Apparently, this ailment is the new black in illnesses. It derives from viewers watching too many soaps and taking on the ailments suffered by soap characters. For example, devotees of Eastenders may think their occasional headache is the same sort of fatal brain tumour suffered by Tom Banks. Those who watch Corrie may think that the fact that they’ve forgot where they put their car keys precludes Alzheimer’s disease.
Fans of Brookside, however, are clearly suffering from Jimmy’s malaise - not mental illness or manic depression, no indeed. Their malaise is schizophrenic delusions of grandeur.
My diagnosis is that this stems from the fact that Brookside is steadily losing viewers. Well, really, there aren’t many left to go, are there? So, in a need to pad out the viewing figures, regular and regularly demented Brookside viewers, take on new identities and post of various Brookside forums, official and un-, in the hopes of ‘stimulating’ discussion about the soap. Some even end up arguing with themselves - we know the participants in a debate are one and the same because the only people with whom these delusionaries aren’t abusive are themselves. (Is that right?) Some even claim to be married to each other. One is left to wonder, whether, when they’re not posting on Brookside forums, usually by means of Internet cafes, school computer rooms and call centres (where they abuse work time), if in the dark recesses of a lonely evening, they converse with themselves.
That they love themselves profusely, we do not doubt. After all, they aren’t called WANKERS for nothing.
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Another day in the paradise known as Brookside Close, looking back to when the time was all innocent and carefree, pristine and beautiful.
Jimmy peeks out the front window of Hotel Corkhill to spy Sylvia Morgan getting out of a cab.
Another cab pulls onto the Close and Dire Muddie helps the walking wounded Marty Muddie gingerly from the confines of the car.
Bev, meanwhile, is taking forty winks on her sofa. Josh bends over her carefully, with a malicious grin on his face.
Now Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen joins Jimmy at the window, for what must be the longest walk up a driveway in television history. They watch as Sylvia pays the taxi driver, and Helen smiles over Jimmy’s shoulder as Sylvia approaches the house. She also farts redolently in anticipation. Pe-yoo!
As Dire helps Marty into the lounge, he carefully positions himself on the sitcom sofa. Dire immediately starts making a ‘foos’ of him, but Marty mutters, ‘No foos,’. Ant sits in the foreground, not daring to look at his injured father, instead, staring blankly at the television screen, impassive.
As Bev sleeps, Josh stands over her like a mini-colossus astride the world. Both arms are outstretched. In one hand he holds the remote control for the television set. In the other, he holds the remote for the CD player. We see a mute picture on the television screen in the background. Simultaneously, Josh, grinning wickedly, presses both sound controls on both remotes, raising the volume to the maximum. Immediately, we hear the sound of a horrific explosion on the television, followed by ear-blasting heavy metal music.
Bev jumps horizontally up from her prone position, screaming like a banshee in fright. Josh rushes off, giggling.
Sylvia settles into Hotel Corkhill, asking Helen if Stephanie liked the bracelet she had brought for her. Helen looks a tad uneasy and explains that she hasn’t given the bracelet to the girl yet. (The bitch, she hasn’t been home). Actually, Helen continues, she thought perhaps Sylvia could give the bracelet to Stephanie, herself.
Now Sylvia looks uncomfortable. But, she stutters, she doesn’t know when that might be.
Well, shrugs Happy, Smiling, Fatarsed, Fartarsed Helen, bobbing that brillo pad head, if they couldn’t come for Christmas, how about the New Year?
That ... might be difficult, says Sylvia, slowly. In the background, Jimmy rolls his eyes impatiently.
Well, when? Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen insists.
By now vaguely irritated, Sylvia heaves a sigh and snaps that she’d already explained all that.
Suddenly Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen’s face drops and her head stops bobbing. She’s sussed that Sylvia really doesn’t want them to visit at all.
‘I-i-it’s not that I don’t WANT you,’ stammers Sylvia in those posh, clipped tones. (Get the drift: posh and Southern = baaaaaaaaaaaad). ‘It’s my husband.’
‘What about your daughter?’ Quips Helen.
Of course Helen and Stephanie are important to her, witters Sylvia, but the whole thing is just so ... complicated, she finishes.
Now Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen is smiling again, but it’s a bitter one. The truth is, she assesses, that Sylvia Morgan doesn’t want them anywhere near her.
‘OK,’ amends Sylvia, hastily, ‘maybe it’s not such a good idea that you come over. But it’s nothing to do with YOU.’
Helen begins to cry bitter tears.
Dire, meanwhile, next door, is still playing the attentive wife and fussing over Marty. Marty should go to bed, she tells him, plumping a cushion behind him on the sofa, before realising that the cushion is really Marty’s chubby, little arse. After all, the hospital said he should get plenty of rest.
Passing through the lounge, Plank remarks that he thought the hozzy had given his dad the all-clear.
For the time being, replies Marty, heavily. They want to re-check his yeys. He’s having trouble focusing. But it looks worse than it is, he says, modestly, conscious of Antony seated in the foreground, stoically staring at the television.
Don’t play your injuries down, scolds Dire. The Cloughs shouldn’t be allowed to get away with what they did. Marty should call the police. And for emphasis, she adds that the Cloughs should go to jail for what they did.
At that remark, Ant turns surreptitiously and darts a sneaky, guilty look in his father’s direction.
