SAYING OF THE DAY

If the gap between where you are now, and where you would like to be tomorrow, is too wide, fill it with people you know can help you.

Albert Peebles - a character in my current book.

SHORT STORY

EBONY EYES

Prologue

The mist and rain of the late autumn afternoon swirled in and out of the grave stones as a solitary figure walked towards the mound of a lately filled grave. She placed a single red rose on top of the dirt, then left the way she had come.

Another figure, its face hidden by a wide brimmed black hat, gazed out of a window, some distance away.

At the local hospital, a nurse went about her duties as usual.

Maggie returned home, from the funeral, to find the door to her cottage open. She went inside, removed her wet coat and, after hanging it up, opened the door to her study. Someone was sitting in her special chair; the one she sat in on cold winter evenings as she watched the dancing flames play back other winter evenings from another time.

The chair swung round. The left side of the face that greeted her sagged. Strands of limp black hair had been hurriedly arranged in an attempt to conceal the disfigurement. It was, Maggie thought, a useless attempt at concealment. The brown eyes, the left one of which drooped, were heavy lidded. A wide brimmed black hat, weighed down with moisture, clung to the woman’s head, like beached seaweed. The woman’s left arm dangled over the side of the chair.

Maggie recognized her immediately.

‘Carole?’

Carole Overton’s head moved stiffly as she spoke.

‘Maggie how nice to see you. Awful circumstances though, yes? I saw you place that single red rose on Colin’s grave. Now why you would do that, I wonder.  But I think we both know the answer don’t we?’

Maggie shook her head, ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
'Really?'

Carol raised her right hand and used it to place her useless left hand on her lap. She then reached  behind her.

And placed the shotgun on her lap, with the barrels lying across her left arm.

Maggie gasped.

‘A lovely thing, in its way, isn’t it?’ said Carol.

Maggie watched, in disbelief, as Carole raised her right hand and “broke” the gun.

‘Loaded too, I see,’ Carole said. ‘Expecting unwanted visitors are we?’

‘Carole give me the gun!’ Maggie made a grab for it, but Carole pulled it away, and flicked the twin barrels into place against the stock.

‘Sorry, not ready to hand it over just yet. Now, don’t you want to know why I’m here?’

‘No. I just want you to leave.’

‘Sorry. No can do. You don’t get off that easily,’ said Carole, ‘now step back while I stand up. ‘

She pointed the gun at Maggie’s chest.

‘Step back now!’

‘Be careful,’ said Maggie, ‘Please that gun is…’

‘Loaded? Yes Maggie. I know.'

Carol moved closer to Maggie and gestured towards the chair with the gun, ‘Now sit!’

Maggie sat down.

Carole leaned against the kitchen table. She took two cartridges from the box that she’d placed there earlier.

‘I’ll just pop these into my pocket for later. Did you know that Colin taught me how to use a shotgun? He said all women should know how to use guns, just in case…’ Carole’s voice drifted off. She suddenly started humming to herself and pulled the gun close to her chest.

‘We have to take care of each other, now he’s gone, don’t we?’

Carole’s eyes glazed over and she looked away.

Maggie seized her chance. She swung the chair around and jumped from it. She started for the door but Carole was too quick for her.

‘Oh, no please. You can’t go yet. You haven’t told me what I want to know.’

Carole raised the gun.

‘Now be a good girl and sit back down!’

Maggie staggered backwards into the chair.

‘Well?’ said Carole.

‘Well what!’ said Maggie, her eyes not leaving the gun.

 ‘I want you to tell me about your relationship with my husband.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Weldon hospital ring any bells?’

‘I was a junior nurse there but I…’

‘You were his nurse while he was a patient at Weldon hospital,’ said Carole, ‘so stop treating me like a moron. Did you really think I didn’t know?’

‘He was a very special patient wasn’t he?’ Carole continued, ‘and you - you were a very special nurse weren’t you?’

Carole place the gun barrel beneath Maggie’s chin and raised it. ‘Weren’t you?’

‘I may have nursed him. I nursed a lot of patients. It was a long time ago,’ said Maggie.

‘Oh come on!  Don’t insult me. I saw you there!’

'But I...'
Carole nudged the gun against Maggie's throat.

‘Nurses shouldn’t take advantage of people in their care. But you did just that! You took advantage of my husband's situation and then you took him from me. I’m afraid I can’t let you get away with that!’

Carole aimed the gun at different parts of Maggie’s body.

‘Let’s see now, head or heart? Hmm. Perhaps the heart. More fitting and far less messy. Don’t you agree?’ Her eyes narrowed.

‘Carole don’t! This is madness,’ said Maggie.
'Madness is as madness does my dear.' 

Maggie closed her eyes and saw herself in Weldon hospital, thirty years ago.

She had been a junior nurse back then and knew nothing of war injuries; of what shrapnel could do to the human body.

Colin Overton had been in Vietnam. He’d married Carol, at her insistence before his battalion was shipped out. He had only been in Vietnam for three months when a land mine ended his soldiering.

Three of his mates, guys he’d done basic training with, were blown apart in front of him. He was luckier, he was in one piece but badly injured.

He’d spent months in hospital and Maggie, who just happened to be on duty when he was brought on to her ward, was assigned to care for him. She changed the dressings daily, bathed him; did the personal things for him because he couldn’t. She also wiped the tears from his eyes when the indignity of his situation overwhelmed him.

Maggie remembered how Carol had behaved and looked, when she visited her husband. She would perch seductively, on a chair at the foot of the bed. Carole knew the effect she was having on her husband and she basked in the enjoyment of it. She would sit there, smoking one cigarette after another, until it was time to go. Then she would get up, creep her fingers along the bed, knowing exactly what she was doing, and make her way to the door. Once there she would turn, touch her fingers to her lips and blow her husband a kiss.

One day she came and simply took her husband home.

Back in the present Maggie realised Carole was staring at her.
'Enjoy the memories did you,' said Carole, 'God what did he ever see in you?'

‘Possibly something he didn’t see in you,’ Maggie said gently.

‘He was useless,’ Carole paused, choosing her words carefully, 'in every sense of the word.’

Maggie smiled. That wasn’t her recollection of Colin at all. She suddenly remembered a night, when, in the anonymity of her beachside cottage, they had found peace and comfort, in each other’s arms.  That was to be the first of many such nights. 
No, she thought, she hadn’t found him useless at all.

