimmy, blithely admits. It’s almost been a year since he was on the roof of the local comprehensive, ready to jump. Jimmy disagrees with Anthea. It was his time apart from Jackie that broke the pattern of wanting to hurt her. Jimmy’s made his decision. He admits that he misses Jackie.
Well, Anthea remarks, dubiously, after thirty years (as opposed to twenty-seven) together, she supposes breaking up would be hard to do. (But all of this is really none of Anthea’s business, is it?) However, she’s certain that Jackie would allow Jimmy to see William from time to time. She continues to radge Jimmy up by telling him that couples stay together for children’s sakes all the time, but Jimmy and Jackie weren’t an ordinary couple. Jimmy, she explains, has a mental health problem; and Jimmy needs basically to look after numero uno. (When did he ever NOT look after himself before his family?) Jimmy owes it to himself not to get tangled up with this marriage again.
The doorbell rings. It comes as no surprise that Jackie’s arrived. When Jimmy opens the door, the first thing Jackie notices is Anthea, looking at home in the kitchen, and smiling like a smug Cheshire cat.
‘I timed that well,’ remarks Jackie, wryly.
Over at the surgery, Do-A-Little is doing a little prying, himself. He prods Nisha about what’s wrong with Katie. Nisha, looking slappably and unflappably smug, herself, coyly admits that Katie’s ‘not well’.
That was spoken like a true friend, comments Do-A-Little. Is Katie not well in mind or body? He wants to know. (Well, both - you see, Doc, she’s consumed by jealousy to the point that she’s become filthy in body and lice-ridden. Really, she shouldn’t be ornamenting your surgery, or haven’t you noticed the singular lack of patients?)
Nisha sarcastically remarks that she thinks a dead fiancé might have something to do with Katie’s problem (or jealousy of another girl?) Ah, the mind then, surmises the wise doctor. ‘Ask yourself,’ jibes Nisha.
Poor pitiful, sickly, hungover, barf-breathed Katie hasn’t returned home. She’s out and about on The Parade, when who should she spy, but the recent bridegroom, himself, Maxim/Maxwell/Maximilian Farnham. Katie speaks to Max first, asking sarcastically how the wedding reception went. Max gives her a puzzled look, but before he can reply, the miserable wretch continues her rant of self-pity. Why did they change the venue for the reception? She wonders. She didn’t know what was worse - the grief she felt when Ron Dixon put a bullet through Clint or the knowledge that Max and Jacqui danced on the spot where the sainted soul fell dead.
Max tries to deflect the situation. Now isn’t the time to talk about these things, he says rationally. Perhaps when he, Jacqui and the children returned in a few weeks’ time from Barbados ...
Barbados! Exclaims Katie jealously. Well, the Farnhams can stay in Barbados, she shrieks. They can stay there and rot!
After Jackie Corkhill’s unexpected arrival, Anthea prepares to make tracks. Jackie, in brilliantly deadpan delivery, apologises to Anthea for ‘interrupting something’. Oh, Anthea phaffs, blithely, Jackie was interrupting nothing. She and Jimmy were having more of a skive than a gab, she says. As she turns to go, she admonishes Jimmy not to breathe a word of ‘this’ to Ron. (Why ever not? Why bang on about the truth, you stupid bitch, when you proselytise about complete honesty with your husband, especially if your conflab with Jimmy was all innocence to begin with?)
‘Who? Ron?’ Reiterates Jimmy, sarcastically. ‘You mean me new bezzy mate?’ (Is Jimmy so singularly ungrateful?) He turns briefly to explain to Jackie that he had received a wedding invitation to the Dixon-Farnham wedding as well, as he sees Anthea out. Jackie feigns admiration, but gazes suspiciously after Anthea’s departing form.
When Jimmy returns, Jackie apologises again for barging in on things. She had to come by to tell him that, although she knew tonight wasn’t Jimmy’s night to have William, she would be bringing him around anyway. William had made Jimmy a present in nursery and was eager to show it to his dad.
That was O.K. by Jim. In fact, the visit would give Jimmy a good opportunity to have a gab with Jackie about things, he says. Jackie agrees to return about 5PM, happy to be able for the couple to have a ‘gab’ about their current status.
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGH! NO! NO! PLEASE! ARE THE BROOKSIDE RATINGS THAT BAD?! Just when we thought everything was getting better, the MURRAY SITCOM returns to our screens like a bad dream!
