A love story for Radio – Episode 1
Music: Polperro – John Surman
HUGH It’s happened again.
This morning, about 11 o’clock, I made myself a mug of tea and sat down to do some work. The next thing I knew it was dark. The mug of tea hadn’t been touched. There was no sign the draft in front of me had changed. When I went into the bathroom I found a box of cereal in the middle of the floor –
GINNY Today is my anniversary –
HUGH Things have settled down now. I think.
GINNY It’s a year to the day since I moved in. The house where I lived almost my entire adult life will by now have become someone else’s. Yet this flat hasn’t become mine. I wonder if it ever will?
HUGH River Lark, Great Ouse, New Bedford River. [BEAT] River Delph, Old Bedford River, Sixteen Foot Drain, Nene Old Course…
GINNY I have become a voyeur.
HUGH Twenty Foot River, King’s Dyke, Morton’s Leam… Yes. Good. That’s good.
GINNY There is a man in the opposite flat. His windows face south. During the day his living room is filled with sunlight. I can see the room clearly. In the evening when he switches on the lights it’s like peering into a vivarium. There ought to be a label. Middle aged man in his habitat.
We look out onto the same communal patch of grass, the Man and I. He is entirely oblivious to my existence. I have a front row seat on his. I can see him now, sitting at his computer. I wonder what he’s writing?
HUGH I’ve set myself a target. I must speak to three people every day. Yesterday I’d made my quota by 11 o’clock. Four if you count the girl in the paper shop. But as she didn’t register my existence, let alone reply, that would be pushing it. So three it is. I asked a man sweeping the streets if he’d noticed the rubbish getting worse. He had. We talked about rubbish. There was a beggar outside the dry cleaners. And an elderly woman struggling with a bag and two dogs.
The beggar needed some money to get to his girlfriend’s house, the woman didn’t need anything, but both were more than happy to pass the time of day. I left feeling a fully paid up member of the community. My subs amounted to £2.34 in loose change.
GINNY The Man looks pleasantly untidy. He looks – interesting. Grey hair, but longer than a man of his age’s should be. Quite trim. He wears blue jeans. And black shirts. He’s something in the arts. In television. A novelist maybe. A writer, anyway.
I’ve never seen anyone else in the flat. Is that by design I wonder? A writer who protects his privacy. Who brookes no distractions. Isn’t that what writers do? Concentrate ferociously for days, and then drink themselves into a stupor in the company of dubious women? If so, the dubious women have yet to show up.
HUGH Email from David. He wonders how I am.
You, and me both, pal.
He must have me on repeat in his diary. It’s years since he made any serious money out of me. I don’t even know the other people at the agency. Last year was the first I didn’t get a Christmas card. Perhaps they thought I was dead.
GINNY I’m thinking of volunteering. There’s a sign in the Oxfam shop in the precinct. Another in the PDSA. “Can you spare a few hours of your time?” I was tempted to apply. But only briefly. Recycling paperbacks and the suits of dead husbands seems so desperately sad. But then I suppose spending the day alone in a tiny flat would seem sad to most people. But I quite like it here.
HUGH It’s strange. I’ve been sitting here on the tracks for longer than I care to remember. I’ve always known the train was on its way. The train is on the way for everyone. But now I can feel the rails thrumming under my arse I’m not scared any more. Odd.
GINNY The Man in the vivarium does not strike me as someone who would feel the need to offer his services to the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals. He seems too self-contained. He obviously works from home. Why else would he spend so much time in front of his computer screen? Unless of course it’s something dubious.
I’m 62 and I have never seen a pornographic film. Perhaps I should. It’s hardly likely to deprave or corrupt me now. It’s something I might have got to like. Sex. If Alan hadn’t been so – well, Alan, I suppose. Weeks would pass, months sometimes. And I would think that part of my life was over. And then without warning, he would reach across the bed in the dark in a business-like way, as if it was something he’d forgotten to do, like tidy the garage.
It was always dark. I would like to have seen his face. I would like to have seen mine.
HUGH I got lost again today. On the way back from Spar. I don’t panic any more. It cost me ten pounds to get home. I stopped a boy on a bike. Showed him my card. For one moment I wasn’t sure he could read. But he got it in the end. By the time we were outside the front door I knew where I was.
