Brookside does Liverpool no favours. Certainly the two episodes tonight were testimony to that. It’s presented as a place where scallyism is glorified, where women are beautiful if they wear plaster of paris makeup and look like sluts. Honest initiative is vilified and jealousy (and laziness) are rife. It’s the domain of the whingers.
Did Liverpool die in the Sixties, when four young men, surnames of Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr decided to emigrate to the soft Southeast?
Here’s something to ponder ... The Liverpool Institute, that boys’ grammar of the post-war period ... In one class year alone in the Fifties, it produced the likes of Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Peter Sissons, Bill Kenwright and Stephen Norris. Granted, in present mode (those who are still with us) may sound as posh as the Queen, herself; but at that time, they probably all began sentences with ‘Errm...’ And said ‘Coom’ed, soft lad’ and were - but for the fact that they won places in a grammar - scallies with a chance in life, which they all took. If they didn’t, well ... Sir Paul would have probably ended up like Ron Dikko, the late George would be like Raymundo in the garden, Peter Sissons would be washing windows like Sinbad, Kenwright would have been a school caretaker like Marty Murray and Norris would have been the equivalent of Jimmy Corkhill.
Makes you think, doesn’t it?
The episode opens in NNT. We see a notepad lying on a coffee table. Someone, dressed in chic trousers, stands over the pad and picks it up. The camera moves upward, and we are treated to the sad, miserable, grimy greasy, ski-nosed face of poor, pitiful Katie. (For extra dough, she should try renting her nose out as a dry ski run for the locals). She reads the note. It’s from Sammy, telling her that Sammy needs to talk to her, right away. Poor, pitiful Katie throws the notepad down and runs out of the flat.
Hearing the door slam, Lady Muck emerges, wearing another Mullah Omar original headdress. She’s just come from the shower, and she calls out to Katie, but of course, the wretch, having left, doesn’t hear.
Mike, having returned from work, is preparing for another busy day of seething with jealousy at his idea of his sister’s good fortune. Silly, witless Rachel is wittering around the house, with a dopey smile on her fat face.
Mike notices that she’s still about the place when she should be out earning a crust, cleaning houses. Isn’t she going to work? He asks.
Oooh nooo, coos Rachel. Beth isn’t feeling well.
But, points out Mike, it’s been four days since Rachel’s worked. What’s up?
Oooh, answers Rachel. Don’t mat-teh. She was due to clean fer that Mrs. Roberts, boot woman’s gone a-weh. Won’t be back before weekend. And she didn’t want to have to bring Beth with her to clean, especially since that Mrs Roberts would only likely have turned the heating off while she was gone. (Did Rachel think to ring Jacqui and tell her that she wouldn’t be able to work that day? A child’s illness is valid. Did she? Of course, she didn’t. The woman is so incredibly dim, this action borders on arrogance. This is a typical Mike action). An-eh-weh, says Rachel, she’s goin’ down Walk-In Clinic wi’ baby later. What time is Mike due at the court, anyway?
Mike says his case is due to be heard at 10:30. He suggests walking down to The Parade with Rachel in order to catch the bus.
Raymundo is over at Hotel Corkhill, doing a spot of free DIY for the scally newlyweds, Timily. He’s installing a new kitchen, to be precise. To be even more precise, he’s installing the kitchen stolen from Jacqui Dixon’s old flat. Matt Munro/Frank Sinatra is playing on either the radio or tape player in the background (as always with Ray).
It’s a totally unwarranted and unnecessary scene and one feels that it was done purely to fill in a gap. The Mekon says something screechingly unintelligible, with a broad smile on her rubber face. Ray makes a remark about doing this as a favour for the family, and Tim makes an inanity about them all being one big, happy family.
Ray compliments Tim on the choice of some lovely kitchen units, and Tim tells him that they are nearly new. Ray points out a stain on the enamel of the sink unit and Emily screeches again.
(Yawn!)
Mrs and Mrs Whinge (aka Mike and Rachel the Brainless) have arrived at the Walk-In Clinic, where there are actually patients waiting to be seen. As they enter, Rachel speaks to poor, pitiful, greasy, miserable, ugly Katie, who gives her short shrift and glares unflinchingly at Mike, as though it’s a crime for a Dixon to be seen in public.
Rachel, who is unremittingly stupid in the extreme, thinks only to spare silly Katie’s feelings and uneasily suggests that M-eye-ke get his booss now or else he m-eye-ght be late.
Mike is adamant that he’s going nowhere. He’s got plenty of time before the bus, and he wants to sit with his wife and daughter until the baby is seen. A reasonable request. Oooh, boot Rachel don’t want no trooble, she warns, as Katie continues to shoot daggers at Mike.
Firmly, Mike reminds his brainless, insipid wife that the waiting room is a public place. He is entitled as much as anyone to be there. She’s crazy, he tells Rachel, if she thinks Mike is going to be intimidated by some sad, vindictive cow on some stupid crusade. Anyway, he motions at a departing greasy Katie, look at her. She acts as though she owns the place.
Beth is called in to be seen and Mike rises to leave. Rachel wishes him good luck, and Mike replies that the court will be sure to agree their £25 per week repayment plan. In fact, he brags, cockily, once they hear his catalogue of hard luck, they’d probably only insist that the couple repay a fiver a week.
Meanwhile, at Chateau Farnham, Jacqui is getting a rollicking down the phone line. It’s Mrs Roberts, Rachel’s erstwhile cleaning client, who has - surprise surprise - returned early to find her house hasn’t been touched. She’s gabbing a mile a minute to a stammering Jacqui. This isn’t the first time this has happened, she wants Jacqui to know. It’s the second.
Jacqui tries to remain calm and polite, profusely apologising. Now that she’s heard her complaint, she assures the woman it won’t happen again.
But she’s complained before! Shouts Mrs Roberts.
Frantically, Jacqui offers the woman compensation in the form of a reduction in costs for Great Grannies’s services, but Mrs Roberts demands that her contract be cancelled and rings off.
Maxim is standing in the background, witnessing his wife’s discomfiture. Jacqui turns and explains to him that a very important Great Grannies client had cancelled her contract because Rachel hadn’t turned up at all to clean her house while she was away.
Max tries to be sympathetic. Perhaps Rachel wasn’t well, he suggests.
Well, replies Jacqui, reasonably, if she were ill, why didn’t she call Jacqui? That would have given Jacqui ample time to sort out a replacement. She has to have a word with Rachel, she announces. The problem being, she explains to Max, that Mrs Roberts also holds membership in the Health Club, and this fiasco might cause a domino effect - if this is the way Jacqui runs Great Grannies, she might think the girl incapable of running the Health Club.
Jacqui continues, with a frown of worry deepening on her face. Loads of Great Grannies clients had cancelled contracts because of Ron’s trial, and now this.
