(The scene opens. FREDERICK LLOYD is leaning against a workbench, taking a hefty, satisfying bite from a thick corned beef sandwich. TREVOR "SHIFTY" LAWSON is underneath JED CHESTERFIELD's car, a battered Austin A40, the rhythmic clank of his wrench echoing in the space. LEON TELFORD paces back and forth in the limited clear space, his shoes scuffing on the concrete floor. He stops and glares at the back of Shifty's legs.)
LEON TELFORD:
(Impatiently, his voice too loud for the space)
Hey! What's the hold-up, Shifty? I've been stuck here forever waiting for my ride! I desperately need it back! My missus is giving me hell for borrowing her brother's van, says it smells of cabbage.
(Shifty slides out from under the car on a creeper, wiping a slick of grease from his forehead with the back of his hand. He squints up at Leon.)
SHIFTY LAWSON:
Look, I'm swamped right now. Jed's brakes are shot to ribbons. If I don't sort this, he'll end up in Mrs. Higgins' front garden next time he tries to stop. Your exhaust can wait its turn. And, for the record, why do you keep calling me Shifty? My name is Trevor.
LEON TELFORD:
(Scoffs, gesturing vaguely)
Come on, you've got a history! Everyone knows about your past. It's not a secret. I even heard you and Jay Shakespeare were responsible for lifting rations back in '42! Pinched a whole crate of tinned peaches from the quartermaster, didn't you?
SHIFTY LAWSON:
(Sits up straight, his voice rising in frustration. He throws his wrench onto a nearby rag with a clatter.)
I was just a kid—seven years old, for crying out loud! Jay put me up to it! Told me it was a game! I spent a month scrubbing pots at the children's home for that. I've paid my dues! When are people going to let that go?
(Frederick takes another slow bite of his sandwich, chews thoughtfully, and swallows before speaking. He is the calm centre of this storm.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
Let's be fair here, Leon. A mechanic's job is never finished! Just when you think you're getting ahead, something else rolls in the door. The phone rings, a part doesn't fit, the whole bloody world conspires against you. Patience is a virtue in our line of work. A rare one, mind.
LEON TELFORD:
(Turns on Frederick, jabbing a finger in the air)
Two weeks, Fred! Two weeks for a simple exhaust fix! You told me Tuesday last week! My patience is running on fumes! I've got deliveries to make. People are waiting.
(Frederick sighs, taking in the scene. He looks from Leon's frustrated face to Shifty's simmering anger.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
Can you get it wrapped up this week, Trevor? For Leon's sanity, and mine.
SHIFTY LAWSON:
(Nods, his jaw tight)
Absolutely. Soon as Jed's is off the ramp. It'll be done Thursday. Promise.
(The bell above the garage door jingles. PATRICIA CARMICHAEL enters, holding a small wicker basket. She nods a greeting to the men, her eyes kind and knowing.)
PATRICIA CARMICHAEL:
Morning, lads. Frederick, Dorris sent you a slice of her seed cake. Said you looked like you could use it.
(She places the basket on a clear corner of the workbench.)
Are you headed to that funeral? Poor Jay. Such a shame.
(Frederick shakes his head, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
Nah, I liked the man, but he crossed too many lines and took too much from others. He was a ruthless thug, and when I throw you a bone, you have to step your game up. He didn't, and he looted me just so he could go swanning to the pub. Took a set of brand-new spark plugs last year. Sold them for half-price for two pints of bitter. That's not a mate. That's a liability.
LEON TELFORD:
(Glances pointedly at Shifty)
Sounds like you're talking about Jay Shakespeare, but we could just as easily say the same about our friend Trevor "Shifty" Lawson here. Some habits die hard, eh?
(That's the final straw. Shifty leaps to his feet, his face a mask of fury. The grease on his cheeks makes him look like a warrior.)
SHIFTY LAWSON:
Right, that's it! You've got some kind of grudge going on! You want to keep digging? Let's take this outside! Now!
LEON TELFORD:
(Doesn't back down, puffing his chest out)
Any time, sunshine. Any time.
(Shifty and Leon step out into the street, squaring up on the pavement in front of the garage. They circle each other, a pathetic, middle-aged pantomime of a brawl. Frederick sighs and shakes his head, not moving from his spot. Patricia watches with a worried expression just as a long, black hearse rolls slowly by on its way down the street. The two men stop dead, watching it pass.)
