B4 Alice, an audio play written and directed
by Stacy Bates. An artful scribe production commissioned
and produced with support from Arts Council England
and Mayflower Studios. The following audio drama
contains themes of loss, and war with mentions
of PTSD and trauma Alice put the cactus on the
counter first Then open the blinds rather than
trying to open the blinds with a bloody cactus
in your hands Gosh it's early I've always loved
this time in the morning since I was a child.
Do you remember I? Couldn't help but get up early
just like you We were closer then hung on your
every word Look at the sky such a deep elusive
blue The blue hour. That's what it's called.
The hour before the world wakes. Yesterday has
gone, but today has not wholly started. There's
almost a magical quality to this time, you know?
The early morning dew, the blue mist, a half
dark enchanted dream -like secret hour belonging
to just me because it is just me who has slipped
down into the gap between the before and the
after. It's funny that I am calmest now in the
silence, don't you think? You'd think it may
be too, too quiet. But I love it. Always have.
I come down here first thing and I pinch myself.
This is mine. My shop. My place. In this shadowy
world, I am like a fairy tale character. Snow
white in the forest. Mary in her secret garden.
Tom at midnight. There is a kingdom within these
walls, and this little shop is full of promise.
What do you think of your new home, eh, Dad?
Remember when you gave me the night -blooming
Sirius? It was about eight years ago, and I was
just starting out. And now, you're pride of place
on my counter. Not too bad, eh? Oh. Well, that's
no good. You're... You're all at the wrong angle.
I can't see your cactus leaves. Now, I know some
people think cacti don't have leaves, but they're
very wrong, huh? You, unlike some, are spine
and spike free, but have thick, broad leaves
that grow vines and shoots. Not the most pretty
to look at, perhaps, but there is more to you
than you first expect. Gosh. I will never get
tired of inhaling that slightly spicy, musky,
floral undertone. You gave me the Sirius in a
terracotta pot. I hope you don't mind. I've repotted
you, but I thought you should have something
new, something special for the shop opening.
I'm so pleased with this dark emerald pot I've
put you in. The colour will really show off the
blooms. It's getting a little warmer. Not long
now. Oh, should we have a blooming party? Who
am I kidding? Who would I invite? Mum and Elias,
I suppose. There is Cheryl from my old job at
the lab. She's moved here too, but no, I don't
think I could face her. I've moved on. I'm trying
to move on. But it's taken seven years for you
to bloom. No longer an ugly duckling. It's a
big moment, Dad. No. It would bring everything
back up and Cheryl would look at me and remember.
She might pity me. Mum would be embarrassed and
say things like, too much, too soon. And Elliot
would feel trapped and I might not cope with
that situation. Things could go from bad to worse.
Then there would be their panic. My humiliation,
my guilt and my hands trembling, pins and needles
in my fingers, my toes. my throat constricting,
my shoulders tight, tall, eyes blinking, aching,
sweat under my arms, neck, breathe. Breathe,
you're here. In the blue hour. In the blue hour,
which is yours and yours alone. That's it. Maybe
no party. I'll think about it. I don't know.
It's nice to remember you. Connect you with something
so happy. You were gardening and you'd started
giving talks. Do you remember? I was so proud
of you. We were in such a good place when you
gave me this plant. The cereus was a lovely gift
for my graduation. A great way to mark my start
into the world of botany. I kept it on my desk.
Thank God I managed to grab it before I left.
At least now I can talk to the cactus, to you.
Otherwise... Well, it would just be me, and I
don't think, you know, that is... that healthy.
Focus, Alice. I must focus. Talking to the cactus
as if he's my dad again. I should keep busy.
