BROOKSIDE CHARACTERS
So three are being given the big E, as the Supersage would say. But are they jumping ship or being forced to walk the plank (I mean a REAL board, not Steve Murray)?
As I mentioned on Brooksider, I think Leon Lopez and Bernie Nolan are leaving because they WANT to go. I’m not so sure about Margi Campi.
If Brookside are axing the character of Jessie Shadwick, then I’m sad; because Brookside have always had the tradition of having an older couple/character resident on the Close or nearby. People such as the Crosses, the Crosbys and Julia Brogan. They offered humour, pathos and depth in character.
Brookside is a prime-time soap and a soap which hopes to take its place validly by the side of its still-betters Eastenders and Coronation Street. (Sorry, Rich, Brookside may have garnered more gongs at the Soap Awards than Corrie, but the gongs got were, effectively, ‘consolation prizes’ bestowed by the soap panel as opposed to the REAL awards voted by the public). These two soaps, Corrie and EE, appeal to a broad spectrum of people, young and old. This is what a prime-time soap is supposed to do. And that appeal should mean that there’s a healthy balance in the age groupings of the characters featured in the programme.
A lot of the younger posters on the Official Forum don’t like Jessie, basically, because in their words, she’s ‘old’. Well, do they dislike their grandparents for this reason? And, I would point out to them, youth is transient. It doesn’t last. People who are young today are old tomorrow. Look at Leonardo di Caprio in all his adolescent pretty-boy beauty five years ago in Titantic. Look at him now, paunchy and balding and STILL only twenty-seven. And look at the walrus-faced Jimmy Greaves, football pundit and raconteur; look at the sad figure of the fat and jaundiced George Best. Now look at them ca. 1966, in their youth. You wouldn’t recognise them as the same people.
It comes to us all, my friends, and with age, comes wisdom. If Uncle Phil is planning on turning Brookside into a haven of youth and beauty, with its only resident people of maturity being a horny old miser and a smug, pretentious, ex-druggie, scally in the throes of a mental condition, it’s NOT a good idea. For once, I’d like to see Uncle Phil go the way of Eastenders and Corrie - where the characters of Dot and Jim Branning, Patrick Trueman, Betty, Norris and Rita and Fred are much loved and admired.
Keep Jessie, I say. Ditch Dr Nikki.
Anyone else agree?
Well, it’s the morning after the night before. Dr Parr lies snuggled in his bed. He turns over and lays a hand on the adjacent pillow, finding no one there. He awakes with a puzzled frown on his noble brow.
Next door at NNT, Nisha is having a shower, smiling broadly. Did the slut sleep with the good doctor, we wonder? Or is she planning to break up yet another relationship? (This time last year, we on Brooksider, deemed her eminently slappable. Does this still apply, I wonder?)
The doorbell to the doctor’s flat is ringing incessantly, which is odd, because I thought they operated a buzzer system downstairs. Obviously not, or most probably the writer forgot this (and judging by this writer, I’m not at all surprised).
Dr Parr strides to the door and opens it, to find his slightly hung-over wife on the doorstep. She pushes past him abruptly, explaining on the hoof that she forgot her key. Oh, and by the way, she’s sorry she stayed out all night too.
Another stop-out is returning to the fold as well. A shame-faced and sullen Adele Murray opens the front door of Sitcom House and finds the beady eye of the stepmother from hell peeled exclusively on her. Dire’s fish-eyes are cold with open hatred for the girl. (Come home, Jan. All is forgiven.)
Dr Parr is dishing out cold looks too. He stands like a disapproving statue as Gaby the Grin darts about the bedroom, hastily readying herself for the day ahead. Finally, she gives him an unconcerned glance over her shoulder. Well? She questions. Is he going to submit her to the silent treatment or will he give her
the full length of his tongue? (What a CRUDE double entendre, but when you see who wrote this episode, you’ll understand).
Dr Parr ignores this comment, simply reminding her that he had to attend Mrs Tucker’s inquest the day before and that he had been invited to her funeral.
Lucky you, Gaby quips, obviously not listening to a word he’s said. Still, she was stuck at a boring conference. Still, the karaoke night was a big hit.
Dr Parr asks her if she drove back from Manchester.
Of course, she did, Gaby the Grin answers, brusquely.
He wonders if she could still be over the limit, but Gaby pooh-poohs this idea, saying that she knows what the legal limit allowed is - one unit per hour etc.
He suggests that she take the day off and sleep the effects of the alcohol off, and she takes offence. What was the point of her staying at home anyway, especially when he was never there?
Apparently, this is also an old bone of contention with the couple. Dr Parr reminds her that he’s already shortened his hours and lessened his workload. He couldn’t do anything more. He then dashes out of the room to begin his day.
