FENTON: Oi!  What are you smiling at Mary? Eh? (Slight pause, he laughs in puzzlement)  You’re a funny little hossity, aren’t yer? Oi! Hello!  Mary!

MARY:  Fuck off!  (CHIPS giggles  loudly. MARY laughs with delight.)  Fuck off! Fuck off!!

They all laugh at the silly situation.

RODERICK:  (inspiration) Hey up lads.  Are yer ready?  Friday nigh-eeet, half-an-hour-lat-eeeeer, INSTA—A—A—A—A—ANT…  CREASE!!

They all laugh  uproariously.

MARY is quite taken by surprise. Then she joins in delightedly.

RODERICK conducts  the ‘crease’ and when it reaches a crescendo…  he stops it.

They all stop except MARY who continues squealing and screaming with laughter.

They giggle at her.

RODERICK:  Hoy! Come on Mary. That’s enough.

MARY’S laughingcomes to a stop, she looks at RODERICK and grins.

MARY: Hello.

RODERICK: (taken by surprise)  Ooh! Hello yourself.

FENTON: Definitely made a hit there Roderick.

RODERICK: Eee, yer a right bloody Mary you, aren’t yer? Eh?

MARY: Mary Waite. It’s my birthday.

RODERICK: A right Mary Ann you are. When is it yer birthday?

MARY moves to the bike and looks at it, glancing at FENTON.  She runs her finger along it. FENTON keeps his eye on her.

RODERICK: Mary!

She turns to RODERICK  

MARY:  Shut up!

CHIPS laughs,  MARY laughs.

MARY:  Shut up.

RODERICK: (laughs) When is it yer birthday?

MARY: Eh?

RODERICK:  Oh my God.

MARY: Fuck off!

They laugh. MARY laughs.

RODERICK: How old are you Mary?

FENTON: Time you were goin’ home Mary.

RODERICK: How old Mary?

MARY sidles away from FENTON towards RODERICK

MARY: Sixteen.

RODERICK:  Sixteen eh?

FENTON: (half-hearted)  Home time Mary.

MARY:  Wednesday.  Next Wednesday. Wednesday next  week. Sixteen.

CHIPS: Sweet sixteen…

RODERICK:  And never been. Eh? The Virgin Mary.

MARY: Fuck off!

They laugh.  MARY moves to the old Dansette record player on the bench near RODERICK.  She starts to look  through  the box fuIl of old 45s.

RODERICK:  Hey up. She wants a record on. You want a record? Eh? Do yer want a record on? Mary? (Slight pause.)   I say. Have yer found one? Mary? Are you goin’ to dance?

MARY:  Eh?

RODERICK:  Dance Mary?

MARY: Yes.

RODERICK:  Do a dance? Eh?

FENTON: (half hearted) Ey, give up Roderick man!

RODERICK:  Mary?

MARY: (crossly)  Ye-es!

RODERICK: Good. Great.  ‘Ere y’are then. Come on.   (He lifts her easily, and propels her to the rostrum, in front of the bike. He lifts her onto the rostrum.)  There you are. Right? I’ll  put the music on;  you dance. Alright?

MARY: (beaming at him) Yes.

FENTON: Tch. Are you alright  Mary?   Mary?

MARY: (crossly) Yes.

RODERICK is sorting through the records.

RODERICK: Goin’ to dance aren’t yer Mary?

MARY: (beaming at him) Yes.

CHIPS collapses in excited giggles

CHIPS: Ooooh, fuckin’ ‘ell.

FENTON: Shurrup, man.

VINCENT is becoming  nervy, disturbed.

VINCENT: (hissing)  Don’t you mock, Chips.

CHIPS: I wasn’t mock…

VINCENT: Just shut it!

RODERICK sorts through and picks out a record.

RODERICK: ‘Ang on (looks at it) Aha, this is the one. Want a good ‘un, don’t we Mary? Are you ready Mary-Mary?

MARY giggles and removes her mittens, putting them on  the bike beside FENTON’S cold chips.

FENTON  perches on the bench stage right. CHIPS  crouches on the floor beside the motor  horn.

VINCENT  is still by the door.

RODERICK places the record on the turntable and switches on.

RODERICK: There we are. This is the one. Freddy Cannon. (Record starts.  Freddy Cannon’s “Teen Queen of the Week”)  Where the hell do you dig these up from Fent?

FENTON:  They’re just there, I don’t dig ‘em up.

RODERICK:  ‘Ere  it comes. Sock it to ‘em  Mary!

The music crackles from the old Dansette.