Plank, leaning against the door into the foyer, announces that he’d like to ‘do’ the Cloughs.
‘I DOAN WANYER GOIN’ ANYWHUR NEAR THEM CLOOUGHS!’ Shrieks Dire. ‘WE SHOULD CALL THE POLICE.’
Calling the police won’t change a thing, insists Plank.
‘I don’t want the police OR you going against the Cloughs,’ Marty says to Plank.
‘They de-serrrrrve a hiiiii-din’,’ mutters Plank, petulantly.
‘Their sister’s missin’,’ grunts Marty, patiently. ‘Yer’d do the same if it were Rdel.’
‘THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT RIGHTTTTT!’ Aspirates Dire at the top of her lungs.
‘Look,’ the benevolent Marty tries to reason with the bleached brained bimbo, ‘the Clough family’ve been through hell. They MOOST know by now that I had noothink ter do with Imelda’s disappearance. They gorrit outa their system.’
Plank still wants to give them a hiding.
‘IT STOPS HERE!’ Announces Marty.
At the raising of his father’s voice, Ant sneaks another surreptitious look in his direction.
It won’t stop here, says Dire, confidently. The Cloughs will only continue harassing them until the police are called.
Knowing that she’ll nag the hell out of him and that that, alone, is a fate worse than death, Marty reluctantly agrees to call the bizzies later in the day. By now, the camera is focusing on Antony, pretending to watch television, but silently crying at the conversation going on in the background.
Sensing something is wrong, Dire asks Ant if he’s OK.
Ant nods and rises, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and says that he’s going upstairs to read his book. He leaves the sitcom lounge, but lingers on the stairs, doing his party piece of eavesdropping.
‘HE STILL FEELS RESPONSIBLE,’ whispers Dire to Plank, although Ron Dixon can hear her whispering across the Close.
Plank flops sullenly into a nearby chair. ‘Maybe he is,’ he mutters. ‘He shouldn’t have written that stupid letter.’
Marty jumps wearily to Ant’s defence. The lad was just trying to take the suspicion off Marty, he explains. He’ll let Ant know that his dad doesn’t blame him.
He’s only made things ten times werrrrse, grumbles Plank.
Bev is frantically gulping down an aspirin, moaning about her head still banging and her ears ringing from being rudely awakened by Josh. God KNOWS what the neighbours thought of that performance. (I should think the walls rang more from Bev’s mouth than Josh’s manipulation of the entertainment appliances). Josh is sitting in the background at Bev’s dining area table, monontonously banging a stick against the surface of the piece of furniture. (I’d have his guts for garters for that alone. Josh isn’t hyperactive, just spoiled and badly brought up). He mumbles a reluctant ‘sorry’ under his breath.
‘Yer aaaaaalways say yer soddy, boot it dooesn’t stop yer from bein’ nauuuuughty again!’ Bev moans.
Josh replies sullenly that he’s bored. (Er, why isn’t he in school?)
Bev heaves a heavy sigh and relents. OK, she says, with resignation, the two of them will go visit Granddad, but Josh just has to behave, because Granddad’s still poorly.
‘YIPPEEE!’ Shrieks Josh, bolting from the table. ‘GRANDDAD! MAYBE HE’LL SHOW ME HIS SCAR!’ And he dashes off.
Back at a tense Hotel Corkhill, Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen is directing Sylvia upstairs to the Corkhill bathroom. (Now we know that it’s not Ray from whom Helen has inherited her flatulence). As Sylvia disappears up the stairs, Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen turns to her beloved Sage and bows from the waist humbly.
‘O, Master, you were right,’ she intones, solemnly. Sylvia doesn’t want anything to do with either her or Stephanie.
‘Thou must remember that this has nothing to do with thee, my child,’ pronounces the venerable Sage.
Happy to receive her Sage’s blessing, Helen remarks bitterly that this has everything to do with Sylvia’s husband’s precious reputation.
Now Jimmy contradicts himself. (Geesh, the writer must have been drinking heavily when he wrote this). He now says that it’s nothing to do with even Sylvia’s husband, but EVERYTHING to do with Helen!!! (Go figure). Sylvia was merely using her husband as a convenient excuse. She’s afraid of commitment, reasons the Sage. Sylvia’s whole relationship with Helen is built on a sense of shame - shame at abandoning Helen at birth.
So everything she said was all lies? Asks Helen, gazing in glassy-eyed adoration at the Sage.
Jimmy shrugs smugly. Well, there may have been SOME truth in it, but the biggest obstacle to any relationship forming between Helen and Sylvia is Sylvia, herself.
Marty Muddie is asleep on the couch, when the front door slams and Liverlips clonks in, announcing, ‘It’s only me!’
Dire immediately rushes into the sitcom lounge, admonishing Adele and scolding her that her father had only just dropped off. He’s in a lot of pain, and she’s just glad to have him home. Was school OK? She asks, as an afterthought.
It was useless, sneers Adele. In fact, she doesn’t know what she’s doing there! (Brookside intend this to be an admonition, itself, but it only serves as an obverse role model for the ignorant children who watch the show.)
‘Yer preparin’ ter pass yer exams’n go ter univerrrrrrsity,’ Dire reminds her.
