Entertaining Mr Sloane Page #6

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Does he?

He... he kicked me yesterday.

I'll have a word with him.

Er, er... And that's not all.

She's going to have...

(Sloane groans)

I should send him home.

(Snores)

Mr Sloane?

- Hm...

- Mr Sloane?

(Groans)

You're to go downstairs and see Ed.

He's ever so cross.

Says you were out in the motor last night.

Gave his consent as a matter of fact.

He's talking

in terms of cards and dismissal.

You was with a lady he says.

He got proof.

Hm.

Proof? What proof? (Groans)

I don't know.

I've been to the register office.

Register office. What for?

About the license.

What are you talking about?

I haven't told Ed yet.

But we're going to have...

Well, thanks, Dad, for letting me know.

You were right to come to me.

Where was you last night?

(Sloane) I retired early.

A beaker of Bournvita, a good book.

What more can a man ask?

Do you think I'm an idiot or something?

(Gunshot)

Oh, I remember now. I went for a spin.

Had headache. Along the A40.

- Who went with you?

- Nobody.

(Gunshot)

Three mates come with me.

Who were they?

Would I want them in my motor?

You'd recognise Harry Thorpe. Small.

Clear complexion. Infectious good humour.

Harry Beck and Doolan.

No, you wouldn't know them.

What type of youths are they?

Impeccable taste.

Buy their clothes up west.

Any of them wear lipstick?

(Sloane clicks tongue)

Erm, you've jogged my memory. Erm...

(Smacks lips) Doolan's married.

We took his wife along. Just for the ride.

Just for the ride.

Straight up, Ed.

You lying little bastard,

taking birds out in my motor.

Well, what's up, Ed?

You're put out. I can tell.

The old man's been

making a complaint about you.

Ah, his mind's going senile.

I've been meaning to mention it.

- Did you ever kick him?

- Occasionally, Ed. He understands.

And he said...

Is she, er... pregnant?

Who?

Now, she threw herself at me.

What a little whoreson you are.

You little whoreson!

You are a little whoreson and no mistake!

I'm nonplussed, boy. Choked.

What attracted you?

Did she give trading stamps?

- I put up a fight!

- She had your cherry.

You've no idea. I prayed for guidance.

I'd imagine a prayer for your situation

would be hard to come by.

Did you never think

of locking your bedroom door?

Oh, you don't understand.

It gathered momentum.

You make it sound like a washing machine.

When did you stop?

- I haven't stopped!

- Not stopped!

Lay Off, Ed!

You're a constant source

of amazement, boy.

A never-ending tale of infamy.

I'd hardly credit it.

Joyriding in an expensive motor.

A woman pregnant.

My word! You're unforgiveable!

I don't know that I'm qualified

to pronounce judgment.

Oh!

I know I done wrong, Ed.

It's my upbringing.

No proper training.

Lack of... parental control.

I'm sorry for you.

A firm hand's what I need.

I respect you, Ed.

Then why tell me lies?

Ah, that's only your impression.

I've been dogged by bad luck.

You've had a hard life, I know that,

but that's no excuse for looseness.

I need guidance, Ed.

And you're just the man to give it.

You got to learn

to live a decent life sometime, boy.

I know. I blame the way you are

on emotional shock.

- You're confused, aren't you?

- Oh!

Emotionally unequipped to deal

with the complications of modern life.

- I shouldn't be surprised.

- Never went to church.

No, you've got it, Ed.

Know me better than I know myself.

Your youth pleads for leniency.

And, my God, I'm gonna give it.

You're as pure as a lamb. Purer.

- Ed, you're a pal.

- Am I?

Oh, one of my mates.

Is that a fact?

It's refreshing to hear you say it,

but do me a favour.

Avoid the birds in future.

She's as much to blame as you I grant.

I've no hesitation in saying that.

Then why conform

to the standards of the cowshed?

It's a thing you grow out of.

With me behind you, boy...

...you'll grow out of it.

Thanks, Eddie.

Oh, I knew there must

be some reasonable explanation

of your otherwise inexplicable conduct.

I think the time's come for us

to make a change.

- In what way, Ed?

- I'll need you on tap.

- Oh?

- At all hours.

In case I have to make a journey

to some distant place

at an unexpected

and inconvenient hour of the night.

In a manner of speaking it's urgent

and you shouldn't be left with her.

Crafty tart she is.

Now, go and get your bag packed.

The old man was the basic trouble.

I considered leaving

as a result of the way he carried on.

- Insults?

- Oh, shocking.

He deserves a good belting.

You may have something there.

I thought you might have had

an exaggerated respect for the elderly.

- Not me.

- I've got nothing against him.

But he's lived so long,

he's more like an old bird than a bloke.

(Tuts) How is it that such a father

had such a son?

(Tuts) Mystery-.

Have a word with him while

you're up there. I'll wait in the car.

I'm willing to forgive the past if he is.

- Appeal to his better nature?

- Huh?

Say you're upset.

Er, wag your finger perhaps.

I have the fullest confidence

in your ability.

(Door slams)

Er... Ed.

- Where's Ed?

- He ain't here. He's gone for a walk.

What have you been saying about me?

- Nothing, sonny.

- Told him she's up the stick, did ya?

Well, he's her brother. He ought to know.

What's it got to do with you?

You're a criminal, you are.

How are you gonna identify me?

I don't have to. They got fingerprints.

Really?

You killed my old boss.

- Who says I did?

- I do.

Your vision's faulty.

- You told Ed this?

- No.

That's quite sensible of you, Pop.

If I was you,

I'd keep very quiet about it.

Spreading stories. (Tuts)

That's all.

(Door closes)

You murdered him!

You bugger! You bugger!

(Groans)

Little bugger.

I'll get him.

(Mutters)

Bugger .

- I'm an orphan!

- Get away!

- Get away from me! Leave me alone!

- I trust you, Pop. Listen.

Keep quiet.

It's like this, you see.

One day I leave the home, stroll along.

Sky blue, fresh air.

They'd found me

a likeable permanent situation.

Canteen facilities. Fortnight's

paid holiday. Staff dance each year.

What more could one wish

to devote one's life to?

I certainly love that place.

The air round Twickenham was like wine.

Then one day I take a trip

to the old man's grave.

"Ashes to ashes. Alas, the fleeting."

The sun was declining.

A few press-ups on a tomb

belonging to a family name of Cavanagh.

And I left the graveyard.

I thumbs a lift from a geezer

who promises me a bed.

Gives me a bath and a meal.

Very friendly he was. All you could wish.

A photographer.

He showed me

one or two experimental studies.

An experience for the retina

and no mistake.

Hm.

He wanted to photo me.

For certain interesting features I had

that he wanted the exclusive right

of preserving.

You know how it is.

I didn't know how to refuse.

No harm in it I suppose.

Then I got to thinking.

I knew a kid once called McBride

that it happened to.

Ah, yes.

So when I gets to think about this,

I decided I gotta do something about it.

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