HAVEN’T WE BEEN HERE BEFORE?
Tonight’s game, boys and girls, is spot the similarities ... OK, I know that Eastenders is planning to have Trevor start beating Little Mo again. OK, I know that he’s going to rape her. OK, I know that at Christmas she will stab him. OK, I know that Mal Young is the man in charge of Eastenders right now. (Can you imagine Phil Redmond’s chagrin as Eastenders won award after award at the recent soap awards? I’ll bet he left that venue looking like Dire Murray with that rigor mortis grin). OK, I know that Billy Mitchell was Jimmy Corkhill in a previous life; I know that Steve Owen used to be Barry Grant, and I know that Eleanor Kitsoff will crop up next week on Eastenders and shortly bed Beppe. Ok, I know that Beppe has a son, just like Ollie Simpson had a son ... You get the picture ...
But Brookside is re-cycling too. See if you can spot it.
Oh, yes, and just when you thought it was safe to mention religion, the Antichrist returns ...
Marty Murray paces the sitcom lounge remorselessly, flitting to the window, looking out and resuming his endless pacing yet again. He’s like a hen on a hot griddle, as we say in Virginia, or rather, in Marty’s case, a bantam rooster on a hot griddle. The front door opens suddenly and the Antichrist, accompanied by his number one disciple, Brigid, bursts excitedly into the room. Antichrist Ant has just returned from school, with a near-beatific smile upon his face. (Think of it, the Muslims have Osama Bin Laden, whilst we are left with Antony Murray to assuage our faith).
Marty could care less. He has other worries. He’s waiting for Mr Insurance Assessor to arrive.
Surprised at Brigid’s presence, his mother-in-law is at pains to say that Antichrist Ant had invited her for tea. Ant starts to witter about something stupendous that happened in school today, but Marty shushes him abruptly.
‘Aren’t you interested in your son’s education?’ Demands Brigid.
Taking advantage of a lull before his father’s reply, Ant interjects that he had been given a major part in the school’s Christmas project, and he had to learn his lines.
Yeah, yeah, sure. But right now, Marty is more concerned with the imminent arrival of the insurance assessor, something which deflates Ant’s enormously big and bigoted ego.
At Bev’s Bar, Leanne is having a conflab with Christy, who’s having a moan about Bin Workin AKA Lance, who’s doing just that, in the background - working. He hates to tell Leanne this, begins Christy in earnest, but Lance has been annoying customers again. He caught him slagging off some girl just yesterday, and she left in tears. Leanne had to do something.
Leanne is hard put to believe this. Lance is doing his best, she insists. But Christy thinks otherwise. Lance is against Leanne. He doesn’t want to see her be successful in this bar venture. Why Lance even laughed in Christy’s face at Christy’s proposed country-western night. No, Christy was convinced that Lance wanted to see Christy and Leanne fail in the bar. Leanne just had to have a word with her brother, Christy says.
Rachel enters the bar, ready to commence her shift. She has a face like a wet weekend in Brighton, drawn with worry. Lance notices as soon as he sees her and asks if she’s all right. She looks so sad.
Rachel tells Lance that she’s having money problems at the moment, and that they are getting on top of her. (Don’t know what’s worse, money problems getting on top or Rachel or Skeletor, her husband, doing the same). Lance sympathises. He’s not a wizard on finances, himself, but he’s not short of sympathy either, if she needs a shoulder on which to cry.
Surprise surprise! Dire Murray’s been working today. She returns home wearing her ubiquitous pink pinny, anxious to know if Mr Assessor has been and gone. Marty tells her he’s been waiting hours, but to no avail. Bossy the Cow, er sorry, Brigid pokes her nosey posey head around the corner from the sitcom kitchen (having taken it upon herself to start tea) and announces her presence. The insufferable Ant also appears, announcing once again that he’s been assigned a major part in the school Christmas production. He planned on becoming a great actor, he brags, and he had to get his motivation just right for this part. (Sorry, but I thought the little prick planned on becoming Pope, at least. Pope, actor, what’s the difference?)
Plank is next door at Hotel Corkhill, visiting Timily, or at least the Tim portion of the pair. He’s wondering aloud to Tim if the insurance assessor has come to examine the damage yet. Tim wonders if Geoff Evans’s insurance assessor might have to make an appearance as well.