Adele and Michelle are next door, plotting an illicit outing. They’re tarting themselves up with slap and planning a foray to the bar on The Parade. Michelle is hopeful, but Adele doesn’t think that they’ll get served, even with her Uncle Christy ‘acting’ the role of proprietor.
Michelle asks about the outcome of the kidnapping of the ‘kid across the Close’. Adele shrugs and says that everything worked out and the kid got returned; but ‘they’ (whoever ‘they’ are) reckon the kidnapper was none other than Jacqui Dixon’s ex.
Michelle is reasonably empathetic, reckoning Jacqui must have gone through hell with the little boy missing. Yes, Adele agrees, absently, studiously applying her make-up. It must be absolute hell being a parent. She knew for certain that was one vocation for which she wasn’t going to be ready for a long time.
No regrets about the abortion, then? Questions Michelle.
Adele shoots her a frowningly condescending look. With Dire absent, Adele doesn’t have to assume any contritely virginal airs. Of course not, she scoffs. Having that abortion was the best thing she’d ever done. She had better things to do with her life than simply being a parent, she says scathingly. She had ambition, and she wanted to have some fun first.
Poor pitiful, stinking, smelly, woozy, self-pitying, wretched Katie hasn’t gone home like the doctor ordered at all. Instead, she’s planted herself unsteadily at the bar and is attempting to order a drink from a very concerned Lance. In the background, Christy eyes the proceedings suspiciously. Already, Katie is noticeably drunk.
Do-A-Little enters the bar, bearing a huge bouquet of flowers, which he plops on the bar in front of Katie. At first, she’s bewildered, and she and Lance think that the flowers are from Do-A-Little. Do-A-Little demurs, saying that the bouquet arrived for her at the surgery. He had originally taken it upstairs to her flat, but finding no one at home, had somehow reckoned that he would find her ensconced in the bar. (Maybe because she’s always three sheets to the wind?)
Katie looks at the card. The flowers are from Gobby. She orders another drink.
Jackie and William have returned for their visit to Hotel Corkhill. Whilst William’s off playing, Jackie and Jimmy discuss their possible reconciliation. Jimmy advises Jackie that he wants to take the whole situation slowly and not rush things. Jackie can move back in, but he doesn’t want her to get carried away with the fact that the two of them were still living under the same roof and think things would automatically slot back to the way they were when they were truly a couple.
Jackie admits that she’s bursting at the seams with happiness at the thought of living with Jimmy again, but Jimmy direly warns her that they won’t be sharing the same bed. The house is a bit packed at the moment, with Timily lodging there. Jackie could have the bedroom upstairs, and Jim would make do on the couch. He tells Jackie frankly that the resumption of marital relations between the two is still a long way away.
Jackie is optimistic, opting for the ‘never say never’ philosophy.
Adele and Michelle, tarted up to the nines, have made it to the bar and lean nonchalantly against it. Lance, however, is applying the letter of the law and refuses to serve 15 year-olds. (Er, when was this filmed? Adele celebrated her SIXTEENTH birthday a few weeks prior to this.) Christy notices the encounter and orders Lance to see to things in the cellar.
Approaching his niece and her friend, Christy asks what the girls want to drink. Michelle orders a lager and Adele opts for a vodka and tonic. Christy notes their order precisely: ‘That will be two lemonades, then.’ The girls have failed in their drinking quest.
Nearby, Do-A-Little and Katie sit at the bar, obviously indulging in a drinking contest. Poor pitiful, stinking, barfy, sadsack Katie is so drunk, she can’t even sit straight on her bar stool. As she gazes glazily around the bar, Do-A-Little, displaying all the tact, perspicacity and empathy (not to mention the common sense) of a BBC journalist, wonders aloud how poor, smelly, dirty Katie is coping. This bar, for example. It must hold all sorts of memories for the poor cow - both happy and sad.
Poor pitiful, stinking, sorry Katie woefully admits that ALL her memories of Clint are sad. Do-A-Little, feigning concern, asks if he could help, but Katie surlily remarks that she’s sick of advice and concern. (She’s only happy, Doc, when she’s wallowing in self-pity).
Meanwhile, the object of Katie’s jealousy, Jacqui, is preparing to leave on holiday with her new family. Max and the kids are attempting to shut a heaving suitcase, and as they do, Jacqui snaps a family shot of Max and the kids.
Max, however, is worried by his encounter with Katie, and a frown flits across his brow. Jacqui notices, and asks if anything is wrong; but Max thinks better about mentioning it, probably knowing that the thought of Katie Rogers’s misery might cloud Jacqui’s holiday. (Er, sorry, but I wonder who paid for this lujo de luxe trip to Barbados. Probably Jacqui, as she controls the purse strings in the Dixon-Farnham empire).