Max is astonished and concerned. Why hadn’t Jacqui told him this before? He asks. He would have only heard it on the grapevine.
Jacqui says Max has enough on his plate, without her problems. Seeing that his wife is clearly stressed, she explains to him that she was trying to rebuild Great Grannies for Ron when he was released, but she has also had a lot on her mind ever since having that chat with Sammy Rogers the other day about Katie. That really wound her up.
Max offers to get cover for the restaurant and stay at home to give Jacqui a hand, but Jacqui refuses his help.
Ray and Timily stand outside whilst Ray works on the kitchen unit. Jimmy approaches and remarks that Raymundo is out early. He also compliments Ray on the good job he’s doing. Emily again screeches something utterly unintelligible.
Ray remarks that he’s seen the bathroom suite that Tim’s come by in the shed, and it looks nice. He’s to be credited, Ray vows. Yes, Jim agrees, our Tim’s a real thinker, that. Jimmy then asks why Tim isn’t attempting to help Ray install the units, and Tim gives him some cocky shit about not wanting to soil his talented hands. Jimmy then tells the Mekon off for being late for work again.
(Yawn!)
Jerome appears, wearing his dead spider hat, and tells Ray that Jessie wants a word. Jerome declines to stay and have a chat with Tim, as he’s late for his new job downtown.
Tim asks where he’s working and Jerome is suitably vague, saying it’s a new bar and very small, trying to deflect Tim’s desire to visit his place of employment. Again, he reminds Ray that Jess is looking for him.
As if he’s deaf as a post (which he seems to be), Ray then asks Jerome if he’s off to his job behind the bingo bar, the revelation of which makes Timily laugh raucously. Tim teases Jerome about Nikki being made up about him working at the bingo.
One thing’s for certain, Tim teases, with all those grannies about, Jerome won’t be tempted to stray anymore.
Silly, dimwit Rachel has seen the doctor and stops by the counter to apprise poor, pitiful Kay-teh of Beth’s situation, as if Kay-teh would even care. Oooh,witters Rachel, Beth’s got at temp-a-chure! Now Rachel has to go-eh chemists, she moans. Joost what she don’t want, queuin’ in l-eye-e a’ chemists! Still, Mrs Whinge the Scrounger remarks, ‘t least med’cine’s free!
Poor, pitiful Katie screws up her ugly face into a sour ball and spits out the uncalled for opinion that EVERYTHING is free for the Dixons! Free prescriptions, free merr-ders! Well, Rachel can go tell Jacqui and Mike that she, Katie, is going to launch a civil action against that MERR-DERRIN’ Ron Dixon.
Rachel protests blandly that Ron’s suffered enoof, but Katie vehemently disagrees.
Suddenly a rare occurrence happens ... Rachel has an idea. This is all about moo-neh now with Kay-teh, i’n’t it?
It’s not about mooney at all, huffs poor, pitiful Katie righteously. It’s about joostice fer Clint!
Rachel blinks and asks, disbelievingly, if this is some kind of sick joke on Katie’s part. Ron were serving jail sentence, for goodness sake!
It’s no joke anymore, sneers Katie. The joke was the light sentence Ron got.
Rachel blinks, shakes her head and asks sadly when Katie is going to stop her ranting and see the truth about Clint’s death?
A stressed-out Jacqui is loading some laundry into the washer, when Emma begins to cry in the background and call for Mummy (Jacqui or Susannah?). Wearily, she unfolds a reluctant pushchair and prepares to take the children out.
Lady Muck, who looks pretty good with her hair up, rings the Walk-In Centre and asks to speak to poor, pitiful Katie. Surprised at being told that Katie is busy, she insists on hanging on for her sister. But she is forced to ring off.
Later, Jacqui calls round to have a word with Rachel. The silly idiot doesn’t realise by Jacqui’s very sombre expression that this is neither a social call, nor is there good news to impart. Jacqui at first admits her fatigue. She’s been walking around for hours with the kids, trying to get Emma, who’s been cranky, to fall asleep.
Yes, Rachel witters, happily and mindlessly, she has that problem with Beth soomtimes. She confides to Jacqui that M-eye-ke’s in court today, boot he’ll most l-eye-ke-leh go to work after leaving there.
So Mike works? Asks Jacqui, rhetorically.
Rachel blinks and smiles witlessly. Yes, she replies.
Again, Jacqui repeats herself. Mike works, she remarks, and Rachel doesn’t?
Oooh, Rachel continues to witter, mindlessly, Leanne’s said she could coom in later at bar -
No, Jacqui interrupts, she isn’t talking about THAT job of Rachel’s. She had a very irate Mrs Roberts on the phone to her earlier, she informs Rachel, ominously.
Oooh, remarks Rachel, she’s not meant to be back ‘fore weekend.
‘Well, she is,’ says Jacqui, seriously, ‘and the thing is, Rache, she’s not a Great Grannies client anymore. Because you mucked up by not showing up on the job, she’s cancelled her contract.’
The only thing the insipidly stupid wench can think to say in response is that she didn’t know the woman was coming back early and it ‘wasn’t her fault’. (It never is).
It wo-an’t ‘app’n agin, Rachel promises, smiling uneasily and pathetically.
But this isn’t the first time it’s happened, is it? Asks Jacqui, as Rachel looks ashamed.
Lady Muck enters the Walk-In Centre and goes to where Katie is sitting at her desk. She reminds Katie that she left the wretch a note.
Katie replies sullenly that she was late for work when she saw the note. Sammy says the pair of them need to talk. Why don’t they go to lunch for a chat? Katie replies shortly that she’s having no lunch, as she’s too busy. (HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA ... Sorry).
Well, they do need to talk, Sammy insists. She wants Katie to know that she went to see Jacqui Farnham last week.
Katie is horrified.
Here’s another useless filler scene. Jessie and Brigid stand before
the bar at the bingo club and call peremptorily to be served. Jerome pops up
behind the bar, wearing a naff
waistcoat. The two women smile proprietarily at each other and at Jerome, remarking
how well the uniform of the club suits him.
They order two orange juices (what else?), as Jess asks Jerome how he’s liking the job. Smiling uneasily, Jerome lies and says the job is OK, not bad (when what he really means is that the job is shit and he’d rather be any place than working behind that bar).
‘Still,’ remarks Jessie, smugly, ‘It’s nice to be earning.’
‘Jobs are hard to come by these days,’ pipes Brigid. (In Liverpool, maybe, where the notorious work terrorist Bin Workin is still at large. One wonders if Brigid will try to get her grandson a job there as well).
Tony, the club manager, appears beside Jerome and greets Jessie and Brigid as regulars. He has some bad news for the ladies. He may have to cancel the next few rounds. The regular caller has had an urgent hospital appointment (as you do). There was simply no one else to fit in.
