SCENE 1
DECEMBER 2014
West London, Stamford Brook area
A detached house and its garden
We will learn later in the play that this lovely cottage was once the residence of impressionist painter Pissarro when he was exiled in London.
The stage is divided in two
- Left, the garden
Winter tones, bare trees, wilted flowers and leaves decomposing on the ground.
At the back, some garden furniture as well as a good size wooden shed.
- Right (inside the house)
A homely kitchen with a generous space for cooking and baking, as well as two club chairs, a TV set and shelves with a considerable amount of DVDs on them.
One goes from one space to the other through the kitchen door (back door) which is always opened, no matter the season.
Also in the kitchen, a door leading to a hallway
At first we see JULIE in the garden, busy inspecting the different planters and shrubs and talking to them in an intimate, almost inaudible way.
JULIE (her hands cupped around a wilted hydrangea bloom) We’re fading, darling. You more gracefully than me, but... (moves towards wilted foxgloves and observes them for a while) (now touching and addressing a peony shrub) How about you, something in store for spring? I don’t think so. (heading back to her garden chair) What a waste.
She sits down, takes a hot water bottle from the table, puts it on her knees and covers herself with a large tartan blanket. She then fills her cup with tea, takes a book and finally adjusts her position to be more comfortable.
JULIE. Right. (proceeds reading)
Shortly after, we see MAMIE entering the kitchen from the hallway, wearing an apron covered in flour with a couple of baking utensils popping out the front pocket. She goes to the oven, opens it, glances inside and shuts it. She then goes to the back door and steps outside into the garden.
MAMIE. All good?
JULIE (not raising her head from her book). I’m just trying to stay out of your way.
MAMIE. More water?
JULIE. No, thanks.
MAMIE. That tea must be freezing cold now.
JULIE. My tea’s perfect.
MAMIE experiences pain on the upper left side of her torso and can’t repress a groan.
JULIE. You’re OK?
MAMIE groans some more.
JULIE. What’s the matter?
MAMIE. Argh.
JULIE stands up and goes to MAMIE.
JULIE. What is it?
MAMIE. Here, a shooting pain.
JULIE (trying to usher MAMIE towards the garden chairs). Come sit down for a bit.
MAMIE. I won’t hear the alarm if I’m over there.
JULIE. Since when do you need a bloody alarm?
MAMIE. I’ll sit in the kitchen, it’ll be fine.
JULIE. Nonsense, come get some air.
Reluctant and still in pain, MAMIE follows JULIE and goes sit down.
JULIE (handing the hot water bottle to MAMIE). Here. (covers MAMIE’s shoulder with the blanket and then sits down) Better?
MAMIE (expressing pain). Feels like being stabbed by Norman Bates.
JULIE. Breathe through your nose, like I showed you.
MAMIE closes her eyes, leans back and tries to breathe for a while.
JULIE. How is it going upstairs?
MAMIE. Mad, chaos… getting there, I suppose.
JULIE. As long as she doesn’t forget her passport. Many bags?
MAMIE. Monster suitcases, you mean. (removing the blanket from her shoulders). Listen, I’d rather stretch a bit.
JULIE (with a hint of frustration). Do that then.
MAMIE holds her left side, stands up with a little help from JULIE and starts walking around.
JULIE. If in distress, groan.
MAMIE. I will. (starts slowly walking around the garden) (now near the shrubs) I saw you earlier, casting a critical look over my hydrangea.
JULIE. It needs pruning, and not just the hydrangea. The jasmine, the wisteria, the peonies… I mean, look at them.
MAMIE. We’re in the core of winter, Julie.
JULIE. You’ll see in spring then, and I promise I won’t say I told you so.
MAMIE. Oh yes!
JULIE. Well even If I do, don’t shoot the messenger. (opens her book)
MAMIE. Remember last spring, the profusion we had?
JULIE. Mm.
MAMIE. I suppose it’s a thing, one year with and one year without. George would know about this.