The power of the written word. And a tenner, I suppose. But mostly the tenner.
GINNY It’s getting dark. I’m going to have a peach.
HUGH I’ve bought surveillance camera. A home security monitor. I’ve set it up in the living room. Its memory will hold 24 hours of video before it overwrites the cache. It’s watching me now as I write. It promises to alert me if anything untoward happens. Nothing good can come of this.
[Crossfade to Ginny’s flat. SAL answers her phone.]
GINNY Sal?
SAL [phone, to TOBY] …that’s not what I said. [Answering, to SAL] Hello.
TOBY [distant, to SAL] It’s what you said.
GINNY Is this a bad time?
SAL [phone] No, no. It’s fine, mum. Is everything all right?
GINNY Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?
TOBY [phone, distant, to SAL] It’s what you always say. [Door]
GINNY Look I’ll ring back later.
SAL [Phone] No – no. It’s just – . Nothing. What is it?
GINNY Well, if you’re sure.
SAL [phone] I’m sure. All right? I’m sure.
GINNY It’s dad’s birthday. That’s all. So I thought I’d…
SAL [phone] Oh Christ.
BEAT
GINNY Are you still there?
SAL [phone] Sorry. Of course it is. I forgot.
GINNY He would have been 70. That’s a big one.
Sal?
SAL [phone] Yes. Yes it is.
GINNY We’d have had a party.
SAL [phone] He hated parties.
GINNY I know.
BEAT
SAL [phone] Mum – can we do this later?
GINNY Yes, of course we can.
SAL [phone] Only – Sorry.
GINNY Don’t worry. Later. We’ll talk later.
[Crossfade to HUGH]
HUGH I’ve just taken some smoked mackerel out of the fridge. Before I could open it I got a text. [Ping!] “Movement detected in Area A”.
No work today. So far. I slept this morning after breakfast so things are a bit out of whack on the schedule front. But it doesn’t really matter as long as things get done. And if they don’t get done? Well I suppose that doesn’t really matter either.
I have to go back into area A. The rice should be ready.
[Ping! Text.]
Still alive, then.
GINNY I’ve been watching him since I had breakfast. He’s at the computer most of the time. The occasional trip into the kitchen for a mug of tea. Then at midday he settled down to read. It was the same yesterday.
His routine is growing familiar. I get used to his presence. It’s become part of my day.
There was a woman in our street who used to feed foxes. She bought dog food especially. She was interviewed on the local news. She spent every evening in front of the patio doors, sitting in the dark waiting for them to appear.
HUGH River Lark, New Bedford River. River Delph, Old Bedford River – No, no, no.
GINNY I really must stop this.
HUGH River Lark, Great Ouse, New Bedford River – Sixteen Foot Drain, Nene Old Course –
BEAT
Sixteen Foot Drain – River Lark, New Bedford River –
Damn!
[Music]
GINNY We’ve met. The Man and I. And I don’t know where to begin.
He gave me a card. He was standing in the precinct outside Boots. Just – standing. He looked so utterly lost I went over. He handed me a ten pound note and the card. There was a message on the back.
Could you take me to Flat 3, Dove Court? Thank you.
[Crossfade to street]
GINNY [To HUGH] Is everything all right?
HUGH No. No, it isn’t.
GINNY It’s very close. Dove Court.
HUGH Yes.
GINNY Would you like me to give you directions?
HUGH No. That wouldn’t –
If you could take me there please.
GINNY You’d like me to walk you to Dove Court? From here?
HUGH If you wouldn’t mind.
GINNY Of course.
So that’s what I did.
Music.
Since then he hasn’t appeared at the computer. He walked through into the kitchen at ten o’clock but emerged almost immediately. I didn’t see him after that. The lights were on all night.
Crossfade to landing. GINNY presses the buzzer.
Door
HUGH Yes?
GINNY Hello, again.
BEAT
You don’t recognise me, do you?
HUGH I’m sorry?
GINNY Yesterday. You lost your way. I brought you back.
HUGH That was very kind of you. I’m grateful. Really.
GINNY You offered me ten pounds.
HUGH Which you didn’t take because I still have it.