‘Well,’ sneers Liverlips, ‘it’s not as if it prepares you fer life.’ (Viewers, please note that Adele is wearing a top that barely covers her nipples. I’m surprised she wasn’t actually sent home from school in that get-up.)
Without an education, Dire tells her, succinctly, all she’ll end up doing is serving burgers. (Ha! The puerile posters on the Official Forum couldn’t even do that!)
Then why don’t schools teach you something useful? Whinges Adele. It’s all about consumerism and possessions. (Which you contribute to heavily and couldn’t do without, eh, Liverlips? Gotta have the latest mobile, CD, designer gear - all consumerism and possessions). She just wants to have a good time, she preens.
A good time all has to be paid for, snaps Dire. Now she doesn’t want to hear anymore of this Ayia Napa talk. And then she drops her voice to a whisper, which wakes Ron Dixon across the Close. ‘ESPECIALLY THE WAY THINGS ARE WITH YER DAD AT THE MOMENT.’
Next door, Jimmy leaves Sylvia and Helen alone to talk, warning Helen that he would be in the extension. When he’s gone, Helen asks Sylvia point-blank why she came back.
Sylvia replies that she came back to see Helen.
But WHY? Helen persists. Especially when Sylvia admitted the last time she came that she didn’t want anything to do with Helen. And all that stuff about Bard Johanssen ... It was all so contrived. Is Sylvia planning on turning her back on Helen again?
Sylvia denies this.
Then WHY? Repeats Helen.
Sylvia answers a question with another question. When Sylvia first came here, she asks, what was it like for Helen to meet her real mother?
Helen thinks for a moment and then replies that it was daunting.
‘Well, then,’ sniffs Sylvia, ‘imagine what it was like for me.’ Helen had grown up, knowing what it was like to have a mother - something with which to compare. Sylvia, on the other hand, had nothing. She and her husband couldn’t have children, so meeting Helen and being a mother to her, was an entirely new concept. She couldn’t handle it, and she still can’t, she admits.
Helen is near tears. So, she stutters, Sylvia’s rejecting her again, and there Helen was thinking that they were actually building some sort of bond.
Sylvia apologises sincerely, saying that she never meant to hurt Helen.
Helen looks at Sylvia accusingly. Why, the woman hadn’t even told Bard about her existence! She exclaims.
She and Bard have been together for years, Sylvia explains, coldly. If he found out now that she’d had a child previously, he’d be devastated.
So THAT’S why Sylvia doesn’t want Helen anywhere near her, remarks Helen.
Sylvia apologises, shamedly.
And now for something completely silly ... Silly Ma stands at the counter in the garage, with nary a customer in sight, her lank-haired face resting wistfully on her skinny hand, as she stares at something held in the other hand. She has that same dopey, poor-white look on her face, as if she can’t figure out how much salt to put in the grits she’s cooking along with the jowls for Pa’s dinner. There’s a clutter at the door, and Rabbity Ruth hops in, chomping her massive choppers and snorking back snot. As she hops toward the counter, Ma waves the object at which she’s been staring aloft.
‘Ooo-hooo!’ She calls to Rabbity Ruth. ‘Have yer seen this?’
The camera pans to the object. It’s a photograph of Bitch Gordon, dressed in a slinky white gown and carrying a bouquet of flowers, standing in front of someone dressed as a poor imitation of Elvis.
Ma gazes up at Rabbity Ruth in wide-eyed wonder. ‘She says she’s in Las Vegas,’ she whispers to Rabbity Ruth.
Rabbity Ruth wrinkles her little pink, drippy nose with jealous distaste. Hmph! She snorts, spraying the front of Ma’s blouse with snot. She thought Bitch was in South America.
Ma continues to muse the photograph, chewing on the end of one of her fingers. Says they took a small detour, she replies, absently. But, more importantly, Ma wants to know who the Elvis guy is, and what he and Bitch are doing in a wedding chapel. (Er, just a thought, but prostitution is legal in Nevada. Maybe Bitch was trying to earn a bit of extra cash.)
Again, Rabbity Ruth shrugs. Probably some guy posing for pictures, she says. Anyway, Bitch looks as though she’s having a thoroughly good time.
Hmmmmm, Ma purses her lips. She says they met some great lads.
Ruth is bored with talk of her bitchy sister. Instead, SHE wants, demands and deserves the full velocity of Ma’s one brain cell. She has to ask Ma, she says, trying to appear humble, to pick up Luke from the After School Club.
Ma heaves an almighty sigh. One of these days, one of her thankless kids will actually come in to see how she is and not to cadge a favour. Oh, all right, she relents, because that’s her philosophy of rearing children - gratify their every desire, and they’ll come to expect as much from life. But she wouldn’t be able to collect Luke until after 5pm, she warns.
That’s OK by Rabbity Ruth. In fact, the less she sees of her po-faced kid, the better.
Is Ruth working late? Ma asks, nosily.
The hapless Sean rang, explains Ruth. He wants to meet to discuss arrangements for Luke.
No more fighting, Ma implores. Rabbity Ruth HAS to learn to be patient. She realises it’s hard to deal with the hapless Sean at times, but Rabbity Ruth would do well to remember that poor Sean’s been through a lot.
