Creative Writing Portfolio by Henda Scott

henda scott creative writing portfolio

contents 3

short short stories

short film script: relations

novel: itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not a coat

short story: mute date

screenplay: a lion in the bedroom

Memel

The last thing the people of the Reitz Dutch Reformed Church expected to see upon entering the small church building that morning was the lifeless body of Samuel, their organist hanging by a rope right above his beloved organ. Yet as they shuffled through the heavy wooden doors, they were greeted by the sound of the pipes, making a low humming sound as the tips of his shoes brushed against the keyboard. Little children screamed, women started wailing and the old reverend’s wife promptly fainted. Within a matter of seconds pandemonium had broken out inside the church. The reverend, standing at his usual spot on the stairs outside the big church doors to greet his congregation, rushed in to see what the commotion was all about. He quickly scanned the church and immediately noticed the ghostly sight above the grand organ. The blood drained from his face and he felt that morning’s breakfast rising to his throat. He kept his composure long enough to re-establish order in the tiny church. As soon as everyone had calmed down he calmly instructed them to head outside and wait in the even smaller church hall. His wife had regained consciousness at this point and he ordered her to call his good friend and solitary church elder. His wife left the building without a single glance back at the morbid sight and the reverend took a seat in the front row, waiting for his friend and toying with what was to be done. Soon the sound emitted from the organ became unbearable and the reverend stood up to leave the building again. In the forty years he had served his community, he had never had such a terrible thing occur in his church. He hadn’t known the young organist for long, yet he always thought of him as a pleasant young man and couldn’t even begin to comprehend what would drive him to such a terrible act. To the reverend, suicide was a sin and somehow he felt personally responsible for Samuel’s death. As he got top the door he had made up his mind to leave the whole mess to the police, when his eye caught something. Dangling in Samuel’s lifeless left hand was a piece of paper. A suicide note. The reverend froze for a second, contemplating his next move. Eventually curiosity got the better of him and he made his way over to the organ to free the note from the dead man’s hands. It was a small piece of paper, folded twice. He unfolded it once and found the words: “Please read to the whole congregation, I know they are waiting in the church hall”. The reverend frowned and saw a tiny sentence at the bottom: “This is my dying wish, do it”. The reverend knew he had no choice. He took the piece of paper outside and headed to the church hall where the rest of his congregation was waiting with anticipation. He gathered them all around and explained to them that he found a note and that Samuel wanted all of them to listen to what he was about to read. They all huddled together and silence fell over the room as the reverend started. “To all the members of the church: Sorry for ruining your morning. I will attempt to explain my actions to you and I hope that you forgive me. I believe it is important that you understand that it was your actions that drove me to do this and for that I have forgiven you. But you must know you drove me crazy. You literally made me lose my mind. As a religious man and a lover of music, I simply couldn’t bear the sound you made when the reverend asked you to stand and join him in singing a hymn. Time after time I have tried to get you to start singing from the first word, yet you refuse. Two or three people try at least and the rest seems to join in after the first line. What comes in between is a noise so damaging to the ear, that after a year of loyal service to this church I simply couldn’t stand it anymore. It is an incoherent soft drone somewhere between mumbling and wailing and it literally killed me. So it is up to you to decide if you want to fix this, but I hope that from now on every time you hear that awful sound between singing and moaning, you will think of me, and be haunted by the noise.

Five’s Alive 17 - The little number on my radio’s display screen suddenly takes up the whole car. No wonder I’m distracted. I can’t think properly and I definitely can’t focus on the road. Someone else was driving my car and it pisses me off. Not the fact that my seat was adjusted to accommodate a giant, not the fact that my mirrors show nothing but the roof and sides of my car. Not even the fact that my car smells like someone else’s cheap perfume and gym socks. Someone had the audacity to adjust the sound on my radio, that’s what really gets my blood boiling. I have an uncontrollable urge to press the volume button down twice. Or up three times. It’s not so much a superstition as a slight touch of OCD. Superstitions are for people with too much time on their hands. I prefer to think of it as a little quirk.It doesn’t make sense and I now it’s unreasonable, but it makes me really uncomfortable when the volume on any piece of equipment is not set to multiples of five. In the event that such a volume is unobtainable (it happens) the volume absolutely has to be set on an even number. For the mathematically challenged: two, four, five and six are fine, but one, three and seven: kill me now, please. It’s not that I‘m afraid of the other numbers really. It’s not the belief that the number 13 is unlucky that makes my skin crawl. Nope, it’s quite simply the nature and appearance of the number. If I had to describe it, it’s a bit like looking at someone whose cap is placed on their head off-centre. Not turned all the way to the side, like some rap artists wear them, just ever so slightly to the one side. It doesn’t bother you until you notice it, and when you do, you become obsessed with adjusting it. It’s the only thing you can think of or look at. This is what I feel like every single time I look at an odd number (excluding multiples of five, of course) on a radio. I can’t stand it. I must do something. I will change it. So I reach for the radio and press the volume button down twice. It’s still on 17. Then up three times, but it remains unchanged. What a superb time for my car’s mechanics to freak out! Extremely frustrated now, I smash the radio with the palm of my hand a few times, but the number remains the same. I stare at the radio and feel myself losing control. I’ll just throw the fucking thing out the window! 17! I glare at the little red number, willing it to change with all my might. I glare and I stare and I’m pretty sure I just saw the number flicker. I bang on the radio again, this time with the back of my hand and the number changes. Victorious, I look up too late to see the red lights.

Trassi

Julia was known for her cooking. Anything from authentic Mexican dishes to Mediterranean platters to oriental spreads. She was particularly famous for her “nasi goreng” recipe and decided to treat her guests to this special dish on that hot summer’s night. She spent the whole afternoon chopping vegetables and chicken breasts into tiny little pieces. The rice was cooked for the exactly the right length and the different sauces were lined up perfectly next to the big saucepan. She usually made a seafood variant, combining all sorts of delicious fruits of the sea with the freshest veggies and perfectly steamed rice, but that night she decided to try the chicken, as she remembered vaguely that her friend Fred was allergic to shellfish. The guests started arriving at dusk and everyone marvelled once again at the beautifully set table. Julia was born to entertain. The aroma escaping from the kitchen door every time Julia went to check on her dish was positively devastating and they couldn’t wait to sit down and try the dish their good friend had prepared for them. Soon all the guest had arrived and Julia suggested they all take their seats at the table. They finished a cold tomato soup and struggled to hide their disappointment when a salad was served as a second starter. No-one made any secret of the fact that they were there for the main course, as it had become customary for guests to try and name all the ingredients. In the forty years that they had been friends, they had figured out most of the basic ingredients and even a few of the spices, but no-one had ever gotten close to naming her secret ingredient and she intended to keep in that way. The guests finished the salad in no time and Julia smiled to herself as she went to add the finishing touches to her award-winning recipe. She fetched a small container form the back of the pantry and took out a sharp knife. Quickly checking that no-one was nearby, she scraped a few pieces, not even half a teaspoon, of the delicacy into the saucepan and stirred it one last time. The dish was perfect. Her guests eagerly awaited the arrival of the celebrated dish and all manners went out the door when she sat the saucepan down in the middle of the long dining table. Men and women scrambled to reach the pan and dished up in a matter of minutes. The room became silent as everyone chewed on their food, closing their eyes to savour the taste and to try and get a better idea of what exactly went into the dish. Julia smiled, knowing they will never guess her secret ingredient. She was watching her friends enjoy the food, when she noticed Fred looking a bit red. She put it down to the November heat and watched as the rest of her guests finished their plates and dug in to get seconds. She glanced over at Fred once more and noticed that his upper lip was starting to swell. It continued to get worse as she watched him and she asked him if he was okay. He replied that he wasn’t feeling great but that it was probably just an allergy. That didn’t make sense to anyone as they all knew he was allergic to shellfish, but there was no shellfish in the dish that night. In less than two minutes his lips were swollen to four times their usual size and he started to complain that he was having difficulty breathing. Julia thought back to the last ingredient she had added to her dish and her heart sank. The “trassi”! She had completely forgotten that it contained small but very concentrated amounts of prawn stock. She would have to tell her friend. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She watched her friend turn dark purple as his throat continued to swell. She knew if she just came clean, they would have time to rush them to the hospital where he could get the necessary injection. But then everyone would know her secret ingredient. The secret she’d been keeping for forty years. By saving her friend’s life she would be giving away the secret to her spectacular dish and soon all her friends would be making the dish. She couldn’t let that happen. So she watched her friend turn from purple to blue as he fell of his chair and let out his last breath.