Jessie promptly volunteers Jerome to do the calling. Jerome is petrified AND mortified at the thought, and Tony isn’t so sure.
‘Go on,’ urges Jessie. ‘After all, he’s got a university education.’ (Which is the sum total of how they view uni undergrads).
Tony asks Jerome if he’ll do it, promising him an extra tenner if he does so, and Jerome reluctantly accepts.
As Jessie and Brigid toddle happily away, Jessie admonishes Jerome, who has cornered the market in uneasy looks, not to let her down.
(If this scene is supposed to be humourous, or even gently humourous, it’s not).
Jacqui is still discussing Rachel’s work ethic with the hapless no-brainer. (Actually, thinking about it - Rachel is cast against type. She should be blonde). Jacqui is clearly upset and annoyed by Rachel’s attempted skive - as well as the fact that it’s not the first time she did this trick and the fact that she was aiming to get paid a week’s wage for doing sod-all. Jacqui succinctly reminds the wench that she has enough on her plate at the moment, without having to deal with Rachel being so blase about not turning up for scheduled jobs.
Rachel is blinking frantically now and trying to work her mouth at the same time, like a stupid doll that has to blink in order to talk. When her voice finally catches up with her mouth movements, she stammers that Beth had a temp-eh-choor and she couldn’t work (well, not that day - she fails to mention the reason that she didn’t show the previous three days).
Jacqui sighs wearily and tries to be reasonable. Did Rachel realise that Great Grannies lost a lot of staff because of Ron’s predicament before the trial? Good staff were hard to come by these days (not down South - cleaning staff make a bomb down here). And Jacqui understood Rachel’s problem with Beth, now that she had two children of her own. But if Rachel had just called her to let her know that Beth was ill, Jacqui could have made arrangements. Anyway, she continues, this Mrs Roberts not only had a cleaning contract with Great Grannies, she also has a subscription to the Health Club. AND she has a lot of friends who are members. Things like this have a habit of forming a grapevine of gossip. Pretty soon not only Great Grannies would be on a loss, but maybe the Health Club too - and all because of Rachel’s irresponsibility.
Rachel interjects to remind Jacqui self-righteously that it isn’t easy being a mum and working too. (What Rachel means really is that it’s hard actually having to look after Beth now that Ron was in prison and Anthea was gone. She and Mike actually HAD to physically look after the child).
Well, remarks Jacqui, she’s a mum too and she works.
Ah, but Jacqui’s not a PROPER mum, blurts Rachel, stupidly. (What exactly does this mean? Simply that because a child sprang from one’s loins that this makes one a PROPER mother? Well, Harry sprang from Jacqui’s. Or the fact that Jacqui never assumed maternal duties until Harry and Emma were toddlers - may I remind the viewers, those that are left, that the two previous Mrs Farnhams, PROPER MOTHERS, employed both nannies and cleaners to look after their sprogs and abodes. So by Rachel’s silly reckoning, Dire Murray isn’t a proper mother, but Lindsey Corkhill is. Nice one, dimwit).
Jacqui is simply flabbergasted at the enormity of stupidity contained in the remark. She asks Rachel to repeat it, and - as if suddenly realising that her mouth had spoken without recourse to her empty cranial cavity - Rachel cannot.
Jacqui suddenly voices an opinion that she’s been harbouring for sometime (and a correct one too).
That’s it. She’s had enough of this palaver. She’s quite simply sick and tired of everyone trying to walk all over her.
Now Silly Knickers asks Jacqui what she means (because Rachel is too stupid to understand).
‘Joost that,’ repeats Jacqui, ‘everyone tryin’ to walk all over me and push me around.’
Who? Asks the silly bitch.
‘You, Mike, Lisa Morrissey,’ enumerates Jacqui. ‘You think that joost because yer married to me broother, you can do what you like in this job and other things. And you all think that joost because I’ve got some money, I don’t have any cares or problems, meself.’
Rachel, like all scroungers and whingers, is appalled at being found out at her own game and at having the truth about her behaviour and attitude spelled out to her, in words that she can understand. She takes the typical whinger’s injured stance and simply cuts her nose off despite her fat face. If that’s the way Jacqui feels, she says, Jacqui can stick her job.
Is Rachel resigining then? Asks Jacqui.
Rachel has to think a moment about what the word ‘resign’ means, but when she realises it means ‘to quit’, she affirms that she is.
Fine by me, says Jacqui, abruptly, and she leaves.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Ray is preparing to leave for the day, having finished. He tells Tim that he has some bits and bobs to do in the morning, but he’ll be around the next day to get the bathroom installed. That’s a top quality suite our Tim’s friend got him, Ray tells Jimmy.
When Ray has gone, Jimmy remarks on the fact that Christy had provided the kitchen and bathroom suites for the house. But that’s not exactly the sort of tips he reckoned on Tim getting from Christy, he says. Did Tim by any chance have to come up with the readies for Christy in order to get the goods?
Tim obliquely replies that the goods were got ‘on account’.
Jimmy understands the reference, and - reformed scally that he is - hypocritically applauds Tim’s initiative, ‘Nice one.’
Max has returned home from work to find Jacqui at home alone and stressed out. Where are the children? He asks.
Jacqui tells him that she took the kids downtown to Santa’s Grotto, and while there, she ran into Adele Murray. When the group got back, she asked Adele if she would mind babysitting the kids for awhile. They were over at the Murrays being minded by Adele. Adele was grateful for the opportunity to earn a few quid.
Max is concerned that Adele might be a bit too young for such a chore. Jacqui reminds him that Adele is sixteen (having turned fourteen the year before).
Anyway, Jacqui confesses, to add to her woes, she’s gone and had a row with Rachel, and now Rachel’s packed her job in.
What did Jacqui have to say about that? Asks Max.
Jacqui says, ‘I said, "Fine. OK."’ But she reckons, ominously, that Mike would be storming around later on to have a bust-up with her about it.
Max asks her if she thought that she had over-reacted and Jacqui blurts out that she’s been freaked out by her conversation with Sammy Rogers the other day. This business with Katie’s behaviour has been doing her head in.
Max is immediately suspicious of Sammy and her motives in visiting Jacqui. Did Jacqui think Sammy was sincere? Had Jacqui forgotten how much Sammy likes to stir things?
Well, to Jacqui, it seemed as though the two were having a good heart-to-heart.
‘Maybe she has grown up,’ remarks Max, dubiously. And he tells Jacqui that if she wants to renew her friendship with Katie, that’s what he wants for her too.
Jacqui acknowledges that she has to wait now to see exactly what Sammy says to Katie about their conversation. (Don’t hold your breath in eager anticipation).
Jessie and Brigid are having a bit of a goss, whilst waiting for Jerome’s debut as a bingo caller. They wonder if he’ll do all right. Jessie reckons he might be nervous at first, but he’ll loosen up when he starts to shout out the numbers.