Rabbity Ruth snorks some green snot back up her nose and wipes it guiltily. She just hopes Dan the Man doesn’t find out, she mutters. All she needs is Dan kicking off because she’s spending time with Sean.
Back at Sitcom House, Marty Muddie, now awake, sits upright on the sofa and is served a cup of tea by his non-supportive wife. We’re given the ubiquitous bare-chested shot for all the screaming 12 year-old girls who populate the Official Forum, when the camera pans to Plank, standing in front of the front bay window ironing a shirt. Plank tells Dire to put his tea in the oven that evening, as he has to go out on a job.
Dire raises her massive eyebrows in surprise. She thought Plank was finished for theday.
Er, no, Plank blushes, obviously lying, he has to go price a job. Marty asks where he’s going, in a suspicious tone of voice.
Hesitating slightly, Plank replies that he’s off to Garston.
Hmmm, Marty observes, Plank certainly seems to get a lot of work around that area.
Plank guiltily avoids his father’s gaze. Well, er, it’s nice to be in demand, he stutters.
Liverlips bounces in, all additonal flesh and plastic boobs bouncing. She flops heavily onto the sofa beside her father, asking breezily if he’s OK.
Marty rears his head back and studies his daughter as if seeing her for the first time. Never mind him, he quips, what the hell has Liverlips done to her hair?
Adele scowls, petulantly. ‘Don’t start,’ she warns, knitting her eyebrows together, as Dire pats Marty a warning on his shoulder.
But Marty won’t be silenced, and it’s obvious that, even in his present state, Dire’s felt a need to open her big mouth and reveal all about Adele’s whereabouts for the past few weeks.
‘I can’t believe yer went abroad,’ he says, severely, ‘after all yer told us!’
Dire cautions that she’s been through all that with Adele already. Adele knows she’s done wrong, Dire soothes.
‘Er, actually, I don’t,’ sasses Adele, ‘and I’m packing in school and going back to work in Ayia Napa.’
‘Yer might think yer are,’ growls Marty.
‘There’s a bar owner over there, who says there’s a job for me whenever I come back,’ preens the ignorant girl.
He’s told that line to Adele and every other daft girl who’s ever had a drink there, scoffs Dire.
He wasn’t like that, whines Adele. He was dead genuine.
Plank issues a snort of derision at his sister’s ignorance.
‘I’m not hearin’ anymore o’this,’ says Dire, with finality. Yer goin’ back ter school. End o’story.’
What’s the point? Asks Adele, rhetorically, and feeding the arguments of all the illiterate, misspelt youth populating the Official Forum. School’s boring, and she doesn’t learn anything.
And working behind a bar is a great career? Sneers Dire.
Oh, she’s not saying she wants barwork as a career, replies Adele, condescendingly. She might go back to education ... One day, she adds. But right now, she just wants to have a good time, live a little.
Ha! Laughs Plank, outright. That’s what everybody says when they’ve just got back from holiday. In a few weeks, he continues, it’ll be all forgotten.
In a couple of weeks, Adele brags, she’ll be back in Ayia Napa.
‘In yer dreams,’ says Marty, wearily.
Adele pulls herself up to her full sitting height on the sofa, and juts out her newly-enhanced breasts. (No WONDER Channel 4 pulled the plug on Brookside. 16 million pounds, most of which was spent on breast enhancements!) ‘I’m an adult,’ she informs her injured father, with nary a thought for his welfare. ‘I can do what I want. After all, I’m old enough to make my own decisions!’
‘AND THAT’S WHERE YER WRONG!’ Shrieks Dire.
Adele informs her stepmother that she could get married, join the army, have a baby ...
That’s what every teenager says when they don’t get their own way, sighs Marty. And Adele is also old enough to make mistakes, he adds, cautiously, heavy ones that could affect the rest of her life. And that’s why it’s a parent’s duty to see that she doesn’t.
‘HONESTLY,’ Dire begins to rant, ‘AS IF WE DOAN HAVE ENOOF ON OUR PLATES AT THE MOMENT, NOW YOU HAVETER SPRING THIS ON OOS!’
‘Well, I’ll be out from under yer feet in a few weeks,’ Adele shouts back. ‘And that’ll be a good thing!’
No it won’t, argues Dire. Why, she’d be wuddied sick about the girl!
Marty interjects, in a placidly confident tone. ‘Why are we even having this conversation? He asks, spreading his hands. ‘Adele’s going nowhere.’
Adele springs up from the sofa, causing the floor of the house to shake violently with her added weight. Soddy, she sneers, but she’s made her mind up. She’s going to leave school and werrrrrk abroad. And she flounces her fat, livery-shivery arse out of the room, with Dire calling pathetically after her.
‘Let her think what she wants,’ Marty urges, wearily. ‘She’s finishin’ school and stayin’ put.’
Bev’s ready for the five-minute trek to Ron’s. She stands in the middle of the open-plan flat, calling for Josh. Josh dashes from his room, carring a football under his arm.
‘Oh, no yer don’t!’ Bev stops him. ‘Yer not takin’ that!’
Josh replies that he wants his granddad to see how many keep-ups he can do.
‘I told yer,’ Bev reiterates. ‘Yer Granddad’s poorly, and he won’t wantyer kickin’ a football around the house.’