Price of Fame

She always knew she was destined for fame, but being too shy to approach a modeling agency, she decided to get her “big break” the way her role model did- by being on TV by accident. She would go on to be the reluctant star, telling everyone she never wanted to be famous. She would develop an irresponsible drug habit and die a tragic death at a very young age. She was going to be Pretoria’s Pamela. She worked as a waitress in a small coffee shop and spent all her free time, money and energy on reaching her goal. She slept with the grounds man at SuperSport Park to get a season ticket and went there to watch the Titans play every chance she got. She spent all her money on looking good. On the day, she would spend an hour in the hair salon and at least two hours doing her make up to get the perfect natural look. After three months without success, she realised she would have to step up her game. So, on the 17th of November, during the big Pro 20 final, she added a little extra make up and headed off to the game once again. She found a spot close to a cameraman and prepared herself for fame. Throughout the game she eyed the cameraman constantly and finally, during the last over she got her opportunity. The camera turned around to face the crowd and she could see her reflection in the lens. She flashed her biggest smile and lifted her top, revealing her two pert breasts. She heard the crowd go “ooh” and closed her eyes to bask in the moment. Then there was a gasp. The next day, the newspaper read: “Titans Win Pro20” with the subheading: “Bittersweet Victory as Cricket Ball Claims Flasher.” She got everything she wanted.

Screenplay “Relations”

INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT We see feet moving swiftly over a polished, white hospital floor. They turn a few corners and move towards an open door. As the feet pass through the door, they approach two other pairs of shoes: a pair of leopard print heels with red soles and a well-worn pair of leather loafers. INT. HOSPITAL - WAITING ROOM - CONTINUOUS A young, scatterbrained doctor is standing in front of a man and woman, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The couple looks up at him in anticipation. DOCTOR: Um yah, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Michael needs the transplant. Isabelle Danielson, a beautiful 43-year-old brunette and her husband Tony look at the doctor, confused. TONY: I’m sorry, what now doctor? DOCTOR: Oh sorry, I thought Dr Emerson filled you in. We’ll need to do the transplant to save your son’s life. TONY: I’m still kind of lost. What transplant? The doctor lets out an impatient sigh. DOCTOR: Bone. Bone marrow. We need to do a bone marrow transplant as soon as possible. Oh and one of you will need to donate. Isabelle’s head snaps up. ISABELLE: “I'll do it.”

DOCTOR: Thanks, but we’ll test you both, just in case you are not a perfect match. Isabelle frowns. Tony gives her a reassuring hug. TONY: It’s ok, we’ll be a match. Tony winks at his wife. TONY: A perfect match. DOCTOR: Oh-key, don’t mean to interrupt, but we need to get the tests done like now, so if you could just follow me… TONY: Ready? ISABELLE: Uh-huh, let’s do it. They get up and follow the doctor out of the room. INT. HOSPITAL – DOCTOR’S ROOM- MOMENTS LATER The doctor is preparing to extract Isabelle. Isabelle is twirling her and looks around the tiny room. human anatomy catches her eye distractedly.

some spinal fluid from hair around her finger A huge poster of the and she studies it

ISABELLE: So, how exactly does this work, doctor? DOCTOR: Well, it’s going to be pretty painful, but I’ll be quick. The doctor chuckles to himself awkwardly. Isabelle shakes her head.

12 ISABELLE: No um, I mean, how will you know if we’re suitable donors? DOCTOR: Oh, sorry. I’ll take a small sample and we’ll do some tests. Don’t worry though, it’s highly unlikely you won’t be a match. I mean, you are his parents after all. Isabelle is not amused with his comment. She distractedly twirls a strand of hair and tries to hide her discomfort. INT. HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM- CONTINUOUS Isabelle is sitting alone, waiting for Tony to return. She taps her foot on the floor, deep in thought. Tony enters the room. She looks at him and then looks at the floor. TONY: Well that wasn’t too much fun, hey? Isabelle looks away and pretends not to notice her husband. TONY: I’m sorry, I know it’s been tough… Isabelle looks in the direction of the vending machine. TONY: Come now, in a few hours we’ll know if we can help Michael. Doctor Ross assured me that one of us would be a compatible donor. Isabelle turns her head and looks her husband in the eye. ISABELLE: Tony, we kind of need to talk. There’s something I haven’t been…

Annabelle, Isabelle’s twin sister and her husband Tim, Tony’s twin brother walk in the room and cut her short. The sight of her twin sister makes Isabelle sigh and sink back into her chair. Annabelle rushes to comfort her sister and Tim takes a seat next to Tony. TIM: These doctors always make it sound worse than it actually is. 17 years in practice, I’ve never had a case where at least one parent wasn’t a genetic match. You’ll probably end up fighting over who’ll to save his life. Isabelle gets up and walks outside. EXT. HOSPITAL - CONTINUOUS Isabelle stands outside alone for a few minutes, gathering her thoughts and getting some fresh air. She sees a male nurse smoking in the corner ISABELLE: Mind if I have one? NURSE: These things will kill you. ISABELLE: I hope they do. He hands her a cigarette and lights it for her. She takes two drags and puts it out. Then she turns around and heads back into the hospital with a determined step. INT. HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM - CONTINUOUS As Isabelle approaches the waiting room door she sees the doctor talking to Tony in a hushed voice. Tony has a frown on his face. She listens from the door and as Annabelle and Tim move closer to the conversation she bursts in the door. ISABELLE: Tony, I…

TONY: Oh, you heard. The doctor says neither of us are a match. They fast tracked the test so they could operate sooner, but… ISABELLE: Tony, just listen. I really need to tell you something. Annabelle and Tim look at her inquisitively and she turns to them. ISABELLE: You guys better listen too, this affects all of us,. The doctor looks at Isabelle curiously. ISABELLE: Well, not you, do you mind? The doctor shrugs and heads to the door. DOCTOR: I guess I’ll give you some privacy. The doctor leaves the room. INT. HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM - CONTINUOUS Isabelle, Tony, Annabelle and Tim are in the waiting room. No one says a word. Everyone watches Isabelle, who is staring at her hands. Annabelle finally breaks the silence. ANNABELLE: Um… Isabelle looks up at her sister, determined to finally get the truth out in the open. ISABELLE: Anna, you know that thing we did? Years ago, a few days before the wedding.

