INCONTINENCE
It comes to us all in the end, I suppose. We begin our lives by being incontinent, train ourselves to the opposite, only to have it wreak itself on us in our declining years.
Incontinence.
For those of you from the lower echelons of intelligence (chiefly those who lowest common denominators peopling the Official Forum and Dina Map of the Newsgroup), incontinence basically means pissing oneself.
Ron does it in this episode, and we’re treated to a full-frontal (albeit fully-clothed) exhibit of his waterworks in full flow ... Niagara Falls down the trouser leg and dribbling onto the carpet. We get the works.
Did we piss ourselves with laughter? Oh, I’m sure some of us did - mostly those people who find the antics of manic depressives funny, at least the way Brookside writes the storyline. But we were meant to feel sympathy for Ron, the King Lear of Brookside Close.
‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.’ One of the most famous Shakespearian lines, that, from the play of the character’s name. See, kids, you learn a lot from these summaries. Ron could easily have uttered that through his tears as the ingrate Mike stormed out the door.
Mind you, so could a lot of parents on Brookside Close. Ray could say the same about Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen’s desertion of him in his dotage to worship at the altar of the Sage - only Ray hasn’t known his daughter long enough for her to let a decent fart. Jessie could say this about Nikki, but then, Jessie’s not her mother and Nikki’s mother’s pretty thankless by maternal standards.
Ma Gordon could say this about any one of her lot of hooligans, whores and bimbos, but she’s too senseless herself (must have been deprived of oxygen at HER birth) to think their antics anything but cute.
The Muddies could certainly say that about Adele, and with gusto; no doubt Mrs Powell said that time and again about her Leanne, and Mrs McLoughlin about Bev. Sammy’s certainly going about the proper way of ensuring that line will later become a part of her vocabulary as concerns Louise.
But Brookside ensures that its viewers are safe from having to sleep on rubber sheets or wear pantyliners. Honestly, when was the last time you pissed yourself laughing at Brookside? When was the last time you pissed yourself in anticipation of anything juicy and provocative (in the intellectual sense) happening on Brookside?
Exactly.
And inability to remember is another classic sign of the onset of dementia. Or is it? I don’t recall ...
Antony Muddie grabs the local newspaper and flops onto the Muddie stairs in the Sitcom House foyer for a read. (To make it more realistic, he should have been sitting on the loo).
Dan the Ginger Man, trailing a path of slime, slithers into the Bicker-Bicker kitchen and plops a large bouquet of flowers onto the counter, in obvious disgust, soddy, disgoost.
Dr Parr and Gaby the Grin both stand at the barely used kitchen sink in their trendy condo kitchen, flicking water at each other and giggling inanely. (SOMEONE CALL BEN HULL’S AGENT AND GET HIM A PROPER ACTING JOB!)
Back at Sitcom House, Dire Muddie sits frustratingly on the sitcom sofa, with Brigid offering moral support, sitting at her side. She’s just told Brigid all the gory details of Marty’s confession to being a battered husband. Brigid, needless to say, is flabbergasted. She can’t believe Marty was actually battered - more to the point, that he was battered by Jan! Er, what exactly did Dire mean by ‘battered’.
‘BATTERED!’ Repeats Dire, at the top of her brassy voice, waving her hands about and looking as though she might be about to batter Brigid, in the absence of Marty. ‘KICKED ... POONCHED ... BITTEN!’
And he kept that a secret for all these years, muses Brigid in wonder (actually in wonder at the fact that someone could keep a secret, let alone for nine years, as Brigid’s mouth often doesn’t work in conjunction with her brain). Did Christy know? She asks.
Marty told him a couple of days ago, Dire says. But Plank knew. Plank’s ALWAYS known, she adds, viciously. And said noothink.
Well, she couldn’t blame the lad for that, Brigid remarks, sympathetically. Who else knew? She demands.
Dire jumps from the seat and starts pacing to and fro, gesticulating wildly all the time. ‘JOOST ALBIE THE CARETAKER, THE BUTCHER, THE BAKER, THE CANDLESTICK-MAKER!’ She exclaims, hysterically. ‘OH, AND MERSEYSIDE POLICE! THEY HAD AN IN ON IT TOO!’
Brigid still finds it hard to comprehend that a grown man would stand by and allow himself to be repeatedly beaten by a woman.
He said he looved her, Dire practically vomits the words, so distasteful are they. He moost have bloody werrr-shipped her to have let her do that! (There’s more than just a hint of jealousy at the knowledge that Marty might, just might, have loved Jan a wee bit more than the harridan Dire). Dire just can’t understand why Marty didn’t tell her any of this when they first met!
He was too ashamed, assesses Brigid.
He was protecting Jan, protests Dire.
‘Sometimes, if you sit on the truth long enough, it’s too late to speak out,’ philosophises Brigid; but Dire thinks that’s no excuse.
Again, Brigid voices her disbelief. She can’t imagine Marty putting up with all that madness!
It was Marty who was mad, Dire attests, mad fer Jan!
Finally, as if she’s just realised he’s not about, Brigid asks where Marty is.
Dire shrugs. She doesn’t know, she confesses. She kicked him out the night before. (Er, sorry, but Brigid lives with her. She would have been at Sitcom House that evening, after Marty’s ejection. Wouldn’t Dire have told her what happened then?)