Back at the bar, Tim is joined by his two erstwhile business companions, namely Bullethead Thugfest and the latter’s sibling, whom we’ll call ‘Baby Bro’. Tim’s playing Mr Tough-Guy and notes abruptly that the approaching duo are late. He tells the brothers that he’s got something more to offer them this time than a £2k telly. He asks after Sotto.
Sotto’s doing time at Her Majesty’s leisure, says Bullethead. For possession of illegal firearms. Funny that, because Sotto reckons he sold that gun that Dikko used, to Tim initially. Tim denies all knowledge, as you do. Meanwhile, across the bar, Adele and Michelle take note of Bullethead and Baby Bro Thugfest and cast furtive, flirting glances their way. (I thought Adele was supposed to be intelligent. Bullethead Thugfest is even more a Neanderthal than Gobby Moffatt and even makes Stephen Gerrard look intelligent!)
Do-A-Little and poor pitiful, stinking, surly, misguided Katie still sit at the bar, drinking heavily. A passing Christy Murray notices that even though the Doc has matched Katie drink for drink, he’s still remarkably steady. Do-A-Little confesses that he paces his drinking. It appears that he’s been drinking a lot, but really he hasn’t. This is something he has to do, he says, as he lives with ‘wrinklies’. (Is this guy immature or just generally a twit? I find myself longing for Darren and the tipp-ex on his nose).
Katie, who’s using her last brain cell in a massive effort to keep herself vertical, demands another drink; but Do-A-Little advises her that she’s had enough. She’s patently drunk now, and he’s going to walk her as far as the door of her flat to see that she’s safely home.
Through the abyss of her drunken mind, Katie hears that a MAN wants to walk her HOME, and assumes that she’s pulled for the evening. She rises veeringly to her feet and wraps her arms around Do-A-Little’s neck, pushing her face up against his and trying to plant a wet, slobbery, barf-breathed kiss on his fastidious mouth.
Repulsed, the doc gently tries to repel her clumsy advance, but she falls back drunkenly and knocks several bar drinks onto the floor. She would have fallen, herself, but Christy miraculously catches her.
Remembering that he is a professional, Do-A-Little offers to help, but Christy assures him that he can manage caring for Katie. All she needs is a few expressos, he says. But it might be a long-haul procedure. Katie shouts to Christy, after the quickly departing Do-A-Little that Do-A-Little is all talk and no action.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, William comes in to present his homemade present to Jimmy. Jackie rises as Lindsey enters the room, saying that it’s time she and William left. They could just about make the early bus for Auntie Val’s and goes upstairs with William to wash the child’s hands before departing.
When Jackie’s out of earshot, Lindsey asks Jimmy what’s happening with the reconciliation. Jimmy tells Lindsey that Jackie is moving back in, but stifles Lindsey’s happy reaction by telling her that he needs to take things nice and slow with Jackie.
Back at the bar, Christy now has a drunken Katie sitting at a table booth with him, his arm protectively around her shoulder.
Tim and the Thugfest brothers are talking ‘business’. Tim hands over Gobby’s passport to Bullethead, who asks where Tim got the document. Tim jokes that poor Gobby’s gutted to have lost his passport - just when he was planning to go abroad and work amongst the needy. Money changes hand in payment for the passport.
Tim starts to explain that he’s vaguely planning the groundwork for a ‘job’ that would net the trio a lot of money. Bullethead and Baby Bro Thugfest, however, are only half-listening to him, as their attention is diverted by the lustful looks that Michelle and Adele are throwing their way. Tim is trying to tell the two that if everything works out, they’ll be wheeling in barrels of money, but Bullethead and Baby Bro are only interested in Adele and Michelle.
The Farnham family, however, are departing for their holiday. They are leaving for the airport via taxi. Jacqui is longing to get on the beach and relax, and Max warns her that relaxation is something that is not possible when one holidays with small children. Jacqui expresses the thought that she wishes things were different, and an alarmed Max asks her meaning. Jacqui jokes that she wishes she didn’t have to iron a pile of Max’s laundry. The couple share a laugh.
Bullethead and Babybro have now left the company of Tim and share a table with Michelle and Adele.
Instead of plying her with expresso, Christy is supporting Katie by supplying her with yet more booze. He’s sympathetic. Why is Katie so unhappy? He coos sympathetically and smarmily. All old Christy wants to see is a smile on Katie’s beautiful face? (Are you kidding? With a nose like a ski-jump?)