A cup of tea. I'll go back. The blue hour has
ended. The stealth -like sun extends its hand
across the incline of the high street, creeping
its way up over the curb, sneaking along the
pavements, until it faces the facade of Alice's
shop window. entering like an unexpected guest
into Alice's secret world. A long, wide finger
of light pierces through this haven. Dust motes
appear like fairy dust as it expands onto the
counter's surface, where I sit. It bathes me
in fractured light and I suck it in, deep to
the core. I relax, inwardly smile. I wait for
Alice, while she makes the tea. I like it here
on the shop counter, where I can sit full of
pride, where son and daughter made the surface.
Alice and Elliot's friendly bickering brought
a tear to my eye, if only such a thing were possible.
Normally, I live upstairs in Alice's homely little
flat, so full of pattern and color, and of course,
plants. any number of plants. I sat in my place
on the windowsill. On one side, I could look
down on the mismatched array of shops, pubs and
houses. Georgian relics, pictured, postcard pretty.
The town is made up of two rows of buildings.
Their outline has an uneven up and down jaggedness
to them, like piano keys waiting to be played.
The cobbled path bookends a long street with
a steady incline. On my other side, I watch Alice,
a weather eye. Better I am here now with her
on the counter. I must not be nervous. I must
will away any anxiety I can feel the other plants
around me. We wait for water, attention. We feel
something new in the air. We raise our leaves
just a little with the expectation. Today is
the day before a special day. That's better,
eh, Dad? Mustn't get too distracted. Now, time
to try and order some plant stands. I feel I
need more of the plants at a varied level. You
know, to draw the eye? No, thank you. I do not
want bloody car insurance. Right, let's get to
it. Oh, my... God, why do so many people put
so much crap on eBay? Oh, no, that's very nice.
Oh, and it's a green one. Metoc. Where the hell
is Metoc? I've never heard of it, have you? Well,
that's quite a nice stand. Looks kind of Croatian.
Nightstone, but maybe I could paint it. Could
I? Well, it looks a bit big. The measurements
are in inches. What does that mean? How am I
supposed to know what inches mean? If you put
it in inches, I'm not dealing with you. Pick
up only? Yeah, well, that's not gonna work, is
it? Right, your soil feels feather soft. Time
to water, eh, Dad? We'll start with you first.
So, I noticed all of your water's gone at last.
Let's top you up, and then you won't need it
again, will you, for a while? Surprisingly hardy
for a plant that blooms so spectacularly. Last
year's bloom was the size of a dinner plate.
Yep, you're no trouble, are you? Unlike Mum.
Yeah, I know. I know, I'll call her. But she's
always so scared of everything all the time.
She fusses and she's opinionated. I'm not sure
it helps. I feel her views weighing on me like
a slab, one stacked on top of the other, even
if she doesn't say them. It's like I can sense
her... thinking. Thinking this is a bad idea.
Elliot just handles this so much better than
I do. A great pacifist. OK. God, this is the
thing. I've bought so many plants, there is now
tons of watering to do. Ooh, do you like my new
plant, mister? Brass, no less, to match my till.
It's like a jungle in here. No, a forest. Oh,
look, the town is waking up. Look, the shops
are getting ready to open. People are going past
after work or school. Oh, God, there's that grocer.
I decided to name him Mr. Veg. It seems appropriate.
Mr. Veg's shop is across the road, almost opposite
to mine, and if he's filling up the baskets of
fruit outside under the awning, he can see directly
across the road and into my shop. Mr. Veg always
tries to catch my eye, and he's always shouts
something across the road over to me, some greeting
or whatever. I suppose he's just being friendly,
but it's every day. He always wants to chat and
his hands are in this constant state of motion
either way, waving or gesturing or beckoning.
Doesn't he have some vegetables to sell? There's
that new coffee shop. Their huge glossy sign
looks very smart. I can just about see the hipster
place down the road that sells that nice brie
panini Elliot bought both of us though. If only
you could try some... Not exactly a plant's diet,
though, is it, Dad? I wonder if the old cafe
is annoyed by that new place. I wonder what it's
like inside. Alice stares out of the shop window,
falling into a kind of reverie where she sleepsies.
