Tripwires

INTRODUCTION

It’s been a long time since radio was the ‘next big thing’, the technological marvel that took pride of place in the world’s living rooms and needed two people to lift. And no, before you ask, I’m not old enough to remember those times personally! Since then, of course, we’ve had a succession of wired (and wireless) new kids on the block: television, cinema, the internet, etc. But radio hasn’t died out, any more than vinyl records have. My first love on the airways was music, of course. As a teenager I had ‘an old tranny’ that I used sneak up to bed with me so I could listen to Radio Luxemburg into the small hours. As I got older, however, I started listening to radio plays on the BBC. The quality was consistently high, and I remember trawling through the Radio Times circling every radio drama I could find, short or long, with a red pen. By this time I was writing short fiction, unspectacularly at first, but improving with every story. Much later in life I returned to writing and experimented in different areas from my usual short story repertoire. The results of those endeavours can be found in DUMB ANGEL (screenplays), TRAPDOORS (stage plays) and now, in TRIPWIRES, with four of my radio plays.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to get any of these broadcast, though I’ve come frustratingly close on numerous occasions. If I had to choose my personal favourite it would probably be ‘Skin Test’, which I adapted from its original stage version, following a frustrating ‘near miss’ with a local theatre. The main reason for this choice was because my father, who never reads any fiction, picked it up one day and read it from cover to cover, unable to put it down.

The plays all read well, and you’ll find a mixture of humour and tension, politics and passion throughout the collection. I hope you enjoy reading these radio plays as much as I did writing and editing them. And if you haven’t tried listening to a radio play recently, do give BBC Radio a try.

Gary.

Wivenhoe. March, 2019.

BLACK ICE

SETTING:

An Essex country pub. Halloween. Just before midnight.

CAST:

DAVE (The Husband, 33)

ED (The Landlord, 48)

JIMMY (The Gatecrasher, 22)

KEVIN (The Best Friend, 34)

SCENE 1.

DAVE:

Listen!

FROM A DISTANCE WE HEAR THE DRONE OF AN APPROACHING CAR.

KEVIN:

That’s him. Has to be.

ED:

Best unlock that door, then. Eh?

DAVE:

You’re not seriously suggesting we let him?

ED:

I’m not ‘suggesting’ anything, Dave. But I am serious.

THE SOUND OF THE CAR IS HEARD AGAIN, CLOSER THIS TIME.

Now let’s get this over and done with.

KEVIN:

Think of it as a play. Everyone has his role.

ED:

Everyone has his lines.

DAVE:

I’ll think of it as the fifth anniversary. Because that’s what it is. We can’t keep this up forever.

THE SOUND OF A CAR ENGINE GUNS AROUND THE CORNER, FOLLOWED BY TYRES CRUNCHING ACROSS GRAVEL.

ED:

Listen, Dave. This is my pub. I open it. I close it. No one else. Understand?

DAVE:

But it’s been five years, for pity’s sake!

ED:

Read my lips, Dave. I’m not asking.

THE CAR ENGINE DIES, A CAR DOOR SLAMS, THEN FOOTSTEPS CRUNCH ACROSS GRAVEL.

DAVE:

I won’t do it! Do you hear? Not this time. I won’t!

THE FOOTSTEPS STOP.

ED:

You’re not wriggling out of this. We’re all in this together. Just like we were five years ago.

KEVIN:

He’ll only be here for ten minutes, Dave. Just ten minutes once a year. It’s nothing.

WE HEAR THE METAL LATCH RATTLE.

DAVE:

Listen. If we keep quiet, keep away from the windows…

KEVIN:

Ha! You think he’ll just give up and disappear? He doesn’t know it’s been five years. It’s cruel to keep him waiting.

ED:

Now open that door!

WE HEAR POUNDING ON THE DOOR.

DAVE:

You shouldn’t have served him that night. Hell, we should never have let him walk back out that door.

KEVIN:

Maybe not, Dave. But the fact is we did. And the rest is history. Our history.

WE HEAR THE LATCH RATTLE, FOLLOWED BY SUSTAINED POUNDING AND SHOUTING.

ED:

Ten minutes and it’s over for another year.