Gaby muses that, in many ways, she would have preferred the silent treatment.
WHAT A WATCHABLE COUPLE! AND WHAT A WATCHABLE BITCH! A REAL CHARACTER YOU LOVE TO HATE!
Nisha is still revelling in the shower. Suddenly her peace is disturbed, as Katie bounds into the bathroom. (Don’t these women believe in locking the door?). The miserable wretch bends low over the bowl and pays homage to the porcelain god, puking profusely. Nisha makes a face of disgust, mingled with concern.
As Adele flounces arrogantly into the sitcom kitchen, Dire follows, nagging the girl at the top of her brassy voice. ‘AND JOOST WHERE D’YE THINK YOU’VE BEEN ALL NIGHT?’
‘I haven’t been screwing, if that’s what you mean,’ sasses Adele. ‘And if you’d bothered to listen to me, you’d have heard me say I was staying at Laura’s.’
Marty enters the kitchen at this moment, and immediately he sees his daughter, he demands to know of Dire where Adele has slept the previous night.
(Quick question here, and AGAIN, this reflects the abject inadequacy of the particular writer responsible for this episode. The Murrays, especially Dire, are THE most neurotic of parents. As the parent of a sixteen year-old girl, myself, I’d be climbing the walls with worry and would CERTAINLY have rung the police after ringing ALL her friends, if my girl left of an evening and didn’t bother to show her face until the next morning. There’d be hell to pay also, if she hadn’t bothered to ring me. Yet Dire didn’t seem to do any of these things. Why wasn’t there a line such as: ‘I know you weren’t at Laura’s. I rang her house.’ She wasn’t too good to ring Michelle’s mother last year, when Michelle and Adele had sloped off to visit the abortion counsellor. Sorry. Doesn’t add up to the characters. Shoddy. Discuss.)
Before Adele can open her mouth, Big Dire puts her big oar into the fray, anxious to discredit Adele and score points with Marty by proving to him that his daughter is well down the primrose path to becoming a slut.
‘SHE STAYED AT ROOSLE’S AND SHE’S KEEPIN’ SCHTOOM,’ Dire announces, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. ‘SHE SAYS SHE STAYED AT LAURA’S. SHE’S SLEEPIN’ WITH THAT ROOSLE ONE.’
Adele jumps to her own defence. She ISN’T sleeping with Russell, she argues, and she DID stay at Adele’s. And if Dire had bothered to listen to what she was saying sometimes, she would have known that she was going to Laura’s. Besides, Russell wasn’t like that, sleeping with a girl for the sake of it. Russell respected traditional values and knew that if he slept with her, Adele’s parents would kick off to no end.
The Dixons are sitting at the breakfast table - they and the Hiltons must eat in shifts. Ron is rummaging through the junk mail that’s arrived and moaning about it, whilst Rachel clutches a mailshot advert of a cheque for £500 with her name on it, advertising easy loans. She gazes at it hungrily. Ron breaks off his running commentary about junk mail to ask if Rachel had received anything important.
Oooh nooo, replies Rachel, hastily hiding the scrumptious cheque. Only joonk mail.
The key turns in the front door, and Mike enters, accompanied by Josh. Rachel and Ron are surprised to see the lad. Shouldn’t he be at school? They ask.
Mike replies that it’s some sort of day off for the lad. Bev had phoned him just before he ended his shift and asked him to look after Josh for the day as she was on the day shift at the bar.
Ron immediately jumps up and grabs his jacket. He’s off out for a paper, he says on the run to the front door.
Rachel isn’t happy about Josh being there, but Mike explains that Bev told him it was either this or she would have to miss a day’s work; and if she missed another day’s work, Jacqui would sack her. Mike rubs his aching jaw; his tooth is killing him; he’s off to bed.
Boot, wails Rachel, trailing after him in his wake, M-eye-ke caint leave Josh wi’her’n terday. It were her day off.
Mike shouts over his shoulder that he’ll take responsibility for Josh tonight from 7 until he leaves for work at 11, and Rachel could get some rest then. And he disappears upstairs.
Dr Parr has arrived at the surgery to be met by a mincing, simpering Nisha. She thanks him for ‘walking her home’ the previous night and tells him how sweet it was of him to have made her coffee. Dr Parr glances around the reception area and clocks that the clinic is without a receptionist again today. What’s Katie’s excuse for a duvet day this time? He quips. She’s really skating on thin ice.
Nisha begs him to go easy on Katie. She needs this job to come back to. (Just what to the other clerical personnel think of Katie’s antics? It would be nice to know. In the REAL world, Katie would have been shown the door ages ago - when she tried to deny Ron Dixon treatment).
Dr Parr observes shortly that Katie is a mess. She needs professional help. (Quite right, and she shouldn’t be allowed to return to a responsible position such as that which she holds before receiving such help).