Snorking back snot and wiping the excess on the sleeve of one of her many white tops, Rabbity Ruth hops into the Bicker-Bicker kitchen and sights the large bouquet lying atop a counter. Dan stands smugly by, dripping slime. Luke the bunny is asleep, he tells her; but Rabbity Ruth, like so many Brookside mothers, doesn’t give a toss about Luke or his sleeping habits, she’s more taken by flowers sent to HER, the number one person in her life.
She automatically assumes they come from Dan the Man. Awwwwwwww, she preens, he shouldn’t have.
He didn’t, Dan replies. They’re from the hapless Sean. See there on the card? It says, ‘Love, from the hapless Sean.’ The Brookside Bike, lurks about the background in the kitchen, holding a bowl of cereal in his grimey hands and slurping noisily from the bowl. He’s roundly told off by Rabbity Ruth, who fails to recognise the many rude sounds she makes when she sucks back her snot through her nostrils - and at the table too.
As the Brookside Bike skulks away, she further nags him about leaving a trail on the carpet. (Is she certain that’s not Dan’s slime? She wouldn’t admit to that, anyway. Ah well, love is blind, so they say!)
‘Yer mean Moom and Dad’s caaaah-pet,’ taunts the Brookside Bike.
Any chance of the Brookside Bike chewing with his mouth shut? Ruth retorts, sounding more like a fifteen year-old rowing with her brother than a married woman in her mid-twenties.
Any chance of Ruth moving out? The Brookside Bike scores a valid point and leaves the room.
Rabbity Ruth, smiling because the flowers are proof positive that she’s loved and desired, starts to put the plants in a vase.
Hmph! Snorts Dan the Man, jealously. The hapless Sean didn’t seem to want to say it with flowers the day before.
It’s a shame to let them go to waste, Ruth preens, stoking Dan’s jealousy, in hopes that he might spend considerably more on her than the cost of a bouquet.
Dan the Man assiduously examines the bouquet, with a practiced eye. And he thought Sean was skint!
Maybe it’s true what her Ma says and things ARE taking a turn for the better, Rabbity Ruth hopes. (And maybe the hapless Sean will fall off the face of the earth too, she secretly adds.)
Thirty quid spent on a bouquet of flowers (oh, dear! Did the hapless Sean leave a price tag?), says something, all right, reckons Dan the Man, threateningly. It says the hapless Sean is up to something, and that something’s not a divorce.
Dr Parr and Gaby the Grin sit facing each other at the breakfast table, and this time she’s not hidden behind a tabloid. They joke about her escapades with the Supersoaker from the day before. Any more wet clothes today, the doctor jokes, and she’s dead meat.
Gaby banters about being the respectable doctor’s wife, whose only chores are to greet patients at the surgery and make gooseberry jam. But seriously, she asks, did she let Dr Parr down?
Dr Parr smiles understandingly and tells her that it was good to see her laugh again.
Gaby the Grin apologises for her actions the previous day, but Dr Parr sees through her phoney remorse. There’s not an ounce of humiliation between her and Josh.
But really, she is VERY sorry, Gaby the Grin flirts, putting on a Shirley Temple-esque (sorry, Annabelle) pout. Why, she’s very respectable, she says, self-deprecatingly. She has to be. She’s a school governor.
Dr Parr asks her, jokingly, if she plans on taking a water pistol to a governors’ meeting.
‘This gravitas malarkey doesn’t come easy for me,’ grumbles Gaby. (Who wants to bet that not ONE of the dimwit adolescents watching this programme are listening to a word either of these characters are saying? Discuss.)
‘Gravitas smavitas,’ replies Dr Parr. (Not one of Carmel’s better lines).
Dire and Brigid still mooch miserably about the sitcom kitchen. Oh, if ONLY Marty would come home, Brigid wails, like a banshee on heat, as she watches her dramatic daughter suffer.
Maybe it’s best that he doesn’t, Dire mutters, and she looks at her mother with a baleful eye. Marty wasn’t the only thing Jan battered, she confesses. Sometimes, she had a go at the kids.
Brigid’s face is the picture of dignified horror.
That’s why Marty sat on this tale for so long, Dire begins a proper rant. And that’s why he left her. He decided to call time on Jan. He FINALLY remembered he was a father, she spits, vindictively.
Honestly, she continues, there are joost so many things Marty HASN’T told her. Of course, she deigns to admit, she hasn’t heard Jan’s side of the story yet, and she’s not sure she’d believe that either.
Was Jan ALWAYS like this? Brigid ventures.
Dire heaves a melodramatic sigh, brushing her arm wearily across her brow to emphasise her suffering. Oh, Marty says it came in phases - soomtimes, she was OK - like the good time they shared as they sat in A & E after Jan had broken Plank’s arm. THAT was a real bonding experience!
Sammy sits, her pretty brow puckered, at the table in the NNT flat, staring worriedly into space. The odious Louise stomps into the room and stands in front of her mother, arms folded and her lower lip poked out petulantly. She demands to know if they were packing ‘or what’. (Me, I would have slapped her fat, little cheeks and said, ‘That’s what.’)
Sammy is shaken from her reverie. She doesn’t know, she snaps, and then she warns Louise not to talk to her that way.
Katie enters the room from camera left, remarking that that’s what she loved about flexi time (oh, is that what she works? Wonders never cease! Shift work AND flexitime!), she gets to enjoy some peace and quiet before her shift, she adds sarcastically.