Emily arrives at that moment. SHE’s been to work today too, so there must have been at least one customer at the salon. Plank excuses himself to go to the loo.
Emily is suspicious about Plank’s presence in the house. Just what is he doing here? She asks Tim. Were the two of them planning their latest car raid? Emily begs Tim to be careful in what he does. Anyway, what did he mean by getting involved in some silly car slam with Plank Murray? She was under the impression that Tim was returning to crime to make them a bit of money. What did this last venture prove?
Tim said the escapade at Geoff Evans’s car lot was a chance for him to have a go back. People like Geoff Evans kept people like Tim out of decent work. Ramming that flash car through the showroom window felt good. Well, Emily nags, when Tim begins to earn some money from his escapades, then she’ll feel good.
When Plank returns from having a pee, he asks Em about her day at work; and she has a mega moan about doing blue rinses for pensioners, who complain endlessly about their tea being too cold and the water being too hot.
At least it must be nice to have a job to have a moan about, Plank remarks. But he has plans of his own. He confides to Tim that he was thinking about starting his own business, mobile car repairs; but he needed the initial investment to buy some tools and a van. Tim is interested in hearing this, reckoning that there was a lot of money to be made in cars.
Plank agrees, and says that he’s going to approach his bank for a loan to get started. One thing he did learn from Geoff Evans - hard graft paid off.
Yes, muses Tim, you can make a lot of money from cars. And you get a lot of earache from girls, jokes Plank. Which reminds him ... He has to make amends to Nisha after last night’s tea fiasco.
The remaining Murrays sit at the ubiquitous sitcom table. Everytime we visit the Murrays, at least one or more of them sit feeding their fat, liver-lipped, rigor mortis-gobbed faces. Marty eyes the lot of them uneasily, whilst Dire admonishes them not to bolt their food. But Marty doesn’t want the insurance assessor to arrive and catch them at their dinner.
Short-fused, he snaps at Antichrist Ant to put his school project away and not to read at the table (stupid boy), then orders Adele to wipe that po-faced look off her face.
Adele’s po-facedness is directed at the objectional presence of Brigid. She’s ashamed of the way her family treated Nisha last night. In her opinion, she was glad Plank had a girlfriend like Nisha, who was intelligent, instead of some pumped-up Barbie Doll who never thought past what colour lip-liner to smear on her face.
Brigid snorts dismissively. Intelligent? That one was nothing but a good time girl, in Brigid’s opinion. Adele reprimands her grandmother, telling her that she shouldn’t be so quick to judge people she didn’t know.
The doorbell rings.
Christy Murray, unlike his brother, however, is not skint and not reduced to fleecing insurance companies to fuel his wife’s obsession. Christy is flush, and he’s fleecing anyone who walks through the door of Bev’s Bar. Not only is he fleecing the customers, he’s fleecing Bev, who probably hasn’t seen an iota of the money he’s coined and he’s also fleecing his girlfriend, Leanne as well. He sits in the office of the bar, surrounded by piles of money, all ill-gotten gains and proceeds from lock-ins (or as the Scousers say, ‘stay-behinds’), smuggled booze and off-cut meat. (Aside: Have Brookside changed the plot here? A couple of months ago, Leanne and Christy were supposed to have lost the licence at Bev’s?) It’s worth noting that all the money surrounding Christy is cash - no credit card slips, no cheques, just cash. Christy is viewing the loadsamoney, with a greedy grin of triumph on his face, as Rachel enters, bearing the proceeds from her till.
Christy glances up at her, a wad of notes clinched in his greedy mitt. Look at that, he waves the money tantalisingly under Rachel’s dim, but pert little nose. It was a good night last night. Had Rachel EVER seen so much dosh? Suddenly, without warning, Rachel bursts into tears.
Christy, ever the gentleman when there’s a damsel in distress, especially when she’s got big boobs and a bum to match, immediately shows his concern for Rachel’s distressed state. Whatever is the matter? Can he help?
Rachel sniffles and wipes her tears, shaking her head. She’s in debt, she sobs. Awful debt, and it’s all her fault. The worst thing about it, she says, is that Mike knows nothing about it.
Christy urges her to tell him all about the situation.
The couple have a loan, she explains, and she was supposed to be making payments on it. But she hasn’t, and now the loan company have foreclosed and want the entire amount returned. And she just couldn’t bring herself to tell Mike about the situation. (No surprise. Anthea’s trained her well in keeping essential secrets from her husband).