DAVE:

I know. I know! (SIGHING) But seeing him again. Standing there, talking, laughing, breathing…

WE HEAR THE BAR HATCH OPEN WITH A BANG.

ED:

(SNARLING) Dave!

DAVE:

All right. All right!

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS ON FLOORBOARDS AND TWO HEAVY BOLTS DRAWN BACK.

DAVE:

(WHISPERED) God forgive me…

SOMEONE BURSTS IN, SLAMMING THE DOOR CLOSED WITH A BANG.

JIMMY:

(VOICE SLURRED) What’s this, then, Eddie? Another lock-in on a Saturday night? They’ll have your licence.

ED:

Only if they catch me selling. I’m just enjoying a private drink with some friends. Usual, Jimmy?

FOOTSTEPS STRIDING OVER TO THE BAR.

JIMMY:

Actually, I’m not stopping.

DAVE:

(UNDER HIS BREATH) We know…

JIMMY:

But I will have a quick whiskey. If you’re offering. Just to keep the cold out, you understand.

WE HEAR LIQUOR SPLASHING INTO A GLASS.

JIMMY:

You’re quiet, Dave. Everything all right?

ED:

Dave’s just fine.

JIMMY:

Really? Looks like he’s just seen a…

DAVE:

(LOUDLY) Don’t you think you’ve had too much already, Jimmy?

ED:

Dave!

JIMMY:

Yer! Easy, Daddy. I’m only going to Hedingham after this. And besides, you never see a patrol car on the back roads. I’ll be fine. Now let me enjoy my...

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS POUND ACROSS THE FLOORBOARDS.

DAVE:

I won’t let this happen. Not again!

WE HEAR A GLASS THROWN AGAINST A WALL AND SHATTER.

JIMMY:

What the…?

ED:

For God’s sake, Dave!

DAVE:

Now make him a coffee, Ed. Strong, black. Two sugars.

ED:

There isn’t time.

JIMMY:

(SNIGGERING) What is wrong with you tonight, Dave?

DAVE:

Something soft, then. An orange juice.

JIMMY:

I think you’ve gone soft, Dave. Eh, lads?

DAVE:

There must be ice all over those back roads. Wherever you’re going, I’m telling you, you won’t make it.

JIMMY:

Is that a fact? Well, you listen carefully. I can handle the roads tonight. And I can handle you, too. (BEAT) If I have to.

WE HEAR DAVE PACING THE FLOOR.

DAVE:

Why did you come here at all? Why just pop in and leave ten minutes later? That’s what I can’t work out.

JIMMY:

I saw the lights on. Thought I’d say hello. What’s wrong with that?

DAVE:

Nothing. Except this is not exactly on the way to Hedingham, is it?

JIMMY:

Ah, Dave. You think I’m up to something?

DAVE:

Well, aren’t you? You do have something of a reputation.

ED:

No good will come of this! I’m warning you!

JIMMY:

(CHUCKLING) All right, then. I’ll level with you. (WHISPERED) I had to make a little detour to be sure her husband’s out the way. (BEAT) Which he is. So, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen…

WE HEAR A CHAIR SCRAPING THE FLOOR.

DAVE:

I mean it, Jimmy! You sober up before you walk back through that door or you don’t walk through it at all.

ED:

Dave! Enough! Let it lie, man!

JIMMY:

Yer. That’s fighting talk, daddy. Maybe I’m not the one that needs to sober up here.

DAVE:

I’m not bluffing, Jimmy. You’re going nowhere.

WE HEAR A BOTTLE HASTILY OPENED AND POURED.

ED:

Just have the blasted orange juice and be on your way, Jimmy. I don’t want any trouble.

JIMMY:

(SLYLY) You know, Dave, if I didn’t know any different, I’d say you were jealous.

WE HEAR A DRINK SWALLOWED WITH AN EXAGGERATED GASP OF SATISFACTION.

(SARCASTICALLY) Happy now, Dave?

WE HEAR THE GLASS BANGED DOWN ONTO THE BAR.

(CHEERFULLY) Right, then. Quick slash and I’m out of here. Leave you older gentlemen to your lock-in.

WE HEAR JIMMY WALKING AWAY, WHISTLING, AND A DOOR BANG CLOSED