PATRICIA CARMICHAEL:
(Softly, to Frederick)
You have to feel for the family, regardless. His poor mother's still alive.
(Out on the street, the tension has been broken by the funereal procession. Leon relaxes his stance.)
LEON TELFORD:
Honestly, Jay knew he was drinking himself to an early grave. He got exactly what was coming to him. No one to blame but himself.
(The callousness of the remark reignites Shifty's rage. With a sudden swipe, a blur of movement, Shifty hooks his leg behind Leon's and shoves, taking Leon down to the ground with a surprised grunt. Leon lands hard on his backside. Just as Shifty stands over him, triumphant, CHARLENE BALDWIN walks by on the opposite pavement, carrying a bag of groceries. Shifty's eyes light up, his anger vanishing as if a switch has been flipped.)
SHIFTY LAWSON:
(Calling across the street, a wide grin spreading across his face)
Hey Charlene! How about coming back to mine after the wake? I'll put the kettle on!
(Charlene stops and looks over, an amused, exasperated smile on her face. She eyes the scene – Leon on the ground, Shifty beaming.)
CHARLENE BALDWIN:
Only if you've showered! I'm not about to walk into a cloud of petrol fumes and get my hair smelling like an oil rag. Just so you know, I'm stuck at the shop until 8, and I'll definitely be at the funeral. I'll see you at The King's Head later, maybe. Don't get yourself arrested before then!
(She winks and continues on her way. Shifty watches her go, a dopey grin on his face. He offers a hand to Leon, who grudgingly takes it and allows himself to be pulled up. Back in the garage, Frederick has watched the entire exchange.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(Shouting out the door)
Seriously, Trev? Are you trying to charm the socks off her? She deserves way better! Someone who doesn't settle arguments by chucking people on the pavement!
(Shifty ignores him, jogging back into the garage, suddenly full of energy and purpose. He grabs his jacket from a hook.)
SHIFTY LAWSON:
Can I take the day off, Frederick? The afternoon, at least? I need to go home, get cleaned up. For the funeral.
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(Sighs dramatically, but there's a hint of a smile)
With another mechanic around, sure—go ahead! Oh, wait, it's just me. Go on, get out of it. But Leon's exhaust is first thing tomorrow, you hear me?
SHIFTY LAWSON:
You're a legend, I owe you a pint!
(Shifty strides out, whistling the tune that was on the radio. He's gone, leaving a buzz of chaotic energy in the air. The garage feels strangely quiet and empty without him. Leon brushes himself off, looking sheepish. Frederick stares into the middle distance.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(To himself, but loud enough for Leon to hear)
Man, I wish I had that kind of swagger and luck with the ladies. It's tough being the boss without someone to come home to. Just the quiet. The four walls. You wonder if you should just kill yourself and get it over with. Why bother waiting around? The years just… pile up.
(Leon looks at his friend, his earlier antagonism gone, replaced with genuine concern. He puts a hand on Frederick's shoulder.)
LEON TELFORD:
Don't talk like that, mate. Don't. You'll find someone, Fred! You've got that suave cockney flair about you. You're a good bloke from Tottenham! Best mechanic in the borough. Women like a man who can fix things.
(Frederick manages a weak smile, the dark cloud passing as quickly as it came.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
One of these days, when the stars align, I'm taking my retirement sunny-side up in Aldershot. Small cottage, bit of a garden. No more busted gearboxes. That's where I'll be!
LEON TELFORD:
(Smiling, squeezing his shoulder)
Sure, you're not going. You'd be bored in a week. You love this greasy dump.
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(Nods, a sense of purpose returning. He gestures towards the door with his head.)
Why not? There is not gonna be a fat lot of work being done here; come on, then. Let's get a brew on. Patricia, you want one? We'll have a slice of that.
PATRICIA CARMICHAEL:
Have another biscuit, dear. You need to keep your strength up.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
(Shakes her head, forcing a watery smile)
Thank you, Patricia. I'm alright. It's just… strange. Sitting here. He used to pop in for a brew with you, didn't he, Fred? He always said you made the strongest tea in the borough. Said it could strip paint.
(Frederick shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Leon stares intently into his mug as if the secrets of the universe are swirling in the milky brown liquid.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(Clears his throat)
Aye, he did. Now and then. He had his moments, Faith. He… he could be good company.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
He was. He was more than people gave him credit for. Everyone remembers the end, the drinking. They don't remember him teaching me how to fish down at the canal, how he'd get that look in his eye when he told a story, like he was the king of the world for a minute. He once spent his last ten bob to win me a stuffed bear at the fair. Carried it home on his shoulders like a trophy.