Sometime later Carol had suffered a stroke. It had affected the left side of her face and body. She never came to terms with what had happened to her and as a result she was temporarily confined to the psychiatric ward of Weldon hospital. Carol was pregnant at the time and her condition gradually worsened. When the baby arrived there was really only one choice.

‘I’ll take the baby and go up north, find a job. At least that way I’ll have a part of you,’ Maggie had told Colin at the time.

He hadn’t objected.

Maggie called the little girl Ebony. 
She never saw Colin again.

Maggie wondered if, given present circumstances, she would have done things differently, but deep down she knew the answer.

She was suddenly very tired.

‘Just tell me what you want to know Carole.’

‘You and my husband had a secret,’ said Carol, ‘and I want to know what it was!’

‘After the baby was born Colin and I decided…’ Maggie didn’t finish.

The door opened and a young woman came into the room. She had short, black, curly hair, and piercing brown eyes. She looked at Carole first and then at Maggie.

‘Mum?’

The full force of both barrels hit the young woman in the chest and she crumpled to the floor.

‘No!’ Maggie screamed and rushed over to the lifeless form. ‘Oh God! Carole what have you done.’

‘I think you’ll find she’s quite dead,’ Carole said, her voice cold and distant. ‘You took my husband. So it’s only fair that I take something from you.’

She walked over to where Maggie was leaning over the body of the dead woman. Carole knelt down, and looked into the lifeless face.

‘She doesn’t look a bit like you,’ she said, ‘the eyes and hair are all wrong. But I can see Colin in her - oh yes she’s definitely Colin’s daughter.’

Carole looked at the uniform the dead woman was wearing.
‘Do you know I think I’ve seen her somewhere. She looks sort of familiar.’

‘She was a psychiatric nurse at Weldon Hospital and she was your daughter,’ whispered Maggie.

Carol stood up, ‘Oh No, that can’t be right,’ she said, ‘they told me at the hospital that my little girl was stillborn.’

‘No,’ said Maggie, ‘your little girl wasn’t stillborn.’

‘Such lovely brown eyes. But they should have been blue.  Blue is such a lovely colour isn’t it?’ said Carole.

She smiled and taking two cartridges from her pocket, reloaded the shotgun.

She placed the shotgun in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

THE MESSAGE NOT MEANT FOR ME

You have no new messages.

You have one saved message.

Message received 3^rd August at 10.48pm

You’ve lost me now Paul

This is it

This is goodbye.

Goodbye Paul

You’ve lost me now

Goodbye…

To call back dial 22

To hear the message again dial 1

To delete dial 5.

SHORT STORY

THE KITE. BY Jen chambers.

Grandpa Grayling tripped on the steps and dropped the kite.

‘So why do you bring that kite with you on holidays every year Gramps?’ I asked.

‘I like to have it. That’s all.’ He said.

Although I’m in my 30’s now I can still remember one particular summer holiday when I was very small. And we went to the beach, as usual and Gramps brought along his kite, as usual.   It was the only time I ever saw him fly it. It was a blustery, grey day with the wind whipping at the waves so that I could feel the salt spray in my nose and eyes and running down my cheeks. Gramps was out in the breakers and I was running along the beach watching him as he tugged at the string and yelled up at the kite. I don’t know what happened exactly but he suddenly fell over in the water and let go of the kite. It started drifting out to sea and there was Gramps wading and splashing out after it. He didn’t stop until he reached it. Then he grabbed it and held it close. I was scared at the time because I thought he was going to drown, but he didn’t and when he reached me all puffed out and exhausted. He said ‘Now why didn’t I just let it go?’

Like I said I’m thirty now and later that night when Gramps and I were sitting on the verandah, like we always do after dinner, I asked him more about the kite.

‘How long have you had it Gramps?’

Since I was ...... let me see. I reckon I must have been about six because I can remember carrying the kite in one hand and trying to reach the front door- knob with the other. And I couldn’t reach it because I was too short.’ He laughed at the memory.

‘But Gramps you’re eighty three now. Do you mean you’ve had the same kite for.seventy-seven years!’             

 ‘Well I must have mustn’t I? It’s the only kite I’ve had.’

This was amazing! A seventy-seven year old kite. I mean nothing but nothing lasts that long. Gramps must have read my mind.

‘Some things stand up to age very well, all things considered, I’ve even got one or two red hairs left,’ he said and to prove it he bent his head, parted the white hair and showed me.

‘But it’s in such good condition Gramps.’

‘What? My hair?’

‘No Gramps. The kite!’

‘To be honest lad, I’ve never thought that much about it. I’ve always had it. That much I do know, but as to why I bring it with me here year after year, well, I suppose your guess is as good as mine. I look after it you know. Wrap it up in tissue paper, I do, and put it away till the holidays come around again.’

‘You only get the kite out for the summer holidays?’

‘That’s right. Nothin’ wrong with that is there?’

I shook my head.

‘Well then,’ he said.

But there was something wrong because although he brought the kite with him each year, I’d never seen him fly it, at least not since that time years ago when I’d been five years old.

That night when I went to bed I had the weirdest dream. I was sitting on the beach looking out to sea and I saw a little boy playing in the shallows. He was holding something in his hand but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. As I sat there watching him- a strange cold fear swept over me. The sea was calm and the air was still - too still. There were no other people on the beach. The little boy looked up the beach and saw me. He ran up to me grabbed my hand and tried to pull me towards the water.

‘Come on. Fly the kite with me. Please!’

I tried to pull my hand away. But the boy persisted. I got up and went with him to the water’s edge. When we got there he let go of my hand and ran in to the water. He waded out through the waves. I yelled at him to stop. But he didn’t seem to hear me. He just kept wading, further and further out. I tried to go after him but my legs wouldn’t move. I called again but he took no notice. Just kept going. Further and further out. I tried again to go after him and then I woke up. My legs were churning away at the mattress and the bedclothes were soaking wet. I sat up in bed, my heart racing.

Next morning as Gramps and I walked along the beach I told him about my dream.

‘So what did the boy in your dream look like?’ Gramps asked.

‘I can’t remember much Gramps but I do remember his hair. It was red and curly.’

‘And you’re sure it was a kite he was holding?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was the kite like this one?’ Gramps held his kite out for me to look at.