Nisha tells the doctor in confidence that she’s on a meds watch with Katie upstairs. She noticed that a jar of powerful painkillers had virtually been emptied the day before.
Dr Parr is NOT impressed.
The Supersage is seated at his oracle of knowledge, the computer, hard at work, tap-tap-tapping away. Tim asks Jimmy what he’s doing.
Jimmy replies that he’s not going to let Ray ruin his relationship with Helen. Then he begins to mutter to himself. People say that they have a person’s best interests at heart. THAT’S NOT TRUE, he booms over his shoulder to Tim. What they’re REALLY saying is that they have their own interests at heart.
Frustrated at Jimmy’s ramblings, Tim asks again what Jimmy’s hoping to prove.
Jimmy announces that he’s looking for Sylvia Morgan on the web. He’s managed to locate four people with that name, 2 in Yorkshire; but he admits trying to trawl the country for the right Sylvia is like looking for a needle in a haystack.
Tim’s been in the kitchen, frying sausages. He’s now made a sandwich and asks Jimmy if he wants a sausage buttie.
Ooh, no, refuses Jimmy, with a frown. He has to watch his figure. Got to keep in trim for Helen, you know. Then he remembers the time Kylie almost burned the house down, trying to cook sausages - when Jimmy was in bed with depression. Brightening immediately, Jimmy informs Tim that Jim and Helen actually have a lot in common.
Tim jokingly asks if Helen were an ex-con as well.
Jimmy ignores that and begins a soliloquy about what he perceives to be his and Helen’s common ground. Jimmy, he begins, had no purpose in life, especially now that Lindsey and Kylie had gone, and no attachments. And Helen THOUGHT she knew who she was too, until her mum died and she found she was adopted. They were two unsettled souls, who were bound to find each other in the grand scheme of things. (Go figure).
As Nisha bustles about the clinic, she’s stopped by Gaby the Grin, who’s just stopped by on the off-chance of seeing Dr Parr. Nisha haughtily informs the woman that Dr Parr is a very busy man and can’t break off his surgery for a personal matter.
Gaby asks Nisha to tell Dr Parr that she’s sorry for the previous evening and that she’ll be home late again tonight. (The woman’s on the pull).
Ron, meanwhile, has stopped in at Chateau Farnham to visit Madam. Madam’s not feeling at all well. So unwell is she, that she’s actually decided to take the day off work. Ron immediately susses Jacqui’s malaise. What else could it be? IT’S THAT TIME OF THE MONTH!!!!!!! (Rant: I ASK YOU. IS THERE ANY OTHER SOAP WHERE WE ARE SO OFTEN APPRISED OF THE FEMALE CHARACTER’S MONTHLY FLUXES? THINK, JUST THINK OF THE POTENTIAL THEIR STORYLINES WOULD HAVE. NATALIE ON EASTENDERS: SORRY, BARRY, I DIDN’T MEAN TO KISS NATHAN. I LOST MY HEAD. IT WAS THAT TIME OF THE MONTH. SHAZ ON EASTENDERS: OH, PHIL. I DIDN’T MEAN TO LOSE MY HEAD OVER TOM. GUESS IT WAS THAT TIME OF THE MONTH. CORRIE: FRED’S DEPARTING BIGAMOUS WIFE: OH, DIDN’T I TELL YOU I WAS MARRIED WHEN WE WED, FRED. SORRY. SLIPPED MY MIND. OH WELL, IT WAS THAT TIME OF THE MONTH. THE MIND BOGGLES!!!!!)
Ron sympathises fully with his daughter, reminding her of the bad time DD, her own mother, had in dealing with the montly curse. Why at THAT TIME OF THE MONTH, ol’ DD would get up to all sorts - lose her balance, knock things over. It’s a HORMONAL thing, innit?
Jacqui asks Ron why he’s not staying at Bev’s any longer, but Ron refuses to credit her with enough intelligence to understand why he left. Jacqui, however, persists in her line of questioning. Why did Ron return home? She asks. Was Bev taking advantage of him with the babysitting duties? But Ron strenuously denies this. However, he’s still worried about Jacqui, who looks decidedly peaked. He’s certain she’s not right.
Jacqui admits that she does feel a bit fragile, and as far as THAT TIME OF THE MONTH thing goes, the hospital told her she’d be a bit irregular for awhile; but it all reminds her of the baby she lost (and never wanted - but hey, Brookside DOES change the goalposts). She’s worried she might have lost her last chance to have a baby.
Ron soothes her and assures her that she will have another baby; and when she DOES fall pregnant, she’s sure not to want to be cramped up in a small house like this.
Adele is home on her own, when the doorbell rings. She opens it to find the poor man’s Steve McMenamin, Russell, who can’t seem to keep his balance very well. (MUST BE THAT TIME OF MONTH FOR RUSSELL!)
