© Chris Port, 1994. All rights reserved.
Scene 2.
Narrator, Monica, Louise, Mark Fowler.
Mark Fowler arrives on his own.
NARRATOR
They say that war is ninety-nine percent waiting and one percent sheer terror. Parties, on the other hand, are ninety-nine percent waiting in sheer terror that no-one is going to show up. Parties have a far greater casualty rate than wars. You can guarantee that at least one third of the people you invite will be struck down by accidents, sudden ailments, or better offers. Don’t bother listening to their excuses on Monday morning. If you couldn’t be bothered to show up, then screw you.
Now when you say nine o’clock, what exactly does this mean? Did you seriously expect the majority of your guests to synchronize watches, co-ordinate parents’ cars, and storm your doorstep at zero hour? No. Battle-hardened party veterans all know that you should never be in the first wave of guests. Nine o’clock means, at the very earliest, ten to ten-thirty. Everyone knows that. Everyone, that is, except one person. One sad lonely suicide squad of a person who sacrifices all dignity by showing up, on their own, on the dot of nine. Its painful to watch but at least we can all relax and think ‘Thank God that’s not me’. Or is it?
(Monica enters, washed and changed into a black party dress. Louise is curled up, brooding. Music is playing quietly in the background).
MONICA
(Looking at watch). Well. It’s nine o’clock.
LOUISE
No-one shows up at nine o’clock.
(The doorbell rings. Louise leaps up to answer it but Monica is ahead of her).
MONICA
I’ll get it. (Monica exits offstage. Louise tries to rearrange herself to look as relaxed as possible. We hear voices offstage). Hello. Its Mark, isn’t it? (Louise grimaces). No, you’re the first. Come in. (Monica enters with Mark Fowler who holds a carrier bag full of cheap lager cans and looks about as comfortable as a pig entering an abattoir). It’s Mark.
LOUISE
Hello Mark. How are you?
MARK
Fine.
LOUISE
You don’t feel... ill or anything?
MARK
(Visibly confused). No. No, I’m fine. I brought some beers. (He offers his carrier bag to the room).
MONICA
Thanks. I’ll put them in the kitchen, shall I? (She takes the carrier bag from Mark and gives him one can). Here’s one to keep you going. I thought you were coming with Brenda?
MARK
Oh I am. She’ll be here later. (He opens the can and takes a noisy first slurp).
MONICA
Oh right.
MARK
She’s arranging a sitter for her mum. She’s in one of her ‘phases’ at the moment.
MONICA
Phases?
MARK
Yeah. She had a metal plate put in her head after a car-crash. Sends her a bit funny sometimes.
MONICA
Oh. I’m sorry. I’ll just put these in the kitchen then, shall I? (Exits).
(Awkward pause).
LOUISE
How did you get here, then?
MARK
Oh I walked.
LOUISE
You walked? But you live in Benfleet, don’t you?
MARK
Yeah.
LOUISE
But that’s... miles away.
MARK
Oh I don’t mind walking.
LOUISE
How long did it take you?
MARK
Oh I left about half-six I think.
LOUISE
So you got here in... (looks at watch)... only two and a half hours.
MARK
Yeah. Course I could’ve done it in two hours. If I hadn’t stopped for a kebab.
LOUISE
You must be quite... fit then.
MARK
No. Not really. (He looks around the room). Nice house.
LOUISE
Thank you.
(Deadly pause).
MARK
(Looking at the food). Is that the food then?
LOUISE
(Visibly relieved). Yes. Yes. Help yourself. Not too much though. The others, I mean. Leave some for... err... I’ll just see how Monny’s getting on. Monny? (Exits).
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