‘I think so.’

Gramps rubbed at the stubble on his chin and shook his head. ‘Well, I don’t know what to make of it. Seems strange though don’t it?’

It sure did and what seemed even stranger was the far away look in Gramp’s eyes, like he was trying to make a connection somehow. It was as if he was checking his memory for information that should be there but wasn’t. He was quiet for the rest of the day and hardly said two words to me. Something was disturbing him.

That evening he didn’t sit with me on the verandah like he usually did. Instead he went off along the beach by himself. I offered to go with him but he refused. I decided to have a word with mum.

‘Is Gramps O.K?’ I asked.

‘Yes of course.’ said mum. ‘He gets a bit funny at times but you have to remember that he is eighty three.’

‘Is he your Dad?’

‘No, love. He’s your Dad’s Dad.’

‘Did he have brothers and sisters?’

‘As far as I know he was an only child.’ said mum. ‘Why the questions?’

‘Nothing. I was just curious, that’s all.’

‘Like I said, love, he’s an old man.’  And she left it at that.

That night I had another dream. I was walking along the waters edge and the beach was deserted, except for the little boy I’d seen in last night’s dream. As I walked the boy moved with me, only he wasn’t walking; he was kneeling on the wet sand and he was digging a hole. Water kept washing into the hole and collapsing it but he didn’t seem to notice. Beside him, on the sand, I saw the same kite that I’d seen in my previous dream. There was something about the kite                                    

‘Hello.’ I said.

He just kept digging. I tried again. ‘I like your kite.’

He stopped digging and looked up at me. ‘It’s special,’ he said.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

‘I always flys it wiv my bwover.’ He looked up the beach. ‘He’ll be here soon. We always flys it together.’

‘What’s your brother’s name?’

‘Sidney.’

‘And what’s your name?’

‘Clive.’ He looked at me. ‘You got a name?’

I told him.

‘We got the same last name’aven’t we?’ he said.

I jolted awake, the bedclothes soaked in sweat, just like in the first dream.

Next morning, after breakfast, Gramps got me alone. ‘You had another dream didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Tell me about it.’

I told him and when I finished Gramps grabbed the kite and walked out of the house towards the beach. I followed and caught up with him.

The wind howled across the beach. Gulls hovered and swooped; their cries, intermingling to form an eerie chorus.

We walked silently for a while; our bodies crouched into the wind as it battered us, forcing our jackets to billow and flap. Gramps held the kite tightly as if defying the wind to take it from him.

‘It’s got something to do with you hasn’t it?’ I said. ‘All that stuff in my dreams I mean.’

Gramps stopped then and gazed out to sea.

‘It was so long ago... I’d forgotten all about it. You can do that you know- specially  when you’re young.’

He turned to me. Strands of white hair blew across his face and little beads of moisture trickled down the furrows of his cheeks. Probably the salt spray, I thought. But it wasn’t. Gramps was crying.

 ‘Clive was my twin. Did everything together we did. We got a kite for Christmas one year. We flew it together, always. We brought it here every year and flew it on this beach. One morning he must have got up early and come down here on his own to fly it. It was windy, like today.  When I woke up and found him gone I came down here to look for him. I found the kite but I never found Clive. Never saw him again. But I kept the kite.  Our parents were so upset, when he vanished, that they wiped everything about Clive’s existence from their lives. It was like he never existed. Over the years I guess I forgot too. But I must have known, really, mustn’t I?  I mean, I kept the kite didn’t I? Then you asked me about it the other day. And when you told me about those dreams of yours I knew I couldn’t keep Clive hidden any longer. He needed to be acknowledged. You must have a bit of Clive in you because it was your dreams that forced me to acknowledge him.’

I put my arms around my grandfather and held him. I felt the salty moisture on my cheeks and told myself it was the sea spray, but I knew that it wasn’t.

After a while Gramps pulled away. He handed me the kite and walked along the beach as far as he could, letting out the string as he went. Then he stopped and signaled for me to release the kite. It soared upwards, the tags on the tail taking on a life of their own. Gramps let go and the kite was free.   I ran towards him and as I reached him I heard his whisper before the wind caught it. 

‘Goodbye Clive,’ he raised a faltering hand. ‘Goodbye little brother.’ 

We turned and headed back to the house together.

MY RADIO PLAY

A FRIEND IN NEED

OR

HAS ANYONE SEEN THE CAT.

An original radio Play by

Jennifer Chambers 
A FANTASY RADIO PLAY FOR THE CHILD IN ALL OF US:

SOME INTERESTING INFORMATION.

This play takes place in the world of Mrs Fixit, who spends most of her time dashing in and out of different time dimensions solving problems.

Mrs Fixit was born -eons ago - with the gift of problem solving- the tag attached to her toes said so in bright gold letters. However in smaller letters was written “but there will be hiccoughs from time to time, in time”.

Mrs Fixit was with Noah, when he had to choose the animals for the ark. She was with Pliny the younger when Vesuvius lost her temper and demolished Pompei and Herculaneum. She was with Hannibal when he crossed the alps and forgot to pack his winter undies. She also had walk on parts in Shakespeare’s plays. She was with Napoleon in Egypt and with Nelson at the battle of Trafalgar.

At this moment in time, however, Mrs Fixit is operating out of number 9 Half Moon Crescent, which also happens to be the residence of a Mrs Alice Overton a retired teacher librarian who lives there on her own - or so she thinks.

The two children, who live next door Bridey  Hawke and her brother George, discovered Mrs Fixit quite by accident while they were doing a little bit of cleaning for Mrs Overton.

While they were exploring the attic, which was so blocked up by junk that even a vacuum cleaner wouldn’t know where to start, they came across a room that had been sent to Mrs Fixit for cockroach clearing. Mrs Fixit was in the middle of clearing the room when she noticed the children. She took them into her confidence and taught them how to “Slide” between dimensions.

The technique of “sliding” involves jumping into the air, moving your feet rapidly in the manner of a ballet dancer and waving your arms high above your head.

Since their meeting with Mrs Fixit, Bridey and George often find themselves in

a place where anything can-and often does happen.

What follows is one such happening!

 

CHARACTERS:

MRS FIXIT: Fixer of problems in other dimensions and good friend of Bridey and George .

BRIDEY HAWKE: 14 year old sister of George

GEORGE HAWKE: 12 year old brother of Bridey

PEREGRINE:      Friend of Mrs Fixit and subject of picture which has one or two problems.

FADE IN

Sounds of storm: whistling wind and claps of thunder plus the crack of lightning. Generally scary type sounds

Intro music. Very dramatic

MUSIC FADES. ANNOUNCER SPEAKS

ANNOUNCER:

Welcome.

Our play sort of begins on a dark and stormy night. It’s a cliché I know, but it really is the only way to create the appropriate atmosphere…

It has just gone 11’o’clock and at number nine Half Moon Crescent the back garden is frighteningly alive with storm activity. Now it is said that lightning does not strike twice. But on this particular evening I believe it struck the old outside toilet at least half a dozen times, resulting in it being lit up like the Sydney Harbour Bridge on New Year’s Eve.

And as for poor Mrs Overton’s back door, well that has been totally reduced to splinters by a very badly aimed flash of lightning…

Our play actually begins in the Hawke household where Bridey Hawke and her brother George are fast asleep somewhere in their bedrooms…

Sounds of phone ringing.

Sounds of footsteps running down a hall.

BRIDEY: 
Hawke residence.

MRS F: 
Hello dear. It’s me, Mrs Fixit!

BRIDEY:

Oh no. What are you doing back? And have you looked at your watch lately?

MRS F:
Had to borrow Mrs Overton again dear - friend in need and all that - and you know

I don’t use watches dear.  I thought I’d explained all that.

BRIDEY:

No Mrs F. Not in my hearing you didn’t. So what’s up?

MRS F:

It’s me friend Mr Peregrine dear. He’s in trouble. 

Needs my help and due to present circumstances -I er need your help...

Sounds of storm.

MRS F. 

Oh my golly goodness can you hear that naughty storm?

BRIDEY:

I can now I’m awake. What was it  you wanted Mrs F?

MRS F:

Told you dear. Need your help. Could you pop over the fence for a few minutes?

BRIDEY:

It is 11.o’clock…If mum and dad...

MRS F:

They won’t dear –don’t worry. Just do a quick slide. Think you can manage that?

BRIDEY:

I don’t know. It’s very late.

Sounds of footsteps pattering on a wooden floor.

GEORGE:

Who’s that?

BRIDEY:

Sh…

MRS F:

Bridey! Yoo Hoo! Are you there?

BRIDEY:
Yes Mrs F I’m still here.

MRS F:

Well do you think you could hurry dear?

BRIDEY: 

Hang on a sec…

Sounds of crackling and buzzing on the phone line. Then it goes dead.

BRIDEY:

shioo..

GEORGE:

That’s swearing.

BRIDEY:
S’not.

GEORGE:

Use a tissue. Ah Ah caught you!

BRIDEY:

One of these days.

GEORGE:

Anyway I read somewhere that swearing can be therapeutic. 

It helps get lots of yucky stuff out of your system.

BRIDEY:

If that’s true prune face you should be swearing 

twenty four hours a day for the rest of your life!

GEORGE:
What did Mrs F want then?

BRIDEY:

One of her “friends” has contacted her and she wants us to go over.

GEORGE:

Now? But it’s the middle of the night

BRIDEY:

Sh!  Whisper can’t you! You’ll wake Mum and Dad. I

 know it’s late but she wouldn’t have phoned if it wasn’t important.

GEORGE:
Oh no? We both know the old biddy’s got no sense of time.

 It doesn’t exist for her like it does for us…

BRIDEY:

Look if you don’t want to come...

GEORGE:

‘Course I want to come. But can we “slide” from here?

 ’Cos it’s dark out there and Mrs Overton’s rose bush is more thorns than rosy in the dark. 

And they stab my delicate bits.

BRIDEY:

Tough! You know there’s not enough height in here to “slide”. Now go and find your strongest pair of jeans and keep quiet.

Sounds of muffled movement and doors opening and closing. Followed by sounds of snoring.

BRIDEY:
Come on. Mum and dad are still asleep - no thanks to you.

GEORGE:

I’m coming.

Sounds of back door opening and closing.

GEORGE:

Are you sure we couldn’t ‘slide’ from here?

BRIDEY:

No we couldn’t. There isn’t enough room George. How many times do I have to tell you?

GEORGE:

How come when we “slide” we actually jump up and down in the air? That is so not right.

BRIDEY:

Mrs F’s rules George - now come on. You  first!

GEORGE:

And that’s not fair either! Just ‘cos I’m a boy.

BRIDEY:

No! It’s not because you’re a boy. It’s because I’m older and bigger than you and that gives me rights. See!

Sounds of scrabbling as George climbs the fence followed by Bridey.

GEORGE:

Ouch!

BRIDEY:

Mind Mrs Overton’s roses.

GEORGE:

Stuff her roses. What about my bum!

BRIDEY:

If I were a rose and I saw your bum heading for me I’d protect myself too. Now come on get over here and hold my hand so I can count…

Sound of whirring.

GEORGE:

I feel like I’ve been in a washing machine for a whole week.

BRIDEY:

You should see your hair. Looks like you got really carried away with my hair gel.

GEORGE:

Hey what happened to Mrs Overton’s back door?

BRIDEY:

This isn’t our dimension remember?

GEORGE:

Yeah-but...

Sounds of footsteps as George and Bridey walk towards the back of Mr Overton’s house. Slight thunder somewhere off in distance...

BRIDEY:

Come on George. We’d better get out of this storm.

MRS F:

Ah there you are dears. Come inside now quickly and don’t trip over Mrs Overton.

GEORGE:

Have you borrowed her body again Mrs F?

MRS F:

Well dear…What she don’t know she won’t miss. Besides it’s only for half an hour or so…

BRIDEY:

What did you do to her back door?

GEORGE:

And how come the outside loo’s lit up like a Christmas tree

MRS F:

Slight mishap that dears. I fear my friend Peregrine’s responsible. 

He gets so carried away sometimes when he fiddles with the forces of nature. I’ve spoken to him many times. Oh my golly goodness yes but I’m afraid that dear Peregrine must have been behind the door when subtlety was handed out. And then of course…there’s his size…

GEORGE:

His size. What d’ya mean. Is he a giant or something?

MRS F:

Oh no dear. Quite the opposite actually…

Sound of meowing.

MRS F:

My golly goodness what on earth is Mr Peebles doing here?

