The Limey Page #8

WILSON:

She never told Eddie, though.

ELAINE:

She never told anyone else.

(making light now)

About the convict strain -- or is it

stain? No, I was privileged. I was

someone who helped Jenny efface her past.

WILSON:

How'd you manage that, then.

ELAINE:

When I'm not honing my craft in episodic

television I do double-duty as a voice

coach. Not that her accent would have

hobbled her progress. Not with that

look.

WILSON:

Yeah, well, she started all that in

London.

ELAINE:

Modelling.

WILSON:

Learnin' 'ow to speak proper.

(putting it on a bit there.

Then, upper crust:)

Central School of Speech and Drama.

It's no doddle gettin' in there, y'know.

At seventeen. They offered her a place

at RADA n' all, only she'd've had to wait

till the next session and she was always

in hurry to get on, was Jenny. She could

talk posh without any training, when she

was knee-high to a grasshopper.

(indicating himself)

Show up the old man, you know.

Elaine smiles slightly. None of this information new to her.

But warming to this man.

ELAINE:

You weren't disappointed in her, then.

WILSON:

In Jenny? 'Course not. How could I be.

'Course I wasn't.

ELAINE:

She was twenty-one when she came to me.

(looks at him)

... Straight from leaving you.

WILSON:

Footloose and fancy free.

ELAINE:

She was happy here. However the two of

you might have parted. Don't think she

wasn't.

It's because Wilson thinks the opposite that he's here.

Looks at Elaine.

WILSON:

That's the trouble, n' it.

(hard as nails again)

She enjoyed life.

CUT.

EXT. OCEANFRONT. NIGHT.

They walk along the seafront. We HEAR the ocean but can't

see it.

ELAINE:

When did you get in?

WILSON:

Yesterday. Afternoon.

ELAINE:

(occurs to her)

You haven't been lurking outside my

building all day.

WILSON:

No, I had -- some other matters to attend

to, you know. Getting a car sorted...

ELAINE:

I might've been away for the weekend.

WILSON:

Well, I reckoned, Saturday night, if you

were goin' out, you'd probably have to

come home first.

ELAINE:

And you've seen Eddie Rama.

WILSON:

Yeah, saw Eddie, yeah. Me and him are

muckers.

Mates. Friends. Makes a kind of bonding gesture.

ELAINE:

I should really give him a call. He's a

character, isn't he. Well, not to you.

I meant to us squares in the outside

world.

WILSON:

He give me your address.

ELAINE:

I gave him yours. Said, here, you want

to write, I think this is a relative. I

guess I thought I was being true to

Jenny. Who told me she didn't have a

father -- before proceeding of course to

tell me why.

WILSON:

Well, don't suppose she did, really, most

of her life. On her own after her mum

died. Aunts and uncles for a time -- and

then the bright lights beckoned.

ELAINE:

Were you still married at the time -- to

Jenny's mother, I mean?

WILSON:

Nah, we split up when Jenny was six. Her

second husband done a runner after she

got sick. They give me compassionate

leave from Parkhurst to go visit her in

hospital. We were always mates, me and

Jenny's mum. I like to think they're

together again now. Y'know. Heavenly

choir.

Beat.

ELAINE:

The address Jenny gave me, that wasn't a

prison, was it?

WILSON:

Nah, accommodation address.

ELAINE:

What's that, like a P.O. box.

WILSON:

Something like that, yeah.

ELAINE:

Where you get your bank statements.

Wilson gives a laugh.

WILSON:

Well, you gotta have something permanent,

don'tcha. Even if it's a hole in the

wall. No matter which jug I might be

transferred to, I always got someone on

the out checks up on it for me, see.

Anything I need to know, comes round on

visitor's day -- word in my ear.

Elaine pauses.

ELAINE:

Some word.

Wilson leans on the wall overlooking the black ocean. Sound

of WAVES gently lapping the beach.

WILSON:

I already knew. Knew beforehand. When

was it supposed to have happened? -- two

o'clock in the morning, Eddie said.

ELAINE:

(watching him)

That's what was estimated.

WILSON:

Eight hours difference between here and

London. Would've been, what, ten in the

morning, my time. I was just coming out

on the yard. Now, I was in the habit of

saving my newspaper till then. Bit of

fresh air, stretch me legs -- well,

stretch the day out, really, that's what

you wanna do. And I'll tell ya: I

couldn't open the paper. Could not pry

the pages apart -- it was like they was

glued together. That's how weak my hands

went. Thought I was having heart attack,

only I knew I wasn't. Bloke come up to

me, he says, Dave, he says, you've gone

all white. I said, f*** me, I've been in

prison half my life, what d'ya expect.

But he was dead on, 'cause I could feel

the blood drain right out of me head.

And I knew...

(beat)

Something had happened to Jen.

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