MARY very seriously starts to gyrate.

RODERICK: Whey hey! Great. Come on Mary. Ma-ry! Ma-ry! Ma-ry! Ey, switch them lights off Vince!

VINCENT: No.

RODERICK: Switch em off man!

VINCENT switches off the two main bulbs at the switch by the door.

RODERICK  turns up the volume, then snatches up the inspection lamp and crouches down, aiming the light  up at Mary.

RODERICK: (shouting) Oh what a dancer. Eh.? Come on Mary luv. Come on!

He  is carried along on the sound, which is building all the time. He swings the lamp around.

The volume builds.

MARY removes her anorak while dancing.

CHIPS connects up the motor horn and begins blasting on it in time to the beat.

He sings noisily to the record, which is now very loud.

CHIPS: Wheeee Heeeee!

RODERICK: C’mon  Mary. That’s it.   Tek ‘em off  Mary!

CHIPS:  Ha ha haaaaaa!

RODERICK: Mary! Gerrem off Mary.  Show us yer tits!

CHIPS:  Yeh. Tits Mary! Tits, tits, tits, tits,  tits. (in time to the music, blasting on the horn) Tits. (parp) Tits. (parp) Tits tits. (parp parp)

The light is on Mary. Just RODERICK’S  shadowy figure in front of her.

MARY  is dancing very childishly, across the beat.

She removes her jumper and throws it across  the bike.

RODERICK:  WHOOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!  That’s it Mary.  More. More. More.

MARY laughs delightedly.

The music is now very loud indeed. CHIPS is alternating whooping  with clapping and sounding the horn.

MARY removes her blouse and drapes it carefully over the headlamp of the bike. She wears no bra, just a vest.

FENTON half-heartedly tries to stop CHIPS sounding the horn but in vain.

MARY  removes her vest.

RODERICK  is now flicking the lamp on and off in time to the music.

CHIPS is goin mad on  the horn.

MARY throws the vest at RODERICK  who whoops, and she starts to unzip her jeans.

Suddenly RODERICK  takes  the light  nearer to MARY and he lunges up at her.

VINCENT  lets out a roar and hurls himself at RODERICK.

Simultaneously, the lamp goes out, the horn stops, and the music returns to a normal level.

In the darkness there is a brief  scuffle.

FENTON switches on the main lights.

RODERICK  and VINCENT  are on the floor. VINCENT gets up and kicks him in the balls – RODERICK howls.

VINCENT swipes the pick-up arm off the record.

Silence.

MARY  is standing on the rostrum behind the bike. She is swaying, smiling to herself. On her left breast is a black, oily handprint. Her half-open zip exposes   flannelette knickers.

VINCENT: (shouting) Christ, she’s just a wee lassie. (He collects up her vest, blouse and jumper and hands them to her keeping his eyes front.) Here. Put yer clothes on.

MARY: No.

VINCENT: Put them on.

MARY: Dancing.

VINCENT: (shouting) Put yer clothes on!

MARY: Show me tits.

VINCENT: Oh. Put your bloody clothes on Mary.

FENTON:  (quietly) Put ‘em on Mary. Please.  Come on.

MARY whimpers, and pulls her clothes on messily.

RODERICK: Nobbut  a bit o’ fun.

VINCENT: Shut it!

FENTON:  Ooh dear-a-fuckin’-me! Bad day at Black Rock!

CHIPS Eh?

RODERICK:  Only a bit o’ bloody fun.

VINCENT:  Shut your fuck’n mouth.   (He turns to MARY and hands her the anorak.)    Here.     (MARY takes it and p it on. He  picks up the parcel of  cold chips from the bike and hands them to MARY)  Here y’are.

MARY: Oh. Chips.

She munches into them.

CHIPS:  They’ll he cold as clay.

VINCENT: Shut up.

CHIPS: (trying to make amends)    Those are from my uncle’s chip shop, Mary.

MARY: (happily)   Fuck off.

CHIPS: (hurt) They are.

FENTON: Shut up man.

MARY  moves round to the front of the bike, leans against it and munches the cold chips.

VINCENT:  (hissing) You are an ace idiot Roderick, you know that?

RODERICK: Yes. Alright, clever bugger!

VINCENT: (aggressive) What?

FENTON: Hey, come on chaps, break it up. It’s all over. We’re all idiots, we’re all daft, an’ it’s all over. Forget it.

RODERICK:  Bit o’ fun that’s all.   (Pause. He picks up his helmet a jacket.)   Bugger  t’ lot on yer.  I’m off.

He  slings  the jacket on and walks out, leaving the door open.