Christy surreptitiously pushes the dosh aside on the table and tries to soothe Rachel.
The ubiquitous loan assessor has arrived. He’s a pinch-faced, dour, miserly-looking little man with stingy-looking wire-framed glasses - a stereotypical melodrama villain, if there ever was one. AND his name is Mr Neville, so whoever wrote this episode, must have been lurking in the Newsgroup about two years ago. He’s armed with a clipboard and pen and has been meticulously making notes about the alleged damage the Murrays sustained in the latest break-in. Oh, yes, and one thing the Murrays hadn’t bargained on - Mr Neville is a sharp as the proverbial tack, and he won’t miss a thing. Already, he smells a rat.
Marty stands near the man, looking increasingly uneasy. Mr Neville is lost in concentration with his pen and clipboard. Marty is concerned by the man’s long silence. Is anything wrong? Did Mr Neville have any questions about the claim? Marty asks, using his best Uriah Heep impersonations.
Questions? Repeats Neville peremptorily. Ah, yes, questions. Well, there do seem to be a few discrepancies in the report Mr Murray gave to the police and the damage he listed on the claim form, he observes.
Marty laughs nervously. Well, he could explain that, he says. You see, they, the Murrays, panicked initially when they discovered they had been burgled. It wasn’t until the cold light of day when they’d had more of a chance to examine things that they had discovered more damage.
Hmmm, Mr Neville makes a sceptical noise. But then, there was damage that HE was seeing now that he couldn’t understand why it wasn’t noticed by the police on the night they were called ... Like this oil stain on the carpet, for example. And he points to a visible stain at his feet. He’s puzzled by it. Marty reckons that perhaps the stain came from the shoes of the burglar.
Yes, surmises Mr Neville, but why weren’t there other like stains if it were walked in on the feet of the perp? And why did neither the police nor the Murrays notice such an obvious piece of evidence on the night the burglary occurred?
Marty reiterates again the state of panic he felt on the night of the burglary. Neville raises his eyebrows sceptically at this explanation as he continues to take copious notes on his clipboard. Without pausing in his writing, he remarks that this wasn’t the first burglary the Murrays had suffered. In fact, weren’t they burgled only a few weeks prior to this occurrence?
Marty looks as though he’s about to wet his pants, his eyes ever widening, as he stammers a reply. Yes, er, well, yes, they were ... But, er, as there was no forced entry, there was no viable claim.
Quite, comments Mr Neville acerbically. And he trusts that Mr Murray isn’t trying to claim for the items lost in that first occurrence on THIS claim, he observes, eyeing Marty suspiciously over the rim of his glasses.
Marty squirms noticeably.
Christy is trying to calm Rachel’s fears. She was just incredibly unlucky, he soothes. But Rachel protests that she’s made the situation worse by not paying the loan.
Christy ponders her situation for a moment. What Rachel needs, he says, is someone to loan her the money to repay the debt - someone with flexible payment terms. But, Rachel explains, she’s tried building societies and banks. They just wouldn’t entertain loaning her the money to get out of this pickle.
Ah, but Christy didn’t mean places like banks and building societies. No, they didn’t help people - always out to scam them, they were. Now Christy has this mate, see, who specialises in helping people in Rachel’s situation.
Rachel looks at Christy uneasily. Did he mean a loan shark? (And is his name Kenny McGuire?)
Christy doesn’t deny this assumption, but he glosses over it brilliantly. If she wants, Christy could put Rachel in touch with his mate - just for a chat, mind. Well, Rachel hesitates, she’d have to think about it, but only if Christy didn’t tell Mike.
Christy begs Rachel to ‘trust him’. (And the sad thing is, that Rachel is stupid enough to do just that).
Plank approaches the Naughty Nurse, who’s standing absently on the pavement outside the clinic. He greets her, asking if she’s game for a drink. Nisha replies crossly that, after the day she’s had, she’s ready to go home and have a hot bath.
Plank begins to make a reference about the previous evening’s activities, but Nisha tells him to shut up about last night. Plank refuses. It wasn’t about his family, he says. He has to explain his sudden absence last night, which left her in the lions’ den. That caller who rang the doorbell, he says, was a bizzie. He wanted to speak to Plank and Tim about an incident that occurred at Geoff Evans’s car lot.