She sleepsies off months of disquiet. She sleepsies
off her journey here. Her mother's infuriating
cosseting, her brother's furtive looks, too empathetic
to bear. Alice sleepsies off the hours spent
online sourcing plants, paint, products, all
the endless minutiae of goods and services required
to make a shop ready. She sleepsies off the deliveries,
the painting, and the builder's endless questions
she is required to respond to. She sleep -sees
off the chalkboards as they are put out, the
menus written out in a looping hand, the dust
settling at the edges. Alice sleep -sees the
single flowers as they are placed in stem vases
on cafe tables, the shop signs as they are turned
from open to closed, the croissants kneaded and
proved and placed in the oven. The fruit and
vegetables as they are delivered, the charity
shop assistant as she takes a navy dress off
the mannequin in their window, the news agent
as he places a newspaper stand out on the pavement.
She sleepsies as the croissants are taken from
the oven, eaten by hungry customers, and the
dishes washed by the poorly paid youngster in
the back kitchen. She sleeps ease as the blueberry
muffins are warmed, lunch menus laid out, newspapers
bought, sold and read on the park bench. She
sleeps ease as strangers walk past, deep in conversation
or thought, or talking too loudly on mobile phones.
She sleeps ease as the navy dress is exchanged
for a long flowery maxi. which is then bought
and sold and taken down and replaced again. She
sleeps ease as a news agent has his cigarette
break and the kitchen hand sends an illicit text
and the baker has a sit down on the doorstep.
When Alice comes to, the sun is higher in the
sky, the brass spray mister still in her hand,
and I feel a profound, indescribable sadness.
I must keep busy. Hanging baskets. I need to
do the hanging baskets. OK. Soil, wicker baskets.
The plants might help. I think you might like
these, Dad. I've got begonia X, tuba hybrida,
fushas, petunias, bacoba, nobelia, devil's ivy.
I just want it to all look like it's bounteous,
you know? Spilling over, abundant. I want people
to not quite be sure what to expect, but be curious
enough that they come in, you know? There. Right.
Some water. Right. They just need to be hung.
Crap. Well, that might be a problem. Come on,
Alice. You can do this. Come on, Alice. You can
do this. Where did I put the stepladder? OK.
Right. That's one up. Smells phenomenal. Erm...
That's the other. You did it! I did it! Dad,
I did it. They look amazing. So welcoming and...
Oh, Mr. Verge is waving. Hi! Good, thanks. Getting
there. Almost ready. No, I'm OK. I'm OK, but
thanks, though. One, two... Alice comes over
to my place on the counter. Her breathing is
laboured, her hands clammy as she touches my
leaves. She whispers numbers, a count, a beat,
as she unnecessarily moves me half a centimetre
to the left. She shakes a little. The plants
lean towards her. They sense her discomfort,
or mine. I can't be sure which. Her breath starts
to calm, as if she has returned from a long and
painful run, but she has nowhere to run to. She
is all run out. Her touch, as she turns me a
quarter of a centimeter to the right, is careful
and considered, and most vitally focused. She
is warmed by the sun filtering through, and the
nature that surrounds her folds her in like the
kind embrace of a parent to an injured child.
Got very good at making lunches, Dad. And today's
was a cracker. I had linguine with bacon, peaches
and gorgonzola. I kid you not. I did this cooking
class online and I've got quite good. I mean,
I'm not a natural, but you know, it's nice. I
use the herbs I have on the kitchen window. I'm
obsessed with basil. Obsessed. I never had the
time to cook before. You know, when I was working
at the university. Not properly. A bowl of pasta.
Maybe with some grated cheese if I was lucky.