BRIDEY:

Must have been under the rose bush.

MRS F:

Never mind. Just remember to take him back with when you go dears.

Sounds of cat meowing outside.

GEORGE:

He just went outside. Mr Peebles yoo hoo.  Mr Peebles? Mr Peebles?

Sound of dull thump.

GEORGE:

Ouch. Look if you keep thumping that muscle in my arm 

I’m going to suffer permanent damage 

and end up looking like a lop-sided gym-junkie.

BRIDEY:

Oh yeah. Well next time I’ll thump the other arm then they’ll both match. 

Now forget Mr Peebles OK?

GEORGE:

But he might run away and get trapped in this dimension…

BRIDEY:

Yeah and he might want a change of environment too. 

Now shush for a minute will you!

Sounds of Mrs F clearing her throat.

MRS F:
Excuse me dears, have we finished arguing now?

.BRIDEY:

Sorry. So is it another room Mrs F?

MRS F:

I think so dear and I have a feeling it may be under the old toilet. 

There was so much lightning...

BRIDEY:

Under a toilet?

MRS F:
Yes dear. Come along I’ll show you. 

Now if you wouldn’t mind pushing dear and give my hands a bit of a rest like.

Sounds of footsteps and wheelchair wheels squeaking as Bidey, George and Mrs F  head down towards the old toilet at the bottom of Mrs Overton’s garden.

BRIDEY:

Whoa. You want us to look in there?

MRS F:

If you wouldn’t mind dears. There’s no way I could negotiate anything narrower than a freeway in this wheelchair. Now it’s a smidge dark inside. But if I shine the torch you’ll be able see where you’re going.

BRIDEY:

Right George. This is where you get to do the brave boy thing, while I keep watch outside.

GEORGE:

Scaredy cat! OK give me the torch…

Sound of old toilet door creaking open.

GEORGE:

I can’t see a thing in here. 

Hey Mrs F did you forget to change the batteries again?

MRS F:
I don’t think so George dear.

GEORGE:

You sure there’s a toilet in here Mrs F? I can’t …Ouch!

Sounds of cans and bottles clattering and swearing.

MRS F:

Yes dear. Last time I looked it was there – 

and do watch all those cans and bottles dears.

BRIDEY:

When was that? Last century?

MRS F:

Possibly dear. Possibly.

BRIDEY:

Mrs F – I was joking.

MRS F:
Were you dear…?

Sounds of glass breaking.

GEORGE:

Shi…

MRS F:

What was that?

GEORGE:

Don’t worry. It’s only me bleeding to death!

MRS F:

Well spit on it dear. Then rub the saliva into the wound. 

It worked a treat at during the French Revolution and at the battle of Waterloo.

GEORGE:

Hey! I think I’ve found the toil…

Sounds of screaming as George trips.

GEORGE:

Yiowwwww - er -ouch!

BRIDEY:

George!

MRS F:

You’d better see what’s happened dear. 

Here dear take the torch.

Sounds of Bridey knocking over cans and bottles.

BRIDEY
George?

GEORGE:

Down here!

BRIDEY:

Where?

MRS F:

I think you’ll find the voice is coming from inside the er…toilet dear. 

It should be up against the back wall.

Sound of Bridey stubbing her toe on old metal toilet.

BRIDEY:

Inside!

MRS F:

Yes dear.

BRIDEY:

But I thought you said the room was under the toilet not in it!

MRS F:

Did I dear?

BRIDEY:
So the entrance is down Mrs Overton’s old toilet right?

MRS F:

Yes dear. That’s where the voice came from.

GEORGE:
Hey it’s dark and smelly down here!

Sound of torch hitting side of toilet.

BRIDEY:

Yuck! That is so disgusting. When did Mrs Overton last flush this thing?

MRS F:

Oh it isn’t a flushing one dear. It’s one of those hole in the ground thingys. 

But don’t worry. 

Nobody’s used it for nearly fifty years.

BRIDEY:
Are you sure about that Mrs F?

MRS F:

Call it an educated guess dear.

GEORGE:

Hello? I’m still down here. In case anybody’s interested.

BRIDEY:

Hang on George.  I’m trying to work out a way to climb down.

GEORGE:

You could try falling.

MRS F:

I suggest that you just climb down dear

BRIDEY:

Mrs F are you sure there’s a room down there?

MRS F:

Oh my golly goodness yes. 

Just the sort of place Peregrine would choose. 

He has a wicked sense of humour you know.

BRIDEY:

I could think of at least three. So when we find this room. 

What do we do exactly?

MRS F:

You’ll both have to sail by your own shoelaces, I’m afraid.

BRIDEY:

“Sail by our…Oh right! You mean that we have to- Go it alone. 

Work it out for ourselves. Do what we can- that sort of thing. Right Mrs F?

MRS F:
Do I dear? Well whatever dear.

GEORGE:

Bi..rd..y..!

BRIDEY:

Hang on. Hang on. I’ll be there in a sec.

GEORGE:

BI-RD-DY!!!

BRIDEY:

Coming. I just hope there aren’t any cockroaches down there Mrs F…

MRS F:

My bones tell me that cockroaches are currently out of season dear.

BRIDEY:

Well I just hope your bones are right.

MRS F:

Oh they usually are dear. They usually are.

 Now off you go then. I’ll be here waiting. 

Oh…and if you should see Mr Peebles....not that it really matters but he can be a smidge too curious.

BRIDEY:

But I thought that was what being a cat was all about.

MRS F:

Oh Yes dear this is indeed true but there is the saying...

 BRIDEY:
Which one’s that?

MRS F:

The one about “Curiosity killing  the cat.”

And I wouldn't wish any harm to come to Mr Peebles

BRIDEY:

Yeah right... Well I’m off. Wish me luck Mrs F.

MRS F:

Good luck dear!

Sounds of torch scraping against metal as BRIDEY descends into the depths of the old toilet. There are also some other words which might possibly be swear words.

BRIDEY:

Ouch! George?

GEORGE:

Where’ve you been? The moon? 

I could have been kidnapped by an ancient turd 

in the time it took you to get down here.

BRIDEY:

Maybe you were and it replaced your brain without you noticing.

GEORGE:
Very funny.

BRIDEY:
How did you get here anyway?

GEORGE:

I tripped.