But Josh insists stubbornly on taking the football. Bev simply reaches out and grabs the toy, and Josh immediately pulls his clenched fist back, attempting to hit his mother.
Bev’s hand goes up. ‘Don’t you even DARE!’ She threatens.
Downstairs, Sean and Ruth sit at a table in the elevated portion of Bar Brookie. (A Question: Bev’s upstairs with Josh. It’s daytime, so ostensibly, Jacqui’s at the Health Club. So, er, who’s minding the bar?) Hopefully, this won’t take long, says the hapless Sean, as he takes a seat. He, again, emphasises that he wants to make proper arrangements for access to Luke.
What SHE really wants, minces Rabbity Ruth, wiping a band of snot from under her nose with the back of her arm, is what’s best for Luke.
The hapless Sean jokes that they are agreeing things already.
At that moment, Dan the Man slithers in, leaving a trail of slime in his wake. He mounts the steps to the elevated portion, seeing Ruth sat with her HUSBAND at a table.
‘What’s HE doing here? Grunts Dan, indignantly.
Ruth tries to placate him by telling him that she and Sean are just having a talk about Luke. She asks Dan the Man to give them a minute to sort a matter out. Sean rises, offering to get Ruth a coffee - a white coffee, specifically, with lots of milk, just the way she likes it.
Dan snorts derisively. Is he supposed to be impressed that Sean knows what kind of coffee Ruth likes?
Ruth tells Dan that he’s being too sensitive about this.
‘What do you expect?’ Dan snarls. ‘I come in here and find you two together.’ (Er, Dan, sorry, mate, but they ARE still married - and YOU are the interloper.)
Ruth sighs. They were only having a chat about Luke, and nothing too heavy at that!
Dan glances surreptitiously at Sean, ordering coffee at the bar counter. He lowers his voice conspiratorily. Didn’t Ruth realise that the hapless Sean was doing this just to get back at her?
Ruth rolls her eyes, for once, refusing to be bought by his banter. ‘As if,’ she says.But Dan insists that it’s true, and leaves, frustrated in his attempts to sway Ruth.
Back at Hotel Corkhill, Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen returns the wrapped bracelet to Sylvia Morgan. Take it back, she urges, asking that Sylvia go now.
If only things could have been different, Sylvia muses, sadly. Happy Smiling Fatarsed Fartarsed Helen cuts one loud, redolent fart and leaves the room. Sylvia turns to Jimmy, asking if Helen will be all right.
The over-confident Sage stands on the sidelines of the piece, rocking smugly on his heels. ‘A bit late fer all that now,’ he remarks. He knew Helen took a risk when she wanted to look for her mother, he continues.
Sylvia shakes her head. She never wanted them to meet like this, she confesses.
Jimmy hands Sylvia her handbag and escorts her to the front door. As she opens it, Sylvia, again, turns to Jimmy.
‘At least one good thing’s come of this,’ she admits, glancing up at him. And that’s Helen getting together with Jimmy. (THAT’S a good thing? Is this woman daft?) Maybe Sylvia HAS done something right for her daughter. (Er, Sylvia, love, I don’t think you’d be saying that if you knew Jimmy’s pedigree.)
Jimmy asks what happens if Helen suddenly sees Jimmy as something to put behind her also?
Well, quips Sylvia, it’s up to him to see that she doesn’t.
Outside on The Close, the Brookside Bike is again kicking a football haphazardly about. Ray emerges from the bungalow, once more, finger wagging, scolding for England. He’s told the lad countless times about that football in the street, he rants. (Obvious that Ma Gordon has SUCH control over her children, after promising Ray that she would keep the Brookside Bike under control.) One mis-kick, Ray continues, and that ball could be through someone’s window.
But his attention is suddenly diverted, as he sees Sylvia leaving Hotel Corkhill. He stops in mid-sentence and dashes across the Close, toward the woman. Sylvia notices Ray and says how glad she is to see him. She wanted to say good-bye before she left.
When is she coming back? Ray asks, hopefully.
Sylvia hesitates momentarily. ‘I don’t think I will be coming back,’ she says, reluctantly. ‘Things just didn’t go well with Helen - oh, it was all my own fault.’
Ray asks how Helen is.
Not good, Sylvia admits, but eventually Helen will see that this is for the best.
Ray begs Sylvia to keep in touch, but Sylvia says that wouldn’t be very fair on Helen.
Ray glances briefly at the Brookside Bike, who’s resumed kicking a football about. Turning back to Sylvia, he invites her into the bungalow, where they can hear themselves talk, he adds.
As Adele bounds down the Muddie stairs and heads for the door, Plank stops her cold. Adele tries to push past him, saying that she has to go to werrrrrrk. (Notice how Adele’s got more common-and-garden Scouse as she’s been dumbed down?)
Hang on a minute, says Plank. Just what does Adele think she’s doing, he wants to know, coming out with that Ayia Napa crap when his Dad had been through what he had.
Adele selfishly ignores her brother and, again, tries to push past him; but Plank slams the door from her hand and bars her way. And even if she does quit school, he taunts her, she can’t go back to Ayia Napa. Why, she owes heaps on that credit card from the holiday. (Er, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Plank owe a massive credit card bill from when he was quids in working for Jeff Evans? What happened to that debt?)
She’ll manage, Adele says, trying vainly to leave the house.