Brigid says she’s surprised that Jessie even allowed Jerome to move back in with Nikki, but Jessie maintains that she did this for Nikki’s sake. The girl was pining for him. (Er, actually, no, she wasn’t. Jerome and Nikki were an after-thought after the dismal Dr Do-A-Little - gone, but not missed - proved a distinct miss with the viewers). Anyway, Jessie firmly blames that Nisha one for leading Jerome astray.
Ohhh, THAT won’t happen again, she promises Brigid, grimly. By having Jerome under her own roof, she could constantly keep her eye on him. In fact, she’s got him helping out around the house and in the garden. Between his studies, his job and the bungalow, he won’t have time to think about getting up to sexual mischief. (I should think he would be too tired to even contemplate sex).
Mike Dixon returns home from his court hearing. He heaves himself frustratingly into a chair at the Dixon House of Horrors and loosens his tie. The Dimwit who doubles as his wife makes an appearance, to ask in that mincing Mancunian drawl how got on.
‘I didn’t,’ answers Mike, glumly, ‘the Loan Company listened to my proposal of £25 per week and laughed in my face. They reckon that, with all the interest, paying it off at £25 a week, will take us seven years.’
(Er, sorry, I don’t know much about County Courts and such, but once a debt gets this far, isn’t the interest frozen, so there’s one amount, with nothing added to it? If so, then what’s all this shit about interest? More evidence of Brookside’s appalling research and lack of realism?
Seven years! Exclaims Rachel. (Actually, she can’t count past five). What happens now?
Mike explains that the judge is arranging a Redetermination Hearing. He explains patiently and simply to the dullard that that means the judge will take all the details from the case and study them. Then in a couple of weeks’ time, he will call all concerned back to the County Court and HE will make an assessment of what amount Mike must repay.
Oooh, marvels Rachel the Dim, woonder how mooch that’ll be?
‘It’ll be more than we can afford, that’s for certain,’ says Mike, pessimistically.
Rachel screws up her forehead because she knows there are some things that she has to tell Mike, that won’t be very nice. She starts to broach a subject. There’s more to worry about than this County Court thing, she begins.
Like what? Mike wants to know.
Rachel then loses her nerve and tries to defer breaking the bad news until after dinner, but Mike insists that he be told now.
It’s Kay-teh, she confesses. She’ad roon-in wi’Kay-teh af-teh clinic. Kay-teh’s only plannin’ on takin’ out civil action against Ron for the wrongful death of the sainted Clint.
Mike finds this hard to fathom. A civil action? Take Ron back to court? Ron’s already been to court; he didn’t think something like that could be done.
Well, it can, asserts the wench. It’s soomthin’ they do in Meriker all the t-eye-me. Person gets sentenced, then they sue fer damages. (Actually, Rachel, it isn’t like that at all, and can only be done in certain circumstances; but it’s much too complicated for you to comprehend).
Damages? Echoes Mike, this habit seeming to be catching. Money? What could Katie hope to get from Ron?
Rachel reckons Kay-teh will go for the’owse.
Forget it, dismisses Mike. That miserable bitch is off her head.
Well, actually, there’s soomthin’ else M-eye-ke’s got ter know, confesses Rachel, uneasily. She’s doon soomthin’ reeelly stoopid.
Jerome steps onto the elevated bingo platform and introduces himself. He seems suddenly at ease and jokes with the audience about his uniform. Jessie and Brigid smile proprietorily at each other, acknowledging how good Jerome’s proving to be.
Jerome calls for ‘eyes down’, but the two motherly women continue to smile maternally at him. Jerome jokes with the two ‘young ladies’ that he said it was time to begin. Jessie and Brigid giggle girlishly and even moreso when Jerome loudly queries if the two are certain that they are old enough to be playing this game.
Yuck!
Rachel has finally screwed up enough courage and her forehead to tell Mike that she’s packed in the Great Grannies job. And she’s told her version of big, bad Jacqui telling poor, little-girl Rachel off for skiving and losing a contract.
Mike promises to back Rachel up in her resolve. As a matter of fact, he’s of a good mind to go right over to Chateau Farnham right now and tell his sister a thing or two. Just who did she think she is? She had nothing to do with Great Grannies for years and now all of a sudden, she’s strutting her stuff and doing all the hiring and firing. (Well, actually, Mike, she’s the boss, appointed to be as such by your father, because he couldn’t trust either you or Birdbrain as far as he could throw a stick. And, yes, if she’s got power of attorney to hire and fire, she can do just that. And by the way, your insipid wife wasn’t sacked - although she should have been - she quit!)
Rachel hastily urges Mike not to do that (afraid that Max would aptly and capably defend Jacqui’s motives and Rachel secretly knows that Jacqui was in the right). Anyway, she tells Mike, she’s not bothered. What she said to Jacqui needed saying, she says. It put Jacqui in her place and made the cretin feel proud of herself.
(Ah, yes, but satisfaction is fleeting. Who has subsidised you in the past, Rachel? Who gave you a job, paid your wages, rescued you from trouble and paid for your henweek and gave you and Mike a lujo honeymoon? Starts with a J ...)
That’s right, agrees Mike, stupidly. After all, they were the fighting Dixons. (And Jacqui’s not?)
Boot, Rachel admits, she’as ter f-eye-nd soomthin’ else. ‘Til then, she’ll joost’ave ter do more hours in baaar.
After the bingo session, Tony the manager approaches Jerome. He thought Jerome was brilliant this evening, a natural.
Jerome plays down his performance, modestly.
Oh no, Tony insists (and one wonders from what estate agency/factory/classroom the actor playing Tony originates). Some people couldn’t do what Jerome did tonight. As a matter of fact, how’d he like to do that on a permanent basis?
Same hours as he’s contracted to work behind the bar? Asks Jerome, mindful of his studies.
Yes, agrees Tony, and the extra dosh should come in handy too.
And could Jerome ditch the uniform? He asks.
Tony confirms that he can, and Jerome is pleased to accept.
Poor pitiful Katie has returned home from the grind of the surgery to find Lady Muck waiting for her. Without as much as greeting her sister, Katie demands to know why Sammy went to see Jacqui Dixon?
Sammy, thankful that Katie has returned, begins by mentioning that she’s been trying to talk to Katie all day.
What’s Sammy playing at? Katie demands, ignoring the remark. Why did she go to see Jacqui?
Sammy says that she needed to talk to someone else, and Jacqui seemed to be the logical choice. Also, she wanted to hear Jacqui’s version of events, her side of the story.
Katie unreasonably rejoinders that there’s only one side to the story of Clint’s death - HER side. All Jacqui had to say was a pack of lies.
No, Sammy disagrees. Jacqui seemed ever so sincere in her concern. Jacqui was genuinely worried about Katie, she continues. In fact, Sammy reckons Jacqui still wants to be Katie’s friend.