Poor pitiful, stinking, drunken, whining Katie whines disconsolately that Clint is dead.
Christy consoles her lecherously. His shoulders are a lot broader than they look, he says. What Katie needs, he reckons, is a fresh start with a new man.
In the background, Lance watches the action in the booth with interest.
At the Thugfest table, the lads and lasses make plans for Friday night at the Murray sitcom house, which will entail getting rid of Dire and Marty for the evening. Tim watches with interest from the bar area.
Back at the Shadwick Hiltons’, Nikki has suddenly taken up jogging and has returned from a run. Jessie warns her that Do-A-Little is in the next room, as her grandmother industriously unpacks a huge curry feast that she has ordered from the takeaway. As she enjoys a glass of water, Nikki jokes to Jessie that she reckons Jessie wants Do-A-Little all to herself (which isn’t far from the truth).
Jessie would be disconcerted, but at that moment, the object of her desire enters the room, teasing Nikki about her jogging. Too healthy for him. It would dislodge the drink he had enjoyed previously.
Nikki is astounded that Jess has opted for a takeaway meal, and a curry at that. It’s a well-known fact in that household that Ray has a delicate digestion and takeaway meals didn’t rest easy on his stomach.
Ray? Who’s Ray when he’s at home? Jessie brushes aside that comment with one implying that Ray would just have to make do with a ham and cheese sarnie.
Do-A-Little then relates to all and sundry present the story of his ministering to Katie Rogers at the bar. Katie was drunk and way over the top; in fact, she made an awkward pass at him. Jess tuts disapprovingly.
Speaking of poor pitiful, filthy, stinky Katie, she’s still stuck with Christy at the bar, specifically in the booth in the back in the corner in the dark. Katie gazes uncomprehendingly at Christy, uncertain of the company she’s keeping and equally uncertain of her surroundings. Christy takes distinct advantage of her non compos mentis state to make an overt pass at her.
Suddenly, Katie remembers where she is and with whom she is.
‘What d’yer think yer doin, ya twitchy-eyed perrrv!’ She exclaims in horror. She tries to rise to her feet, and Christy tries to help her steady herself, but she begins to struggle with him. Swiftly, Lance assesses the situation and comes to her rescue. As he frees her from Christy’s grasp, she stumbles blindly out of the bar.
At the same time this is happening, Adele and Michelle are leaving the bar, both with grins on their faces. The scally brothers make a beeline for Tim, who’s still standing at the bar. They, too, look like cats who’ve eaten canaries, for, as they inform Tim, they have a standing invite to a private party at one of the girls’ homes on Friday evening.
Lance, in the meantime, is upbraiding Christy on his behaviour with Katie. What was he thinking of? Christy was supposed to be sweet on Leanne, and there he was, in broad daylight, giving Katie Rogers a good grope.
Christy tries to defend himself. All he was doing was trying to sort the
poor girl out, with a little bit of
e TLC. But that Rogers girl’s
lost her marbles, he insists. She was into him big-time, and when HE refused
HER, she went doo-lally.
Outside the bar, poor pitiful, stinking, miserable, self-pitying dejected, self-loathing Katie makes it as far as the outer door to the flats, before she sinks melancholically to the ground in tears. The flowers sent to her by Gobby lie forlornly on the pavement beside her.
At Hotel Corkhill, Jackie and William are saying their goodbyes, when William, who’s now more capable of delivering an intelligible line that Cabbage Patch Kylie, announces that he wants to stay with Daddy. Jackie insists that the pair have to go, as Auntie Val is waiting tea for them.
Lindsey suggests that they stay for tea there. William agrees, and this is just the medicine Jackie’s been wanting. Jimmy gives the motion a go-ahead, and Jackie even volunteers to cook. Why, it could be like a real celebration meal. Jimmy tries to downplay the situation by saying that they were only having pasta. (Has the Close cornered this commodity, by any chance?)
Suddenly, Jackie’s worried about how late this meal might last. The buses are erratic and she has to be at the garage the next morning at 7AM. Jimmy reluctantly suggests that Jackie and Wills stay over. Jackie could sleep upstairs, and he would sleep on the couch.
Jackie readily accepts the offer, and with tears brimming in her eyes, announces
to her assembled family that she never thought she could be so truly happy again
(a real presage to doom and gloom if there ever was one!)
Summary © 2001 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2001