15 ANNABELLE: What? ISABELLE: That thing when we swapped… ANNABELLE: Bella don’t. Why do you have to bring that up? TIM: What are you guys taking about? ANNABELLE: It’s nothing. ISABELLE: It’s not nothing. It’s something. Something big. TIM: You two aren’t making any sense. ISABELLE: Tony, a few nights before our wedding, Anna and I traded… ANNABELLE: Why are you… ISABELLE: Traded identities for one night. She dated you and I dated Tim. It was a joke. Like a test to see if we were with the right twin. Something suddenly dawns on Tim. His eyes widen and he looks at Isabelle, horrified. TIM: Don’t tell me… ISABELLE: Yes. You see Anna, what I never told you is that I accidentally slept with Tim that night.

ANNABELLE: You what? How? Tim? ISABELLE: He didn’t know. He thought I was you. ANNABELLE: But then what… TIM: I still don’t get how this… Isabelle gets up and starts pacing around the room. ISABELLE: You know how we always said Michael was a honeymoon baby? TIM: I can’t listen to this. Tim gets up and leaves the room. ANNABELLE: What are you saying? ISABELLE: Michael isn’t Tony’s son. ANNABELLE: He’s Tim’s. She shakes her head and stares at her sister. ANNABELLE: I can’t believe you never… ISABELLE: I wanted to say something, I just never… Tony re-enters the room.

TIM: I’m having myself tested to see if I can save your son… my son’s life. ISABELLE: Tim, don’t be like… Tim just shakes his head at her and walks out the door, followed closely by Annabelle. Isabelle looks at Tony, who still hasn’t said anything. ISABELLE: Tony please, I meant to… TONY: Don’t. Tony gets up and heads toward the door. TONY: Just don’t. I’m going to check on Michael. I really think you’d better stay here. ISABELLE: Tony please, don’t you know how hard it’s been for me… TONY: I know. He gives her a pitiful glance. TONY: Well, your secret’s out. I guess you did a good thing tonight. For your son. Tony turns around and leaves the room. Isabelle sits in the waiting room by herself, watching her family walk away from her.

the rise of the anorak

henda scott

“Hi, I’m Teddy and I love aeroplanes.” “Hi Teddy” Their pale faces simultaneously nod up and down in acknowledgement as they echo my first words of greeting. For a moment I’m not sure if I can continue. How do I tell these complete strangers that I find the amount of bolts found in a Boeing 747 fascinating? Would they find it weird that I lie awake at night listening to the sound of planes passing above my house, naming every single one? Never mind the fact that I actually sold my fully furnished Mooikloof mansion to move into a bed-sitter in Boksburg, just to be near the airport. At least I kept my model aeroplane collection, which is safely kept in a storage garage. Although really it

Chapter 1

should be in a museum… “Teddy, would you like to share some more?” It’s the leader, Andy, who welcomed me tonight as if he’d known me for years. All smiles and pats on the back, very creepy to say the least. Even creepier was the way he recognised me as soon as I walked in the small door at the back of the hall. It was like he was expecting me, or something. Now he looks at me with the most patient expression, while the others around me start to rock impatiently in their plastic chairs. “No, Andy, not tonight.” I mumble and take my seat again. Andy turns his attention to the tall geeky-looking guy sitting next to me. He tilts his head forward, as if to give some sort of go-ahead and the guy responds with a nod. This ought to be good. As the geek launches into a tale about the earth shattering realisation he made this week I resist the urge to roll my eyes and amuse myself by imagining all these losers in a ten-seater, heading straight for the peak of mount Kilimanjaro. This little fantasy keeps me going for a while, but by the time the aeroplane turns to a little heap of burnt metal and I realise the geek is still coming to terms with his discovery, I get a little pissed off. He’s been going on for more than twenty minutes and no one gives a shit. It’s not interesting dude, get the fuck on, there’s plenty more people with lame stories who want to spill their guts and still get home before the sun rises. After what feels like another hour the geek finally gets too choked up to finish and I have to sit on my hands not to get up and cheer in ecstasy. It’s done. Finally, I can go home… My relief disappears just as soon as it came. I look at the

pathetic faces around me, staring vacantly around the room, all just waiting to share the same story. You have got to be kidding me. It hits me that for the rest of this never-ending night, Andy is going to go around the room giving everyone a chance to introduce themselves (who cares?) and state their addiction (get over it already!). If I’m lucky, some will even take the time to describe exactly what they love about a certain boring thing and I’ll be able to imagine more horrifying plane crashes to keep myself from laughing in disgust. Honestly, the things that some of these people find interesting is fucking insane. Why am I even in the same room as these freaks?

15 September 1973. The day it all started. I guess if there were anyone I needed to blame for my passion for aeroplanes it would be my dad. Not that I would ever blame him. I am eternally thankful towards him for introducing me to the fascinating world of aircraft. It was a Saturday. My father woke me early that morning. It was still dark outside, so I guess it must have been before five. He had been promising me a big adventure since my fourth birthday in June d I had trouble sleeping in the three months that followed. For a little boy thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a hell of a long time and I was thrilled when he informed me one Monday that the special day was to be in less than a week. That whole damn week I bugged him to tell me what it was,

Chapter 2

My dad had a few friends who were taking part in the show and he introduced me to them. I still didn’t really understand what was going on and what the fuss was about (I mean, it was no Disneyland) so I kind of tagged along and hid behind his leg as he chatted with all his buddies. He was a retired air force pilot. He met my mother during a weekend he spent with his superior officer in Johannesburg and not long after they got married he decided to leave the army for a more stable job in the city. He rarely got a chance

but he refused. I had guessed everything from a new pony (God knows why), to a trip to Disneyland or a new brother. With every guess my dad just chuckled and said in his mysterious tone: “You just wait and see.” And I did. When he came to wake me that morning I was up in a minute and dressed in two. We quietly snuck out of the house (my mom was still sleeping as she was not invited to come along on our little adventure). We got in my dad’s old Anglia and took off into the darkness. The drive felt like it was taking forever. I was too excited to sleep again, so I watched the streetlights go by and the city slowly awaking from a night of shameless sin. After what felt like an eternity we finally arrived at the destination. Lanseria. The sound of that word gets me excited to this very day. It sounded like a magical place, the never-never land of the modern kid. My dad explained to me that we were going to see something very special: an air show. Back then, to me aeroplanes were still somewhat of a novelty. I had seen some of them in my dad’s magazines and heard them pass above in he distance, but I had never seen an aircraft of something resembling one up close.