Katie’s ugly face becomes even uglier with hate as her beetle-brows knit furiously together. She doosn’t need Jacqui Dixon! She exclaims, ominously.
‘You need each other,’ argues Sammy. Katie’s gone way OTT with this Clint thing, anyway. She needs to step back and calm down now.
Jacqui’s not her mate anymore, insists poor, pitiful Katie.
But she wants to be, replies Sammy, stubbornly.
Jacqui stopped being her mate when Ron Dixon killed Clint, poor pitiful Katie declares, airing her warped logic. So Jacqui is guilty by extension and association as well as familial relationship.
Sammy loses patience against such close-minded hatred. Get over it, Katie! She exclaims. Clint’s dead, and that’s sad, but she’ll find another fella. Accept it. Clint was just some guy Katie went out with for awhile. Why, she wasn’t even officially engaged to him when he snuffed it. As a matter of fact, says Sammy, brutally driving home the point, Clint’s been dead almost as long as Katie had known him when he was alive!
Max Farnham stands behind his exhausted wife, giving her a slow and loving massage on her shoulders, trying to relax her. Jacqui is luxuriating in the attention, saying she wished she had more time for such treats.
Max vows to make time for them.
Jacqui confesses that she never meant to sack Rachel or for the wench to quit the job. She also confesses that she never realised it was so difficult to run a business and raise a family. (Welcome to the real world. It can be done. It’s called ‘Time Management’.)
She thanks Max for the nice massage. All the pain and tension from her shoulders has gone. Max moves his hand slyly lower and openly suggests that he could move the massage further down, obviously wanting some nookie. But Jacqui rises irritably, remarking that now wasn’t the time, as she had loads on her mind.
Poor Maxim looks frustrated and worried at that response.
Sammy continues telling poor, pitiful, stinky, greasy Katie more than a few home truths. The Moffatts, it seems, have turned Katie’s head. But that’s what happens when people get mixed up with a bunch of no-marks, she says.
Katie mutters that Clint wasn’t a no-mark. She supposes that Jacqui Dixon’s been saying all sorts about the Moffatts.
No, says Sammy, firmly. Everyone she’s ever spoken to about the Moffatts said that the pair were a couple of scallies. They were nutters. For Christ’s sake, they were robbing Ron Dixon’s house. Katie was really losing it big-time, Sammy continues, and it was beginning to scare Sammy. All this obsession with destroying the Dixons, getting revenge on them, wanting Ron Dixon dead. Katie should take a look at herself in the mirror. (And wash her hair, whilst she’s at it). Sammy doesn’t even know her anymore. For goodness’ sake, move on, she urges. There’ll be other fellas.
Katie petulantly replies that she doosn’t want oother fellas. It’s Clint forever for her, sorry 4ever 4 her.
Again, Sammy repeats the assertion that Clint’s been dead almost as long as Katie had known him when he was alive.
Poor, pitiful Katie moves about the room and starts gathering her sister’s possessions. If that’s the way Sammy feels, she announces, well, she doesn’t need Sammy either. In fact, Sammy could joost get out ... And NOW!
ROCK’N ROLL ARCHIVE
Hanging Around by The Stranglers, No Particular Place to Go, by Chuck Berry, Sweet Nothings by Brenda Lee, Nowhere Man, by The Beatles ... Any and all of the above could just about aptly describe Brookside at the moment. Lost direction or what? Eerrrm, sorry, boot, eerrrm, Liverpool is in da Northwest o’ England, errm wait a moment, eerrrm, no - eerrrm, IS it in England? Coom’ed, soft lad, where’s Liverpool? Liverpool, errrm, like, dey’re in Anfield.
Oh, spare me ...
Ah, Sitcom House! A place that’s become strangely non-existent these days, so it’s a welcome breath of fresh air to begin the programme with a visit - time was, we couldn’t get away from this place.
It’s breakfast time, and the Murray clan, most of them, are seated around the sitcom table - well, Antichrist Ant and the Plank are. Dire stands by the ubiquitous sitcom counter, and Marty dashes in, pulling on his jacket, a man in a hurry - places to go, people to see, you know - well, not really, but it sounds good.
As usual, Ant is dawdling over his breakfast again. Marty hurries him up as they have to leave for school almost immediately. Sublimely not worried about jobs or working, Dire turns languidly from the counter and asks Marty the reason for the rush. Marty explains that he has 200 desks to shift by 9:00AM, and anyway, he wouldn’t have to rush the job if he didn’t have to walk Ant to school each morning for the lad’s protection.
This starts Dire on a rant - come to think of it, it’s been awhile since we heard the stentorian tones of her voice, as well. Well, whose fault is it that Marty has to walk his son to school? She bleats. (Where’s Adele?) The very idea of that Mrs Plummer, actually blaming Antony for the bullying he’s receiving - acting as if this whole charade is Ant’s fault.
Marty explains that the head has certain procedures to follow regarding students in this circumstance. She needs hard proof that Imelda and Paige are actually doing that to Antony. The problem is that the girls are clever, and they don’t appear to be harassing Antony on school property, unless no one’s a witness. He reminds Dire that Mrs Plummer actually gave Marty the benefit of the doubt when he lost his cool and pushed Imelda. Looking pointedly at the lazy Plank languishing at the table, he points out that if Marty had hit Imelda during school hours, then Plank wouldn’t be the only person in the Sitcom household who was signing on.
Plank, who has the underclass sensitivity of Mike Dixon (indeed, he appears to be another Mike in the making) takes umbrage at so pointed a remark, insisting that he IS trying to find a job. (Yeah, sure). Anyway, Dire reminds Plank that he has to pick Antony up from school at noon today. The lad has a half-day, and Marty can’t walk him home. So Plank must be certain to be at the school at noon sharp.
Marty gees the child up to hurry and admonishes him to steer well clear of Paige and Imelda, if he sees them today.
Poor, pitiful, stinky, smelly Katie emerges from her squalid bedroom to face another day of doom and gloom in a world made less brighter by the absence of the patron saint of ducks. She is surprised to find Lady Muck, her sister, still standing in the middle of NNT lounge, although packing a suitcase.
Hmmph! Grunts the self-pitying wretch. Is Sammy still here?
Sammy objects that she really doesn’t want to leave Katie at this time.
Then why did Sammy go to see Jacqui Dixon behind Katie’s back, Katie wants to know. And then return here, repeating all of Jacqui’s vile lies?
Sammy protests that she’s here only to support Katie. She apologises for going to see Jacqui. She should have thought more about that, before doing it.
Katie gives her a brief, dark look. ‘Good-bye,’ she snaps.