The odious Louise almost stamps her spoiled, little foot. Why doesn’t Sammy just say yes! She insists.
Sammy looks at her daughter seriously. It’s not that simple, she struggles to explain. There are oother things to coon-sider.
‘Like what!’ Snorts the odious Louise, frowning. ‘Only whether or not to go to Spain. I hate you!’ She shouts, and runs off to play loud music in one of the many bedrooms in the NNT flat. (Of course, this is what teenagers ALWAYS do when they sulk, isn’t it, Brookside? Stereotypical or what? And, might I add, Louise isn’t even supposed to be a teenager. She was born in 1992, which makes her all of ten. NYAHHHHHH!)
As she rushes past a bemused Katie, Katie chips her for cheeking her mother.
‘It’s not FAIR!’ Howls Louise, trying to sound like Harry Enfield as Kevin.
Poor Sammy shakes her head distractedly. She’s getting so lippy, she remarks of Louise.
It’s because she’s getting mixed signals, Katie the self-styled child psychologist analyses. (Christ, Brookside has more would-be shrinks than Fraser!) She shares a big day out, dinner with Ted the Pig, all the while him schmoozing for England.
Sammy reluctantly admits that she while she likes Ted, she doesn’t exactly want her daughter to go on holiday with him (but she’s been before, you stupid woman, or has Brookside conveniently forgotten that?), or even get into his car. And truthfully, she continues, sounding sensible, she doesn’t really know anything about him OR his business. Like, is he into drooks, where does he get his money, what sort of company does he keep? And, most importantly, who’ll be looking after Louise?
‘Well, there’s your answer!’ Finalises Katie.
But, Sammy protests, losing her last modicum of common sense, she doesn’t want to spoil the chance for Louise to have a decent holiday. (Er, what about Richard? Can’t he pay for Louise to go on holiday?) Not the least, she continues, by overreacting to a one-off incident.
When’s the flight? Katie asks.
4PM, confirms Sammy, and Mr Pig is calling round at noon for her decision.
‘Yer mean he doesn’t want ter disappoint his spoiled brat, does he?’ Katie mutters, truthfully.
Brigid is trying to get to the bottom of Dire’s animosity towards Marty at this stage of the game. Is it the fact that Marty lied, she asks, or that he simply let Jan do what she did that’s bothering Dire so?
Both, snaps Dire.
Well, Brigid reasons, her daughter’s all over the place, and it’s no wonder.
The reason Marty didn’t tell her, Dire says, wasn’t because he was ashamed. It was because he had the bizzies breathing down his neck.
Oh, that’s ridiculous! Huffs Brigid.
Hesitating a moment, Dire is forced to agree. One girl goes missing, Dire remarks, and then that Albie one puts his 2p in.
And poor Marty goes from battered husband to murder suspect in one fell swoop, Brigid finishes, morosely. Well, she sighs, at least the police are thorough.
She’ll give them that, all right, Dire agrees, grimly.
Antony enters the sitcom kitchen where the two women are now seated at the sitcom table. Where’s his dad? He wants to know.
‘Slaving away at school ter keep you in those flashing trainers,’ Brigid manages to salvage the situation. Digging into her purse, Brigid asks Antony to go to the garage and buy a birthday card for Adele. Antony protests that he’s watching television.
Oh, Brigid remarks, and she thought he’d like an ice cream. Antony is swayed. (Boy, it doesn’t take much to buy him, does it? Talk about forty pieces of silver!)
Antony greedily holds out his hand for the money, as Brigid issues instructions. She wants a card that specifically says ‘Granddaughter’, and nothing smutty. As Antony trots out the front door, Brigid shouts after him not to go flashing the fiver around.
Dire rises from the table and begins to put some sheets in the washing machine. (The washing machine is this year’s ironing board, in fashion terms. Does that mean that the iron is this year’s laundry basket?)
Brigid protests that she should be doing the laundry. Dire has enough on her plate.
It’s the bedsheets, Dire says. She thought Brigid could sleep in with her tonight, leaving Marty to occupy Ant’s room - if he ever comes home, she adds.
Outside, as a carpet and upholstery van drives onto the Close and parks outside the Farnhams’, the odious Brookside Bike and his fat friend are attempting to play basketball - why British boys attempt to play this sport is beyond me, especially when they don’t even know how to correctly hold the ball when shooting a basket. As they notice the occupants of the van speaking with Jacqui Farnham, they start talking in funny voices from The League of Gentlemen. This is supposed to be funny. It’s a crock of shit. They notice that Jacqui appears to be displeased with something the workmen have done.
As they act more idiotic than their role demands, Dan the Man trudges from the house, pulling a wheelie bin after him. As he passes them, he hears their stupid dialogue and passes comment, saying the pair should get out more.
The fat friend, whose name is Boswell, as I recall, casts a critical eye as Dan the Man trails a skein of slime down the Gordon drive and deposits the wheelie bin at the end of it - oh, Dan trails slime, not the rubbish bin. As Dan ascends the drive once more, Fat Friend castigates him for putting the rubbish out. That’s woman’s werrrk, he says, says scathingly.
Dan passes him by without even bothering to look at the insignificant, little walking piece of evidence that children are, today, increasingly obese - thick in body, thick in mind.
‘Well, it beats giving the rugrat his breakfast,’ he quips, disappearing indoors to loiter some more.