(Leon flinches almost imperceptibly. Frederick catches the movement.)
LEON TELFORD:
(Muttering)
Probably wasn't his last ten bob.
PATRICIA CARMICHAEL:
(Shoots Leon a sharp, warning glare)
Leon. Not today.
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
(Voice trembling slightly, but she pushes on)
No, it's alright. I know what people thought. I know what they said. But a dad is a dad. He used to tell me he was going to buy a little fishing boat, call it 'The Faith' and we'd sail away to somewhere sunny. He had plans. He just… he got lost on the way to them.
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(Leans forward, his voice gentle but laced with his signature pragmatism)
He did get lost, love. That's the truth of it. But he loved you. I know he did. I remember when you were turning sixteen. He came in here, absolutely skint. Borrowed a fiver off me. Said it was for a birthday present for you. A silver locket you'd seen in a catalogue.
(Faith's eyes light up with a genuine, sad smile.)
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
He bought it for me. I'm wearing it right now. I never knew he'd borrowed the money from you.
(Frederick hesitates, a conflict playing across his face. He looks at Patricia, who gives a slight shake of her head. But Frederick can't help himself. Honesty is his default setting.)
FREDERICK LLOYD:
Well. That's the thing. He… he told me it was for the locket. But he never came back to pay me. And a week later, I saw him at The King's Head buying a round for half the bar. I asked him about the fiver, and he just laughed. Said the locket could wait, but a good story couldn't. He stole a set of wrenches from me a month later and sold them to get the money for it. So, you see… even when he did the right thing, he did it the wrong way. But he did get you the locket. That's what counts, I suppose.
(A heavy, painful silence descends. Faith clutches the locket at her neck, the story twisting a cherished memory into something more complicated and sordid. Leon looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Just as the silence becomes unbearable, the office door bursts open and WALLACE TELFORD, Leon's son, stumbles in. He's holding a garish, pine-tree-shaped air freshener.)
WALLACE TELFORD:
I found it! It was under the seat of the van. You said the missus was complaining about the smell of cabbage, so I thought…
(He trails off, finally noticing the atmosphere in the room. He sees Faith's tear-streaked face.)
Oh. Right. Sorry. Bad timing.
LEON TELFORD:
(Voice rough with a mix of embarrassment and anger)
Dad, What did I tell you? Wait in the car! Get out!
PATRICIA CARMICHAEL:
It's alright, Leon. He's just a boy. Hello, Wallace.
WALLACE TELFORD:
(Nods awkwardly, still holding the air freshener like a talisman)
Sorry… uh… sorry for your loss.
(Before Faith can respond, the bell on the main garage door jingles. A moment later, EDDIE DUFFIELD appears in the office doorway. He is impeccably dressed in a dark suit, his face a portrait of solemn professionalism. He removes his bowler hat.)
EDDIE DUFFIELD:
Faith, love. Sorry to interrupt. Patricia. Frederick. Leon.
(They all murmur greetings. Eddie's presence changes the air completely. The brief, difficult respite is over. Reality has arrived.)
EDDIE DUFFIELD:
(His eyes find Faith's, his voice soft but clear)
The cars are outside. We're ready to proceed whenever you are. There's no rush. Take all the time you need.
(Faith takes a deep, shuddering breath. She looks around the table at the faces – Frederick's pained honesty, Leon's awkward regret, Patricia's unwavering kindness. She seems to draw strength from them. She stands up, smoothing down her dress.)
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
No. It's time. He shouldn't be kept waiting.
(She turns to Frederick, her expression one of profound, weary gratitude.)
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
Thank you for the tea, Fred. And… for the truth. It's better to have a complicated truth than a simple lie.
(She walks towards the door, pausing to put a hand on Wallace's arm as she passes.)
FAITH SHAKESPEARE:
Don't worry about it, son.
(She exits the office, with Eddie Duffield following respectfully. The three remaining at the table are left in the sudden vacuum. Wallace still stands in the doorway, clutching his air freshener.)
LEON TELFORD:
(Quietly, to his son)
See what you did?
FREDERICK LLOYD:
(Shakes his head, standing up and collecting the mugs)
Leave him, Leon. Your father didn't do nothing. Life did it. Come on. We should be out there. We're right behind you, love.