to catch up with his old friends, as they never really understood why he left and resented my mother for making him leave. Most of them even refused to come to our house to see my mother, so on these rare occasions that they did get together it was always fascinating to listen to them recounting their days of serving the country together. The grounds got more crowded as people started arriving by the truckload. Stalls were setting up, getting ready to prepare greasy snacks for all the visitors. I was eyeing a cottoncandy stall, when a deafening noise suddenly came from the sky above. I clutched my hand over my ears, closed my eyes and started to scream. My dad must’ve found it hilarious, because when I finally stopped screaming and dared to open my eyes I saw him and his buddies all laughing at me. I was in shock. I still remember his old lieutenant’s red face contorting with laughter. They were laughing at me, a poor little boy who was convinced the end of the world had arrived. I looked at my dad with a trembling lower lip. He obviously saw how upset I was, because he came over to me and kneeled down to talk to me. “It’s a fighter jet, Teddy. Isn’t it amazing?” I still couldn’t open my mouth to respond, so he went on. “We’re at an air show, remember? We’re going to be looking a aeroplanes and jets the whole day.” He patiently explained. “But it hurts my ears” I started to whine. I was a real sissy back then. I wished my dad and I could just get back in the car and go home. I didn’t want to stay and look at noisy, scary aeroplanes the whole day. I stomped my foot on the ground for good measure. One of my dad’s army friends called him over and he left me standing there, sulking. I turned my back on them and looked over my shoulder every once in a while to try and figure out what they were

plotting. Eventually the skinny bearded one walked over o a car and produced what looked like a set of red balls. I squinted to try and figure out what it was but I would never have guessed. My dad came over and presented me with the pair of earmuffs. They looked interesting, but I had no clue what they were, as my dad refused to keep guns in the house and forbid me to go near one (he was a bit weird like that, I guess it had something to do with the things he saw in the air force). He separated the two red earpieces and placed them over my small head. Silence. Suddenly everything around me became quiet and I could hear the rhythm of my own breathing. My dad smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up signal. I copied the gesture. Everything was okay. I couldn’t hear the crowd chattering away, or the red-faced lieutenant’s evil laugh. But most importantly I couldn’t hear the deafening sound of the fighter jets flying overhead. That day turned out to be the best day of my life. With the earmuffs safely on my ears I gazed up at all the fascinating planes circling above us. I looked in wonder as they did loops and dives and swirled past one another. After a while I got so into it that I took the earmuffs off. My dad looked down at me and patted me on the back rather roughly. “Now you can talk with the big boys, Teddy.” The planes kept coming and the tricks got better and better. My jaw must have been dragging on the floor, as I looked at al the things these foreign objects were capable of. It couldn’t get any better than this. Then my dad announced that he had another special treat for me. He led me over to a demarcated area, where two men in uniform were guarding the entrance. I tried to peek

in behind them and saw what looked like the tail of an aircraft. I almost peed my pants with excitement. My dad whispered something to the one guard, who looked at me doubtfully. Then he smiled and nodded to the other guard who stepped away from the entrance to let us through. I was giggling like a little girl. I entered this magical world of planes and jets and pilots and wings and all I could do was stare in absolute amazement. Everything was so big and impressive, I felt like the smallest 4 year old in the world. I walked around each plane, closely inspecting all the detail and running my hand along the length. My dad’s old roommate walked over to me, smiling. “Wanna get in boy?” The magical words. I was pretty mesmerized by then, but those words sealed my fate. I had never seen anything as beautiful as the inside of that small jet engine. During the drive home it was all I could talk about and my dad listened to every word. I guess I can understand now that the reason for our trip was that he desperately wanted someone to share his love of aeroplanes. I never realised what he had given up hen he left the air force and my mom never let him talk about it. That must’ve been his way of showing me. Unaware of all these underlying issues and the perhaps deceitful reason for the excursion, I kept chatting away about steering wheels, lights and switches. When we arrived home I walked straight into the kitchen where my mom was putting the final touches on my birthday cake and announced: “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a pilot.” We never ate birthday cake that night. My mom and dad got into a huge fight spent the rest of the night in my room listening to them argue. I reached into my backpack and got

out my pair of red earmuffs. I put them on and lay on the bed, away from the screaming and crying. I closed my eyes and pictured myself behind the steer of a fighter jet. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. The next morning my dad woke me with the bad news. “Mommy has gone away for a while.” I looked up at my dad whose face seemed tired and old. “Daddy, when can we go to the air show again?”

I was hooked. From that day on all I could talk about were aeroplanes. My dad, obviously trying to compensate for the fact that my bitch of a mother had just walked out on us, bought me the most spectacular toy plane set you could imagine. I carried them everywhere with me. I refused to leave the house unless all three my master aeroplanes were in my backpack, ready to see the world with me. I couldn’t understand why other boys were playing with Lego, wasting their time to build houses and police stations, when I could just get out my planes and fly around their little imaginary city. I landed everywhere, on their roofs and in their gardens. I even squashed a few of their

Chapter 3

men sometimes, when my landing wasn’t perfect (but that rarely happened, I was always on top of my game). Pretty soon they got tired of me ruining their game and once again it was just my planes and I. I would run around the schoolyard for hours, “flying” from the swing set to the sandpit and over to the doll house. I was happy. Sometimes I would notice the other kids’ parents looking at me in a weird way. I guess they were feeling sorry for me because my mom had left, yet they never said anything. To me, in anyway. To be honest I don’t think I really knew what was going on and it didn’t bother me too much. My dad was doing a great job of taking care of me and with my mom out of the house we had all the time in the world to go to air shows. We started going to the air force base more often. This suited both my dad and me, as he could catch up with his buddies and I could look at aeroplanes. Soon it became a weekly thing. We would spend either Saturday or Sunday hanging around the base. My dad started acting like he was in the army again, drinking and smoking and playing card games for hours. After we had gone to see the new planes we would go back to a large shed where the planes were being repaired and they would start their game. I always sat a few feet away, playing with my toy fleet. I remember my dad swearing a lot, which I found weird as he used to always tell me to close ears before saying anything rude. I suppose it must have been tough for him. Raising a little boy by himself. At least we shared one special thing, our love for the sky. As soon as I could read I started to devour everything I could on my favourite subject. My dad couldn’t buy all the books that I wanted, so he took me to the library to take out

all the books I wanted. By the time I started school I had read and memorised “The Four Forces of Aerodynamics” and I would walk around the house chanting them: “Lift, thrust, drag,” and my favourite one of all, “gravity.” I was looking forward to learning more about my passion at school, unfortunately the teachers didn’t share my passion for flying and after I threw a fir for having to read “ Betsy goes to the Market” along with the rest of the class my dad was called in. The teacher told him I was “disruptive” and “a nuisance” and that he would have to make plan to discipline me if I wanted to be in her class. My dad told her she could go fuck herself (he didn’t know I was listening in on their conversation) and took me home. That was my last day at primary school. My dad got a young teaching student to home school me and I loved it. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen and so smart. She immediately picked up on my love for aircraft and prepared all her lessons around that. Maths consisted of counting aeroplanes geography related easily and history was also tweaked to be of interest to me. She got me. When she eventually got her degree after five years and went off to teach at a private school I was inconsolable for weeks. My dad tried to cheer me up with a bunch of books on aeroplanes but I was still mad. I couldn’t understand why the only female I knew who shared my great passion had to leave. I refused to speak to her when she told me she was leaving, so she wrote me a little note: “Spread your wings and fly, Teddy. Love Doreen” I only read it about two months after she’d gone and then I wanted to kick myself. In my delusional state I somehow

imagined that she meant I should literally fly and I became obsessed with trying to achieve that. I studied books on flying machines and started to develop a range of prototypes. I tested each one by jumping from the top of our empty doghouse. They all failed miserably. I had just about given up all hope of ever flying when I stumbled upon some drawings by Leonardo Da Vinci. These gave me a new outlook on life. If course I didn’t have a bicycle to power my machine, but I was inspired nonetheless. I collected feathers in our garden and around the neighbourhood for a week and started to build my wings. I glued them to two long branches covered with cardboard. They looked quite impressive. The test run from the doghouse was a great success. I flapped them a bit and I could swear it took me longer to get to the ground than it usually does. It was finally time for me to fly. I was set on showing Doreen and my dad and the teachers and the boys from my crèche that could do it. Ironically no one was around for the big moment. I had pictured it in my head so many times, me flying high up in the air while everybody stood gaping at me from below. But it was just me. I ran to the side of the house, with my wings safely under my left arm. I used the burglar bars on the kitchen window as a ladder and slowly made my way up onto the roof. I was clutching the wings between my teeth by now and the feathers almost made me gag. After much effort I was on top. I stood up and looked out over the quiet neighbourhood. It amused me that no one was aware of the fact that any moment I could go flying past their windows. I took great care in strapping on my