At the Shadwick Hilton bungalow, Jessie is gazing out the window in the direction of a horrendous buzzing noise, coming from outside. Jerome enters the room and is drawn to the sound of the noise. Jessie explains that Ray’s doing some work over at Hotel Corkhill, something with a circular saw. (Possibly inserting more implants into Emily’s chest? See the episode for Friday). Something about a bath panel, she witters. But that aside, she compliments Jerome on a job well done at the bingo the previous evening.
Errm, Jerome begins, obviously having caught Errmitis from Nikki, who caught it from Jacqui Dixon, that’s what Jerome needs to speak to Jessie about. He’d be obliged if Jessie wouldn’t say anything about this job to Nikki.
Why not? Asks Jess. She reckons Nikki would be proud of Jerome.
At that moment, Nikki enters the room also, overhearing the last bit. Errm, why should Nikki be proud of Jeorme?
Jessie blurts out that Jerome’s got a job calling at the bingo club. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.
Nikki laughs in disbelief. Bingo calling?
Jerome assumes one of his more classic looks of embarrassment.
Next door, at the Dixon House of Horrors, Mike Dixon has trudged home from his night shift. He’s too tired, he moans. (Any work would make him tired; he just likes to moan). Silly Rachel is twittering about the house. Mike watches her a bit. He confesses that all night long he’s thought about Jacqui and her attitude to Rachel in Great Grannies. In fact, he’s determined to go around the Farnham’s right now and have it out with his sister.
Rachel urges him not to. It would only make matters worse, and besides, it wouldn’t make Jacqui necessarily give the job back to Rachel. (Are you forgetting, dumbarse? She didn’t sack you; you QUIT!)
That’s not the point, moans Mike, jealously and illogically. Jacqui’s not been in charge of Great Grannies five minutes, and here she goes, hiring and firing. (Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? The mind boggles at the way Mike and Rachel would have run that business. Ooh, Mrs Jones isn’t home today, Rache. Her house was only cleaned last week. Let’s not and say we did and pocket the dosh!)
Rachel tries to assume the air of a bustling housewife, but she hasn’t got the sense to do it. Oooh, she thought M-eye-ke would want rest when coom in. An-eh-weh, they’ll get b-eye.
Mike hugs the fat, simple wench and has an idea. He’ll ring one of the blokes with whom he works and ask if he’ll swop shifts with him tonight. Then he and Rachel the Dim could have a night in - a romantic dinner, live a little.
Oooh, drools Rachel, licking her fat lips in anticipation of food. ‘Fish, chips’n bap wi’ale?’ She asks, eagerly.
More like a takeaway curry and some plonk, says Mike. (Pee-UW! Stinky!)
Oooh, witters Rachel, can we ‘ford it?
Sod affording it, says Mike, stupidly, thus showing the viewing public why he and his simpleton wife are in the fix they find themselves.
As poor, pitiful Katie frogmarches Lady Muck, laden with suitcases, out the door of NNT, in the foyer, they run into the Naughty Nurse, herself. Nisha raises her eyebrows in a look of quizzical amusement (and relief) to find that one half of her houseguests is beating a hasty retreat. She makes a witty remark about not having any ideas about the cavalry coming to Katie’s rescue and Katie replies by telling Nisha that Sammy is off back to her fancy house in London. (So THAT’S where Sammy lives! Then what was all this palaver about Katie not seeing Jacqui anymore if she had married Nathan?)
Sammy protests vainly that she only came back to Liverpool to help Katie. What else would induce her to stay in a minty flat like this?
Suddenly, Nisha pauses and sniffs the air reflectively. Speaking of minty, she smells a violent stink. Now we ALL know Katie hasn’t bathed or washed her hair since the sainted Clint died, but this smells more like toilet. And it’s coming from down the hall where Jacqui used to live. As they peer down the foyer, they notice that the door to Jacqui’s old flat stands ajar, with the locks broken.
Nisha assesses that the stink is the smell of drains from the flat and that there’s obviously been a robbery. Entering the empty abode confirms this, and Nisha disappears back to their own flat, vowing to ring Ian Lee and tell him of the latest development. Once she’s alone with her sobby sister, Sammy tells Katie that she’ll only worry now, knowing that Katie’s living in a place that so easily broken into. Next time it might be Nisha’s flat.
Katie looks at her darkly. ‘Nice try,’ she quips.
Nikki is ribbing Jerome about his new vocation. Why didn’t he tell her he’d got a job calling at the bingo club?
Because he knew that she’d laugh, replies Jerome.
No, she wouldn’t, lies Nikki, stifling a giggle. She thinks it’s cool - well, not really, she confesses, bursting into laughter. But then, it must be a turn-on for Jerome, having all those women hanging on his every word.
Actually, Jerome admits, truthfully, it’s quite fun. And it’s not all ‘grab-a-granny’ either. A fair few young people go there. Some of them were quite superstitious about the game too, and he relates a story about two blokes kicking off at each other when one’s mobile phone went off at a crucial moment. And, he finishes, where else would you find a bar job where you end up with more money at the end of a shift that you had at the beginning.
Maybe Jerome’s not so stupid after all.
Nisha, in her confusion over phoning Ian Lee, has descended onto The Parade, where she runs into the Plank. He stops her and apologises for his behaviour on the Close the other day. Nisha remarks sarcastically that she’s not into big men acting out in front of their mates. Anyway, she’s got a crisis upstairs at the moment that needs to be sorted out. She tells Plank about the break-in, whereupon Plank offers his services as emergency fix-it man.
As the two enter the building, Sammy is being rushed out by Katie. Sammy’s still apologising for not believing Katie. She only went to see Jacqui, she says, because she remembers what good mates Jacqui and Katie used to be. Why, she, Sammy, used to be jealous of the Jacqui-Katie axis.
That’s ancient history, snaps Katie. And Sammy could sling her hook.
Thinking on her feet and immediately changing her tack, Sammy apologises again, but this time with a twist. She’s sorry. She should never have believed that rubbish that Jacqui Dixon told her. And now she’s heard Katie’s side of things, she knows that Jacqui was lying all along. After all, the Dixons were only out to blacken Clint’s name, weren’t they? And they’ve achieved what they wanted with her and Katie too - well, look at them, at each other’s throats, while all the Dixons were laughing at them.
As she carries onto Katie, a black cab pulls onto the Parade from one direction, obviously for Sammy. From the other direction, Jacqui Dixon, back driving her black X-reg Puma pulls into the garage for petrol. Sammy points her out to Katie. Look who’s driven up now, she says.
Upstairs in the vandalised flat, Plank is making himself useful by cramming old newspapers down the open drain of the loo, whilst Nisha crouches behind him. Plank admits he was worried about Nisha giving him the cold shoulder since she got back from her short break (so short it doesn’t even seem that she went away).
Nisha explains that she wasn’t avoiding Plank at all, it’s just that she’s been so busy since her return (dealing mostly with the Sugly Blisters). Yes, replies Plank, and his problem is that he’s got too much time on his hands.