Right. What now? What can I do now? Time is moving
so slowly today. I think I could readjust the
window display. Something is missing. I want
it to feel like an Aladdin's cave. Not your usual
plant and flower shop. I have some huge big tropicals
in there, but I need them up a bit. Maybe some
wood from the back or, I don't know, some bricks
or something? Not gotten very far with the plant
stand, have I? Oh, and I need to put up the fairy
lights. Here they are. Put these hooks up yesterday,
but... I wanted to give myself the time to arrange
them properly, not when I'm tired. Huh. Yeah,
I think that looks all right. Is it bloody well
twisted? Oh, I wish you could tell me what it
looks like. Ah! Oh, my God! What the... Alice!
No! Oh, God! I can't! I can't! Alice, breathe.
Stay here. Stay in the room. You're OK. Fear,
pain, guilt, sweat. Sweat everywhere, sudden,
underarms, forearms, hair, backs of knees, backs
of arms, in places I never think of. Neck drenched,
instant and sudden, but absolutely soaked through.
Skin cold, tepid, Aussie arising, irrepressible,
vile, burns as it crawls up, pushing down, pain
in my leg, aching like before sliced fruit. Shit!
Help! No, not the shakes. Uncontrollable shaking
like my body hates me, betrays me, is ferocious
with me for something. It's angry I've done this
to it. My body is betraying me. It's terrible
betrayal. Cops of air. The world no longer safe.
Bad things can and do happen. Don't dwell. They
say don't dwell on the past. What do you do when
the past dwells on you? Breathe. Breathe, Alice.
It was just a car exhaust. It was just a car
exhaust, Alice. You're fine. I'm fine. I am.
Bloody hell. Bloody cars. Come on. Get up off
this floor. Do something useful. Oh, God. It's
Mrs Gooden's from the newsagents next door at
the window. Yes, I'm fine. Thanks. Yeah, I just
fell off the stool. She's just checking in on
me. The window display. Glad you like it. She's
got her thumbs up. She says she'll pop in later.
I need a cup of tea. Late afternoon break, Dad.
Tea and a biscuit. What is tea without a biscuit,
eh? I can see Alice's limp has been aggravated
by the fall as she passes. She tries to conceal
it, packing it away from view, as she does with
so much else. Got bourbon, your favourite? You'll
be pleased to know that despite this morning's
scare, I've opened the door a little to let the
air in. Although I've made sure the sign says
closed. I don't want customers coming in before
I'm ready. Actually, I'd better turn the lights
off or they'll think I'm open. It's getting a
little darker now. I've been listening to people
walk past. It's ever so entertaining. People
are so interesting, a bit like plants and incredibly
funny, which is not like plants. I love to listen
to them. People, not plants, obviously. There
were these two teenagers a few minutes ago, and
they were in St. Mark's uniform. One looked a
bit like Sarah. She had dyed red hair and everything.
I wonder where Sarah is now. He was such good
friends. They were talking about watching Romeo
and Juliet at school, the Baz Luhrmann one, and
they were saying, Oh, my God, that Leonardo DiCaprio
is so hot. I mean, he's just so hot. Yeah, he
is fine. Definitely. Oi, Lisa thinks Eddie looks
a bit like him. What do you think? No, he wishes.
Lisa wishes more like. And then they burst into
giggles. They leant against the window. I thought
I'd hate it. The disrespect to the shop front,
the invasion. But surprisingly, I was okay with
it. I can't believe Leo is still a thing after
all this time. God, I loved him. I had the poster,
the soundtrack. Do you remember? You always liked
books, watching films, documentaries, science,
English, academic or not. It didn't matter. You
just loved learning. Last week, when the builders
were having a break and the door was wide open,
these two people, they had the strangest conversation.
I was behind the counter. They couldn't really
see me or chose not to, I suppose. And, well,
I couldn't work them out. They were friends,
I think. The man was American, which I found
surprising. I mean, what would an American be
doing here? She sounded posh, but I couldn't
see her face. She had some large bohemian -type
sun hat on, and, you know, well, I was trying
not to look. But he was banging on about there
being terrible Wi -Fi here and how they should
go and get more to drink. He was older. Greying
tall with a full beard and a t -shirt of a band
I'd never heard of and kind of khaki chino shorts.