So, Nisha remarks aptly, but not without a veneer of admiration, Plank’s a full-scale scally now as well, but that didn’t excuse him from not taking her part when Brigid laid into her the previous evening. Plank makes an effort to explain his behaviour. He tells her that when his stepmother and grandmother insisted that the couple come to tea, he thought it was going to be just that, honestly. He didn’t expect Nisha to participate in a kick-off about IVF and abortion.
Anyway, he didn’t say that much because of the situation that Dire was in at the moment. She was supposed to have calm and tranquility about her at her stage of the treatment. Only a few days prior to last night, he explains, he and she had had the mother of all rows about her continued IVF treatment. He managed to upset her in a big way. And to cap all that off, during her first attempt at IVF, Adele had fallen pregnant and had an abortion.
Nisha is shocked wordless. She can easily sympathise with Dire, especially when she was trying so hard to conceive and Adele had to have an abortion. She had honestly thought that Plank was worried to speak out in her favour. Normally, Plank says, he would have joined in the argument. But, he continues, he still wants to see her. Now how about that drink?
Nisha provocatively invites Plank back to her flat with an offer to wash her back, and plants a massive snog on his face.
Back at Sitcom House, Mr Neville is still nosing exhaustively around, leaving no stone unturned. Brigid sits at the sitcom table with Antichrist Ant, eyeing Mr Neville suspiciously as he eyes the Murray damage suspiciously. Summoning all the matriarchal dignity of the prow of a ship, she bellows intrusively: ‘Really, is all this necessary? Why, these days the cost of insurance is scandalous, and then when people have to put in a claim, you don’t believe them!’
Continuing his investigation, Mr Neville perfunctorily replies to her taunt by smoothly reminding Brigid that it was some people’s fraudulent claims that push up insurance costs for honest people.
Anichrist Ant pipes up, piously observing that the Murrays were honest people. Marty rewards him by ordering him abruptly up to his room.
Now Mr Neville peruses the estimates Marty’s obtained for repairing the damage. They appear to be a bit on the high side, he notes. Did Mr Murray know these contractors?
Marty admits that he didn’t. That’s most odd, remarks Mr Neville, sensing the lie that’s been told. In Marty’s line of work, Mr Neville assumed that he would constantly come in contact with contractors and would therefore know who to contact to obtain an estimate.
Marty cringes almost noticeably, saying that he was aware that three estimates were required, so he got three names from the telephone directory.
Now Mr Neville is ready to look at the outside of the property - er, just to see if the police missed anything in their initial enquiry. Marty and Dire dismally watch the man disappear outside. Dire’s nervous about the situation. Of all the people, the insurance company had to send them an overzealous, failed bizzie.
Back at the bar, Lance watches curiously as Rachel and Christy emerge from the confines of the office. He hears Christy remind Rachel that ‘it’s only money’ and watches him give her a big hug. At that moment, Christy’s attention is diverted by the arrival of the featured act for tonight, a country-western singer, or rather Phil Redmond’s/Paul Marquess’s ignorant assumption of what a country-western singer should look like - replete with Confederate flag and Charlie Daniels’s vintage 1970ish beard. (Get real, guys. New Country is as phoney as New Labour. The Dixie Chicks are from California; Alison Krause is a Jewish girl from NYC and the DelVonts are from Hoboken, New Jersey. Somehow I don’t think their 3 x great-granddaddies wore grey uniforms).
Christy approaches Rachel tentatively, thinking the worst has happened. He asks if Christy has been bothering her. Lance implores her not to listen to anything Christy has been telling her, but Rachel asserts that she’s desperate.
Mr Neville has finished inspecting the outside of the Murray house and now approaches the back entrance, as Dire and Marty wait anxiously to receive him. Funny, he notes, as he approaches the couple. No trace of oil at all in the back garden, where - ostensibly - the burglar entered.
Marty observes that it’s rained since the burglary. Perhaps the rain washed the oil away.
Ah, but oil isn’t that easily displaced, Mr Neville says smugly. He still can’t understand why there’s no trace of oil to be found, and yet the burglar managed to ‘walk it in’ on his shoes. And this door is another thing, he remarks, pointing to the door leading from the conservatory into the sitcom kitchen. It’s been kicked in. Why would a burglar kick this door in when he’d already broken the other door to gain entry. This door wasn’t locked at the time. It simply doesn’t add up, he muses.