‘No, yer won’t,’ retorts Plank. ‘Yer’ll joost cause more grief.’
Adele shoves him massively aside and storms out of the house, just as a car pulls up. A tall, statuesque, blonde woman, wearing a low-slung blouse with two massive tits wobbling out, emerges from a carfull of screaming children.
Plank, standing on the doorstep, recognises her. ‘Georgina,’ he stammers.
The woman approaches him and bursts into tears. Ian found out, she cries.
When the programme resumes after a five-minute break filled with inconsequential commercials, due to the fact that Brookside couldn’t attract a major sponsor if it put up a red light, we see Plank and the weeping Georgina standing on the Muddie doorstep. The kids are still screaming blue murder in the car nearby.
She didn’t know where else to go, wails Georgina. They have to talk, she says, indicating that she wants to go inside.
Plank almost shits his pants. His face reddens and he points helplessly toward her car. ‘The kids-’ he begins.
They’ll have to wait in the car, Georgina says, imperiously, pushing past Plank into the foyer of Sitcom House, just as Marty and Dire enter the area. Georgina greets them uneasily, whispering to Plank that she didn’t realise that Plank had houseguests.
Marty and Dire shoot surprised glances at Plank. Plank reddens even more and stammers that these people are his parents and that this, in fact, is their house. Then turning to Marty and Dire, he introduces Georgina as ... a friend.
Ray and Sylvia sit cosily in the sparsely furnished and decorated bungalow. (Why, exactly, hasn’t Ray commenced decorating and furnishing the place?) Ray tells Sylvia that, even with all the ensuing heartache, the time he spent with Sylvia was the happiest time of his life. And look what happened! Why, he got a daughter and a granddaughter out of it!
Sylvia smiles sadly and remarks that Ray is a good man. At least, she sighs, they can now part on better terms - as friends. Standing up, the two exchange a long hug. In the background, we hear the key in the lock of the bungalow, and Jess enters, witnessing the scene with a face like thunder.
‘Well,’ she snarls, ‘looks like I got her just in time!’
Plank and Georgina are now ensconces, with coffees, at the sitcom table. Plank looks distinctly shame-faced. How did it happen? He whispers to Georgina.
Her husband rang the doorbell, she says. She thought it was Plank, as Ian usually has his keys. After all, he was supposed to be in Stockport until late that evening. He told her he’d known all along that she was having an affair, seeing someone. AND he had evidence.
How? Asks Plank.
Georgina shakes her head. She doesn’t know, she admits.
Suddenly, unable to bear the secrecy any longer, Big Dire barrels into the room, followed at length, by Marty.
‘JOOST WHAT THE HELL’S GOIN’ ON?’ She bellows.
Noothink, Plank replies, evasively. They joost needter sort soomthink out.
Georgina rises, towering prettily above Dire and says she needs the bathroom.
Marty directs her, telling her to help herself.
When she leaves the room, Dire verbally attacks her stepson. ‘It’s obvious what kind of FRIEND SHE is,’ she hisses.
‘She’s maddied,’ assesses Marty.
Keep it down, urges Plank, frantically.
‘Why should we?’ Retorts Marty, raising his voice, deliberately, and looking backward over his shoulder. ‘It’s OUR house.’
‘That’s not what HE’S been tellin’ HER!’ Quips Dire.
As the Brookside Bike continues aimlessly kicking a football about, Bev and Josh leave the Dixon house. Bev is scolding Josh for being naughty again. She told him he shouldn’t jump on Granddad’s bed.
But he was playing trampolines, Josh protests.
It was OK for Josh to play trampolines, Bev reasons, but poor Granddad nearly fell out of the bed. She told him that Granddad was poorly. And Josh should STOP asking to see Granddad’s scar.
As the walk toward the pathway, Lance approaches from the opposite direction. Lance stops to chat with Bev, as Josh begins to kick the football with the Brookside Bike. Lance asks after Ron’s progress.
Well, Bev says, he walks to the post box and back. Is Lance on an errand for Max again? She asks.
‘Lance Powell, PA,’ Lance remarks. He’s only just taken Max’s dry cleaning down, and now he’s supposed to collect some razors for Max, because Max forgot to shave this morning.
Bev looks at Lance wryly, commenting that he should ask for a rise.
‘Don’t wuddy,’ says Lance. ‘I’m onter it.’
But Bev persists. If Lance walked, Max would be positively lost. And she urges Josh to hurry along.
Now Plank and Georgina stand in the foyer once again, as she’s about to take her leave. What will they do? She wails, plaintively.
Er, probably best that they don’t see each other for awhile, Plank mumbles. More importantly, what will her husband do?
Georgina shrugs tearfully. She honestly doesn’t know. But she knows that he doesn’t want HER back in the house. She’ll probably stay at her sister’s for awhile. (Strange how all these SOUTHERN people have immediate family in Liverpool). Her husband, she warns, is a VERY vindictive man.
‘Great!’ Aspirates Plank, shitting himself again. ‘He won’t be comin’ round here, will he?’ Suddenly, realising how much of a coward he sounds, he apologises for souding heartless.
Georgina screws up her lip, sarcastically. It’s not Plank’s problem, she cuts. SHE understands.