Still, Nisha jokes, he must be keen on her if he’s stuck there with his hand down a loo.
Well, admits Plank, it will take a plumber to fix this properly, but at least he’s got rid of a bit of the stink. (Er, he hasn’t got Katie out of Nisha’s flat. That’s an even bigger stink, I would reckon). Cheekily, he asks if he could use Nisha’s shower to freshen himself up, and she readily agrees.
As Jacqui unwittingly gets out of her car and begins to fill it with petrol, Sammy pointedly ignores the waiting taxi and makes a beeline for the garage, followed by poor, pitiful Katie. As the two Sugly Blisters approach, Jacqui greets them civilly.
‘Look at her,’ snarls Sammy, ‘as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth!’
Jacqui is genuinely puzzled by this reaction and rightly so.
Sammy roughly dismisses Jacqui’s confusion, by telling her not to come the innocent with her. She knows now all about her lies about Clint.
Jacqui glances knowingly at the sullen and ugly face of Katie Rogers. ‘Hang on a minute,’ she begins, ‘What did you say?’
Sammy looks at Katie, smugly. She knows now that everything Jacqui had said to her was a lie, she tells her sister, especially the bit about Clint deserving everything he got.
Jacqui is appalled at the blatant untruth. ‘You’re a liar!’ She screams at Sammy.
Nisha and Plank emerge from the shower in obvious afterglow. Plank is apologising for the shortness in nature of his performance, but he has to hurry by the school and pick up Antony. Nisha understands.
So, queries Plank, does ‘this’ mean that they are back on as a couple?
Well, Nisha replies, reluctantly, as much as they can be. She tries to explain to Plank that while she wants the two of them to have fun, she wants nothing permanent. She wants to continue seeing him, she says, but she wants him to know that she’s NOT Katrina.
Is she seeing someone else? Asks Plank.
Nisha explains that she wants the pair of them to have an open relationship. If they see other people they want to have sexual fun with, they they do it openly, and not on the sly.
Poor Plank’s slow sawdust-filled brain is addled. He can’t understand this attitude.
OK, Nisha continues, she’s prepared to lay her cards on the table with him (and a lot of other men too). She wants to continue going out with him, but she wants him to know that he may not be the only one she goes to bed with. If Plank can’t accept their relationship on that level, he can call it a day.
Nisha, in any other parlance, is a randy, little slut.
Back at the garage, Jacqui reiterates her claim that Sammy is lying about what Jacqui didn’t say about Clint. But then, she looks at poor, pitiful Katie, she should have known that the two of them were alike. She calls Sammy a manipulative cow. Sammy calls Jacqui a lying slag.
OK, begins Jacqui, warming to the contest. If Katie and Sammy wanted some home truths, she’d give them some. The truth is, she says, that Clint WASN’T scum, but he was a divvy to have followed Gobby into a house Gobby had entered illegally. Gobby Moffatt was robbing her family, for goodness sake! And all this palaver about Clint being there because he wanted to warn Ron, codswollop! If he wanted to warn Ron of what Gobby was doing, why didn’t he call him on the phone or ring the bizzies?
And as for loyalty, why, where the hell has Sammy been all these months, only to turn up out of the blue now? Did Sammy realise that Katie had been spitting abuse at Jacqui and most of her family for months on end and getting away with it too. She seems to think that she can say whatever she likes about the lot of them and that they have no right of reply.
Katie interjects to screech that, for Jacqui’s information, she’s taking out a civil action against Ron, and she intends to take Ron for every penny he’s got.
Jacqui rolls her eyes heavenward. Here we go again. And here’s another piece of truth. If Katie enjoyed playing the grieving widow so very much, why, exactly, did she jump into bed with Gobby Moffatt before the sainted Clint was cold?
As Katie immediately shuts her ugly gob at a story she can’t refute, Sammy lamely interjects that everyone makes mistakes.
‘Yeah, well,’ finishes Jacqui, coldly, ‘you wanted the whole story, and you got it.’ And she walks away into the garage to pay for her purchase, leaving the Sugly Blisters to fester.
Plank, having received a flea in the ear from the Naughty Nurse, has returned home, after stopping by Brookie Comp, where he failed to find Antony. As soon as he enters, Dire rounds on him, mercilessly. Where’s Ant? She demands.
Isn’t he here? Asks Plank, stupidly.
Well, says Dire, exasperated. Plank was supposed to pick the boy up.
Plank mumbles that he got held up, and by the time he arrived at the school, he was told that Antony had already left.
As the two talk, we hear the sound of the door slamming and feet running up the stairs. As Dire and Plank dash into the foyer, we catch sight of Antony running upstairs, minus his trousers. He’s only wearing his boxers.
Sammy is even more determined to remain with Katie now. Besides, she’s missed her train. She sincerely apologises to the wretched greasy girl, admitting that she had said some things about Clint that she didn’t mean. And she would only stay if Katie were sure that she wanted her support. Katie miserably announces that one thing Jacqui DID say was true - the bit about her sleeping with Gobby. (Well, actually, we know the whole bit was true, but the Gobby bit Katie couldn’t deny).
Again, Sammy shrugs her shoulders, telling Katie that we all make mistakes. (Yes, most of us not more than once. Does Sammy know that Katie’s previously been the meat in a sibling sandwich with the Musgrove brothers?)
Ray has returned to the bungalow and sits with Jessie and Nikki, whilst Nikki still plagues Jerome about his job. In fact, Nikki suggests, it might be a good idea to get a group together and make a night of it on the bingo, just to see Jerome call. Jerome begs her not to, but Jessie thinks it’s a good idea and suggests that Ray might like to go.
Ray is reluctant. He’s reminded of the fact that Reenie, his wife, died in that very hall. He remembers when she scooped her big win, and keeled over dead. Jessie suggests that if Ray attended a bingo session, it might be a way of closure with Reenie’s memory.
(TWO Reenies: Jim Branning on EE had a wife named Reenie. We’ve gone the better part of two years listening to him speak of ‘his Reenie’ with love and affection, only to find out this year that she was an annoying old bat, whom he didn’t love at all. We’ve also spent the past two years listening to Ray whinge about not really loving his Reenie, but now all of a sudden, he’s visiting her grave, bringing her flowers and talking to her, the love of his life. Oh, do sort it out!)
As Antichrist Ant sits disconsolately in the sitcom kitchen, Dire ploughs away at him, nagging the boy to reveal who stole his trousers. Turning to Plank, she remarks irascibly, that this wouldn’t have happened if Plank had been at the school when he was supposed to be there to pick Ant up. Ant replies miserably that he doesn’t want their help anymore, as everyone as school thinks he’s a grass now anyway.