JULIE. George would have pruned them in autumn.
MAMIE. Maybe if I replant this one in that corner over there. It gets more sunshine in the morning. Oh I don’t know, what do you think?
JULIE. Not to mention your cubs peeing all over them. How many did she have this time?
MAMIE. Five.
JULIE. Five little bums on the loose.
MAMIE. When was it? Sunday, I saw them little devils sucking at their Mum’s breast.
JULIE. Did you scare them away?
MAMIE. Why would I do that?
JULIE. Too much love, unbearable.
MAMIE. Mind your own foxes, Julie.
JULIE. Oh well.
MAMIE. Oh well, what?
JULIE. Didn’t I tell you? New neighbor has this adorable ginger cat with proper hunting instincts. Rufus.
MAMIE. I thought you hated cats.
JULIE. Not when they’re useful. No seriously, those foxes will completely ruin your garden if you let them. Not to mention the bloody racket at night. I don’t know how you’re putting up with it.
MAMIE. Ear plugs. And Christine could sleep through a tsunami, so… (promptly puts her hand in front of her mouth to repress a sob)
JULIE. Aw! (puts her book down) Aw! (stretches her arms towards MAMIE)
MAMIE sobs some more before joining JULIE who takes her by the waist and gives her a tight hug.
JULIE (comforting MAMIE who continues sobbing). Yes, let those tears come out. Out with the pain, out with this nasty stabbing pain.
MAMIE. See…See why/
JULIE. It’s alright.
MAMIE. How am I going to cope, Julie?
JULIE. She’ll visit you, you’ll visit her. Two hours, that’s all it takes to get there now.
MAMIE. Two and a half.
JULIE. Well, compare to the mission it was before. The bloody ferry to Calais or wherever, the sea sickness, the puking…
MAMIE (chuckles briefly). Each and every time, you’d turn green with a hint of grey.
JULIE. Always ahead of Paris fashion week.
MAMIE. Always. (MAMIE frees herself from the hug and goes sit down) Remember after her Mum’s death, the nightmares she used to have? “Mummy, Mummy!” for hours! And that recurring one, remember?
JULIE. Yes.
MAMIE. The one where she thought her Mum was trapped in a trunk, suffocating?
JULIE. As you said, she can sleep through a tsunami now. And all thanks to you and George, rest his soul.
MAMIE. Mm.
JULIE. Also, I know I sound like a broken record, but it’s about time that nephew of mine starts taking care of her. What time is he picking her up?
MAMIE. He’s not picking her up, he’s sending a cab.
JULIE. What?
MAMIE. They’re meeting directly in St Pancras.
JULIE. A bloody cabbie, really?
MAMIE. I knew you’d react like this. It’s just more convenient, OK?
JULIE. You’re such an enabler, Mamie.
MAMIE. Julie, please.
JULIE (opens her book). Alright. (proceeds reading)
MAMIE. And now, she’s sulking.
JULIE. I’m not.
MAMIE. What you’re reading, Sulky? (no answer from JULIE)(snatches the book from JULIE’s hands)
JULIE. Hey!
MAMIE. Margaret Ogilvy by J M Barrie. Peter Pan’s Barrie? (JULIE takes the book back and starts searching for her page) Any good?
JULIE. You’ve lost my page.
MAMIE. Sorry.
JULIE. And yes, it’s very good. Talks about an endangered species: the loving and caring son, if you catch my drift. (finding her page again). Ah, here it is.
MAMIE. Right. (wearily stands up)
From the house, comes the blasting sound of the song Christine by Siouxsie Sioux, as well as a young female voice singing along.
JULIE. See, how excited she is?
MAMIE. That’s all that matters, right?
JULIE. That’s all that matters.
MAMIE (shouting). Christine, too loud!
JULIE. She won’t hear you.
MAMIE. No. (glances at an old watch pinned on her apron). Oh shit! (rushes to the kitchen).
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