I survived. Which was a miracle considering that I’d jumped off a 5meter roof and plummeted straight onto the cement below. I don’t remember what happened after I hit the ground but I woke up in hospital, bruised, aching and covered in plaster. The doctor told me I had broken twelve bones and chipped another eight. I was going to have to be in that body cast for at least four months. This is also the first time I was introduced to a psychiatrist. My dad was certain that there had to be something seriously wrong with me mentally. “An eleven year old doesn’t just jump off a building, does he?” I heard him ask one of the nurses. The psychiatrist was amazingly nice and I found it easy to talk to her. She never asked me any serious questions and we basically just spent an hour every day chatting. When I was well enough to go home, I left the hospital and never saw her again. She must’ve told my dad I was okay, because he never asked me to see a shrink again. Recovery was a new adventure. As I was trapped in a full body cast, I asked my dad to bring me all the material he could find on aeroplanes. It was also during this time that I discovered the art of paper aeroplanes. As I could fold the paper myself, I got our housekeeper to sit on my bed and fold the sheets of paper according to my strict instructions.

wings and flapped them a few times just to make sure they were still in tact. Swoosh-swoosh. Perfect. I stepped over to the edge of the roof and looked down. I couldn’t believe my eyes. We only had a one-storey house, but to an eleven year old, that’s pretty high. I considered just dropping the whole thing, but I couldn’t. I wanted to prove myself. So I closed my eyes and jumped.

At the end of the day we would go outside and see how far the aeroplane could fly. I read somewhere that the longest flight for a paper aeroplane was 193 feet, a record held by a guy named Tony Fletch and I made it my mission to beat him. Of course I never succeeded, but we had a lot of fun trying. My dad was spending more time at the air force base, but wouldn’t let me go with anymore. It started to get lonely at home, as I still hadn’t attended another day of school in my life and didn’t have any friends. When I turned fourteen I announced to my dad: “I want to go back to school” He didn’t ask any questions. The next day he took me to the high school a few kilometres from our house and enrolled me. It turned out high school was a lot better than primary school and I had lots of friends. The school library had tons of books on aircraft and I spent most of my time in there reading about my favourite models and photocopying pictures for my room. This is also where I finally made up my mind to be a pilot. It had always been my dream, but now I could actually study things like maths and geography, that would help me a lot. I was the happiest I had been in years. My dad ad I started to drift further apart, but I had school to occupy me and he had his own problems. I matriculated with a distinction and got accepted into the Zwartkop Academy to become a pilot. My dream was becoming a reality and it was about to get so much better.

During my second year at the academy I met my wife, Danielle. I still remember the day we met. I was having drinks with all my buddies from flight school when she came in. She was wearing a very low cut dress and ever guy in the clubhouse was staring at her. No one had the nerve to approach this goddess. I caught her eye a few times, but she was with a very unfortunate-looking girlfriend. I knew if I wanted to get to know her someone would have to occupy her friend. It was time to call in the proverbial wingman. This term was used daily at the academy and we all knew what it entailed, both in the air and on the ground. I knew just the guy for the job, although I also knew it would take some convinc-

Chapter 4

ing and a lot of rum and coke to get him to play along. She turned out to be great. She immediately took a liking to me (or at least that’s what I thought, she’s never denied it). We spent the whole evening chatting and I found that she was also interesting in aeroplanes. I couldn’t believe it. I had learnt to stop obsessing over them, but somehow, deep down I needed to find out. We dated for about a month before I proposed. She was horrified and told me I was too soon, so I waited…a week. Then I decided I would convince her by doing things the old fashioned way. I asked her dad, whom I had only met once before, if I could marry his daughter. “Are you kidding me?” this charismatic man literally laughed in my face. When I assured him that I was not and that I really wanted to marry his daughter, he turned serious. “Just promise me one thing,” he said. I was preparing myself for the “You-ever-hurt-my-daughter-you-will-die-speech”. Instead he took my shoulder firmly in his right hand and stared me straight in the eye. “If you ever, ever need anything, always come to me.” And that was it. The very next day I proposed and she said yes. The date was set for three months later. My dad was thrilled when I told him. A few months earlier he had been diagnosed with lug cancer and his health was deteriorating fast. Danielle loved my dad very much and spent the days leading up to our wedding in hospital, by his side, supporting him. I admired her for it. Now I sometimes wonder if she wasn’t using him as a means to dodge her mother who was running all the wedding arrangements with military precision. As sweet as Mrs Miles was, she was one of the last old-

school socialites, whose world revolved around weddings, christenings, 21sts and funerals. Any event was just another reason to dress up and show the world how much money they had. She was extremely upset when she found out she only had a few weeks to plan the biggest day of her only daughter’s life. The wedding was a fancy affair. I didn’t recognise half the people there and I remember wondering at one stage if anyone would really notice if I wasn’t there. Then I caught Danielle’s eye and she smiled at me in a way I’ve never seen her smile before. Everything about her was glowing. People use that saying too liberally, but on that day I was certain there was a little halo around my young wife. My dad couldn’t attend the wedding. His condition had worsened to such a degree that he had trouble turning over in bed. He passed away while we were on our honeymoon and left us the biggest present we could ask for. Our first home. Danielle and I moved in immediately and started talking about starting a family. I only had three months of training left before I was a qualified pilot and we felt we were as ready as we’ll ever be. Everything seemed perfect until the day of what turned out to be my last flight as captain of a plane. The day a little part of me died.

I was a nervous wreck. I had been preparing for my final flight exam for most of my life and I couldn’t believe it when the day finally arrived. My last day as a student. From then on it would be just me and the sky. No instructors or captains yelling at me to do something. I would make all the decisions and finally do the one thing I’ve wanted to do since the day of my first air show. I knew all my material off by heart. I wasn’t going to let a technicality stand in the way of my dream. Throughout the four years at flight school I had always been the top student, getting 100% for every test and flying like an absolute pro. The final hurdle to reaching my goal was my final practical. I was ready.