Plank follows her out to the car, but she leaves amid a welter of screaming children. Turning back to the house, Plank is confronted by Marty and Dire. Marty, giving his eldest child a glum look with his one good eye, remarks how disappointed he is in Plank. Dire urges Marty to come inside and lie down. Marty asks how Antony is, which is strange, as Antony would have normally been ear-wigging the whole proceeding.
He’s quiet, Dire says.
Well, Marty announces, turning to go inside, after the performance by THESE two, he certainly hopes Antony doesn’t have any hidden surprises for him!
(Psssssst! Marty! Look in the pond in the woods!)
As Ray and Sylvia spring apart and stand guiltily, Jess critically examines the detritus of their impromptu tea party, examining closely a white china cup, stained by Sylvia’s red lipstick. From the background, Ray speaks up to say that Sylvia had just popped round to say good-bye.
Really? Asks Jess, openly sceptical.
Yes, witters Sylvia, shakily. She wanted to part as friends with Ray, she explains.
Hmmmm, mutters Jess, she wonders if Ray treats ALL his friends the way he appeared to be treating Sylvia.
‘Just what are you implying? Sylvia asks, in her measured, cultivated tones.
Sean and Ruth continue a surprisingly civilised discussion. Sean even offers to look after Luke some weekends to help her out, even if it’s not his turn to do so. Rabbity Ruth snorks some snot and thanks him. She’s surprised by the conversation. She actually thought they’d end up fighting.
They used to get on well, muses Sean, sadly. He thought they were soul mates.
Ruth warns him gently not to talk about that subject.
But surely, he persists, Ruth was happy then.
She was, Ruth admits, reluctantly, but things change.
Luke being their son won’t change, Sean reminds her. What a shame, he continues, that Luke never actually got to see them together, happy, as a family. It could be that way again, he hints.
‘Let’s not talk about it,’ pleads Ruth, feeling and looking guilty about her part in the break-up.
But it could happen, urges the hapless Sean. They were that way once, after all.
Please, Ruth begs, could they just not talk about it? This is the first civilised conversation they’ve had in ages. She doesn’t want it spoiled.
But what if it were to happen? Continues Sean.
‘I’m with Dan now,’ prisses Ruth, suddenly becoming po-faced, ‘and to be honest, I should never have split with him.’ (Proof positive that Ruth doesn’t have a grain of common sense, or the writer doesn’t. What a line.)
The hapless Sean’s eyebrows knit together and he rises swiftly. ‘Well, ta very mooch!’ He mutters, and storms from the bar, leaving Rabbity Ruth to suddenly realise how stupid she sounded.
As the hapless Sean storms down the bar and out the door, he passes Dan the Man, slithering back in. In fact, so angry and upset is Sean, that he fails to identify Dan. Dan is surprised at no confrontation.
What’s the matter with him? He asks Ruth.
Who knows what’s wrong with Sean? Ruth shrugs, helplessly. (Er, I do. It’s called catching your wife in an adulterous affair and then getting divorced).
He’s trouble, growls Dan, sitting down.
Actually, corrects Ruth, they ended up agreeing on quite a few things. And could they please talk about something else, like themselves (as all self-absorbed people do, when they’re not hurling abuse at others - Theodore, take note).
Dan asks if they’re picking up Luke, but Ruth tells him that Ma’s agreed to do that.
Dan’s face suddenly lights up lasciviously. That means that, for awhile, they’ll have the house to themselves. There’ll be no problems about the noise they’ll make. (Yuck).
Ruth tells Dan that she loves him.
Dan, who loves no one as much as he loves himself, assumes a smug smile and THANKS her.
Ruth tells him that she really means what she said.
Dan, doesn’t say anything - but his silence speaks volumes.
After all, there’s a saying where I come from: ‘Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free?’
Lance has followed Bev back to her flat and the two sit at the table discussing Ron. Bev admits that she’s jealous of Brigid. Brigid seems to be relishing nursing Ron back to health.
Lance remarks that he thinks Brigid and Ron make a good couple.
Bev is surprised. Brigid! Ron Dikko’s not a granny-botherer, Bev states. He likes’em young.
Those days are over, Lance says, serenely. Now Ron appears to benefit from a more mature woman.
Josh sits in the foreground, playing with a noisy computer game. Bev shouts at Josh to turn the volume down or turn it off. Josh ignores her. She tells him again, and he obeys. Bev suggests that Josh take the cups to the sink and rinse them for her. Josh reluctantly obliges.
As she watches her son shuffle toward the kitchen sink, she whispers to Lance that Josh is getting worse and worse. When she picks him up from school, he’s still hyper. She just wishes the school would do something to tire him out.
Why doesn’t Bev let Josh play outside? Lance asks. That might do the trick.
And land him back in hospital? Cries Bev.
Well, when they were kids, says Lance, they played outside all the time. In fact, they were hardly inside.
Things were different then, scoffs Bev. Now there’s more traffic and loons on the street. The camera pans briefly to Josh at the kitchen sink, who’s washing two cups, using a whole container of washing up liquid.
Are there? Replies Lance, disbelievingly. When they were small, they were told never to take sweets from strangers. Now, kids spend more time watching TV or playing on computers. That’s not good, he witters. And the media only makes things worse (like Brookside!)
Suddenly Bev notices her sink overflowing with suds and shouts at Josh.