Suspecting, nay, knowing, that the man sees through their ruse, Dire immediately kicks off at him. She asks Neville if he’s ever been the victim of a burglary. Did he know what it was like to return home and to realise that someone had been in your house without your knowledge or permission, had gone through your personal possessions and fingered all of them? It was more than an invasion of privacy; it was tantamount to rape.
The police were of no use in this situation. They weren’t even trying to catch the people who didit, and then he had to come along and query their tale, when they’d lost items and possessions in the burglary that they had worked years to attain. They were supposed to be the victims in this situation, yet they were made to look like the perpetrators of the crime.
Mr Neville digests this overlong rant in silence, his expression never changing. When she’s quite finished, he excuses himself and promises the Murrays that they will have a quick and fair decision regarding their claim.
Meanwhile, Rachel has told Lance about Christy’s proposal of help. Lance is alarmed at what Christy has suggested. He implores Rachel not to get involved with either Christy or any of his dodgy mates. Christy, himself, appears at that moment, and Rachel begs a word. Obliquely referring to their previous conversation, she tells Christy that she’s given some thought to his offer, and really, she can’t go behind Mike’s back and do this. She realises Christy was trying to help, but she really feels she should tell Mike about the situation first.
Sensing that Lance has had something to do with this volte-face, he ribs Lance about the country-western night. This should be right up Lance’s alley, he jokes. Didn’t one of the Village People dress up as a cowboy?
Nisha and Plank, still in a state of aftebath afterglow, enter the bar, as the country-western night is noisily getting underway. We see them enter through the window of the bar, which is decorated with cut-out hand-made adverts proclaiming COKTAILS sold within. Plank, clearly satisified sexually, observes aloud that he had no idea that a back scrub could be so enjoyable. Nisha laughs, but remarks that she doesn’t want to be subjected to anymore teas with the Murray family in the future. Again, she offers sympathy about Dire’s plight, with her IVF and Adele’s abortion dilemma.
As the couple stand at the bar, Timily enter. Nisha rolls her eyes heavenward, as Tim and Plank greet each other and she tries studiously to avoid Emily. Emily isn’t too chuffed at the prospect of running into Nisha with Plank, and she loudly observes to Tim that Nisha just might try to rob her of her fella. Plank offers to buy a round and asks the couple what they are drinking. Tim orders a pint and Emily a lemonade. But Nisha remarks that she’s surprised Emily didn’t order an orange juice, to match her naff orange sunbed tan. (HA! This was the best line of the night! But where does Emily have the money for a sunbed? More like fake tan!)
As Emily starts to haggle for a barney, Tim drags her off to one side, in order to read the riot act to her. Tim won’t brook her slagging Nisha off. Plank was a mate and that friendship wouldn’t last if Emily continued to dig at Nisha. Tim warns Emily to get off Nisha’s back.
After the departure of Mr Neville, Dire and Marty heave a sigh of relief. They are smug in the expectation that their claim will go through, thanks largely to Dire’s virtuoso performance. There was just absolutely no way anyone could fail to believe their claim was genuine after THAT performance. They couple enjoy a self-congratulatory laugh. (A sure sign that the claim will be denied).
Nisha and Plank now sit at a table in the increasingly noisy and raucous bar, as the country-western singer gives an off-key performance. Nisha is moaning about Emily’s attitude. She’s STILL going on ad nauseam about Nisha stealing her sister’s boyfriend. That was so trivial, Nisha continues, compared with poor pitiful Katie - now that’s a real loss. (Actually, Emily is just revealing her immaturity. Nikki has got on with her life. Katie just wants attention).
Plank argues that Tim is a sound mate. Maybe Nisha should just give the couple a chance. Just as he says this, Timily appear, both bearing drinks. Tim explains that they’ve bought Nisha and Plank a round to say thanks for the first one. Emily holds a glass of red wine for Nisha, and for a moment it looks as though she might dump it on the nurse. But Tim nudges her and Emily gives a grudging apology for her behaviour to Nisha. Nisha accepts the apology, equally grudgingly and Plank invites them to sit down. They do, with Nisha and Emily managing to look in opposite directions, still avoiding each other.
Christy, meanwhile, is having a few constructive words with Lance. He suspects Rachel’s change of mind came as a result of something Lance had said to her. Lance retorts that he wanted to ensure that Rachel didn’t get involved with any of Christy’s dodgy mates and flounces away.