Something’s wrong with Russell, besides being lovesick for Liverlips. Adele is surprised and not very happy to see him. Russell, sluring his words in the stereotypical manner of a drunk, informs Adele that she had neglecte to answer his last text message. (Er, since when did Liverlips get a mobile? The Murrays ARE flush!)
Adele recognises that the lad is ‘bladdered’, as he drunkenly pushes her aside and enters the sitcom lounge. Adele is panicking because her sitcom parents are due home any moment. In fact, she says, if her dad sees him in that condition, he’ll kill Russell.
The Naughty Nurse, on the prowl and hopeful after Gaby the Grin’s visit, enters Dr Parr’s office to tell him that Gaby the Grin had stopped by to say she was going to be late, yet again, tonight and that she was sorry about staying out the night before.
Hmmph! Snorts Dr Parr, with more than a hint of self-pity. (Er, is this a common disease in Liverpool?) That’s easy enough to say but hard to prove.
Nisha, sensing a potential conquest here, moves in for the kill with her habitual smirk. Er, if the good doctor finds himself at another loose end tonight -
Dr Parr quashes her hopes. Last night, he says, solemnly, was strictly a one-off. In fact, he continues, he’d appreciate it if Nisha wouldn’t mention it again.
(I have to make another comment. I don’t like Gaby the Grin. But I don’t like her in the same way I dislike Kat Slater. I hate them, but I like to watch them. They are characters that the viewer can easily LOVE to hate. Janine Butcher is the same. But I simply HATE Nisha, in the same way I hated Lindsey Corkhill. I find her as annoying as a mosquito on a hot day, and I long to flatten her with a flyswatter until she’s little more than a blot. And that’s what I hope Gaby the Grin does to her in the end. Face it, Gaby the Grin is one SERIOUS bitch, with more notches on her lipstick case (as Pat Benatar would say) than Nisha would be able to count - and you can bet your bottom dollar there have been no losers in her life). As such, if challenged, she could chew Nisha up and spit her out before you could say ‘condom’.)
As Sammy Rogers is about to enter the garage, she notices Nisha’s card in the window, advertising for a cleaner. She’s not best pleased, and she’s even less pleased when she runs into poor, pitiful, stinky, stale, boring, whiney, fetid Katie staggering from the garage, itself.
Before Sammy notices the condition her sister is in, she asks her about the advert. She TOLD Nisha and Katie that SHE would take care of hiring a cleaner - a professional. What did Nisha mean by putting that advert in the garage.
Katie, another stereotypical drunk, slurs that the advert was for a local cleaner for local people, quoting from League of Gentlemen (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, this is the writer’s attempt at being au courant).
Then Sammy notices that Katie is drunk.
‘The state of you!’ She exclaims. ‘And it’s not even noon!’
As she reaches out to take Katie’s arm, a motorist honks at Katie to move out of his line of traffic in order that he might leave the petrol garage. Katie turns and snarls at him agressively, smacking the bonnet of his car, before Sammy tugs her away, assuring the driver of the car that Katie meant nothing.
Nisha is also approaching the garage at this moment and witnesses the episode. Running up to Sammy and Katie, she grabs Katie’s other arm and demands to know how much she’s had to drink thus far.
Katie shakes both women’s holds off and tells the two she’s entitled to do what she wants. She’s not on holiday, she’s signed off.
Nisha shoots a sidewards glance at Sammy. ‘If a patient or a member of staff sees her like this, she’s in trouble,’ she warns Sammy.
Nisha asks Sammy if she could take Katie back to the flat and stay with her the rest of the afternoon, but Sammy refuses. Louise is due to arrive that weekend, and she has things to do to prepare for the girl’s visit.
Nisha takes Katie by the arms and gives her a small shake, before she begins to lecture her about her behaviour in public.She then shoves her onto Sammy and ORDERS Sammy to take Katie upstairs, over Sammy’s protests about not wanting or being able to care for Katie for the afternoon.
Back at Sitcom House, Russell is clumsily trying to paw Adele, whilst reciting a half-arsed poem he’s written about her, every last word of every line, rhyming with ‘Adele’ - ‘Adele, you’re swell, Adele, you put me through hell, Adele, you smell-’
Adele is trying to lift the lad to his feet and propel him toward the front door before Big Dire with her big voice and her big hair and her big prejudices arrives home; but Adele is not successful in her endeavours as Russell falls back and passes out on the sitcom sofa.
Rachel is about to fix some lunch for Josh and asks him if he wants a sandwich. Josh is seated on the Dixon sofa, playing with Beth, whom Rachel is unable to see, as Josh is blocking her view.