GINNY No.
BEAT
I’m sorry. I’ve been rehearsing this conversation in my head since last night but now I’m here I don’t know what to say.
This is a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.
HUGH Why did you come?
GINNY To see if you were all right.
Are you all right?
HUGH I think it’s fair to say I’m not, actually. No.
GINNY I’m sorry to hear that.
Would you like me to go?
We could walk if you’d rather. I usually go round by the cemetery. It’s the one place you can be sure of hearing birdsong.
HUGH I should really get on.
GINNY You’re a writer.
HUGH Did I tell you that?
GINNY I think you must have done.
HUGH It’s not true. Whatever I said. I’m an academic, that’s all.
GINNY Ah.
HUGH Look, I’m sorry but –
GINNY I’m Ginny. This is my telephone number. My email address is on the back. Do call, or drop me a note if you need anything.
I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye.
She goes.
Crossfade to phone.
SAL [phone] You did what? What were you thinking? You can’t just barge into someone’s life like that.
GINNY I didn’t barge. I knocked on his door, that’s all.
SAL [phone] Yes and offered your number to a complete stranger who’s probably away with the fairies and told him to give you a call. Oh, that’s barging. Trust me.
GINNY I won’t be seeing him again. I’m sure of that.
SAL [phone] For goodness’ sake, mother. As if I didn’t have enough on my plate.
GINNY How is Toby?
SAL [phone] Stop changing the subject.
BEAT
Toby’s – Toby. What else is there to say?
You will keep away from this man, won’t you? Promise me.
GINNY There’s no need to worry. He’s made it quite clear he wants nothing to do with me.
[Ping! Crossfade to email
HUGH [Email] Dear Ginny. I owe you an apology. You have been extremely kind to me on two occasions now and on both my response was inadequate. I understand that you live close by, and under ordinary circumstances we might become acquaintances, but circumstances are anything but normal and I’m afraid just now I lack the resources for anything new. I chose the city as a place to be anonymous. Forgive the discourtesy of an email. The truth is I am moved by kindnesses, sometimes to tears. I prefer to express myself in writing. Yours, Hugh.
GINNY [Email] Hugh. I know what you mean about the anonymity of the city. It is liberating. I entirely understand your desire for privacy and I will of course respect it. But first I have a confession to make. You’ll be cross I expect. But I lied when I said you told me you were a writer. You didn’t. I live in the flat opposite and have seen you at the computer. That’s all. Your mind wasn’t playing tricks.
HUGH I’m afraid that playing tricks is all that it does at the moment for reasons I won’t bore you with. I’d like to say you get used to it, but you don’t. This is probably more information than you need. You can blame email. There’s a directness and informality about it which is easily mistaken for intimacy. It encourages confidences. Ask anyone who’s tried online dating.
GINNY I think you’re right. Confidences are more easily exchanged in writing. So let me share one now. I was married for 40 years. I have a grown up child. A daughter. And I’ve never told anyone that after my husband died I felt nothing but relief. Not because I didn’t love him. I did. But because a space opened up around me that I hadn’t known existed. I wake up some mornings dizzy with the possibilities. Is that very wrong of me? If so, I really don’t mind.
HUGH Ginny – I’m sorry. I’ve enjoyed our exchange. But there are good reasons why it ought not to continue. Thank you for your interest. Please don’t think me rude. But I can’t do this just now. Yours, Hugh.
GINNY Oh, you stupid, stupid man.
Crossfade to phone
SAL (phone) He said he had an evening meeting. But I rang his office and they knew nothing about it.
GINNY Well, perhaps whoever you spoke to didn’t know.
SAL (phone) Oh, don’t be so ridiculous.
She’s interrupted by a buzz at the door.
GINNY Just a minute. There’s someone at the door –
SAL (phone) Of course they’d know. He’s having an affair, isn’t he?
She answers the door.
GINNY Hugh –
SAL (phone) Mum?
HUGH Look, I’m sorry. You mentioned a walk.
SAL (phone) Mum? Are you there?…
HUGH I’m afraid it’s raining like the devil but if you meant it I thought we might go anyway.
SAL (phone) Mum?
GINNY Of course. I’d like that. I’d like that very much.
The Reach 