In the background to this scene, we spy Jacqui Dixon arguing frustratingly with the men from the delivery van, who appear to have brought some carpet. The Brookside Bike and Fat Friend notice the altercation and give it their undivided attention.
The blonde has a right cob on about soomthink, the odious Brookside Bike reckons. Fat Friend agrees with the Brookside Bike that the two of them will just have to do soomthink to cheer her oop.
They are, without a doubt, despicable, little shits.
Back at Sitcom House, there’s still no sign of Marty Muddie and Dire is becoming increasingly distressed. Brigid implores her to try to get some sleep. Just lie on the sofa and shut her eyes, her mother begs. Even if Dire only closes her eyes, she’d be resting them. Dire promises, and immediately, Brigid perks up, grabbing her coat.
Well, that’s that then, she remarks. She’s off out. She promised Ron Dixon, she explains to Dire, that she’d look in on that ‘useless Eustace’ of a son of his. He’s only out of the hospital today, is Ron - funny that, I thought it was next week! It’s not even next week by Brookside terms! - and Brigid reckons his place will be like a bombshell!
She stops suddenly in her verbal ramblings and gazes tenderly at her distressed daughter lying prone on the sitcom sofa. Overcome with guilt, Brigid apologises to Dire for sounding so trivial, but Dire confesses that at this point in time, she longs for triviality.
Beginning to crack under the strain of waiting, Dire finally wails, ‘Oh, Moom, where’s Marty?’
He’ll be back, promises Brigid, grimly. After all, where else could he go?
Over in the flats on The Parade, Gaby the Grin sets the table for lunch.
As she plods across the Close, Brigid spies Jacqui Farnham standing on the pavement outside Number 8, looking royally fed up as the delivery van speeds away. Well, Brigid remarks, Jacqui certainly looks ‘happy’ - not.
Oh, the delivery men brought the wrong underlay for the new carpet the Farnhams were having, Jacqui mutters. And she took the day off, especially for this! What a waste of time!
Isn’t she supposed to be picking up Ron today? Brigid asks.
Jacqui appears frazzled at the thought. There was that to do and all, AND this carpet has to be cut and laid and all the furniture put back into place before then!
Well, Brigid demands, where’s Max?
Jacqui purses her lips in disdain. Max? Schmoozing in the restaurant. Max, Jacqui points out, doesn’t ‘do’ carpets.
Hmph! Snorts Brigid. Were she Jacqui, she’d make Max pay for that.
Jacqui laughs shortly. How? She wants to know.
Brigid tells Jacqui that she promised Ron to look in on Mike to see how he was coping with Ron’s business. If Jacqui has things to do, Brigid could make sure that Number 8 was made ready for the Axminster.
Jacqui looks relieved at the suggestion. No wonder Ron speaks so highly of Brigid! Truthfully, Jacqui confides, she doesn’t think Mike realises exactly how much he’ll have to care for Ron.
It’s going to be a long haul operation, Brigid agrees, grimly.
Yes, Jacqui agrees, and Ron’s patience is legendary; whereupon Brigid immediately offers her help and Jacqui accepts, appreciatingly.
Brigid wonders if anyone’s bothered to do a food shop for Ron.
Jacqui realises that she hasn’t. Eeeem, she’d joost have ter drop Ron off and nip out for a few things. Brigid immediately offers to do the shopping - but she’ll leave out the gala pie and custard, she adds, jokingly. Ron’s a bit off hospital food.
Jacqui is grateful and offers to drop Brigid at the supermarket, suggesting that they let Ray let the carpet fitters in, while she goes to pick up Ron.
‘Many hands make light work,’ smiles Brigid, as the Brookside Bike and Fat Friend eavesdrop on the conversation.
There’s a knock on the door of NNT and Sammy opens it to find Mr Pig standing there, his head filling the space. ‘Boonas dias,’ he says in an ignorant attempt at Spanish.
Sammy asks how he is, and Mr Pig replies that he’s as sound as the Euro. More to the point, he continues, is Sammy’s daughter about to have the holiday of a lifetime or what?
Sammy bats her eyes prettily and admits that she doesn’t know. She can’t decide.
‘Ay, caramba!’ Effects Mr Pig, who’s obviously studied Spanish with the Harcourt, Brace and Ivanovich text series, the next line in this dialogue being ... ‘Se me olvido mi cuaderno.’ (Meaning, ‘I forgot my notebook.’)
Back on the Close, the Brookside Bike and Fat Friend are busy swapping Jacqui’s new carpet for her old one. They swapped houses, he reckons, stupidly, now they can swap carpets.
As they make the change, a couple of police cars pull onto the Close in the background and park outside Sitcom House. Fat Friend, thinking a neighbour has spied what they were doing out the window and called the police, panics and pleads with the Brookside Bike to swap the carpets back.
Not in front of a vanload of bizzies, protests the Brookside Bike, before doing an bad impersonation of Homer Simpson saying, ‘Doh!’
Inside Sitcom House, Dire’s lying listlessly on the sitcom sofa, when she glances out of the window and sees the policeman, led by Detective Inspector Clancy, the ferret-faced Tango commercial cop, stalk toward the front door.
Before they can ring the bell, she dashes to the front door and flings it open. Has there been an accident? She asks, frantically.
No, replies the po-faced copper. Is Mr Muddie in?