Josh asks Rachel what kind of sandwich she’s fixing him. Rachel says it’s corned beef, but remembering Bev’s silly vegetarian ethic, she assures him that there isn’t mooch beef in corned beef.
Anything but cheese, Josh shouts. He HATES cheese.
Rachel asks Josh to bring Beth into the kitchen, and as he moves to pick the baby up, Rachel notices that her face is painted with Rachel’s lipstick. Josh has been painting her face, as well as the top she’s been wearing. Rachel blows a gasket and starts shouting for Mike, who’s upstairs trying to sleep.
As Mike makes a drowsy appearance, Rachel swoops Beth up into her arms, informing Josh that he’s ruined the baby’s top and that Bev would have to pay for it. She then tells Mike that she’s had enough of babysitting Josh.
Mike apologises, assuring Rachel that she’d only have to do this today.
Josh is MIKE’S son, she says. He’s MIKE’S responsibility. Meanwhile, she was taking HER daughter out for the rest of the day.
Nisha, overcome with living almost one year under the same roof with the selfish, self-pitying, egotistical, manipulative and psychologically bullying Katie Rogers (not to mention having to endure her appalling personal hygiene), finally breaks down and sits sobbing on one of the benches on the verge that separates The Parade from the garage. (Actually, if I wanted to be on my own and have a good boo, I can think of a helluva lot of other places than a public bench in the middle of a busy thorofare and if full view of Leanne Powell’s gob - but, hey - this is the award-winning Brookside!)
Dr Parr approaches, obviously having made a few house calls (noble man that he is, he’s one of the few remaining GPs in the country who do), and he spies Nisha crying on the bench. Being a (stereo)typical Brookside male (big on ego, small on intellect), he automatically assumes her weeping to have been caused by something he had said or done. Sitting down beside her, he apologises for being so abrupt with her in the surgery earlier in the day.
Nisha waves his concern away. It has nothing to do with that, she assures him. She’s simply dead on her feet. The truth is, she’s plumb worn out dealing with Katie and her incessant dilemma. She’s tried everything from patience to prodding and now she doesn’t know what to do.
Well, suggests Dr Parr, trying to be constructive, can’t Katie’s sister help out?
Nisha wipes her eyes and shakes her head, sadly. Sammy doesn’t think Katie’s problem is serious (most probably, because Sammy is an alcoholic, like Katie). Nisha confesses that she’s absolutely burnt out from dealing with the death of Clint Moffatt and the incessant mourning done by Katie. Ever since Clint was shot, Katie has been Nisha’s responsibility, and she simply couldn’t take the stress anymore. She’d mollycoddled her, encouraged her, lied for her, covered up for her -
Dr Parr is suddenly very concerned. He had no idea Nisha was going through; in fact, he’s surprised she hasn’t been written off for stress; and he puts his arm comfortingly around her shoulder, and - noble man that he is - gives her a manly shoulder on which to cry.
At the very moment Dr Parr makes this innocent gesture, Sammy Rogers issues forth from the front door leading to the flats and sees what SHE interprets (in her petty, small-minded way) as a loving embrace between a married man and a professional and his unmarried and amoral colleague.
Eureka!!! The Supersage, the Oracle of Brookside Close, Jimmy Corkhill, has made an astounding discovery with the aid of his trusty computer. He shouts excitedly for Tim. As Tim looks over his shoulder, Jimmy jumps up and down on his bum in his seat and points at the monitor’s screen.
He’s found her!!! He’s found Sylvia Morgan!!! THE Sylvia Morgan!!! Helen’s mother!!! (Sorry, to be so repetitive, but there are SOME lowest common denominators who post on the Official Forum who just MIGHT read this summary and might have forgotten in marvelling at how FIT Tim and Dr Parr are that Sylvia Morgan is Helen’s birth mother. I find I have to repeat myself like Brookside, because Brookside is written at the moment for morons - and this episode was written BY a moron).
Look! Jimmy points to the screen. There were four Sylvia Morgans in Liverpool, but this one caught his eye .Look at the address. 94 Bowker Road, Tewbrook. Didn’t Helen say that Sylvia was living in Tewbrook when Helen was born?
Nisha wipes her eyes again and pulls gently away from Dr Parr’s embrace. She’s confused. Was the embrace meant to be a comfort or a come-on. (OH, COME ON ... ONLY THE MOST IDIOTIC, IMBECILLIC, UNINTELLIGENT, BASE AND MORONIC WRITER ON BROOKSIDE’S STAFF COULD HAVE WRITTEN A TOTALLY UNNECESSARY LINE LIKE THAT. GEE ... I WONDER WHO IT COULD BE?)
Dr Parr gently ticks Nisha off. She wants to look at herself, he chides. The staff at the medical centre, as well as the patients, rely on Nisha. And Nisha needs to inculcate that fact into Katie too.