Chapter 5

Danielle got up early that morning to prepare me my favourite breakfast, poached eggs on brown toast, but I was too nervous to eat. I left my food untouched and drove to the testing grounds. It was still dark outside and I sat alone in my car, visualising the flight and mentally preparing myself for what was to come. Just after six o’ clock, my examiner arrived. He was an instructor at another flight school and I’d seen him around a few times, but we never officially met. I knew he was one of the best, but also one of the strictest. He’d been known to fail someone for simply forgetting to use the correct term for cloud density. We headed inside together, to fill out the correct forms and wait for the go-ahead to start the test. He didn’t say a word to me as we filled in the numerous forms and when all the formalities were done he nodded towards a small aeroplane standing in the hangar and uttered two simple words: “Let’s go.” My hands started shaking ever so slightly. I had flown a plane so many times before, yet this time it was different. This time, if anything went wrong my dream would be shattered. I took a few breaths to calm myself as I climbed into the cockpit. It was a perfect day. The skies were clear and there was barely any wind. My examiner got in the seat next to me and waited. I established communication with the control tower and they gave me the signal to take off. Here we go. I executed a perfect take off and within five minutes we were soaring in the air. I awaited further instructions from my passenger, but he kept silent, so I circled the airport a few times and then headed north. As soon as I passed over the firs set of hills I began to relax. I was born to fly; I simply had to let my instincts take over. We flew around for anoth-

er half an hour, my passenger still dead quiet. I was flying a very light plane and I saw that we were getting low on fuel. “I’ll have to turn back pretty soon, the fuel’s getting low” I screamed over the noise of the plane, hoping he would give me an indication of what else he expected me to do before I pass. He just looked at me and nodded. So I turned the plane around in one smooth motion and headed back towards the airport. We were about ten minutes away from the airport when he finally turned to me. “You know you failed before we even took off.” He was dead serious. I almost lost control of the plane. “I wha…how?” I was finding it hard to speak. He went on without looking a me. “You never performed an inspection of the plane before we left. You put both our lives in danger and I’m afraid I can’t give you your license. The inspection! Of course. I had been so nervous I completely forgot to check that the plane was safe to take off. How could I have been so stupid? I sat in silence as I saw the airport coming closer. I had blown it. My vision went blurry as I felt the tears well up. I swallowed a few times to regain my composure, but it was hard. As we finally got to the airport tried to establish radio contact with the tower again, but he stopped me. “I’ll give you one more chance.” He frowned as he looked at me. “Say your plane was defect and you didn’t pick it up, because you felt it was unnecessary to check you r plane before take-off…” Again I felt myself go bright red with embarrassment. “Let’s say your engine cut out. I want you switch off one

engine and perform an emergency landing. If you succeed, I will give you your license. If you don’t…” He didn’t have to finish. I knew what would happen if an emergency landing failed. I couldn’t believe the amount of pressure this guy was putting on me, but I felt a little better knowing he was trusting me with his life as well. I took a few breaths and reached over to switch off one engine. Immediately the plane swerved to the side and I battled to keep control of the steering wheel. It took me a few moments to get the plane straightened out again and then I prepared myself for the landing. I glanced over at my passenger who was looking slightly pale and smiled to myself. In a few moments I would show him what I was made of. The plane was losing speed and air rapidly and I noticed the ground was closer than I had anticipated. I pulled the lever to release the wheels as we approached an altitude of 500 metres. Nothing happened. The plane kept going lower and lower and the wheels would drop. I started banging on the lever, desperately trying to get it to work but it was no use. We were now only a few hundred metres above the ground and I knew I would have to land the plane without wells. Double emergency landing. I had never done tat before in my life, but I was sure I could do it. I knew it would be better to land in a field or in trees than on the tarmac and turned the nose of the small aircraft in the direction of an open field. We would hit the ground in a few seconds and I braced myself, waiting for impact. We hit the ground and I felt myself lurching forward and then shaking from side to side like a rag doll. The sound of scratching metal was deafening and I prayed it would all be over soon. After about a minute or so it went quiet and I heard the steel face say. “Well done boy, you deserve this.”

I tried to thank him but I couldn’t speak. I opened my mouth a few times, but no words came out. I remember trying to lift my head and then I blacked out from the pain. I woke up in hospital a few days later. My license was lying by my bedside table and Danielle was sleeping in a chair in the corner of my room. I tried to reach for the little piece of paper but I couldn’t move. I was in a full body cast. The accident. I couldn’t turn my head, so I rolled my eyes all the way o the side to look at the license I had wanted all my life. Finally I had it, but I knew I would never be able to use it. I became withdrawn, refusing to talk to anyone including my doctors and Danielle. She eventually gave up and asked the doctor for a psychiatrist. I thought back of my first experience with a psychiatrist as an 11 year old. What good was a bit of chatting going to do me now? The psychiatrist looked a lot different from the one I remembered. I don’t know why, but at that moment I expected my childhood psychiatrist to walk in there and tell everyone to stop worrying, I would be fine. But she didn’t. The only one who could do that for me was a bald little man with strange glasses and a half-smile. He spoke to me about thing I couldn’t understand. After a while I switched off and decided to just let him talk. He didn’t appreciate this. As the weeks drew on these appointments got more and more tiring and eventually I just pretended to be asleep when he came into my room. I slept a lot. Most of my stay in hospital went by in a blur of painkillers and dreams. Danielle was always there yet I doubt whether I spoke more than three sentences a day with her. The day of my release was getting closer and I was looking forward to just going home and resuming my life, although I had no idea what I would do. My injuries were so serious

the doctor assured me I would never be able to fly a plane again. The night after he said that to me I threw away the little piece of paper that was till ling by my bed. It was useless. The day finally arrived when I could leave the sterilised jungle and go home. Danielle fetched me with her dad’s car and four male nurses had to help me get in the back. I leaned against the window, extremely uncomfortable in my body cast. I watched the streets go by in a blur. Danielle was very quiet in the front and it suited me. I didn’t know what to say to her. When we passed by the way to our house I coughed to get her attention. She looked at me in the mirror and just kept on going. “You’re not ready to go home Ted.” She managed to croak, her eyes welling up with tears. “What the fuck?” I was livid “Where are we going?” She was taken aback by my sudden outburst. Then she burst out in tears and came clean. I can’t remember all of what she said, but it came down to the fact that the bald psychiatrist had diagnosed me with depression and recommended I spend the rest of my recovery time in a mental institution. A fucking loony bin. I was there for three months, but if felt like an eternity. In hell. During the first week I refused to speak to anyone. Then one night a friendly nurse sat down on my bed and explained to me that in order for me to get better, I would have to participate in therapy. So I started seeing a psychiatrist. This time it was someone I could talk to and I felt at ease again. My new psychiatrist prescribed some anti-depressants and monitored my progress. After a month I was ready to speak

to Danielle again. We had a long talk about how I felt she betrayed me and she explained she was only doing it to help me. I accepted this (the drugs made me very forgiving) and soon she came to see me everyday. We started building up our relationship again and even talked about having kids. I couldn’t wait to get out of that shit hole and back to my life. When they finally released me, Danielle wasn’t there to pick me up. Outside I saw the big black Mercedes waiting and I knew who had come to fetch me. The driver opened the door and I got in. Mr Miles turned to me with an enormous grin on his face. “I’ve got a proposition for you.” And that’s how I came to work for my father-in-law.

The corporate world suited me. Being the boss’ only son-inlaw meant only a few months of training before I was given a job as account manager. I had a lot of power. Never having been interested in anything but aeroplanes I hadn’t considered any alternative jobs to being a pilot, but I got the hang of business and to my own surprise I really liked it. At first I was embarrassed about the fact that I only got the job because of Danielle’s dad, but I got over it when my first proper pay check came in. whoever said money can’t buy happiness must’ve been a poor loser. Danielle and I moved into a bigger house and were living a good life. Her dad travelled a lot and pretty soon I was in charge of running the whole Johannesburg branch of his company. I was in my