No, replies a puzzled Dire.
DI Clancy informs Dire swiftly that he has a warrant to search the Muddie premises, and pushes roughly past her. Dire is left to wordlessly wonder why.
Outside, the Brookside Bike and Fat Friend stare from behind the safety of a small bush as the carpet fitters arrive. The Brookside Bike, whilst staring himself, admonishes the Fat Friend to stop making himself obvious whilst staring. Fat Friend is shitting his pants and pleads with the Brookside Bike to switch the carpets back before it’s too late; but at that moment, Ray steps out of Number 7 and shouts to the carpet fitters that he’s ready to let them into Number 8.
Inside Sitcom House, Dire is sitting at the sitcom table, slumped over a police warrant, as DI Clancy stands menacingly over her. In the background, we can see a couple of constables rifling through some papers in the sitcom lounge. Dire slowly looks up, uncomprehendingly, from the warrant held in her hand and asks DI Clancy what he and his colleagues could possibly be searching for.
For anything that might help in their investigation, he replies cryptically, smiling a tight little smile of which Callum Finnegan would be proud. (You get the impression that he was a cousin of the Finnegans who went straight and became a bent copper). Another copper steps beside DI Clancy and whispers something into his ear, at the same time pointing to the Muddie family computer sitting in the conservatory.
Dire addresses the detective again, glancing about the house in despair, as the police rifle through belongings. Did he have to come so mob-handed? She asks, helplessly. The family has to live here, long after the police have left, she reminds him.
DI Clancy nods in the direction of the computer. Does the PC have a password? He asks.
Dire shakes her head in bewilderment. They bought it for the kids, she mumbles. Then, remembering the question, she tells him that she thinks the password is ‘Murray’ (pronounced ‘Muddie’), unless Adele had changed it.
Immediately, she says that, a policeman sits his fat arse down in front of the computer and starts to type.
Meanwhile, Sammy is entertaining Mr Pig, who sits dunking gingernut biscuits into a cup of tea. Sammy sits opposite him in the lounge of NNT. So, she says, observing his behaviour, gangsters dunk gingernuts as well.
Without moving his porcine head, Mr Pig raises his eyes in Sammy’s direction. ‘Hey,’ he says, warningly, 'loveable rogue, me.’
Sammy’s next question is more direct. Has he ever been in prison?
The mug of tea held in Mr Pig’s fat little hand stops mid-flight to his mouth. Again, without moving his head, he apprises Sammy through up-turned eyes. After hesitating for a moment, he admits that he’s pleasured Her Majesty a few times - but only for creative accounting, you understand, he adds. A fiver for him, 2p for the taxman, that sort of thing.
Well, what about this shooting then? Sammy pursues.
‘A freak accident,’ Mr Pig explains, with finality, putting down his mug of tea.
‘Well, it freaked me out,’ admits Sammy.
It could have happened anywhere, Mr Pig explains, spreading his fat, greedy hands wide. Liverpool, London, Manchester, Leeds -
‘Spain,’ adds Sammy.
Now Mr Pig looks at her levelly, with eyes that defy her to challenge his version of the truth. ‘I’m no gangster,’ he says, evenly. ‘I may have roofled a few feathers in me time, boot right now I’m spittin’em. How about another brew?’ He ends by smiling, rogueishly at her. Sammy graces him with a sceptical look as she takes his mug and turns to walk toward the kitchen. Mr Pig eyes her departing arse lasciviously, almost licking his lips, like the big, bad wolf about to violate Red Riding Hood.
Next door, Gaby the Grin and Dr Parr are having a nutritious lunch of salad. They banter sophisticatedly over lunch in a way the late Sir Noel Coward would have approved. Dr Parr, however, is merely toying with his lettuce. Gaby assesses that he’s been on the chocolate before lunch.
Dr Parr admits that this is true, and he jokes about Gaby the Grin slaving over washing bits of salad. He tosses a lettuce leaf at her playfully.
Well, this is the new Gaby, she asserts.
Dr Parr mutters that he liked the old one well enough. He then jokes that she’s been hanging out with Josh McLoughlin too much.
Dr Parr gets the real Gaby, she quips. Josh just plays to the gallery.
Ant rounds the corner of his house, en route from the garage, when he notes the plethora of police vehicles parked out front. His mouth widens in horror.
The police activity isn’t lost at Number 7 either as the carpet intended for Number 8 has just been laid. Ray stands with his face plastered against the front window, when Jessie walks into the room. She’s immediately struck by the carpet. Glancing briefly in Ray’s direction, she snaps at him to come away from the window ... And by the way, she adds, this carpet is just the ticket for the bungalow next door.
The Muddie place is crawling with police, says Ray, rubbing the back of his head and glancing briefly at the carpet. And that carpet just isn’t for them, he adds, scornfully. Look at the colour. It would show all the dirt, and it’s got NO real colour.
That’s just it, says Jessie, bending to feel the texture. It’s neutral and one would be able to use any sort of decor.
Ray’s not listening. He’s turned back to the window. Three police vehicles, he remarks, knowingly over his shoulder to Jess. It’s not like the bizzies to waste resources, he muses. He turns suddenly to Jessie, his eyes wide in realisation. Why, he bets it’s something to do with that Clough girl. Now Jessie peers out the window as well.
Antony runs into Sitcom House, where his stepmother is sitting at the table still. Ignoring the police presence, he asks Dire if they’d found Imelda yet?