As the Sugly Blisters enter the flat, Katie makes a beeline for the vodka and is surprised to discover that someone has been at the bottle, other than she. Noticing this, Sammy quickly explains that Nisha’s been hitting the vodka, but warns Katie not to say anything to her.
As Katie pours herself a stiff one in memory of the stiff, she tells Sammy that she never meant to sleep with Gobby.
Again, Sammy reassures her by saying that everyone makes mistakes, before launching into a tirade against that ‘slut’ Jacqui Dixon. Why, look at her, Sammy begins. There was that wedding with Nathan awhile back, which she waited until she got to the altar, before backing out of that. Then Gobby comes along - mind you, the sight of an engagement ring was enough to plant her on her back! And now, she couldn’t wait until Susannah dies, before she rips her knickers off for Max. (This is really the pot calling the kettle black!) Of course, Katie’s bound to react badly, Sammy reasons, after what Ron Dixon did to poor Clint.
It was beyond that now, growls ugly Katie through clenched teeth. She only wants to hurt Jacqui now, she vows. (Somehow, in her twisted and warped mind, JACQUI is to blame for Clint’s death).
Mrs and Mrs Whinge, AKA Mike and Rachel, are having their evening in. Rachel enters the lounge, dressed in a clinging black dress that shows every roll of fat on her flabby body, whilst Mike pours the cheap plonk. Rachel has just managed to get Beth back to sleep, a feat that regularly taxes her integrity.
Mike asks if Rachel prefers red or white wine (or rather, whine). Rachel choose white. Good, says Mike, because that’s all they have.
Rachel looks at the curry feast and is immediately worried. Oooh, she witters, all that moo-neh it cost! When M-eye-ke know they can’t ‘ford it.
Well, Mike preens, jealously, he knows it’s not quite up to Max and Jacqui’s standards, but-
Rachel affirms that she would rather drink cheap plonk with Mike anytime than have champagne with Jacqui and Max. (Yeah, but you’d sure like to be able to afford it, wouldn’t you, silly bitch?)
Mike tells Rachel that all marriages have financial hurdles for the first few years, but Rachel pouts jealously that Jacqui’s marriage isn’t financially strapped.
Marty Murray has now returned home to the cauldron of debate about Ant’s bullying. The boy, himself, sits on the stairs in the foyer, doing his specialty eavesdropping act, as his parents and older brother discuss the events of the day.
Marty demands to know where Ant is now.
Upstairs, he’s told.
Turning to Plank, he demands what Plank did to stop whoever from doing this to Ant.
Dire cattily remarks that, well, actually, it was all Plank’s fault, for not showing up on time to pick up Ant from school.
What do they propose to do now, asks Plank.
Dire is desperate. Sooner or later, someone will HAVE to catch those girls at it. Marty is upset that he can’t even protect his own son.
Well, Dire says, yes, they can. There is a way. If the school can’t or won’t guarantee Antony protection from the bullies, then the answer is to keep Ant at home.
Marty looks at her quizzically.
It makes sense, she argues. Marty can’t do his job and keep his eye on Ant the whole time, she says. And the boy is being bullied now TO and FROM school. Why not keep him home and find another school for him, where he won’t be so tormented by others?
Mike and Rachel discuss the coming Christmas and what to buy various people for presents. Mike jokes that they could buy Ron some DIY tools, to ensure he gets out of prison. If he ever got to do any DIY around the prison, he’d bring the walls down. Then the subject of presents for Max and Jacqui comes up.
La-dee-dah! Mike preens, what does one get the couple who has everything?
Oooh, Rachel suggests, whyn’t not get an-neh presents fer Faaahnhams this year? Noo moon-eh!
Good idea, says Mike, maliciously. He would suggest to Jacqui that there shouldn’t be any exchange of presents this year. That would really make her feel guilty, he sneers. But, wait ... He’s come to the end of the wine bottle.
No wor-reh! Says Rachel. She’s spent moo-neh they haven’t got too. ‘Nootha bottle in fridge, she says.
As poor, pitiful Katie snores in a drunken slumber on the sofa, Sammy helps herself to a generous portion of vodka from the bottle, pouring it into a tumbler. Hearing Nisha’s key turn in the lock, she hastily tops the glass up with orange juice.
Nisha greets her, as Sammy explains that the pair of them ran into Jacqui and there was some aggro. Jacqui chose to leave at top speed, lies Sammy, but Sammy will be sticking around.
Nisha gives her a look of prime suspicion.
Sammy’s having another nose around. Was that Nisha’s newest fella she saw leaving the flat earlier?
He’s not her fella, says Nisha. He’s too immature.
Age is NO difference when it comes to men, brags Sammy, knowingly. All men are little boys, really.
When Marty has recovered from the shock of Dire’s plan to take Anthony out of school, he argues that she cannot do that, as Antony listens avidly. Dire can’t just remove the child from school and lay down the law to the administration thereof. She wants to remember that Marty has to work with these people.
Plank offers the opinion that it’s time Antony learned to stand on his own two feet.
Dire replies pointedly that Antony wasn’t like Plank.
‘Oh, he’s different, all right,’ huffs Plank.
What does he mean by that? Demands Dire the Blessed Mother.
‘All this Catholic claptrap,’ says Plank. ‘The kids think he’s a right weirdo. It was like that at the other school as well.’
Dire is rendered speechless, but Marty reckons that Plank is right. All this religious stuff that Ant spouts is doing no one any favours, least of all, him. Maybe it was time that the boy tried to act more normal.
(And who’s fault is that? The Murrays are PROTESTANT! Except for Dire and her incessant proselytising of Antony. After all, the Jesuits say, ‘Give me the child until he’s seven, and I’ll show you the man.’)
Interlude: Silly Rachel calls out to Mike, who’s fallen asleep on the sofa.
But poor, pitiful Katie wakes up from her drink-induced slumber. In fact, she wakes up crying. Sammy immediately sits down beside her. Is Katie OK? She asks, solictiously.
It’s nothing, Katie says. She’s OK during the day. She manages to keep occupied, but as soon as she’s asleep, it all floods back. She keeps seeing poor Clint dead.
Putting her arm around her sister, Sammy reminds Katie that Katie is to fight this civil action and take Ron Dixon for everything he’s worth.
But Katie shakes her head. That would do no good, she replies, sadly. All the money it would take to hire good lawyers. She just didn’t have it. (But Sammy, supposedly, does. Where’s her offer?) No, Katie confesses, what she really wants now is to put Jacqui in her place. Viciously, she says that what she wants is for Jacqui to feel all the pain and desperation that Katie feels. Only by seeing Jacqui suffer so immensely, would Katie feel any better.
Sammy tells her sister that she’s willing to help Katie get back at Jacqui. Together, she swears, they would get her.
I want Brookside to know that this is not only sick, it’s damned cruel.
Summary © 2001 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2001