FENTON  closes the door,

We hear RODERICK’s  Honda Four start up and leave.

CHIPS:  I’ll go an’ get me moped out the van.

He leaves, closing the door.

MARY  sits on the bike, still eating.

FENTON cleans his hands on a piece of rag and sits on the bench stage right. He takes ten No.6 from his  pocket and  offers one to VINCENT.

VINCENT: No.

FENTON:      Hey, come on man. Calm you down.

VINCENT:  I’m calm enough. (He moves across and takes a cigarette.)   He’s a cunt.   (FENTON lights their cigarettes  with a match.) Fuck’n  idiot.

FENTON: Oi. It’s Friday night. we’ll go for pint in a bit.

VINCENT: (absently) Yeh?

FENTON: Down to the Woodman. Thunderbridge.

VINCENT:  Takin’ advantage of an idiot girl. It’s very bad you know? People laughing. Laughin’ at you.  I know.

FENTON: Look, we were all…  it’s not .just bloody Roderick.

VINCENT:  I wasn’t laugh’n. I had fiteen years o’ that. Foster homes, an’ do-good bastards. And other kids laughin’.

Pause.

FENTON:  I should ‘ave done summat  praps. But I didn’t. Did I?

Slight pause.

VINCENT:  Takin’ the piss out of an idiot girl.

FENTON:  She’ s backward man. She’s not an idiot.

VINCENT:  He’s supposed to be a farmer isn’t he? Probably kinder to his bloody cows.

FENTON stands.

FENTON: Oh, God’s sake man, forget it.

VINCENT: (shouts)  I will not fuck’ n forget it!

There is a sudden crash.

MARY  has slipped off  the rostrum and  fallen  down among the boxes at the back of the bike. 

She squeals with alarm, then starts to cry noisily and  heartbrokenly, like a child.

VINCENT  throws down his cigarette  and dashes  to help her.

VINCENT: OK Mary. Mary. You’re OK. Here, come on. Let me help you. Come on.

(He emerges, carrying MARY. She is whimpering  and cuddling him.)  There. That’s better isn’t it? Eh?   Better, eh?   Feel better?

Her crying has turned into a self-pitying crooning, in a crying pattern.

FENTON grabs a battered chair from beside  the bench stage right, and plonks it down in front of them.

VINCENT  tries to sit her down on the chair.

VINCENT:  Sit down there, Mary.

FENTON: Come on Mary, sit yer down. See what the damage is.

MARY hangs on to VINCENT’S neck.

MARY; (squawling)  No. No,  nooooooer.

She is causing discomfort, VINCENT cannot cope, he becomes disturbed.

VINCENT: Mary. Mary, get off. Sit down.

She still hangs on and  squeals as he tries to break her grip.

MARY: No, no, no, ow-ooooo-ooooo-ow,   no—oooooo!

FENTON starts to laugh.

V1NCENT: Get off me neck!

MARY:  No, no, no—ooooo!

VINCENT:  Get off, you stupid wee cow. (screams)  LET GO!!

The door opens.

CELIA comes in, followed by CHIPS.

CELIA  is 24, similar  in looks to FENTON.    She is wearing a duffle coat over her jumper and jeans.

She shakes her head in amazement.

MARY stops struggling but keeps tight hold of VINCENT.

CELIA: What’s happening, Fent? (MARY starts to struggle again.)   Mary.  Mary.

VINCENT: Fer fucks sake let go. You fucking,  stupid,  brainless little bastard.

CELIA: (calm and firm)  Mary. It’s alright  Vincent.    Mary.  Come here a minute love. Mary, come on. It’s Celia!

MARY turns to look.

MARY: (pleased) Oh! Celia!

CELIA: Yes. (brightly)   Come here, let’s have a. look at you.

MARY lets go of VINCENT.

VINCENT: (tries to save face)   God!  Silly brat.

MARY  looks  at VINCENT, then kicks him hard on the shin before walking over to CELIA

VINCENT:  Owch!!

CELIA  calmly straightens up MARY’S  clothing  talking matter-of-factly.

CELIA:   There. That’s better isn’t it. Yes, that’s it. That’s better. (to FENTON) What’s going on then?

FENTON:  Don’t look at me.

CELIA:  Have you had a good day today?  Mary? Hmm?  Have you?

MARY:  (calm) Yes. Yes, alright.

CELIA : That’s good.  (She zips up MARY’s anorak.)  There. All done.

VINCENT has watched all this, rubbing his shin.

VINCENT:  Brainless idiot! (He rushes to the door, pushes CHIPS to one

side.) Let me outa here!