DI Clancy steps forward abruptly and places a protective hand on Antony’s shoulder. If Antony wants to go upstairs to his room, he suggests, a WPC will accompany him.
Dire speaks up, trying to distract Antony’s attention from the detective. She’s got some bad news, she says, gently. Antony’s Nin is knitting him a new school jumper. With any luck, he’ll have grown into it by the time he’s ready to take his A-Levels.
Antony looks around him at the scurrying policemen. His eyes widen with fright. Dire draws him close to her chair. She knows it’s awful, she whispers, but the police were only doing their job.
Antony says he feels sick.
Dire stands up and moves toward the counter, but her path is blocked by DI Clancy, who instinctively stands in her way.
‘ALL RIGHT IF I GET ME SON A GLASS O’WATER?’ She bellows, sarcastically.
Mr Pig is explaining his glossed-over background to Sammy, telling her only what he wants her to hear - amongst the information is that he’s actually spent 10 years in prison.
Ten years inside? Repeats Sammy, shocked.
Oh, not all in one go, mind, Mr Pig hastens to assure her, as if this makes the information more palatable.
She’s really impressed with that, sneers Sammy, disdainfully, but Mr Pig convinces her that she’s over-reacting.
Sammy informs him that she’s read all about the shooting with which he was involved in the papers.
And she was swayed by the headlines, concludes Mr Pig. Then he begins recounting his life’s story. His father moved the family to Essex when Mr Pig was sixteen, which doesn’t account for the fact that he still speaks with a thick Scouse accent. He then begins to imitate the local Mockney-Cockney accent. Anyway, he soon got a reputation amongst all those pseudo-hard Southeast criminal types, as a hard Scouse nut. (Oh, yeah? Tell Guy Ritchie that. He had a BRILLIANTLY comic take on the ‘hard Scouse nuts’ in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels’. In a word, they were portrayed as idiots.)
He got involved, he continues, with some VCRs which ‘fell off the back of a lorry’ and then his reputation began to spread. As he speaks, he strolls about the lounge, glancing at knicknacks and pictures, before he stops and picks up a photo of Louise. She’s a good kid, he says to Sammy. He’s actually made up she and Red Tania were friends. Sammy should just think of the sort of summer Louise could have in Spain. And he promises to look after Louise as though she were his own daughter.
Of course, this sways Sammy immensely.
Now Gaby the Grin and Dr Parr sit snuggled on their couch. Gaby the Grin admits that she’s been doing some thinking whilst she’s been off - not all cooking and daytime television. She feels so relaxed being with Dr Parr, she sighs.
Well, replies the doctor, he wishes she would talk to him more about her problems and not other people.
Gaby the Grin susses his meaning and briefly looks ashamed. She realises it was cheap discussing their problems with the likes of Bev and Jacqui, she admits. It was shallow, and at the moment, she likes shallow.
Dr Parr urges her to talk to him about what’s bothering her, but she argues that she doesn’t want to bring him down. But it might cheer her up, he counters.
Analyse and diagnose? Questions Gaby the Grin. The fact is that Rob Dexter is dead, and all she wants to do is run around with a 10 year-old. (CORRECTION: JOSH IS EIGHT YEARS OLD. ON CHRISTMAS DAY OF THIS YEAR, HE WILL BE NINE, HAVING BEEN BORN ON 25 DECEMBER 1993. GET YOUR FACTS RIGHT).
Dr Parr assures her that her image with Josh the day before pleased him to no end. It was so lovely to see her so carefree.
Dr Parr brings her down to earth with a bump, Gaby the Grin explains. He knows her like a second skin. Why, he knows what she’s about before she does.
(Excuse me, but what, exactly, was the point of this scene? It told us nothing and was completely incongruous to the rest of the plot. It was merely a filler, meant only to remind us that Ben Hull and Stephanie Chambers are cast members and, therefore, deserving of a scene. It sucked shit, quite honestly, in psychological claptrap and nothingness.)
Jacqui has returned to Number 7, with Ron, fresh from hospital. She returns to the lounge to find Ron standing with his head pressed against the impression made by Ray earlier and staring with unfettered interest at the police parade at the Muddies’.
Jacqui takes Ron by the arm and gently guides him to the sofa, imploring him to sit down. The bizzies seem ter be out in convoy across the way, he remarks. As Ron trudges back, he glances about the lounge, commenting on the untidiness of the place. Hmph, he says, prissily, he’d have thought Jessie would have at least given the place a tidy up.
As he’s moaning, Jacqui’s noticed, with wide-eyed horror, that the carpet intended for HER house is now on Ron’s floor. Well, things have been a bit hectic, she admits, because-because of the new surprise for Ron. And she indicates the new Axminster, as he settles himself onto the sofa.
Ron is plainly impressed with the quality of the carpet, pronouncing it top dollar as he rubs its surface. Still, he sighs, it won’t always look so lovely. Beth will have it messed up in no time.
Hey, he brightens, the thought just occurred to him. Why, this carpet would go down a treat in Jacqui’s house!
Jacqui smiles weakly, as her face turns a pale shade of green.
Still, Ron muses, he was actually thinking about having that wood-effect laminate put throughout, yer know. Joost ter be on the safe side - what with derr-ty washin’, leaky machines and a toddler about, yer know.
