Monologue Extract: The Wardrobe and The Whiskey

(Welsh woman sat in bed, duvet pulled close to body. Facing a wardrobe, staring intently inside.)

Every time I sit up and turn the light on at night, I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve failed me self. Staring into that bloody dark corner, imagining someone watching me, maybe walk over to me and then I can’t take it. I turn on me lamp and sit in the quiet thinking about how tired I am. Then our Paul, from next door, starts playing his music, his so called revolution, and it's 11pm at night, and I’m sitting in my bed, sleep deprived, listing to a mid-life crisis in the form of music because I'm afraid of the dark!

Last week our Paul went, not only to buy a new guitar, but leather jackets. This afternoon he came round for a cuppa, and he says “Margret, I heard you can sew…” and the next thing I know I’m sat at my sewing machine, attaching the words “Paul rocks” onto a dusty old jacket which smells like stale tobacco. I do love our Paul though. Mike can’t stand him. They used to be drinking buddies, down the kings arms, and one night Paul had had a few too many and a game of darts got a bit out of hand, and Mike got one in the shoulder. He wasn’t half mad…

You know I don’t understand men. Mike still lives here but won’t tell his mates he lives with his mam! He didn’t tell his mates when his dad left us. We didn’t really tell anyone. (Pause) Are men easily ashamed? (Pause). He blames me for Johnathon disappearing. His living here feels anonymous, like we don't know each other (pause). You know most people don’t actually know I’m Mike’s mam…

I think about that, when I get scared of that bloody corner in my room, seeing it in the light now, it’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing hiding there, nothing which shouldn’t be there. Some of me clothes are in that wardrobe, and Mike’s dads gun. He bought it down the market when he turned 18. He came to me house and I was sat reading one of me mams house wives magazines, when I hear taps at me window. And it’s Jonathon, throwing rocks. (Laughs) He did love old movies, a classic romantic. I open the window and he’s standing there with his pipe hanging out his mouth, and a great big bloody gun, like one farmers have, with long double barrels. And he just says “Margret, I love you, marry me?” I run outside in me nightie and say, "yes". I don’t know why, that gun made Jonathon rather attractive, rather dangerous. I couldn’t help me self! All of Johnathon’s stuff stayed in this house when he went away, that’s why his gun is there. Mike refuses to acknowledge anything which belongs to John. To painful I guess, seeing as Mike always argued with our John.

(Puts ear to wall)

 I think Pauls music stopped. I dread to think what will happen if he gets a gig, oh the agony! He’ll probably invite me. Better think of an excuse. Well I do need a go down the shops. I need a buy some meat for Mike, bacon probably. I’ll tell Paul that, if he invites me. And see if he needs anything. Although the last time I asked Paul if he needed anything, John got a bit angry. (Laughs) Although he’s not around anymore. (Pause) There was really no need! I was just having a cuppa at his house.(sighs)  I’ve had my time sitting in pubs, listening to those local bands, who because you’ve had a couple of drinks you think are brilliant and at the end you love em so much, you climb on stage and ask for an autograph. Security guards were pretty rough back then…

Jonathon was one of them, a security guard I mean, after he left the navy. No one else would have him. Oh the Navy! So many stories, it feels as if I was there.

(Pause) All the men in Johnathon’s family were in the navy. (Pause) He wasn’t so happy when our Michael said he wanted to be an English teacher. Oh gosh, that was a long night. I didn’t really see Jonathon after that, nobody did. He had enough of this family. (Pause) We should have been better for him. Should have stopped Michael locking himself in the bathroom with John’s expensive whiskey that night. Johnathon wasn’t one for sharing.  He loved whiskey, Johnathon. First time I met him he was drinking one. Come to think of it, most of my memories of John are accompanied with a glass of whiskey. Couldn’t get enough of it! Like Michael and his nights out. Oh, but I do wish he’d tell me where he goes, getting back at 2 in the morning is a little late for my liking. But I wouldn’t dare upset him. He’s got Johns temper…