He slams the door.We hear the van start  up and violently drive away.

CELIA: Did you have some gloves on Mary?

MARY: Yes. Me mittens.

MARY goes  to the bike to find her  mittens. CELIA turns to FENTON.

CELIA:  What brought that lot on then?

FENTON:  Oh, we were just messin’ about like. I shouldn’t have let her come inside the shed really. (Slight pause.)   She’s been ‘angin’ round a lot lately.

CELIA:  (reproachfully) Well you mustn’t let her. Honestly.  I’ve been busy marking books all night, so that I don’t have to stay in the whole weekend; I. get me coat on, to go up the pub and forget about kids for a bit and’ what do I get?  Screams and hysteria  from my elder brother’s kindergarten. I ask you?

FENTON:  Oh, come on.

There is a crash from the bike as MARY knocks the chrome polish from off  the bike on to the floor.

FENTON: Mary. Leave that alone.

CELIA  raises her eyes to heaven.

CELIA:  God. Honestly Fent.

FENTON: (defensive) Well.

CELIA (brightly) Come on Mary.  Let’s leave ‘em to it. Let’s go and have a cuppa, then I’ll walk home with you. Come on.

MARY:  Alright.

MARY smiles and joins CELIA, who opens the door and lets her out.

CELIA looks at FENTON  and shakes her head.

He suddenly sticks his tongue out  at her attempting to lighten the situation.

She  leaves, c1osing  the door.

Silence.

FENTON lights  a cigarette,  deep in thought.

CHIPS  kicks at the bench.

CHIPS:   Well. She sorted that lot out then.

FENTON:  Mm?

CHIPS:   Thi sister.

FENTON:  Yep.

Pause

CHIPS:   Comin’  fer a pint then?

FENTON  surveys the bike.

FENTON: You go. I’ll probably see you up there.

CH1PS:     Nay, I’ll ‘ang on if yer  comin’.

FENTON:  I’ll see you later.

Slight pause.

CHIPS: Aye,  a1right then. (He goes to the door, then looks at FENTON)  Er…  it’s just outside.

FENTON:  Mmm?

CHIPS: Me bike. Will yer  ‘ave a look at it?

FENTON: Oh yeh. I’ll have a look at it.

CHIPS:  It’s just…  it’s the weekend like. (Slight pause.)  Shall I bring it in?

FENTON: (firm) I will have a look at it Chips. (lighter)  Go on, piss off!

CHIPS grins, nods and leaves, closing the door.

FENTON picks up the chrome polish tin and puts it with his tools neatly under the bike. He coils the lead and puts the inspection lamp with  the tools too.

He removes the chip paper from the bike and puts it in the rubbish bucket stage right.

He puts on his jacket.

He picks up a polishing cloth and  has  a final polish of the  chaincase, breathing on it

and polishing off the condensation.

He sits back on his haunches and  admires  his work.

He takes a comb from his  pocket and, using  the chaincase  as a mirror, he ‘quiffs’ his hair.

He stands, moves to the door, picks up his helmet,  takes a look round the shed and switches  off the lights.  

BLACKOUT

INTERVAL.

SCENE TWO

The shed, four months later.

A bright showery,  spring Saturday morning. Daylight is floodiing in through the windows.

The bike is much more complete, the seat has been fitted, and the silencers and footrests.

There  are FENTON’s wet  footprints around the bike area. He is at the bike fitting the RH silencer.  He is dressed much as before except for  ‘Beetle-Crusher’ crepe soled shoes instead of boots.   His jacket is hanging behind the door.  His helmet is on the rostrum.

Beside him, on the rostrum,  is a dirty. pint mug half full of steaming tea. Beside the mug, a cigarette is burning and he pulls at it occasionally.

The inspection lamp is  switched on and angled  to shine under the bike where he is working.

The old wireless is on  Saturday morning Radio One is coming from  it, fairly quietly, and it is punctuated by bad interference of the loose connection variety.           

Near the sink is the teapot, milk bottle,  sugar packet and electric kettle..

CELIA bursts into the shed with her raincoat over her head and shoulders. Her feet make wet footmarks as she enters. She is carrying a Hoover Junior vacuum cleaner, which she plonks down beside the bench stage right.

FENTON: Hey up!            .            .

She closes the door half-way, takes her mac off and shakes the water from it. She is breathing hard.

CELIA:  Blooming weather!  Phew! Must stop smoking. (she pats her chest).

FENTON Still rainin’?

CELIA:  Just a little bit, it’s nearly stopped.