BRIDEY:

It’s a long way down. It’s a wonder we aren’t in china!

GEORGE:

There’s a door over there. You got the torch?

BRIDEY:

Yeah. Hang on.

Sounds of BRIDEY shaking the torch to make it work.

BRIDEY:

There…Hey it’s like the door we found on the attic.

GEORGE:

And it’s got a key too. Shall I turn it?

BRIDEY:

Yeah but watch it. We don’t want any nasty shocks.

Sound of key turning in lock.

GEORGE:

Now what?

BRIDEY:

Now we go inside.

GEORGE:

Your turn to go first and I’ll be right here behind you

Sounds of door creaking open.

BRIDEY:

Brrr. It’s cold in here.

GEORGE:

And small. If I my feet were any bigger feet they’d hit that wall…

Sounds of vibration coming from the wall.

GEORGE:

What was that?

BRIDEY:

It came from the wall.

GEORGE:
Shine the torch... It looks like a pict…

Sound of door slamming shut.

GEORGE:

Bridey grab the door!

BRIDEY:
Bugger! It’s locked! And we’re on the wrong side.

Sound of cat meowing.

GEORGE:

Mr Peebles. Oh no!

BRIDEY:
He must have followed us down. Keep an eye on him George.

GEORGE:

Hard to do anything else in a room the size of a micro drive.

Sounds of scurrying and faint screams are coming from the picture.

BRIDEY:

George there are people in that picture and they just moved.

GEORGE:

What?

BRIDEY:

Yeah look!

GEORGE:

So where’s this Peregripe wasn’t he supposed to be here?

BRIDEY:
It’s Peregrine and Mrs F didn’t actually say where he’d be.

Sound of voices chattering and scurrying in picture again and then silence.

GEORGE:

Bridey don’t get too close to the picture. 

The canvas is starting to come away from the frame.

Sounds like masking tape being ripped from a cardboard box as the picture sort of oozes out of its frame.

BRIDEY:
What?

Tearing sounds - getting louder now.

GEORGE:

Bridey what are you doing?

BRIDEY:

I’m not doing anything. It’s the picture.

GEORGE:

Grab my hand!

BRIDEY:

Pull harder!

Sounds like masking tape being ripped from a cardboard box again.

BRIDEY:
What happened?

GEORGE:

I dunno. You OK?

BRIDEY:

I think so. Have I got all my bits?

GEORGE:
All the bits I can see. You’d have to check the hidden bits yourself.

BRIDEY:

That was so not funny.

Sounds of tiny voices calling out. Scurrying and chattering getting louder now.

BRIDEY:

There’s that noise again.

GEORGE:

It’s still coming from the picture.

BRIDEY:

Peregrine’s got to be here somewhere.

PEREGRINE:

Somebody mention my name?

GEORGE:

Who said that?

PEREGRINE:

I did.

BRIDEY:

Uh?

PEREGRINE:

I’m down here. Just don’t tread on me! 

And keep that cat away if you don’t mind.

GEORGE:

You’re a bit small aren’t you?

PEREGRINE:

Yes, well, size isn’t everything you know. Mind if I hop on your hand? 

Thanks. I must say I feel a lot safer up here than down there on cat level. 

Have you come to help us then? I was rather expecting Mrs F.

BRIDEY:

She couldn’t make it. That’s why we’re here.

PEREGRINE:

Well that is most inconvenient - I must say.

BRIDEY:

She couldn’t come even if she wanted to, because the door’s locked.

PEREGRINE:
Is that so?

BRIDEY:

Yes.

PEREGRINE:

Ah-I see …Oh dear. Oh dear.

BRIDEY:
What do you mean “Oh dear Oh dear”?

PEREGRINE:

If only Mrs F were here she’d know what to do…. It’s the spider you see.

GEORGE:

Spider? What spider?

PEREGRINE:

That one there… peering out from the middle of the picture...can’t you see it?

GEORGE:

It’s just a spider - bit hairy though isn’t he?

PEREGRINE:

She…

GEORGE:

What?

PEREGRINE:

The spider is a she.

GEORGE:

Well she’s pretty hairy.

PEREGRINE:

She may be just a spider to you but it’s ruining my portrait. 

Not to mention the fact that my friends are in great danger. See that web?

BRIDEY:

Web?

PEREGRINE:
Up there, in the right hand corner of the picture.

GEORGE:

I see it. Hey there are tiny people wriggling around in it.

PEREGRINE:
Those tiny people - as you call them - are members of my book club. They are also my friends who will shortly be my ex-friends unless I can free them.

GEORGE:

I thought portraits were supposed to be big. We’ve got a portrait of the Prime Minister in the hall at school and it’s enormous.

PEREGRINE:
Well mine’s a miniature – now look I can’t just go back into the picture and help my friends. 

I almost didn’t get out – oh and thank you for the lift by the way. 

But if I go back I’ll be caught by the spider. 

We’ll all be eaten eventually and then there’ll be no picture at all. 

If that happens, oh my goodness -Theodolus Door will be most upset. 

We are his favourite picture after all.

GEORGE:

Who’s Theodolus- whatsisname?

PEREGRINE:

Door. His name is Theodolus Door. He’s the lord of our Shire.

GEORGE:

Oh yeah! Right.

PEREGRINE:

Oh if only Mrs F were here.

BRIDEY:

Well she isn’t.

Tiny sounds of screaming are still coming from the picture.

PEREGRINE:

You must do something!

BRIDEY:

What would Mrs F do? 

GEORGE:

Uh?

BRIDEY:

I’m trying to work out what Mrs F would do.

GEORGE:

Didn’t you ask her?

BRIDEY:

No. I forgot. She did say something about sailing by our own shoelaces though.

GEORGE:

She says some weird things sometimes!

BRIDEY:

She sure does. Now little brother, do you have any suggestions?

GEORGE:

We could get sucked into the picture, like you almost did just now…

BRIDEY:

That’s it! We’ll arrange it so we get sucked into the picture, free those people, and kill the spider and…

GEORGE:

Hang on that was my idea.

BRIDEY:

I’m only borrowing it.

GEORGE:

You’re always borrowing my ideas. How come you never borrow the blame when when I mess up?

BRIDEY:

Because I’m older and bigger than you remember?

PEREGRINE:

Er- hem. Sorry to interrupt but there is a slight problem with that idea.

