Father of the Man (34 page)

TONY

(Cont) Besides…I like to have people depend on me.

HESTER

You’re just a boy.

TONY

Yes. You’re always saying that. So perhaps it’s time I grew up and took on a bit of responsibility.

FLORA

Oh, you fool. You say you want to have people depend on you. What do you think I’ve had to do all these years but train myself
not
to depend on you? (Pause) Never to let you see how much I minded when you went out in the evenings! (Pause) Even having to make myself encourage you when you first spoke about going on holiday without me, and then, last year, about moving into a house with other students! (Pause) And yet you must know how very lonely I get—how much I hate my own company—how much I dislike being in an empty flat after dark…even putting off going to bed because sometimes I get silly and a little scared. (Pause) So, if you want people to depend on you, you should maybe look a little closer to home.

FLORA

(Cont) And how do you think it’s been for me living for twenty years without a husband or a boyfriend or anyone to take care of me—because your father didn’t want a baby and swore he’d walk out if I refused to have you aborted?

TONY

(Embarrassed) I know all that, Mum.

FLORA

No, you don’t. How could you? When have I ever told you how much
I
always needed somebody to depend on?

HESTER

Flora, darling, please. You mustn’t upset yourself like this. Whether other people knew it or not, I always did, and I respected you for it.
You
looked into the future.
You
knew that to become too dependent on someone who was one day bound to disappear wouldn’t be a healthy thing, and you were responsible and mature and courageous in keeping to that decision. I don’t know how you managed it.

FLORA

(Bleakly but with a hint of self-mockery) I went to lots of marriage bureaux.

HESTER

Of course you did. I haven’t forgotten the bravery it required. Nor how beautiful you were—and how incredibly lucky any blind fool of a man should indeed have felt to meet you! But the trouble is you had no money and you had a young son to bring up.

TONY

I’m sorry, Mum. I really am.

FLORA

Well, I am too, darling. I didn’t mean to start on all of that.

HESTER

It’s just that your mother and I don’t want to see you throw your life away. (Pause) You truly have decided? You truly must go through with it?

TONY

Haven’t you yourself always said it’s wrong to break your word?

HESTER

As a guiding principle, yes. Though naturally it should depend on the circumstances.

TONY

I don’t see how. It’s not as though I’d been coerced.

HESTER

Still. Circumstances do vary.

ELLEN

I agree with Tony. When you’ve raised someone to be honourable you have to accept the consequences. It’s a situation sometimes known as being hoist with your own petard.

HESTER

Oh, Ellen, stop being so frivolous; there’s nothing to be frivolous about. (Pause) On the other hand, I suppose there’s nothing to be so gloomy about, either. (To TONY) Just so long as you won’t let it interfere with your studies. Then, in another couple of years, after you’ve got a good degree and found yourself a decent job—

TONY

I’m leaving university.

HESTER

What did you say?

TONY

I’m leaving university.

HESTER

Is that really what you said? I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t believe you could be so utterly devoid of consideration—or vision—or practicality. So wholly and impossibly puerile. Is that really what you said?

TONY

I’ve been offered a job at a crisp factory for nearly a hundred pounds a week. (Pause) And I’ve already seen the sub-dean.

HESTER

Then, of course, you’d better go
back
to see him! How thunderstruck he must have been! How literally struck dumb! (Pause) You’d better tell us what he said.

TONY

In fact he did try to dissuade me. Up to a point.

HESTER

I hope he told you how completely mad you were.

TONY

No. He—

FLORA

Because that’s what you are, of course. Completely and utterly mad! Besotted! A hundred pounds a week; a job in a crisp factory! (She is now openly crying.) And if anyone had ever told me…Oh, I can’t take any more of this, I simply can’t!

HESTER

(Standing) Flora! Flora, darling! (To TONY) Now see what you’ve done. That you, of all people—! And after all those dreams we’ve had on your behalf! No, I don’t speak about myself—I don’t expect you to have any care for
me
—why should you? But your mother! I don’t think you quite appreciate—I don’t believe you ever did…But, as she said, if she hadn’t chosen you—chosen to give
you
life—she could still have had a real life of her own, she could still have had a husband. Yet all along she’s gone without so that
you
wouldn’t have to. How can you repay a debt like that? Certainly not by thinking only of yourself. Me, me, me: that’s what it’s always been in your case, hasn’t it? Hidden behind the sheerest veil of plausibility and charm. You rely on your sweet phrases and good looks to carry you through; to make everyone think how wonderful you are. Well, shall I tell you what you really are? You’re immoral.
Immoral
! You don’t give two hoots whom you harm, so long as you yourself can sail through life with blithe inconvenience—and I see no hope for you at all, not the slightest chance of redemption. For I’ll tell you another thing, shall I? Unless you mend your ways at once, then I for one shall never wish to see you again. Never! I hope that’s clearly understood. Connection severed! So I trust that you’ll think about what you’re doing—in the light of what I’ve just said—think very, very carefully indeed. (Pause) Now I am going to try to bring a little comfort to your mother.

ELLEN

(Eventually) Well…That was a little masterpiece of economy.

TONY

(Shakily) No, I shouldn’t like to write it on the back of a postage stamp. .