Chapter 6

element. I worked long days and played golf over weekends. Danielle started to complain that I was spending too much time away from home, so I bought us a huge mansion in the Mooikloof Golf Estate. There I could play golf without being too far from home and she could keep horses and go riding every day. Our lives had turned out so different from what we had imagined when we first got married, but we were happy again. We were the most perfect damn couple in the world. I had been five years since my accident and I thought I had moved on. I sold all my model aeroplanes and got rid of all my flying gear. My obsession was becoming something of the past. I did however do everything I could to stay away from airports and aeroplanes, as it still hurt when I thought back of what could have been, but for the most part I had moved on. Then one day I got a call from the boss. There was a meeting in New York he was supposed to attend, but he broke his leg skiing in Switzerland and he needed a replacement. I hesitated. “I don’t know, Phil.” was all I could say. But he insisted and so the next day Danielle took me to the airport for the first time in six years. I was scared, excited and nervous. As we turned a corner and I saw the tails of the big Boeing 747 on the tarmac my heart started to race. All my old feelings came rushing back to me in a second and when Danielle parked at the drop-off zone I jumped out of the car and ran into the airport at full speed, leaving her standing next to the car. When I returned I was a changed man. My obsession grew by the day and Danielle couldn’t understand it. Our marriage started to crumble. To add even more pressure, on the day I got back from the trip she informed me she was preg-

nant. I was definitely not ready to raise a child. I didn’t even remember we were trying. I started to isolate myself again and stayed at the office till late at night, reading up on the latest developments in the aircraft industry. When I got home one night there was a note from Danielle. “I’m going to live with my parents for a while. I’m carrying your child and you’re never here. I can’t do this alone.” I tossed the note to the side and went to bed. The next morning I had made up my mind and I phoned an estate agent. There was no way I was staying in that mansion by myself and besides, id seen a great little apartment to rent the last time I was at the airport. By the weekend I had already settled into my new place. Danielle finally showed up a few days later.

Shit on walls. That’s what you get. I only truly understood the expression “the shit hits the fan” when my wife came home to find our furniture gone and an estate agent (very charming young man with alarmingly white teeth) showing a sweet young couple our dining room. There’s a certain shade of red your wife goes when she realises her husband cares more about aeroplanes than about her and I guarantee you it’s not a shade you want to see on anybody. I know it was a bit selfish of me to move all our stuff without consulting her, but it was my house, after all. And the aeroplanes really weren’t the only reason I wanted to move. I was travelling a lot more for business and it just made

Chapter 7

sense to get a place closer to the airport. I was going to explain it all to her as soon as she would give me a chance to talk to her. But she came home in a fury and what ensued was the ugliest fight I had ever been in. I assume my parents had a similar fight the night my mom left. I just stood and watched her scream. The love of my life, the apple of my eye. The bitch I have to blame for being in this shit-hole. She’d never been able to understand my love of aeroplanes. She thought it’s an obsession, a disease. “Something you need help for, Teddy” she made it clear. I’ll have to admit I felt a bit sorry for her, all pregnant and big and upset. I felt like a bit of a bastard for what I had been putting her through and told her I would make it up to her. She didn’t want to listen. She kept going on about how I had a disturbing obsession and that I needed help. I took offence, of course, but to avoid the risk of making her face go purple, I kept my mouth shut. When she finally calmed down after about an hour of solid yelling and sobbing she got to the point of her visit. “You can either get help, or I’m leaving you” she was serious. “what did you have in mind?” I didn’t want to upset her again. She explained that she had found a group called Anoraks Anonymous in the classifieds and she wanted me to go to a meeting. I laughed out loud. “An anorak, like a coat?” She was too tired to argue. “Just go to one meeting, please. It will change your life”

She was right. My life is completely changed…for the worse. I’m in a big grey hall with all the pathetic losers I wish I’d never met. Sure everyone says they are different, but we’re all here because we have a problem. Except for me. I am better than them. I am not obsessed with anything; I just enjoy interesting things about planes. And flying. And how planes fly. But that doesn’t make me a freak. I turn my attention back to the room just as some toilet fanatic finishes his story and everyone is crying. True as fuck I cannot believe this is what my life has come to. Cheering for a guy who finds toilets fascinating. I get up and walk out. As I make my way towards the door, I hear them praying together.

Chapter 8

“God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot talk about, the courage to talk about the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference.” Fucking pathetic. It’s quite an unfamiliar that comes over me as I walk down the steps of the community hall. The city is dark around me as I head in the direction of the seven storey-parking garage where I had left my car earlier tonight. I walk slowly, almost sauntering, enjoying the silence around me. My head is spinning as I recall the night I had just had and my wife’s nerve to actually put me through such an ordeal. What an inconsiderate bitch. She had the nerve to ask me to change my whole being just because she needs someone to take care of her while she’s pregnant. That’s all it is. That’s all it could be. She never complained so much about my love for flying before she took that pregnancy test. It’s like the test read: Danielle: POSITIVE Teddy: NEGATIVE, your whole life will be so fucking negative from now on. As I watch the cracked pavement moving beneath my leather loafers an idea starts to form in my head. as I walk towards my car the idea grows even more. Who is she to say I cannot fly? Does she really expect me to give up everything I ever wanted for someone who couldn’t bother to show an interest in my hobbie? I think not. I walk past my car and back to the emergency stairs. I swing open the heavy steel door and the stench of urine almost makes me vomit. I hold the lapel of my jacket over my head and start to run up the stairs. It’s only four or five flights until I reach the top. I open the door and inhale a frech breath of cool night air. The top floor is deserted except for one

car, covered in dust and mud. It looks like it’s been standing there for months. I look around and make my way over to the far side of the garage. I find a spot where the safety fence is broken and get up onto the ledge. I close my eyes and count down. Three…two…one. The wind rushes past my ears and they start to ring. I’m going faster and faster and my eyes are flickering but I keep them shut tightly. Finally I am flying.

The End

Mute Date “Let’s go and chill over at my place.” She looks over at him, lazily trying to lift a heavy eyelid. Saturday night saw the two of them letting go and the alcohol was still trying to work itself out of her system. “It’s six thirty in the morning, why don’t we just stay here?” He props himself onto his elbows, frowns at the sad sight in front of him and proclaims: “I’ve got a TV.” She contemplates this, impressed by the reasoning and picturing the possibilities of what her day could hold. Trying to make awkward conversation with the guy she barely knows but just woke up next to, or spending the day silently in front of a television equipped with more channels than she can imagine. It’s a very simple decision. “Ok, let’s go” Without saying another word to each other they get up, get dressed and head for his place on the other side of town. The better side. Where people have 54-inch television sets and surround sound. They don’t speak. Just when the silence is about to become unbearable he switches on the radio. She is relieved at her narrow escape from having to try and make conversation again. His flat looks different from what she expected. Not as cosy, not as fancy, it resembles something between a hotel and a jail. She enters the front door hesitantly and stands around. She feels light-headed, still slightly disoriented from the previous night’s drunken debauchery. Her throat starts to close up and she is about to be enveloped by the swirl of spots that cloud her vision when he enters behind her and announces: “ Oh right, the TV is through there and to your right.” “Thanks.”

She hastily sets off to find the source of her salvation and as she turns the corner she beholds not a 54-inch entertainment system. No she gazes upon a marvellous 72-inch high definition flat screen wonder. Better yet, instead of the uncomfortable couch she was expecting (and has gotten used to in her own place) there is a majestic L-shaped couch with fluffy scatter cushions just waiting to be occupied. “Is it ok….” He’s not listening to her. He’s not even in the room. She decides to just make herself at home as he was obviously not up for much conversation or entertaining. She settles on the part of the couch that allows her to lie at a comfortable angle, perfectly parallel to the giant screen. Awkward. He joins her on the couch, his head conveniently close to hers and their bodies at a right angle. Again they don’t speak. He picks up the remote control and passes it to her. “ You decide…” She flicks between her favourite channels and contemplates watching a documentary she’s seen about twelve times before. She finally settles on a movie, the kind of cheesy romantic comedy that requires the least amount of concentration. For the next two hours they lie in silence, watching the screen flicker in front of them. As the movie draws to a close he reaches his hand behind his head and takes hers. She squeezes his hand tightly and smiles to herself. The credits roll over the super-sized screen she resists the urge to say anything. She closes her eyes and falls into a deep sleep. A few hours later she wakes up to the snoring of a guy she barely knows. She takes a minute to orientate herself and then she notices the blank screen. The date is over. She gets up and mutters: “I think I should go home now.”