BRIDEY:

What?

PEREGRINE:

If you go into the picture I’m afraid you would reduce in size. The spider would simply catch you both and…

BRIDEY:

And we’d be food for a rainy day yeah?

GEORGE:

There’s no way I’m ending up as rainy day food for any old spider!

BRIDEY:
Why wouldn’t we be the same size if we went into the picture Peregrine?

GEORGE:

We wouldn’t fit inside the frame …

PEREGRINE:

Well yes that’s true but the rules of transmogrification –that’s what it’s called- state that images coming from a picture must stay the same size, or they would not be able to return to it. It’s really quite logical you know. Mrs F knows all about it. Oh dear why didn’t she come?

BRIDEY:

Because she’s in a wheelchair. She broke her ankle last week doing an advanced slide move and…

PEREGRINE:
But she has magic…

BRIDEY:

Not at the moment she doesn’t. Otherwise she’d be here wouldn’t she? And she wouldn’t have phoned us in the middle of the night would she?

Sounds of loud screams coming from the picture now.

GEORGE:

Bridey! We’ve got to do something now! Look!

PEREGRINE:

Oh no! The spider’s wrapping my friends...Please! Please do something!

BRIDEY:

If we could just  find another way to get into the picture.

GEORGE:

Come on Bridey… you’re the one with the ideas. Think!

BRIDEY:

I am thinking!

Sounds of screaming getting louder.

BRIDEY:

I’ve got it! George undo your belt.

GEORGE:

What! No way! My pants’ll fall down.

BRIDEY:

Well you shouldn’t wear such baggy ones should you?

GEORGE:

All the kids wear them.

BRIDEY:

Ok! Ok! Look if they fall down they fall down! I know what you look like under your clothes anyway.

PEREGRINE:

If you could speed things up a little…please!

BRIDEY:

George, stick Peregrine in one of your pockets …

PEREGRINE:

Not a trouser pocket if you don’t mind…

BRIDEY:

And give me one end of your belt George…

GEORGE:
And the other…?

BRIDEY:

Hold on to it of course! I’ll climb into the picture and run over to the web and grab the people stuck in it…

GEORGE:

And then?

BRIDEY:

You pull me out. Right?

GEORGE:

But what about the spider?

BRIDEY:

You’ll have to distract it somehow  or she might follow me out of the picture.

GEORGE:

There are some dead flies under the picture. I’ll grab a couple of them and throw them into the web.

PEREGRINE:

Oh do hurry!

BRIDEY:

Don’t worry Peregrine. It’ll work.

PEREGRINE:

Well if you think so.

BRIDEY:

It has to. You ready George?

GEORGE:

I guess so but if my pants fall down...

BRIDEY:

They won’t. Now hang on to the belt.

GEORGE:

Right.

BRIDEY:

Got it?

GEORGE:
Yeah.

BRIDEY:

And don’t let go or I’ll never speak to you again!

Sounds of GEORGE giggling.

GEORGE:

Promise?

BRIDEY:

 Watch it!

GEORGE:

Only joking.

Sounds like masking tape or cello tape being ripped off cardboard box.

BRIDEY:

I’m in. But I’ll have to let go of the belt. It’s too heavy. 

I’ll leave it here –in front of the fire-right? Now. Can you see me?

GEORGE:
Yeah, but you’re miles away from the web!

BRIDEY:

Bugger! I’ll have to climb up somehow.

PEREGRINE:

You might try the armchair in front of the fire. It’s got excellent springs.

GEORGE:

Do it Bridey. And head for the mantelpiece. Then you’ll be close to the web.

Sounds of sproing as BRIDEY jumps up and down.

GEORGE:

Yikes!  the spider’s the same size as you are. Watch out!...

BRIDEY:

I’m almost there…

GEORGE:

It’s spotted you. Hurry!

BRIDEY:

George throw the flies into the web…now!

Scuttling sounds as spider heads towards BRIDEY.

BRIDEY:

One more to grab. Got you.

Sounds of Sproing again as BRIDEY drops down into the armchair.

GEORGE:

Hurry! The spider’s eaten the flies. She’s heading straight for you. Grab the belt buckle!

BRIDEY:

It’s too heavy. I can’t lift it. Oh come on you people. Help me out here! Grab the buckle please!

Sounds of heaving and murmuring.

BRIDEY:

Okay George pull us out. Pull us out now!

Sounds like masking tape again and half a dozen soft plops like tennis balls hitting a grass court.

GEORGE:

You all right?

BRIDEY:

Did I get everybody?

PEREGRINE:

I can’t see from in here…wait a minute…let’s see. Mm…Yes that’s all of them.

GEORGE:

Hey watch where you’re treading Big Foot.

BRIDEY:

Oops. Sorry.

GEORGE:

Come on you lot better come up here with me. 

Mr Peebles is still around somewhere. 

Hey Bridey can I have my belt back?

BRIDEY:

How come the belt didn’t shrink like I did?

GEORGE:

Probably something to do with it being inanimate.

BRIDEY:

What?

Sounds of faint scuttling

GEORGE:

Do you realize that the spider was the same size as you!

BRIDEY:
Yeah. When I was bouncing on the armchair I saw its reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.

PEREGRINE:

It is still in there you know and while it is we can’t possibly return to the picture.

BRIDEY:

George give me your belt again.

GEORGE:

What?

BRIDEY:

Just give me your belt.

GEORGE:

But…

Sounds of scuffling as BRIDEY grabs the belt and throws it into the picture.

BRIDEY:

Come on hairy legs…come on…

Sounds of scuffling as the spider grabs the belt buckle followed by sounds like masking tape being pulled off cardboard.

GEORGE:

Hey!

BRIDEY:

Oh No! You didn’t say it was a jumping spider Peregrine!

GEORGE:

And you didn’t say it would be ten times bigger outside the picture.

PEREGRINE:

Sorry. I forgot to tell you that the reduction rule only applies to people. 

For insects and animals it works both ways.

BRIDEY:

Oh No! Peregrine! Where are you?

PEREGRINE:

Right here behind you.

Sound of spider scuttling.

BRIDEY:
Quick you lot. Get on my hand. George grab them.

GEORGE:

Got ‘em. Now what?

BRIDEY:

Hang on. Where’s the torch?

GEORGE:

You’d better do something quick. The spider’s heading straight for the pocket in my shirt!