ELLEN

Of course, the one thing it did economize on—as they put it so very quaintly these days—was the truth.

TONY

Oh, I don’t know. I suppose that has to depend on your point of view.

ELLEN

Poor old Tony. You know, you’re much too nice for your own good.

TONY

(Shakes his head; seems close to tears)
That
isn’t true at all.

ELLEN

But all you need is the courage of your convictions. (Then more positively—clearly hoping to instill strength.) And you’ve certainly got that.

TONY

No. Wrong again. I’m scared stiff.

ELLEN

(Stands; walks about in agitation) Oh, I could swear! Most truly I could! What’s more, I could say a most exceedingly naughty word. (Pause)
Families
!

TONY

Is that your naughty word?

ELLEN

In certain situations there is none naughtier.

TONY

(Avoiding priggishness) I’ve always been extremely fond of my family.

ELLEN

I know you have. I’ve often observed it—and marvelled. My own feelings towards the family have always been…well, a little more complex. (Hollow laugh) I suppose that’s what comes of being the only plain one amongst six sisters.

TONY

(Meaning it) You aren’t plain!

ELLEN

Oh, it’s true that by some fluke I may have grown better-looking with age. But the trouble is, when I was young I never thought of saying to any potential beau: why not hang around for half a century, I
could
turn into a corker! So what happens? One by one you see your sisters marry—five times a bridesmaid in your own family alone. And you become so eaten up with jealousy and longing and resentment. And so sick of being patronized. “Oh, Ellie—she’s the only one of us who has a singing voice. And she’s by far the best dancer in the family!” Though you can always hear the rider trembling on their lips…“If only she could find a partner!” But all the time you smile. You make jokes. You’re a good sport. “Oh, Ellie, absolutely the right person to have around if you’re in trouble!” And you take your nephews and nieces to the pantomime and out on other treats—

TONY

And your great-nephews, too.

ELLEN

(Now without the bitterness) Yes. And actually you have a lot of fun while doing it. Oh, I shouldn’t moan; for all of us down here, life is a vale of tears. (Pause) Do you know what Cary Grant once said—even Cary Grant? He said that his life had been nothing but stomach disturbances and self-concern. I shouldn’t be in the least bit pleased by that, and yet…It must be my soured and crabby nature. I always liked Cary Grant but I never took to him so completely as when I first read that. And it was only a few months back, yet by that time he was dead. Wouldn’t you know?

TONY

And if he hadn’t been?

ELLEN

I could have cabled him a kiss.

TONY

(Pause) You called me poor old Tony. I want to call you poor old Ellen. I never knew.

ELLEN

Well, I’m just as glad you didn’t. (Smiles, sits down, continues abruptly) And do you realize? I’ve never had a man. (After a moment lifts a hand) No, I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me. For one thing—what on earth can a person reply? (Lightly) Anyway, perhaps that’s why I’ve survived longer than any of my sisters apart from your grandmother. There’s a happy side to all of it.

TONY

What do you think I ought to do? (Pauses) Am I just being stupid, and thoughtless, and obstinate?

ELLEN

(Slowly; as though finally deciding on something) Listen. I’m going to tell you a story. It may prove mildly helpful. Or then, again, it may not. But think of it simply as one of Aesop’s fables. Ellen Aesop.

ELLEN

(Cont) It’s something that happened thirty years ago.

ELLEN

(Cont) It was just after your mother was married; she was nineteen. Your father wasn’t at all the right person for her—he never could have been. They were too much alike. He, too, had been dominated by a forceful mother; he, too, was looking for a way out. He was twenty-five; had never been away from home. Always kept very much in thrall; always to some extent resentful of it. Yes, they were more like brother and sister than sweethearts: each weak in the same way, each wanting to show the world that they were strong. It was a cruel trick of Fate’s to throw two such similar personalities, spawned by two such similar situations, slap bang into each other’s path—and then make both of them nice-looking, so that, naturally, they’d feel attracted. They had known each other only two weeks before announcing their engagement. (Pause) Do you mind my talking about your parents in this way? It is necessary.

TONY

(Shakes his head) And none of it, so far, is new. It’s only what Mum has often said of Dad, and also what Dad—well, he hasn’t come out with it in so many words but if you put two and two together—what Dad has often said of Mum. They each see it in the other; I don’t know if they see it in themselves. Apparently, we’re an inherently weak family.

ELLEN

I didn’t realize you still saw your father.

TONY

Only once a year, at most. Tea at the Ritz—or dinner at Simpson’s—or, more and more these days, just a drink at the pub when he’s on his way to catch the train…the train that bears him back to my wicked stepmother. So, you’ll understand, it’s strictly duty—on both sides.

ELLEN

Is she very wicked?

TONY

Well, let’s just say we don’t get on.

ELLEN

And did you ever know your Granny Drapkin?

TONY

Granny Peggy? Oh, yes. I must have been at least eight or nine when she died. Yes, I remember her as very…well, forthright. But not at all like Gran. Not the same warmth, nor sense of humour. Nor the same kindness for lame dogs, the same compassion for humanity in general. Perhaps that’s a bit unfair: I wasn’t really old enough to make those kinds of comparison. (Smiles) All I know is, Granny Peggy cut stingy bits of cake; and never gave me more than 10p whenever I went to see her.