FENTON stands with his pot of  tea, drains it down and slings the dregs out on the floor backstage.

CELIA:  Anyway, it’s got rid of that dirty snow under the back wall.

FENTON: Yeh?

She hangs her coat over FENTON’s jacket.

CELIA: Yeh. Hey, there are snowdrops under the tree. Under the apple tree.

FENTON : (pleased) Oh great. I never noticed them.

He stamps on his cig and moves across to switch off the wireless.  CELIA looks out of the window.

CELIA  Yes, it’s much brighter now. (turns) Hey, don’t switch that off on my account.

FENTON: Oh it’s OK. S’only the news. (he switches off) Something wrong with it anyway.

CELIA:  Where’s your entourage?

FENTON: (grins)  My what?  What’s up with the vac?

CELIA: Where’s the lads?

FENTON:  I s’pect young Chips’ll  be up ‘ere before long.

CELIA wipes her nose with a tissue from her coat pocket. FENTON moves to the vac.

FENTON:  Roderick’s gone into town. Got some  secret deal on. (He wipes his hands on rag)   What’s the matter with this?

CELIA watches him quizzically.

CELIA:  Me mother sez will you have a look at it.

FENTON:  What’s up with it?

CELIA:  Drive belt’s broken I think.

He throws down the rag and takes the front cover off the vac.

FENTON: Oh.   You could ‘ave fixed it if it’s just that.

CELIA: Yeh well you know me mum. She wants you to do it. Man of the house an’ all that.

FENTON: ‘Bout me dad?

CELIA: He’s up in the attic. Mixing potions.

They laugh.  CELIA watches as FENTON pulls out handfuls of carpet fluff and dirt from the vac,  and the broken rubber-ring drive belt. He holds it up.

FENTON:  There y’are.

He throws the rubbish into the rubbish bucket and sorts through a workbench  drawer for a new rubber-ring.

CELIA walks over to the bike, glances over it and leans against a clean bit of the rostrum.

CELIA:  I think dad’s gone slightly potty. He was up at five o’clock. On a Saturday morning? (Slight pause)    I’m sure he’ll never sell those ‘remedies’, whatever they are.

FENTON: Why not?

CELIA We-ell. I just don’t think he will. Do you?.

FENTON: Grandad made a small fortune.

CELIA: (laughs)  Come on.

FENTON: E did! Bought this place anyway.

CELIA:  Yes I know he did. An’ it’s very nice as well, but it’s not exactly a mansion, is it? I mean, he didn’t make fortunes.

FENTON:  ‘E did alright me granded. Did it by himself an’ all, well, with bit of  ‘elp from me granny. (He finds the rubber drive belt.) Ah, ‘ere it is. An’ I tell you what, ‘e ‘ad the first decent bike in this village.

CELIA: (mildly sarcastic)  Oh well he must have been rich then. (He spins the rubber ring round his finger)  Here, give it me. I’ll do it.

FENTON:  Yeh? OK.

She takes the ring and moves to the vac.

FENTON moves across and picks up his mug

FENTON:  Want a cuppa tea? It’s made.

CELIA: (grins). Cuppa tea?

FENTON:  Yeh. Oh, I’m short of nowt  I’ve got in ‘ere.  Want one?

CELIA: Good idea.

She leans on the bench stage right.

FENTON moves to the sink and switches on the kettle which is still hot from the previous boiling.

CELIA: (musing) I never knew him like you did.  Me grandad.

FENTON:  He ‘ad one o’ the first Riccy’s.  ‘Bout 1922.

CELIA: Riccy?

FENTON:  Triumph Ricardo Five ‘Undred.

CELIA: What?.

FENTON:  Motorbike. Five  ‘Undred  Ricardo. Named after the bloke who designed the engine, Henry Ricardo; who got knighted I think.

Slight pause.   He swills a cracked cup under the tap.

CELIA:  Funny name for a bike. I thought they called ‘em all Rockets and Thunderbirds. (she nods at the bike)  What’s that one?

FENTON:  Yeh, that’s a Triumph as well, y’see? Famous model that is, first came out in 1937. Speed  Twin!!

He pours hot water in the teapot

CELIA:   There you see? Speed Twin!  Trrriurnph  Speeed Twin! They’ve all got really macho aggressive names.

He stirs the teapot

FENTON: (grins) Oh, I’ll give you better than  that. What about Velocette Viper, and Venom.  Royal Enfield  Crusader; Bullet. Seven hundred Interceptor.

CELIA: Tch! God!

FENTON:  Norton Dominator;  Commando!

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