Humble Boy (2 page)

Mercy
   I liked the bit about you spinning a web around him.

Flora
   Oh yes, there was no end to his metaphorical prowess. Men who spend their waking hours studying the mating rituals of arachnids should not be allowed out.

Felix
   They're his friends.

Flora
   They
were
his friends. Friends of the
late
James Humble. A group of tedious entomologists. No, no, let me adhere to the linguistic rules that have been imposed on us today. A boredom of entomologists. A woeful irritation of insect men. Open up their collective thorax and you will not find a beating heart among them.

Mercy
   Shall I go and make some more sandwiches? I thought the beef paste was going down rather well.

Felix
   I haven't b–b–been well.

Flora
   Your father is dead, Felix. Your being unwell barely registers on the Richter scale.

Felix
   I tried to sp–speak – to sum his life up –

Flora
   We are every one of us unwell. Do not deceive yourself that you hold the monopoly. Mercy's not well. She hasn't been right in years.

Mercy
   Well, a little arthritis in my back –

Flora
   And I am recovering from major surgery.

Mercy
   Oh, she is.

Felix
   (
quietly
) P–plastic.

Flora
   What did you say?

Felix
   A nose job is not major surgery.

Mercy
   Oh, but her face was black and blue. You should have seen it. Even now if you look under those glasses – ah, the bruising, she looks terrible –

Flora
   Shut up, Mercy.

Mercy
   I only meant –

Flora
   Did you not have a more suitable pair of shoes?

Mercy
   What?

Flora
   I've told you about wearing brown and black together.

Felix
   You're not wearing b–black.

Flora
   Black is too draining. Anyway this is Jean Muir. And I have to say I find it rich, yes, ripe that I am being criticised on my choice of – look at you! Did you seriously think that this was appropriate attire for your father's funeral? You don't even play – you were a horror when it came to ball games. In fact I don't recognise you. Look at yourself. You've grown fat and unkempt. How could you do this?

Mercy
   Should I pop home and change them?

Flora
   Oh please go in, Mercy. See to the insect men. Wreak havoc with some potted shrimp, for Christ's sake.

Mercy
   Right. Yes. Good idea. You'll be all right?

Flora
   Oh yes, yes. My husband is dead and my only son, who has grown fat and strange, has just run away from his own father's funeral. I'll be fine. Fine. At least those bastard bees are gone.

A moment, then Mercy leaves apologetically.

Mercy
   Yes. Yes. Sorry, Flora.

Felix and Flora stand there.

Felix
   B–b–blessed are the p–p–peacemakers.

Flora
   For they shall irritate the hell out of you … I saved up a long time for that operation.

Felix
   I know.

Flora
   Your father wanted me to – (
carefully
) he didn't not want me to – he knew what it meant to me.

Felix
   Yes.

Flora
   I didn't even know he was in the garden. I was upstairs, resting, when he collapsed. I couldn't hear – the bandages covered my ears, muffled the sound. But I knew. I was reading
Vogue
and suddenly it dropped from my hands. Just fell to the floor. But there was nothing – he was dead in an instant, you know, his heart –

Felix
   Yes.

Flora
   I couldn't bear to have his things. I couldn't bear –

Felix
   It doesn't matter.

Flora
   Perhaps I should have kept – for you – but really, you haven't been here in such a long time –

Felix
   Just because you can't see something doesn't mean that it isn't there.

Flora
   (
sharply
) What?

Felix
   B–black holes. They're not observable. Well, without very sophisticated microlensing techniques they're not.

Pause. Flora is wrong-footed.

Flora
   Don't try and blind me with science, Felix.

Felix
   I'm not.

Flora
   You made me look like a fool in that church. This is not something that I will be able to forgive, Felix.

Felix
   No.

Flora
   This is not something that I will be able to forget.

Felix
   No.

She turns to go, turns back.

Flora
   What pills are you taking?

Felix
   It's nothing. Nothing. For nerves. Just to help me sleep.

Flora
   I always know when you are ill.

Felix
   Yes.

Flora
   Well, you're too old now for me to … Are you going back today?

Felix
   I don't know yet.

She looks at Felix intently. The gardener Jim walks into the garden. He is in his sixties, thoughtful and quiet, even absent-minded, with a gentle sense of humour. Felix stares at him, Flora does not look at him. He carries a hoe and a bucket of ashes and tea leaves. He scatters the ashes under the rose bush, spreads them. Flora looks away, around the garden.

Flora
   It's such a beautiful day. Shame.

She walks back into the house, giving the hive a wide berth. Jim glances at her as she leaves. Felix continues to look at Jim. Jim notices him watching.

Jim
   I know, I know. I thought twice about coming today. But what with this hot weather, it all needs doing and your mother can't bear it getting out of hand, can she?

Felix
   No, she can't.

Jim
   (
looking at the roses
) This has definitely come out of itself today … (
He dead-heads the bush.
) I like the floribundas but Mrs Humble is fond of the hybrids. They smell sweeter of course. That always swings it for her. I'd go for more variety but she only wants the scented flowers. And I do as I'm told.

Felix
   Yes.

Jim
   This one's a hybrid tea,
Rosa ‘Josephine Bruce'.
Don't know who she was, Josephine, but she's got quite a jolly flower named after her. Beautiful dark crimson, lovely scent – and so easy. Positively rampant. Makes me think Miss Bruce must have been a bit of a goer in her day.

Felix
   She might not be dead. Josephine B–b–b–

Jim
   No, you're right, she could still be at it. But often they are, aren't they? Dead, I mean. And this is a nice way of carrying them on. For their family.

Felix
   Yes.

Jim
   You'd be surprised how many are named after the strangest people. There's a pink climber called Bobby Charlton. Not that he's dead. Or is he? Anyway, it's a real blowsy thing, I always wondered if he had a hand in choosing it for himself. I rather hope he did … Sorry, listen to me, I'm not thinking. Are you all right, lad?

Felix
   The b–b–bees are gone.

Jim
   I know, it's a sad day. Very sad. A hive without its bees. It says it all, doesn't it?

Felix
   I saw it. There were four of them. An apocalpse. In all their regalia. White with their veils on, carrying their boxes and the – you know – (
He searches for the word.
)

Jim
   Smokers?

Felix
   Yes.

Jim
   To pacify the bees, I know.

Felix
   It was strange. No, it was beautiful.

Jim
   (
smiles
) Was it? (
Jim enjoys the story of the bee-keepers.
)

Felix
   I was watching from upstairs and the sky was black with bees. But the bee-keepers didn't panic.

Jim
   No. They wouldn't.

Felix
   They placed a white sheet on the ground and reached up towards the bees. And what was odd – from where I was upstairs, from that angle, with the blackness of the sky and the whiteness of their suits, it seemed like they lifted right off the ground. It made me – I can't describe it exactly – but it, it made me want to cry.

Pause.

Jim
   Don't tell Mrs Humble, but there's still some left.

Felix
   What?

Jim
   Bees. The ones that got away. They've outwitted her. God love 'em.

Felix
   But the hive is empty.

Jim
   No, not in the hive.
Bombus hortorum.
The garden bumblebee. There's a nest underneath the shed. I found it just the other day. At least they look like
hortorums.

Felix
   You didn't tell her?

Jim
   If she wants her flowers, she should be thankful for some friendly neighbourhood bees. Anyway, they'll die off soon. They'll only last the summer, not like the honey-bees. I think we should leave them in peace, don't you?

Felix
   Yes. Till the end of summer. Yes.

Jim
   Good lad. It can be our little secret.

Felix
   I'd better get in now.

Jim
   Yes. There's quite a gathering in there.

Felix
   They'll want to see me.

Felix stumbles away, perhaps steadying himself on the hive as he goes. He looks back at Jim.

Jim
   Nice talking to you, Felix.

Felix nods and exits. Jim starts to hoe around the rose plant.

SCENE TWO

A beautiful sunny day in midsummer. The summer solstice. About two weeks after the funeral.

Jim picks up his gardening implements and exits. As he does so, George Pye enters. Jim looks at him but George does not return the glance. George is a beefy, well-built man of about sixty. He has a large portable CD Walkman on and he carries a jug of Pimms or the equivalent. The headphones are very large. Music – Glen Miller's ‘In the Mood' – plays quietly. He puts the jug down.

George
   (
he shouts towards the house, rather too loud
) Out here, bunny!

He turns his Walkman up. We hear ‘In the Mood' more clearly. He stretches luxuriantly. He pours himself a Pimms, he is already jiggling along to the music. He dances absently around the garden, banging out percussion on the hive. He comes to the rose bush. He tries to pick a rose off the bush. A thorn pricks him.

Bugger. Bloody bugger it. (
He sucks his finger, then rips the flower from the bush.
) Got you, you swine.

He places the rose on the hammock. He checks in his pocket, takes out a ring box. He puts it back in his pocket. This gives him a burst of energy. His moves become more exuberant. He is definitely ‘in the mood', dancing as if no one were observing him. He starts conducting the plants of the garden, as if he were Glen Miller. He brings some garden furniture out and sets it up, dancing all the while. Flora enters. She looks radiant in cream. She watches George, amused in spite of herself. He spots her.

Flora
   George. What are you doing?

George
   Bunny!

He grabs her and swings her into a jive. For a moment they dance well together. But she is reluctant and tries to stop him after a few extravagant moves.

Flora
   (
laughing
) Stop it, George.

George
   Can't hear you, bun.

Flora
   You great fool! I can't even hear the music.

George
   Don't need to. Just follow me, bunny.

Flora
   What if someone saw us – stop it – what if Felix…? Turn, it off.

He turns it off. Takes it from his waistband. The music stops.

George
   He's still here, is he?

Flora
   Apparently he intends to stay till the end of summer.

George
   After what he did to you at the funeral. The little shit.

Flora
   He is my – I can't – anyway, he doesn't seem … himself.

George snorts in response. He pours her a glass of Pimms. Flora sits, rearranges herself, undoes a button to catch more sun. She looks at the CD player.

Flora
   Is that your new toy?

George
   It's bloody excellent, isn't it? I even wear it when I'm driving.

Flora
   Isn't that illegal?

George
   Bollocks! I'm going hi-tec, bun. Stereo, On-Digital, widescreen, DVD, that's me.

Flora
   No holding you back.

George
   Rosie bought it for me. I tell you, it comes to something when it's your child telling you to turn your music down.