Nisha tries to explain to Dr Parr that she truly understands Katie’s disappointment at losing Clint Moffatt. Katie has a history of getting involved with the wrong men, she says. Her family’s dispersed and she’s lonely. Why, did Dr Parr realise that seven years ago, she suffered from bulimia? (You forgot to mention how much of a psychological bully she is).
Dr Parr thinks Katie could benefit from some professional bereavement counselling, but Nisha points out that Katie would never be persuaded to do that. Katie is one of those ignorant types (you know, the sort Brookside cater to, who can’t STAND for another opinion to be stated on the Official Forum), who thinks counselling is only for the Jimmy Corkhills of this world. (Ooh! What a nice thing for a medical professional to say - but the line only gives a broad hint of the identity of the writer of the piece).
In a totally incongruous remark, Dr Parr apologises to Nisha for sending out the wrong signals to her previously. (Bit like the wife, eh, Doc?)
Nearby, Rachel the Dim, who’s about to become two shades dimmer, parks Beth in her pushchair outside a phone booth and enters the booth. She clutches in her hand, the pseudo-cheque for £500 made out in her name. OMIGOD!!! SHE’S RINGING ANOTHER LOAN COMPANY!!! An unseen, unheard voice answers on the other end of the line.
Oooh, says Rachel, she got foo-neh cheque in po-ast, whut saiys ring noom-bah ter validate cheque.
She gives her name and tells the unheard inquisitioner that she’s not a homeowner (and never will be). She gives RON’S address - NOW THINK TWICE... RON’S ADDRESS IS ABOUT TO BECOME MAX’S ADDRESS.
Oooh, she suddenly remembers, have ter tell ye, got CCJ ... She listens for the reply and suddenly smiles. It’s OK if she has a CCJ. And she tells the unheard voice that she needs the loan for medical bills.
Tim is impressed that Jimmy has managed to find what appears to be Helen’s mother and asks Jimmy how he managed to trace her.
All on the Internet, brags Jimmy, with the help of the directory and the electoral roll. He can’t wait to tell Helen that he’s found her. There were three other Sylvia Morgans in Liverpool, he says, and he just had a feeling about the one in Tewbrook - AND he could even get a map up of the street area where this one lives. He HAS to ring Helen. What a way to a woman’s heart, eh? He brags.
The way to a woman’s heart is with a sharp knife, quips Tim, and Jimmy accuses him of having a ‘Jackie moment’ (which proves Annabelle’s theory that Tim is gradually becoming Jackie Corkhill). Tim points out that Jimmy has no way of knowing that this woman really IS Helen’s mother. In fact, he doesn’t know if this Sylvia Morgan is some Sylvia whose surname ‘Morgan’ is her married name. She could even be a young girl. Face it, Tim says, the chances of this Sylvia Morgan in Tewbrook being Helen’s mum, are very slim indeed.
Now the Sage is uncertain.
Poor, pitiful, stinking, fetid, smelly, filthy Katie sits woozily on the sofa at NNT. Sammy approaches her from the kitchen, ubiquitous drink in hand. She apologises to Katie for bringing her unceremoniously into the flat from downstairs.
Katie manages to focus on Sammy standing over her. Why isn’t Sammy preparing for Louise’s arrival?
Ah, well, Richard, in his infinite wisdom, decided to give Sammy the weekend off from parenthood, she explains, sarcastically. Louise called to say that she was having a sleepover with a lot of her mates at Richard’s. (My, my ... All those delicious, little, prepubescent girls for Richard’s delight). Oh, Louise was EVER so apologetic, adds Sammy, hastily, but how could SHE, Sammy, ever hope to compete with Richard’s lifestyle?
Sammy pours herself a hefty drink and then tops Katie’s glass up. Katie’d better not let Nisha catch her drinking that, she teases, mischievously. Besides, she adds, Clint wasn’t a thief. Katie tells Sammy that Sammy never knew Clint, and Sammy reassures her that she’s on Katie’s side. She just doesn’t want Nisha to kick off again.
‘Nisha can stuff it,’ declares Katie the wretch, sullenly. Nisha’s a saddo. She’s got no family, no fella and no mates.
What does Katie mean? Asks Sammy. Nisha has a big family.
Not anymore, prattles Katie. Nisha had a big falling-out with her dad when she took up for her sister, Anna, falling pregnant.
At first, Sammy can’t believe that. Why, when she and Nisha worked for Nisha’s dad, Nisha was a proper, little daddy’s girl. And Anna pregnant! Who told Katie all this?
Nisha told her the other night, the wretch replies. And how often, come to think of it, did they ever hear of a phone call from Nisha’s parents or even a letter?
Now nosey Sammy is REALLY intrigued.