As Lance departs, Christy manages to get Leanne’s attention. Again, he reiterates that there’s only so much of Lance’s attitude that he can sustain. Lance is now way over the top in his dealings with punters, he informs Leanne. Why, just now he had a fella approach him, telling Christy that he didn’t realise that this was a gay bar. Seems Lance came onto him, was giving him the eye. The punter told Christy that he was too scared to even go for a pee in that place and really slagged Lance off. He left and he won’t be back. Leanne needs to sort Lance out, Christy warns, before they lose all the punters.
Back at Sitcom House, Brigid is taking her leave of the Murrays. Ant has offered to walk her to the bus stop, and they can discuss further his part in the school play on the way. As she leaves, she advises the Murrays to keep onto the insurance company in order that they not forget their claim, and she tells Dire not to be nervous about her impending hospital appointment.
At the bar, the two uneasy couples have had enough of the country-western night as well as the girls’ tenseness with each other, and they decide to leave.
Brigid and Antichrist Ant have reached the bus stop. Antichrist is rather unChristianly blowing his own trumpet about being chosen to be the star of the school play. Brigid smiles indulgently, pleased that Ant likes his new school. Ant confirms that he’s made lots of new friends too, friends who have yet to discover what a bigoted little prick he is. AND the school has loads of after-school activities too.
Brigid suggests that one day, after school, Ant encourage his mates to visit her for awhile and leave his folks some peace. As Antichrist Ant agrees, she deems him a good lad and boards her bus. Antony waves goodbye and walks away, but as the bus pulls away, he hears his name called. Turning, he sees Paige and Imelda walking toward him, both grinning broadly.
Leanne has cornered her brother and demands that the two have a discussion. She comes right to the point and accuses Lance of driving punters away with his attitude and behaviour. Lance scoffs at her assumption, assuring her that it was Christy and his feeble ideas that were driving punters out of the bar.
Leanne argues that Christy was at least trying to make a success of the place, which was more than Lance was trying to do. Lance just seemed to be thwarting Christy at every turn.
Lance can’t believe what Leanne is saying. Christy, he informs his sister, is the loser, not him. Lance worked hard, he wanted her to know. Leanne peremptorily demands that Lance follow her into the office for an official word, and as Lance passes Christy, Christy gives him a smug smile.
Paige and Imelda, both wearing light jackets zipped up to their necks, approach Antichrist Ant, asking the lad if he’d missed them. Warily, Antony asks them about their new school. Oh, their new school is a dump, they say. In fact, the teachers and the head ALWAYS seemed to be picking on them - so much so, in fact that the head suggested that the girls might want to consider a change of school.
Antony looks startled. Do they mean that they’ve already been excluded? No, they innocently maintain, their new school just suggested that maybe they would be better off at another one. And that was the big surprise. They wanted Ant to be the first to hear the news. As of Monday, they would be attending Ant’s school.
Antony can’t believe what he’s hearing. Why, there’s no way his school would have these tearaways. The girls unzip their jackets to reveal that they are wearing Ant’s school ties. Here’s their new gear to prove it. Of course, the new school reckoned that it could succeed with them the way the old school couldn’t. They would have to mend their ways, the school said. Now, perhaps Ant would like to see that they got a welcome present on Monday, something bearing a picture of the Queen - say a tenner apiece? As they toddle off, they call out to Ant that his dream school has just become a nightmare.
Inside the bar office, Leanne tells Lance succinctly that she’s not at all pleased with his attitude. Lance replies sulkily that Christy would just have to put up with Lance and his so-called attitude, but Leanne reminds him that SHE’S the boss whilst Bev’s not here. And Leanne has had complaints about Lance and his behaviour.
Lance, she says, has been guilty of intimidating people - fellas, mostly. Lance, she says, should learn to moderate his behaviour, not act the way he does. Lance is flabbergasted by her request. Why, heretofore, Leanne had always defended his natural behaviour, always told him to be himself and not otherwise. She even dangled some lad named Doyle by his ankles from the tuckshop roof when they were in school, for making light of the habit Lance had of standing with his hand on his hip. And now this. He felt betrayed. What’s more, he felt that Christy was a turning point in Leanne’s life, and it was clear that she had made her choice known now. And Lance ostentatiously FLOUNCES out of the office.
Summary © 2001 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2001