The Florrie and Jack Dialogues : Final Curtain (Episode 9 - Conclusion)

Final Curtain

Jack : I can’t believe it, Mum.

Florrie : No, Jack, I’m devastated. My only nephew gunned down on the cusp of greatness.  It was definitely one of those Dryads.

J : Looks like it, Mum.

F : And Trevor on the verge of working for the BBC. He was going to be a trainee in that radiotoxic workdrop.

J : I know, Mum. How sad is that? He loved Dr. Who.

F : Yes, Jack, it was his favourite music. Trevor could have done so much. He synthesized everything. He was always on the Moog.

J : And now, Mum, he’ll be hearing harps and lyres in some celestial place.

F : Cilla can’t go on, Jack. It’s broken her completely. She’s been taken to the hospital by sitting case car. And me, Jack, I’m beside myself. I don’t think life tonight is worth living.

J : I know you and Cilla had such plans for Trevor.

F : We knew he was a great man, Jack. Do you know his first word as a baby was ‘great’. All he ever said when I shook his little rattle at him was ‘great, great, great.’

J : That’s strange, Mum.

F : No, Jack, extraordinary. Trevor was so unique he could not encompass normal life, no wonder he is dead. His greatness has brought on some terrible enmity. Ever since I was looked at in Boots, and your Aunt Cilla, Jack, I’ve known this enmity to greatness could prove fatal. We’ve lived on tenderfucks, on a cliff edge for years. And now, Jack, that terrible horseman of death has plundered the riches of Trevor’s precious gift of life. I ama fallen woman, Jack. I have nothing to live for.

J : You have me, Mum.

F : Well of course I have you, Jack. Do you know you are a real connotation to me, Jack, another golden nugget I can mine to keep the demons at bay.

J : Is Cilla going to be in the clinic for long?

F : They say she is a gibboning wreck, virtually a vegetable.

J : Who could have perpetrated this terrible crime?

F : Well, no one we want to know, Jack, I can tell you. Genius is alone, Jack, no one can match it. To think Trevor died alone.

J : Where did it occur -  this awful shooting?

F : Apparently, Jack, it wasn’t far from the kid’s playground.

J : Oh no. I hope no child saw the terrible fate and demise of Trevor.

F : Apparently Darren was there, you know, that boy that lives near them and wrote such touching letters when Trevor was inside. They say his heart broke – he even felt the impact.

J : That is terrible, Mum. A young boy of eleven witnessing a tragedy of such epic proportions, and him so fond of Trevor.

F : Yes, Jack, very fond. Cilla is saying Darren was like a son to Trevor. Do you know they even went to the cinema together regularly.

J : Yes, Mum, I know.

F : If people ever contraband to initiating my poor nephew ever did anything improper with Darren, do you know, Jack, I will kill myself.

J : Do you remember yoou said that man that runs the launderette can have people shot. You don’t think he’s behind it, do you?

F : Of course not, Jack. He’d be on our side, I know he would. In fact I might engage his cervixes myself now for revenge.

J : I think we should let sleeping dogs lie, Mum.

F : Why? I’m not afraid of them, Jack.

J : But, Mum, you could end up in that same damned prison they threw Trevor into, in the women’s wing.

F : It’s terrible, Jack. First he was put into Palmhirst Psychiatric Clinic, then the bail hostel and finally the prison. Me and Cilla wanted the best for Trevor and look how it ended. Is there no room for genius?

J : Well it doesn’t look like it, does it?

F : I am concluded by you, Jack.

J : Good, I want you to be. I don’t want you giving up like Aunt Cilla and being carted off to a mental home.

F : I am stronger stuff, Jack. I survived the blitz you know. Every aircraft tried to get the better of me, but they didn’t succeed. These criminals, whoever they are, and they could be government agents, Jack, will not beat me.

J : I think it’s awful we suspect our own people, Mum.

F : It’s a tragedy, Jack. Your grandfather would turn in his grave if he knew his own grandson, a budding genius, had been stopped in his tracks by corruption.

J : I think I’ll go round and plaster some new tits on Aphrodite in the garden.

F : Oh, Jack, that is a beautiful jester. Cilla’s heart will melt, knowing there is still real goodness left in the world.

J : I was always upset, Mum, when I knew they had vandalized Trevor’s garden and knocked the tits off the statue.

F : Too true, Jack. Don’t you think it broke my heart? Well now Trevor won’t have to worry about the likes of those vandals. He’s safe with the Lord. He’s an angel, Jack, and do you know he’ll be writing his syphilises in heaven.

J : I think so, Mum.

F : His coffin was odious, Jack. I’ve seen it.

J : Don’t you mean comm-odious.

F : Oh maybe. Anyway there was plenty of room in it. He’ll be able to conduct the syphilises of the worl d from it.

J : Mum, we have to face it, Trevor is no more. He’s gone to that great place in the stars.

F : He is a star, Jack. And he twinkles now just as brightly in my eyes as he ever did. I’m asking Wolverhampton university to honour him with a posthumous Doctor of Music degree.

J : Do you think there’s any point, Mum?

F : Probably not, Jack, but all we have now is memories, memories of true greatness.

J : Yes, Mum, and now Trevor after all his promise only faces his final curtain.

 

APOLOGIA :  Apologies to Wolverhampton University which I am sure is a first class institution and there is no intention to malign its good name. Also apologies to one time Poet Laureate Andrew Motion, a fine poet and first class academic.