Ron is still sitting at the Farnham kitchen table, whilst Jacqui is bustling about the kitchen, organising the evening meal. Over her shoulder, she suggests that Ron stay for his tea too.
Oh, no thanks, Ron demurs. He only just popped over to see how Jacqui was doing.
Gently, Jacqui reminds Ron that he’s been there since lunch, and it’s now teatime. What’s happening in Number 8 that’s driving Ron out?
Ron reluctantly admits that the straw that broke the camel’s back was the arrival of Josh that morning. Bev couldn’t find a sitter on short notice and he just wasn’t up to looking after the lad. Once Ron’s confessed that to Jacqui, who now sits opposite with her emotive eyes wide and wet with Alex Fletcher’s standard face of concern, he lets flow a torrent of feeling regarding the status of Number 8. It’s simply NOT his home anymore, he complains, justly, and begins ticking off the things that he reckons has wrested control and ownership of Number 8 from his grip.
He sleeps in the baby’s room, he wails. He’s got OAPs hogging his bathroom, not to mention Ray’s constant stream of conversation about home improvements. Then there’s Beth screaming night and day. And Mike and Rachel are a powder keg waiting to kick off at a moment’s notice. Mike’s problems with his teeth bother Ron too. It hurts him to see his feckless son in constant pain and not be able to help Mike afford treatment.
And more than anything else, Ron confesses, he can’t stop seeing Clint Moffatt everyday, lying dead on the lounge carpet. No, he admits, ruefully. Number 8 isn’t his house anymore at all.
Jacqui is sympathetic and tells Ron he’ll feel better when he’s moved into Chateau Farnham.
Across the Close, Marty Murray has returned home from his job early. Big Dire is surprised to see him, but he explains that the kids left early from school today. (So? He’s the caretaker. He should be the first to arrive and the last to leave). Mrs Clough was in to address the students today, he informs Dire, hoping one of them might have a clue regarding Imelda’s disappearance. Dire’s all ears at this piece of news.
She looked terrible, Marty describes the woman. After she spoke, he says, several of the kids went up to offer their sympathy and support.
Dire wants to know if Antony said anything. (Hang on a minute. I should think, Imelda’s unknown death aside, Antony would be scared shitless at the prospect of facing the woman, let alone speaking to her. And why should this incredibly stupid woman expect him to offer his sympathy and support to a woman who banged on their door late of an evening and physically persecuted the lad terribly in full view of Dire? That’s plain stupid - but then, so is she. But then again, LOOK WHO WROTE THE EPISODE.)
Marty shakes his head in answer to Dire’s insipid question. Ant’s said all he needs to say on that subject, Marty says. Adele enters the kitchen at that moment, and Dire announces that she’ll have to get the wasb in from the line as it looks like rain. Immediately she says that, Adele jumps to her feet and offers to do the job.
Both Marty and Dire are amused and intrigued at Adele’s eager offer to help, but Big Dire, suspecting something behind the offer, refuses her help. As she moves toward the conservatory, Adele frantically tries to stop her from entering the extension; but it’s too late.
There, lying on the wicker sofa in the extension, is Russell, drunk and dead to the world.
Nisha and the doc are back at the surgery, finishing up for the day, when Gaby the Grin enters the inner sanctum. She’s on a flying visit, out for the evening.
Dr Parr asks her what she’s doing in the part of the clinic reserved for personnel and she jokes that she’s been given a back-stage pass by reception.
She’s just stopped by to remind her husband that she won’t be in again this evening. By the way, she was by earlier to apologise for not coming home the night before. She eyes Nisha suspiciously - or did Nisha not give him the message? She asks, cattily.
Dr Parr, assuming the noble mien of a wronged man, asks her if she dropped by earlier for his benefit, of was she still suffering the after-effects of having had too much to drink?
Gaby then turns the table on him. She could have a bone to pick with him about the previous evening too. Where exactly did HE get off to last night? When she rang late in the evening, he wasn’t at home?
Dr Parr looks distinctly uncomfortable and answers that she must have rung when he had left to collect the takeaway.
At that moment, Nisha dashes from the room at the sound of Dr Parr’s lie, which makes her look like what she is - a predatory, amoral OTHER woman.
Gaby notices the departure and smirks, sussing the reason behind it, but giving nothing away. Dr Parr, noble man that he is, looks uneasily guilty and opens his mouth to render an explanation.
‘You don’t have to explain,’ smirks Gaby. ‘I know. It’s a work thing.’
(This woman is GREAT, and Brookside should cherish the fact that they NOW have a wonderful character that is watchable and that the viewers love to hate. She should be cherished).
Big Dire and Marty stand over the prone and pathetic Russell in high dudgeon. IS THIS AN EXAMPLE OF ROOSLE’S OLD-FASHIONED VALUES THAT ADELE WAS BANGING ON ABOUT? Dire demands in her booming voice.