Suddenly, there’s a bumping sound from upstairs. Is Rachel about? Ron asks.
Jacqui realises who it is, and it isn’t Rachel. Eeeem, no, she admits, painfully. It’s Jessie.
‘JESSIE!’ Exclaims Ron, agitated. ‘I THOUGHT THEY’D BE OUTER HERE BY NOW!’
Jacqui tries to calm him as he fidgits excitedly, explaining that Ray’s and Jessie’s move had been delayed by a problem with the electricians. The sparkies did a bodge job and they have to stay a bit longer.
How long? Demands Ron.
Until next Wednesday, replies Jacqui.
‘They havter sink their boonyans inter me new carpet fer five days,’ Ron mutters.
Then there’s a sound of Beth crying.
Upon hearing the baby cry, Ron sinks back against the sofa back in painful resignation. No stress, he groans.
Right, Jacqui decides, swiftly, grabbing her purse and marching determinedly to the foyer. It’s ice cream all around, courtesy of Auntie Jacqui.
Ron calls out, stopping her in her flight. Maybe it IS best that he stay at Jacqui’s house for a few days, he suggests.
‘No, Dad,’ announces Jacqui from the doorway. ‘This is YOUR home.’ And she pounds upstairs to quell the tantrum.
Katie returns to NNT to find Sammy looking like the cat who ate the canary. Katie eyes her sister suspiciously for a moment before asking where ‘Daddy Warbucks’ could be found.
In the loo, jokes Sammy, but then confides to Katie that Mr Pig had gone to sort out their plane tickets.
Katie is flabbergasted. She can’t believe that Sammy is actually going to allow Louise to go on this holiday with these people.
What’s the problem? Argues Sammy. It’s not as if she were sending Louise on her own. The child would be looked after.
By soom stranger, counters Katie, and one with a gun at that. Sammy is stupid, her sister announces, as Sammy noisily calls Louise. Sammy turns back to Katie and tells her that Mr Pig was up front with her about his past and everything.
Katie is sceptical, folding her arms in the classic pose.
He told her he’d been to prison, Sammy witters.
‘Oh, well, he’ll be a great childminder and all,’ exclaims Katie. She can’t believe Sammy fell for his patter.
It wasn’t patter, protests Sammy. He fiddled his taxes, that’s all, she shrugs. Show her someone in his position who hasn’t. At least he didn’t hurt anyone, and the only people he bothered were rich people.
‘Stop,’ urges Katie, sarcastically. ‘It’s fillin’ me oop.’
‘He’s like a modern-day Robin Hood,’ enthuses Sammy.
‘He’s robbin’ people blind, more like,’ susses Katie. ‘The jailbird!’
Spoiled, little, slappable Louise trudges into the room, almost tripping over her petulant, lower lip. She saw his car leave, she sighs. ‘I hate you,’ she says, seriously truthful to Sammy.
Well, that’s too bad, preens Sammy, especially since they’ll both be bunking down together in Spain.
Now Louise is all smiles again, even though she still hates her mother. Sammy urges her to get packed and not to forget to pack her sunglasses.
Katie is speechless by now. She can’t believe that Sammy is actually going on holiday too, which reminds Sammy that she has packing to do, herself.
‘Yer need a brain scan,’ assesses Katie, accurately.
As Max Farnham pulls onto the Close, he clocks the three police cars parked outside the Murrays. As he gets out of the car, Max turns his stony face toward the camera and we watch as he noticeably breaks out into a cold sweat.
At precisely the same moment, a tired, dishevelled Marty Muddie trudges tiredly onto the Close from the direction of The Parade. He barely acknowledges Max, as he stumbles toward his house. From the front garden of Bicker-Bicker House, the Brookside Bike and Fat Friend clock the arrivals.
Inside Sitcom House, Dire rises from the sitcom table and tries to move into the lounge. Again, her way is blocked, this time by the po-faced woman constable.
‘WHAT’S THE MATTER?’ Bellows Dire, in the woman’s ear, thus ensuring that yet another policeman receives a hefty disability bonus. ‘AFRAID I’LL DO A ROONER?’
At a nod from DI Clancy, she’s allowed to pass, just in time to catch sight of Marty Muddie trudging up the drive. Pushing past the police presence inside, Dire dashes out of the house to confront Marty. She runs to him.
‘WHERE’VE YER BEEN?’ She shrieks.
‘Where’ve I been?’ He mumbles, the fatique oozing from his voice. ‘Yer kicked me out, remember?’
DI Clancy steps onto the front step and peremptorily asks the Muddies to step inside, as though the house were his possession.
Dire clings to Marty as they walk into the house, frantically whispering to him to tell her what’s going on. There are bizzies crawling all over the place.
Marty looks at her blankly. ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ he admits.
As he enters the sitcom kitchen, Antony runs to his father, throwing himself into Marty’s arms. He tries to calm Antony down, telling him not to wuddy. Just think of what he’d have to write about the following week when he’s back at school. Then, turning to DI Clancy, he asks the detective what the police are looking for.
All this action occurs in the background of the scene, as we focus on the fat policeman seated at the computer terminal. DI Clancy is cleverly coy in his reply, merely telling Marty that he should just stand by until they had found what they’d come to find.
As Max and Jacqui stand over Ron, Ron’s moaning about Brigid’s interference and the fact that she’d offered to look after him. Jacqui tries to convince him that Brigid’s just being neighbourly. Besides, it would help, having a trained nurse to look after Ron.