Sounds of scuttling getting louder.

GEORGE:

Get the torch!

BRIDEY:

Got it! Now you slimy piece of dog doo, get away from my friends!

Sound of squealing followed by a loud squelching sound

BRIDEY:

The thing about big spiders is they that they make a big  mess!

Sounds of faint applause and cheering.

BRIDEY:

Is everybody okay?

PEREGRINE:
My goodness that was a little too close for comfort. Why the spider might have bitten you …

GEORGE:

Yeah. But it didn’t did it? Is it dead Bridey?

BRIDEY:

If a pile of yucky mush indicates lack of life then it’s dead.

Sounds of cheering and applause coming from George's shirt pocket.

PEREGRINE:

Thank you so much for saving my portrait…and my friends.

BRIDEY:

But the picture… Everything’s fading. The chair; the fireplace…

GEORGE:

The web’s still there though.

PEREGRINE:

Oh dear. That must not happen!  The picture must have people or it will vanish.

We’d better get back in. Come on everybody. Quickly please!  George, if you wouldn’t mind holding us a little closer to the picture, we’ll do the rest. And thank you so much again. Give my best to Mrs F when you see her. Goodbye!

Sounds like masking tape etc and chattering.

BRIDEY:

Well they’re back in the picture.

GEORGE:

Yeah and look at Peregrine.

BRIDEY:

Where?

GEORGE:

There, leaning against the fireplace with a book in his hand.

BRIDEY:

Yeah, but I don’t think the others are listening- look they’re waving at us.

GEORGE:

And there’s no sign of the spider or the web.

BRIDEY:

I think you were right about the portrait. It does seem a bit small.  

He did say it was a miniature though, didn’t he?

GEORGE:

Hey Bridey look.

BRIDEY:

What?

GEORGE:

 There on the mat. In front of the fire …

BRIDEY:

Mr Peebles!

GEORGE:

How’d he get in there?

Sound of door creaking open.

GEORGE:

The door’s opening.

BRIDEY:

Good. That means it's time to go. Come on.

GEORGE:

But what about Mr Peebles? Shouldn’t we get him?

BRIDEY:

Why? He seems quite happy there. Come on let’s get out of here.

Sounds of scrambling as Bridey and George make their way back up and out of the toilet.

BRIDEY:

OK. Now to report to Mrs F.

Sounds of wheelchair wheels squeaking.

MRS F:

Hello! My golly goodness that was quick.

BRIDEY:

O yeah? It felt like forever to me!

GEORGE:

We found a room and there was this picture and a …

MRS F:

Not so fast George dear. Slow down. 

Now I suggest we all go back up to the house 

and then you can tell me all about it over a mug of hot chocolate.

Sounds of wheelchair squeaking and footsteps heading towards the house.

GEORGE:

You didn’t find Mrs Overton’s back door then?

MRS F;

Unfortunately no my dears. I’m afraid it was reduced to splinters.

 But not to worry Mrs Overton can use it as kindling for her fire next winter.

BRIDEY:

But what's she going to do for a door?

MRS F: 

Oh well. Perhaps your dad will pop round tomorrow and hang a new one.

BRIDEY:

Storm’s gone too?

MRS F:

Oh my golly goodness yes dear, one last roar of thunder and poof! It vanished. 

But not before blowing me a rather rude sounding raspberry. 

Peregrine has such a sense of humour.

GEORGE:

And the lightning?

MRS F:

A flash about as bright as the tiniest distant star dear, and it vanished too.

GEORGE:

Did it blow a raspberry as well?

MRS F:

No but I did feel a slight zap on the end of my nose.

BRIDEY:

So that’s it then? We just go home now huh?

MRS F:

Yes but have your hot chocolate first dear.

Sound of chairs being scraped across the floor and mugs clattering.

MRS F:

There you are. Now drink up.

BRIDEY:

Mrs F?

MRS F:

Yes dear.

BRIDEY:

Mr Peebles got into the picture somehow.

MRS F:

Did he dear?

GEORGE:

Yes I thought we should get him but she said…

MRS F:

I wouldn’t worry too much about Mr Peebles.

BRIDEY:

But won't you miss him?

MRS F:

Of course but he's always done his "own thing" Isn't that you young people say? 

You mustn’t worry about Mr Peebles. 

 I think he’ll be more than happy with my friend Peregrine.

BRIDEY:

You knew what would happen in that room didn’t you?

MRS F:

Yes dear. How’s the hot chocolate, by the way? Is it sweet enough?

BRIDEY:
Why didn’t you tell us?

GEORGE:

We were nearly ‘rainy day’ food for a hairy spider Mrs F!

MRS F:

Were you dear?  I would never have asked you to do something if I didn’t think that you could manage it. You cleared the picture didn’t you? And my friend Peregrine will be forever grateful to you both.

GEORGE:
Does that mean that the picture isn’t in the room any more?

MRS F:
The picture will always be in the room…

BRIDEY:

You mean the room isn’t there any more right?

MRS F:

That’s right dear.

GEORGE:

Where’s it gone?

MRS F:

Back where it belongs, I should think dear; Into its own dimension. And if I remember correctly Peregrine’s portrait hangs in Theodolus Door’s house, which is somewhere off to the right a little-or is it off to the left.  I get the directions mixed up sometimes. Anyway you can be sure the picture is back where it belongs. And now if you’ve finished your chocolate I think it’s time for you both to leave. I think that Mrs Overton is about to wake up and it wouldn’t do for her to find you, or me, here so late at night now would it?

BRIDEY:
Yeah. Guess you’re right. Come on George. Thanks for the chocolate Mrs F.

MRS F:

You’re welcome dear. Now you might as well slide from here. That way you’ll avoid Mrs Overton’s rose bush.

GEORGE:

Great. That means Mrs Overton’s thorns won’t attack my bum!

MRS F:

Exactly dear.  Now off you go or you’ll be late for your breakfast.

GEORGE:

Uhh?

MRS F:

Of you go. Until next time. Goodbye my dears. Goodbye!

Sound of whirring.

NARRATOR:

And so that is where we leave BRIDEY, GEORGE and the unusual MRS F. But I have a feeling that they’ll be back. In the meantime keep an eye on any unusual storm activity in your area and keep an eye out too, for an unusual lady called MRS F...Bye!

THE END.