Marty remarks that the lad’s out like a light.
IT’S DROOKS, Dire declares. ‘E’S HIGH ON DROOKS.
He’s not, maintains Adele. He’s drunk.
Well, that’s nearly as bad, says Marty, clearly annoyed. He doesn’t expect to come home to a drunk stranger in his own home. And what exactly was Adele playing at with this lad?
Adele frantically explains that Russell’s stressed out at the moment because his mum and dad were going through a divorce. He got drunk because he’s upset by that situation. She felt sorry for him, that’s all. She knows what divorce can do to people. After all, she adds, she remembers how Plank reacted when Marty and Jan were splitting up.
Marty spies the crumpled piece of paper clasped in the recumbent Russell’s pay and removes it. As Adele waffles on about Russell’s terrible domestic dilemma, Marty and Dire are reading the contents of the paper, which happens to be Russell’s ode to Adele. ‘Adele, ring my bell etc’. The couple collapse in laughter, which embarrasses Adele to the extreme. (Doesn’t it ever occur to you that Dire Murray has, since arriving on the Close, gone out of her WAY to embarrass her stepdaughter?)
Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, Marty concedes to Adele that Russell can sleep off his drunk here. But this is strictly a one-off, he warns. The lad was NOT to make a habit of it.
(Anyone think that Russell won’t last? I do. Strictly because he’s not attractive enough to be anything other than a buffoon in Brookside’s land of beauty.)
Nisha returns to NNT at the end of a day’s shift and finds poor, pitiful, stinky, sweaty, smelly, greasy Katie sitting drunkenly on the sofa. At first, she doesn’t notice Sammy wafting around in the kitchen area in the background.
Well, Nisha huffs, as she views the unappetising sight of Katie swaying to sit up on the sofa. It would be nice to see Katie go to bed one night and wake up normal.
Katie roughly orders her to shut up, telling Nisha that she was depressed.
‘You’re depressed, so you’re drinking,’ laughs Nisha, grimly. ‘Well, alcohol’s a depressant. That should REALLY make you feel better.’
Katie slurs that it makes her forget.
And the things she wants to forget are still there to remember when she’s sober, so she drinks some more, chides Nisha, unsympathetically. Save the excuses, she says. She’s heard them all before.
Sammy staggers unsteadily into the lounge area, drink in hand, and orders Nisha to lay off Katie a bit.
Nisha smiles grimly and shakes her head at the sight. ‘And you’re drunk too,’ she remarks. ‘Don’t you see that by your behaviour, you’re holding your sister back and even encouraging her?’
Sammy is both annoyed and bored by Nisha’s carping and lets fly with what she imagines to be some home truths but really amounts to being bitchy observations. Nisha is SO sad and boring, singing the same tune all the time, she remarks, callously, in her drunken state.
Nisha retorts that she was at her wits’ end with Katie’s behaviour. She knew that Clint was dead and for the better part of a year, she’d put up with Katie’s obsession - her constant grieving, the bitter jealousy of Jacqui Dixon, she’d defended the wretch to the practice manager when Katie had tried to deny Ron Dixon treatment, she’d picked Katie up off the floor, cleaned her vomit - there was nothing more she could do, she says. Katie was about to lose her job, and Nisha seriously thinks that, not only Katie, but also Sammy, should go for counselling of some sort.
Hark at her, cries Sammy to Katie. Nisha tries to come the moral high ground all the time, going on about Katie being an embarrassment in public and having a go at Sammy for chasing after married men. Well, Nisha was no better.
What does she mean? Nisha asks.
Nisha has a thing going with that doctor, Sammy accuses, with relish. She saw it all - the pair of them sitting on the bench in The Parade at lunch time. Why, Nisha was all over him, like a bad rash.
That was totally innocent, Nisha protests. She’d turned to him for support, as it was obvious that she was getting none from either of them, considering Sammy was doing her best to promote Katie’s drinking habits.
Sisters share, sneers Sammy, which is more than she can say for Nisha and HER family.
Nisha looks at Katie in horror, anticipating what’s been said in her absence. ‘What have you said to her?’ She demands of the drunken, fetid wretch.
Katie is sober enough not to meet Nisha’s glance.
‘No wonder yer family binned yer,’ shrieks Sammy.
Ignoring Sammy’s barb, Nisha tells Katie bitterly that everything she told her about her family’s problems was told in confidence.
Sisters share, repeats Sammy, and under the circumstances, Sammy thinks it’s probably best if Nisha were to move out - if she can’t take the way Sammy and Katie behave.
Nisha’s face hardens. (And THIS IS NISHA’S FLAT!)
Well, no surprises who wrote this prime piece of television entertainment.
HEATHER ROBSON.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002