The Lady in the Van Page #6

Does she know that?

Well, how can she?

She doesn't know who she is.

Yeah, that's what you think.

Using your mother.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

She didn't say this.

No. But why shouldn't she?

You write about her all the time,

one way or another.

You use your mother.

That's what writers do.

Me next, I suppose.

Anyway, now you're here,

I need some shopping done.

You ought to go yourself.

You should try and walk more.

- I do walk.

- I never see you.

Well, that's 'cause you're not around

in the middle of the night.

I want some batteries.

And some sherbet lemons.

- Mr Bennett?

- Yes?

Would you like to push me up the street?

Not particularly, no.

This'll do. Turn me 'round. Turn me 'round!

All right.

Whee!

Careful!

Are you all right?

Yes, I think so.

Would you like me to make you

a cup of coffee?

No.

No, I don't want you to go to all that

trouble. I'll just have half a cup.

Oh!

I have to go to mass.

- Well, you're not fit.

- Here.

It's an anniversary and

a day of obligation.

Oh? Who for? A saint?

No. A young man.

Oh? Someone you loved?

No! Certainly not. Just someone I...

Someone who died.

He'd be in his 50s now.

Was he a Catholic?

Possibly, possibly. Only he's in purgatory.

He needs my prayers.

What was his name?

No, I never bother with names.

The body of Christ.

The body of Christ.

- Yes?

- I live down the street.

I've seen you.

It's you that has the van.

Yes.

Difficult woman.

A Catholic.

One of the sisters remembers her.

I've been told she was very argumentative.

Is that why she was made to leave?

Disputatious, she was.

I've had her pointed out to me

on that account, hankering after the piano.

She always thought she was right.

She wasn't right. God is right.

End of story.

Anyway, what do you want to know for?

- She's ill.

- Who? The woman?

I wondered if there was a nun available who

could talk to her, do her some shopping.

We don't have shopping nuns.

It's a strict order.

I've seen them shopping.

I saw one yesterday at Marks & Spencer.

She was buying meringues.

The Bishop may have been coming.

Well, does he like meringues?

Who are you, coming 'round,

asking if the Bishop likes meringues?

Are you a communist?

She's ill. She's a Catholic,

and I think she might be dying.

Well, they can pray for her,

only you'll have to fill in a form.

She'll probably pull her socks up

once your back is turned.

That's been my experience

where invalids are concerned.

This way out!

I don't want you bumping into the sisters.

Oh!

Another parcel on the path.

If... When I write about all this, people

will say there's too much about sh*t.

But there was a lot about sh*t.

Sh*t was in the forefront.

Caring, which is not a word I like,

caring is about sh*t.

- I've talked to Mary.

- Or Margaret.

Or Margaret.

Miss Shepherd, anyway.

She tells me you don't encourage her to get

out and lead a more purposeful life,

and put obstacles in her way.

I don't encourage her to think

she can become prime minister.

I do encourage her

to try and get to the supermarket.

Yes. A carer will often feel that...

Excuse me, may I stop you? Do not call

me the carer. I am not the carer.

I hate caring. I hate the thought.

I hate the word.

I do not care, and I do not care for. I am

here, she is there. There is no caring.

Alan, I'm sensing hostility again.

You see, I'm wondering

whether having cared for Mary,

as it were, single handed

for all these years,

you don't understandably resent it

when the professionals lend a hand.

No, though I resent it

when the professionals

turn up every three months or so

and try to tell me what this woman,

whom I have coped with on a daily basis

for the past 15 years, is like.

What is she like?

Mary, as you call her, is a bigoted,

blinkered, cantankerous, devious,

unforgiving, self-serving,

rank, rude, car-mad cow.

Which is to say nothing

of her flying faeces

and her ability to extrude

from her withered buttocks

turds of such force that they land

a yard from the back of the van

and their presumed point of exit.

Though, of course,

you didn't say any of that.

People will think it's

because you're too nice.

It's actually because you're too timid.

Yes. Though this being England,

timid is good, too.

Well, this has been very helpful.

I'll see about getting her a doctor.

Is it a man doctor?

Yes.

I don't want a man doctor.

Don't they have a woman?

Sorry. Miss Shepherd,

I only want to take your pulse.

- Which hand? Do you have a preference?

- No.

Ah.

It's normally cleaner than that.

Miss Shepherd, I'd like to take you

to hospital for a day or so,

just to run some tests.

No, I've always had great faith in onions.

Yes.

But onions can only take you so far,

medically speaking.

She won't go to hospital.

- How do you know?

- Ask her.

Would she go to the day centre?

She could be looked at there.

And she could stay for a few days.

She won't go to the day centre.

Are you sure?

Have you asked her?

She will not go to the day centre. I know.

Of course I'll go.

They won't make me stay in?

No, they're going to give you a bath

and put you in some clean clothes

and do some tests.

Will they leave me to it?

- Where?

- In the bath.

I know how to bath myself.

I've won awards for that.

Yes, I remember.

- Mr Bennett.

- Yes?

It won't look

as if I'm being taken away, will it?

Taken away where?

Where they take people

because they're not right.

Do they do that still?

Well, sometimes,

but you need a lot of signatures.

But they pretend things

to get you there sometimes.

That's the danger with next of kin.

It's one of their tricks.

They might be pretending it's a day centre.

- No.

- Well, I...

I've been had like that once before.

Alan.

Miss Shepherd.

Now, I'm a bit behindhand with things,

so there may be a bit of a...

- Put your arm around my neck.

- Oh!

There we go.

I've not gone in for

this kind of thing much.

I note how,

with none of my own distaste,

the ambulance driver does not hesitate

to touch Miss Shepherd,

and even puts his arm around her

as he lowers her into the chair.

I note, too, his careful rearrangement

of her greasy clothing,

pulling the skirt down over her knees

in the interest of modesty.

I'm coming back, you know.

This isn't a toe in the water job.

Is there anything you'd like us to take

and have us wash?

Well, why? Most of my things are clean.

Not ill, your friend?

- No.

- Not going?

- Only to the day centre, apparently.

- Oh.

The children always ask after her.

They used to be so frightened of her

when they were young.

One's in Washington now. The World Bank.

How long has it been? Ten years?

- More like 15.

- A lifetime.

Mr Bennett. Mr Bennett.

That social worker wanted to know

my next of kin.

I don't want my next of kin broadcast,

so I said I didn't have any.

Only, they're in this envelope.

And you keep it under your hat.

Do you know

I was an ambulance driver myself once?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes