'As Yet Untitled' Extract 1 ('Toothpaste and Mandarins...')

In the morning I wake early. Katie is still dead to the world, her dark curls stark against the pillow. I wait for the day’s first wave of anxiety to flood me, anticipating the toxic adrenaline rush that will force me out of bed. It doesn’t come. Instead, Katie’s bright bedroom offers up a delicious platter of displaced optimism. The pipe running down the wall outside her window releases plumes of thick white steam into the morning air. I wriggle about on the futon, sinking deep into the quilt. Soft radio voices seep under the door of Rita’s bedroom across the hallway. Jerry is snoring lightly, curled up in a ball by Katie’s side.

At length, I detangle myself from my cosy nest, glancing around for something to put on. Finding only office-related clothing immediately available, I unravel a cotton blanket from the foot of Katie’s bed. It is outrageously pink, with the word ‘Babe’ written repeatedly on its hem in metallic Comic Sans. She sleeps on as I wrap it around myself and pad downstairs.

Rita’s kitchen, with its sunlit mahogany and sky blue fittings, is reminiscent of the bright domestic spaces full of plaint-splodged children in CBeebies adverts. It’s all ridiculously Perfect Homes until I realise there’s no ordinary milk in the fridge - only Soya. I vaguely remember Rita insisting on buying this, despite Katie’s protests that when you put it into tea or coffee it looks like little sea monkeys swimming about in the mug. I pour a glug into my Nescafé without looking, and settle myself at the table.

‘Oh, hello.’

I jump, slopping coffee onto the crushed linen cushion of my chair.

I haven’t seen Katie’s brother Robbie since he left for Law School five years ago. I remember him as a thin, intense adolescent with dark, sticky-up hair. Standing before me now, I can see how much he has changed. He’s taller – much taller. All glinting green eyes and forearms. He smiles briefly before making a beeline for the fridge.

Enter Number 2: Robbie. Protagonist’s best friend’s dishy older brother. (Sitcom staple)

I am suddenly excruciatingly aware of Katie’s ‘Babe’ blanket.

Robbie smiles.

‘Janey, isn’t it.’

‘Yes! Hello! Sorry. Hang on, I’ll make myself scarce.’

‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ says Robbie calmly.

He runs a hand through his hair as he acquaints himself with the fridge’s offering of raw vegetables, canned fruit, Soy Milk and Babybels. I’m on the verge of shunning the blanket altogether when I remember Katie’s negligee beneath.

I could ask him about his law degree. I could be an adult about it, and tell him how well he looks. Instead, I nod towards the Babybels.

‘Didn’t know you were supposed to put them in the fridge.’

Robbie turns at leisure to survey me, eyebrows raised as he tears the red wax shell away with his pointy teeth. For a moment I am reminded of some gory canine killing in a David Attenborough programme. I do my best not to pursue the thought.

‘Well… yeah. It’s cheese,’ he says.

‘Right, yeah…’

I gaze down at the tepid brown liquid in my mug, my mind still conjuring unbidden images of Robbie chomping through a baby gazelle’s hind legs.

‘Toast?’ he asks, now eating from a tin of neon orange mandarin segments with a fork, so that the juice falls back into the tin and splashes his T-shirt, his shoes, the floor.  

‘No… no thanks.’

He nods.

I watch him for a second, absent-mindedly wondering what his mouth tastes like. Toothpaste and mandarins. 

‘How long are you home for, then?’ I venture, shrilly.

‘Reading week. So… a week. Got here at about four this morning and let ourselves in. I messed up with the train tickets. Don’t think Mum knows we’re here yet. Suzy’s asleep.’

All of a sudden I wonder what I’m doing here in CBeebies land and not at home with my ailing father. Before I have a chance to bundle myself up and out of the kitchen, an elegant pair of hands snake their way up Robbie’s midriff from behind. I try to see the body to which they are attached, but it is hidden completely by Robbie’s athletic frame.

‘Mmmmm. What have you got for me, then?’

Robbie takes the hands in his and gently plies them away from him, pulling their owner centre-stage.

Enter Number 3: Suzy. Robbie’s girlfriend. Shiny black hair.

Costume outline: a pair of men’s boxer shorts (Robbie’s), a small white T-Shirt, and not much else.

Further details: wouldn’t be seen dead in a ‘Babe’ blanket.

Robbie kisses her forehead.

‘Suzy, this is Janey, Katie’s friend.’

Suzy smiles her hello and levers herself up onto the kitchen counter. I notice the manicured toes at the end of her long, toned legs. She presses a foot against Robbie’s hip.

‘Sleep well, Rob?’

Robbie grins impishly at her through a mouthful of toast. I’m still planning my escape when Katie appears in the kitchen in her office clothes and court shoes.

 ‘Hello, Brother,’ she says, punching Robbie on the shoulder and heading straight for his plate of mismatched foodstuffs. Appearing not to notice Suzy, Katie proceeds to drink the juice straight from the bottom of the tin of mandarins.

Script Note: Establish likeable familial relationships.

 ‘Yes, hello, Sister. You’re looking very young-woman-at-the-office this morning. If you take your lustful eyes off my breakfast for a minute, I’d like you to meet someone.’

Suzy emerges from behind him and steps forward to embrace Katie.

‘I love your hair’ she breathes, ‘Robbie showed it to me.’

Katie touches her curls defensively.

 ‘He showed you my hair?’

Robbie rolls his eyes.

            ‘Photos, Katie. She’s seen photos. You like it, don’t you Suzy?’

‘I love tousled hair.’

Katie eyes Suzy’s sleek black locks suspiciously.

I smirk to myself, picturing Karen’s face if she were here to witness this little gathering. It’s a pilot episode waiting to happen, if only Suzy would rise to the Superbitch credentials that her role inherently demands. I watch her face, waiting for the flicker of venom that would banish her irreversibly to the Land of the Odious Ice Queens - but her open smile doesn’t falter as she continues her enthusiastic admiration of Katie’s curls.

Script Note: Beware a dip in pace. Enter Number 5.

            Rita swoops into the room and wraps Robbie and Suzy in her arms. We all say our happy birthdays. Soon, it is my turn to be cocooned in the fragrant silk of Rita’s fringed kimono.

            ‘Well! A house filled with gilded youth! And how are you feeling this morning, Janey?’

            ‘Oh! Are you unwell?’ enquires Suzy earnestly.

            ‘Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s just that… Well, I recently became the product of a broken home.’

            Script Note: Protagonist’s humour is out of sync with majority of assembled company.

Katie snorts into the tinned mandarins. Rita clears her throat, before padding briskly over to the kettle.

‘Now, it’s not as bad as all that. Nothing a bit of karaoke won’t fix. You’ll be there tonight, I expect? And tell your dad. It’ll take his mind off things.’

            ‘I’m not sure. Quiet night in with Tommy, I’d imagine. Thanks, though, Rita. I’ll let him know.’