Sylvia Morgan marches purposefully down the drive of the bungalow to her waiting taxi, shouting over her shoulder to the blabbering Ray, who’s following her, that she’d best be going.
‘No! Wait! Please!’ Shouts Ray, toddling after her. ‘Yer can’t leave like this!’
Jess watches in grim amusement from the doorway of the bungalow. ‘It sounds as though he doesn’t want you to leave at all!’ She calls to Sylvia, who’s tottering toward her taxi on her stiletto heels.
Ray halts briefly and turns toward Jessie. ‘You’re acting like a jealous schoolgirl!’ He accuses.
‘And you’re acting like a lovesick schoolboy!’ Jessie retorts.
Sylvia scoots toward the waiting taxi, head lowered in shame at the scene.
Ray now turns back and jogs toward her. He catches up with her as she’s about to climb inside the cab. ‘Sylvia, don’t go!’ He pleads. ‘Jess didn’t mean anything she said.’
Sylvia replies in the cultured tones of an injured lady that, really, she’d rather forget the whole thing.
From the doorway of the bungalow, Jess scowls and shouts loudly: ‘Yer can take him with yer, if yer can fit him in yer suitcase!’
Turning briefly to Ray, Sylvia gives him a swift hug, climbs into the back seat of the cab and departs.
The whole scene, being witnessed by the Brookside Bike, he passes Ray behind, and mutters a sarky, ‘Wey-hey!’, before retreating toward Number 5; but Ray stalks after him, surprises the kid, grabs his football and drop kicks it off the Close.
‘Wey-hey, yerself!’ Ray exclaims.
As the taxi pulls off the Close, Sylvia Morgan glances back through the rear window, at Helen peering through the curtains of Hotel Corkhill.
Inside, Helen turns away sadly, letting the curtain drop into place. So, she sighs, there are no happy endings, after all.
That depends, says the Sage, taking her in his arms and resting his massive, phallic chin on the top of her frizzy, Seventies perm. They’re still together. (THAT? Happy?)
Antony skulks into the sitcom lounge, where his injured father rests on the sitcom sofa. He shoves a Liverpool card into Marty’s hand and starts to cry. ‘Soddy,’ he blubs.
Marty tells him to stop crying.
‘Boot, it wouldna happened if it werrrrrent’ fer me!’
Nobody’s blaming Antony, Marty reassures him.
Now, Big Dire pokes her bleached head around the door from the kitchen. What’s the matter? She demands.
Antony’s blaming himself, explains Marty.
Dire tells Antony that he’s not to blame over the letter.
It’s not that, Antony says.
It’s all over, says Marty. All in the past. No one knows where Imelda Clough is or what happened to her, he says. And pretty soon the Cloughs, themselves, will know that Marty’s had nothing to do with Imelda’s disappearance. His solicitor says the whole ordeal is over. And Marty urges Antony and all to get on with life. In fact, Marty says, Antony can even go back to school, if he wants.
Antony’s face brightens as he immediately stops crying.
Marty tells him he can go back Monday.
Lance and Bev are taking leave of each other at the front door of Bev’s flat, as Josh plays with his Action Man in the foreground. The two adults are speaking in hushed tones. Lance is talking about getting off late or working late that evening, whilst Bev warns Josh over her shoulder not to even think about moving from that spot until she’d let Lance out.
Lance whispers that Bev shouldn’t be too hard on the kid (as if!), Josh just needs something into which he can channel his excess energy.
She’s tried that, Bev admits. Why, when she picks him up from footie, the other boys are shattered, but Josh is still 100% on the go.
Josh plays with Action Man.
He’s fed up, explains Bev. He gets something to do and then he gets bored.
Well, Lance suggests, why doesn’t Bev have a quiet word with Dr Parr? Josh might have some o’that Attention Deficit Disorder thing.
‘Hey,’ counters Bev, defensively, ‘there’s noothink wrong wi’my Josh.’
In the foreground, Josh notices Bev’s mop and bucket nearby. He eyes it with great interest, and begins to play with it.
Josh just needs to be kept busy, Bev tells Lance. He’s a growing lad.
Lance isn’t at all convinced. He urges Bev to at least think about it, especially if things don’t get better.
In the foreground, Josh picks up the saturated mop and watches it drip water onto Bev’s floor, just as Bev shuts the door after Lance, turns, and notices the mess Josh is making.
‘JOSH!’ She shrieks, bounding toward him. ‘JOOST WHARRAYER PLAYIN’ AT! GIVE ME THE MOP!’ She demands, holding her hand out.
Josh refuses, and Bev lunges, trying to pull the mop from his grasp and he pulls against her weight. They struggle for about five seconds, before Bev manages to wrest the mop from her little thug’s grasp. But in doing so, she loses her balance and falls backwards, hitting her left cheek on the sharp edge of the formica breakfast bar top as she crashes to the floor.
Stunned, she edges herself up onto her elbows, as Josh takes advantage of his superior position. Glaring menacingly at her, he lands a vicious kick - once, twice - against the shin of her leg. Bev shrieks at him again, and he darts off toward his room, with Bev looking after him in total horror.
Roy Boulter wrote this. It had its moments.
Summary © 2002 Marion Watts
Brookside and all related materials are © Mersey Television 1982-2002