Brigid’s a trained nurse? Ron asks, raising his eyebrows,sarcastically. Well, he would never have guessed! She’s only mentioned the fact about 18 times!
As Ron and Jacqui banter, Max stares, bug-eyed at HIS new carpet on Ron’s floor. N-nice carpets, he remarks, in a strangled voice. He whispers to Jacqui as he takes her by the arm. ‘Shame about ours.’
Jacqui frantically apologises to Max, telling him that the carpet fitters were a hopeless loss. Max sighs and tells her it’s all right. As a matter of fact, he wants to re-do their entire house - wallpaper, carpets, the works. Just the way THEY want it.
‘Hey,’ shouts Ron, ‘and whoever measured oop this carpet didn’t do too good a job either. There’s enoof left over fer me bedroom ter be carpetted too.’
Jacqui screws her mouth up, guiltily. DD would say it’s divine retribution, she tells Max, them trying to palm the cheap stuff onto Ron. You reap what you sow, she sighs. Anyway, she thought Max would go ballistic about the cock-up.
Life’s too short, comments Max, absently. And speaking of divine retribution, he thought just that when he pulled in and clocked the police outside. He thought they’d come for him.
Dr Parr and Gaby are still lolling on the sofa in their flat. He thanks her playfully for the salad and the TLC. They snog and he begins to undress her as the camera pans in on his hand going down the front of her jeans. (I kid you not!!!!! THIS is acceptable television!)
Gaby is worried that Dr Parr will be late for surgery, but he assures her he’ll be downstairs in ten minutes. Hasn’t she ever heard of Roger Bannister? (I wouldn’t brag, Doc).
Brigid has now joined the fold at Sitcom House as she paces back and forth in the kitchen where Dire, Marty, and Ant have been forced to wait. She mutters loudly that she think it’s wrong for the police to keep all of them cooped up in that manner. Turning to DI Clancy, she tells him in no uncertain terms that her son-in-law is as innocent as the day is long.
Not even bothering to look at her, rather focusing on the fat policeman seated at the computer, DI Clancy assures her that the police don’t consider these matters lightly.
Dire sarcastically tells her mother to save her breath, as far as these policemen are concerned.
Suddenly the fat policeman calls out to DI Clancy. He’s found what they were looking for on the computer. The camera pans in on the fat policeman’s laptop and there, we see revealed, the letter to the Merseyside Police from Imelda Clough.
‘I knew it! I knew it would be there!’ Exclaims DI Clancy, practically in orgiastic frenzy. He instructs his colleagues to take the entire computer, including the software, down to the station.
Antony’s face blanches in horror and he shits his pants. Dire merely wants to know what’s going on.
DI Clancy looks at her, with his tight, little Callum Finnegan smile. What’s going on? He parrots. Why, they’d found what they were looking for. He stares directly and accusingly at Marty Muddie.
Marty susses that there’s something on the computer that they were linking to him. But, he protests, he doesn’t even know one end of a computer from the other; but the police don’t believe him.
‘We found a letter, Mr Muddie,’ explains DI Clancy, coldly, ‘on yer computer from Imelda Clough.’
Marty jumps to his feet from the table, shrieking, ‘NO!’
But it’t too late. As two police move to either side of Marty, to take his arms, DI Clancy starts reading Miranda to him (or whatever it’s called in the UK). He’s being arrested for the disappearance of Imelda Clough. Dire begins to cry.
‘You can’t just arrest him!’ Announces Brigid, stoutly.
As they lead Marty towrd the front door, he begins to protest vehemently that he doesn’t know anything about a letter, he can’t work a computer yadda yadda.
As Sammy, Louise and Red Tania rush along The Parade in the direction of Mr Pig’s car, Katie trots desperately after her sister. Sammy urges the two girls to run on ahead.
Jacqui’s really going to love Sammy, running out on her like that with no warning, Katie scolds.
Yes, well, Sammy shrugs, Jacqui owes her a favour. (Er, sorry, you what?)
As they reach the car, where Mr Pig is waiting, Katie admonishes Sammy pointedly to BE CAREFUL.
Mr Pig has Katie well sussed too, and elaborately invites her to come along and stay anytime.
‘No, ta,’ snaps Katie, with a surly look on her face. But she adds that she’s holding Mr Pig personally responsible for her sister’s and her niece’s welfare. Once again, she tells Sammy to BE CAREFUL.
As the police, led by a triumphantly smiling DI Clancy, lead Marty Muddie from Sitcom House, the remaining Muddies follow at a distance. Antony cries noisily, begging the police not to take his father away. As they reach the police car, Marty turns and shouts back to his family that he hasn’t done anything.
They push him into the car, as DI Clancy walks back up the drive to tell Dire that they would be taking her husband to Manor Park Police Station.
Should she consult a solicitor? Dire asks, tensely.
It might be a good idea, the detective says.
There’s a brief shot of the Dixon-Farnhams glancing out the front window of Number 7.
Then the police car, bearing Marty, begins to drive off. As he passes a tearful Ant, Marty tries to smile and gives his son the ‘thumbs-up’ sign of hope.
There’s a final shot of The Brookside Bike and Fat Friend, watching the police cars depart from The Brookside Bike’s bedroom window.
Carmel Morgan wrote this.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002