A Lion in the Bedroom By Henda Scott

Adapted from "A Lion in the Bedroom" by Pat Cavendish Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Neill

43 ACT 1 EXT.PORCH.DAY Pat, and elderly woman is sitting on the porch of her house, Broadlands. She is surrounded by many animals, including dogs, baboons and a chimpanzee on her lap. PAT(NARRATING) Africa changed me. This beautiful dark continent changed me from a shy timid girl into a woman who could outwit a crocodile, run a household in the remote wilds and fall in love with two of Africa’s most beautiful creatures: a hunter and a lion. This wonderful rich life seemed so far removed from my own, yet somehow I always knew it was destined for me. I cannot imagine my life without Africa and all it’s wonders and I owe it all to the woman who first introduced me to this magical world: My mother. EXT.PORCH.DAY Enid, a middle-aged woman resembling Pat is sitting on the large steps leading out of the dining room onto the patio at La Fiorentina, her house in the South of France. She is surrounded by pets of all shapes and sizes. ENID Jeanne, please prepare the tables outside, we will be dining al fresco today. MAID Of course madam, how many tables shall I set up? ENID Oh I’m sure the big one at the end will be sufficient. MAID No guests today, madam?

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

2. ENID Oh no Jeanne, they’ve all taken the ship back to England. MAID You are not going back? ENID Oh no dear, poor Duke is in no state to make the journey. Which reminds me... Will you please prepare him a small tray with some bread and butter? MAID Um, there’s no butter left madam, we’ll have to make some more. ENID How is that possible? I made some just last week and no one but Pat and Duke eats it. MAID Well, madam, I wasn’t sure if I should tel you, but Rory’s friend has been sneaking into the kitchen and taking some for herself. She hides them under her corsets. ENID Well I never! Don’t worry Jeanne, I’ll take care of it.

Rory, a beautiful young man arrives with his friend Phyllis. They have just finished a game of tennis and are carrying their rackets. RORY Mother. Beautiful day, isn’t it? ENID Yes it is, darling. Did you have a good game? RORY Oh it was lovely! We’re just heading in to get ready for lunch. Rory and Phyllis head up the stairs.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

3. ENID Just a minute Phyllis, could I have a word please?

Phyllis turns around and heads back down the stairs to where Enid is standing. PHYLLIS What can I do for you, Enid? ENID I have been informed that you are stealing food form a sick man and a child. I and everybody else go without and I am not having one of my guests disobeying the rule. Therefore you must find somewhere else to stay. Phyllis, clearly upset but not daring to protest, heads back up the stairs. ENID Before lunch, please. Enid returns her attention to her pets. EXT.COURTYARD.LATE AFTERNOON. Enid, Pat and Rory are having dinner around a large table. They each have a meagre portion of food, served on the finest plates, with sliver cutlery. RORY Mother, I have decided to go back to the United States and enlist in the army. ENID But you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t leave! The war is almost over, why on earth would you want to do such a thing? RORY The war is far from over, mother. The Germans are getting closer to Paris and soon the whole of France will be occupied. You canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stay here either.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

4. ENID Well there’s not much we can do dear, the ship left for England weeks ago. RORY I’ve heard that they’ve organized a refugee ship to bring all British citizens back from France. When Paris falls, no-one in France will be safe. ENID Well, I’ll speak to Duke, but he refused to make the first journey, I doubt he’ll have changed his mind. RORY Just try mother. Please.

They constinue to eat in silence. INT.KITCHEN.NIGHT Enid is in the dark kitchen, packing away the new butter she has made and melting candles to make soap. Pat sits on the floor, watching her mother with curiosity. PAT Mummy, is Duke going to die? ENID Why darling, what would give you that idea? PAT One of the nurses said he is ’fatally ill’. When daddy was fatally ill, he died. ENID No darling, this is nothing like that. Duke is just a little weak from not having enough to eat. The doctors are looking after him and he’ll soon be better. Now come help me with this candle and stop worrying. Pat joins her mother at the table and helps her hold the soap mold. A maid enters. (CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

5. MAID The doctor is here, madam.

Enid stops what she is doing, takes off her apron and turns to young Pat. ENID Duke needs me, darling. Please keep an eye on the saucepans and make sure the grease does not boil over. Enid leaves with the maid and Pat is left alone in the kitchen in front of the stove. She stays there while it gets colder and darker and eventually all the candles burn down. INT.PAT’S BEDROOM - LA FIORENTINA.MIDDAY A mourning Enid is helping Pat get ready for their journey back to England, pinning notes into little curls in her hair. ENID We should have left a long time ago darling. Rory was right, this war isn’t going to end anytime soon. PAT Will we be going back to Burrough Court, mummy? I’d love to see everyone again. ENID I’m afraid not, dear. I’ve received word that Burrough Court was damaged during a bombing attack last year. We’ll go back and live at Duke’s old place in London. PAT But why London,mummy? Isn’t it dangerous there? ENID As dangerous as anywhere else my darling. At least we’ll have a nice place to live and we’ll be close to lots of colleges. I think it would be wise for you to take up a typing course so you can get yourself a job.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

A job?

PAT

ENID Yes dear, there’s a dire need for secretaries in many of the war offices in London. I’ve spoken with one of my friends at the American Embassy and they would love to have you help out there on a regular basis. PAT I suppose i could help out... It would keep me busy. ENID Good, that’s settled then. Enid continues to pin notes into Pats hair. INT. TRAIN. NIGHT PAT(NARRATING) The train ride home wasn’t what i expected at all. I was used to being treated with respect, because we had money. Everyone on the train was looking depressed and no-one spoke. There was a sense of fear hanging around the carriage, so different from the other train rides I had taken in my life. This change was the first of many changes that awaited me back in London. EXT. STREET. MORNING PAT(NARRATING) Life in London certainly had changed. I finished my typing course in no time and got the job mummy’s friend promised me at the embassy. Pat and her chaperone are walking from their home to her new job at the American embassy. Pat has a dog with her.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

7. MAID Are you excited for your first day, Miss Pat? PAT Oh yes, very. Mummy’s friend sounds like a really nice man and I get to work with lots of girls my age. MAID You’ll make a lot of friends, I’m sure. PAT Oh yes, I can’t wait. MAID Um, just one thing, you sure the dog is I’ve never heard of their pets to work, their first day.

miss Pat. Are a good idea? someone taking let alone on

PAT Oh, stop worrying, it’s perfectly fine. I couldn’t bear to leave her at home, and mummy has written me a note to explain. MAID Yes I see. If you say so. They walk along in the direction of a big building. EXT.AIRPORT.AFTERNOON Pat is walking down the steps of a small aeroplane, carrying a few bags. Pierre d’Unienville is waiting for her on the tarmac, holding a tiny cat in under his arm. She heads over to him. PAT My, what a flight! She kisses Pierre and notices the little cat. PAT Goodness, what do you have there? PIERRE A present for you, darling. (CONTINUED)

the end