They were sipping out of two of those mini champagne
bottles. It was all a bit odd. And then she says
something to him. A truck went past and I couldn't
quite catch what he said back. But then he raised
his voice, like quite loudly. It made me jump
and said, why don't you tell her that then? And
then she said, I have. I got her number, I phoned
her up and told her exactly what he's like and
what he's done to me. And then he replied, good.
Well, that's good. Then they carried on sipping
their champagne in the street and he suddenly
shouted, full on shouted in a way I did not take
to at all. I can't believe you. I can't believe
you've done this. And with an unbelievable amount
of pent up anger that was almost animalistic,
left in this burst of energy. And then she turned
around and looked at me right in the eye. She
was about my age and just smiled, looked up at
the sun and walked away. Plants, listen, just
like you do. We like to hear people talk. It
is calming, soothing. It doesn't really matter
what they say, good or bad. It was the strangest
thing. People used to like to talk to you, Alice.
You are kind, patient, a good listener. You are
the same in the way you care for the plants here.
I've thought about it a few times since. You
take your time with them. Remember how you were
before. How words can be weapons and words can
be safe havens. Connection. Words can be weapons
and safe havens. It's about bringing the outside
in, Alice. I like listening to them go by. I
smell their freshly baked croissants, bitter
coffees through the gap in the door, later their
fried crisps, the sugary smell of sticky sweet
ice creams. I watch them living their lives.
Two old ladies slowly pace up the hill past my
door, chatting, pointing, marking the changes
of time. Children laughing, parents guiding,
business people rushing, teenagers loafing. Nature.
People. All of it. Dad! There is a man. He is
running. His black leather jacket. It just flapped
against the window pane. He's running now. Right
now. With unexpected speed. Why? Where is he
going? Where is he going in such a rush, Dad?
It's nothing, Alice. Do you hear that? A bus,
hisses. That means it's changing gear. Why has
it stopped? A door slams, a child yells, a beep.
I can hear a sound, a word, a phrase I don't
like the sound of. What if something has begun?
Focus, Alice. What if these buildings are destroyed?
This town is destroyed. Stay with us, Alice.
The cafes and the charity shops, the restaurants,
the cars, a parked metallic rainbow that will
involuntarily slide down the hill pushed away
from the blast. Our leaves curl. Bakery and the
grocers are set on fire. The second -hand bookshop
bursts, sending splinters of glass shards spraying
into unassuming people and terrified little children.
The overwhelming sound of metal on metal, gut
-wrenching screams, the ground shaking with the
pounding of running. Our leaves curl and shudder.
The road yanks apart to reveal a wrenching stench
of tar. Its cavernous black innards open for
all to see. The lampposts bend in on themselves
with a Dolled cry, windowpane after windowpane,
concaves and bends, held in limbo for a split
second then shatters. Dust billows, its dry metallic
taste inhaled. In slow motion everyone runs in
mismatched directions from an epicenter of disaster
and I alone am left... If I call your mobile,
I only will get your answering message because
it is only me sitting here talking to you, talking
to the remains of you while this town is obliterated.
Because it could happen. It could happen, Dad.
Things like this can and do happen. We are not
safe. I am not safe. And there it is, at sickening,
swooping sensation like a roller coaster. I should
never have agreed to go on the world. tips the
light falls on a slant the horror at the terrible
fast fleetingness of nausea and the impossible
swiftness of the sweat at every single part of
my skin the smell of cold fear reeks the third
As I fall to all fours, I scramble ridiculous
for air. I try and call for help, but my body
again betrays me. My voice, a hollowed out husk,
weak, disembodied sound, untethered as if it
is someone else's voice that rasps someone else's
life. I am living. The unanswerable silence echoes
in my ear, resonates off the shop walls. The
guilt that I am not leaving the past behind me.
Jaw, shoulders, knees, eyes. eyes ache, brain
turns over, fingers and toes, pins and needles,
mind hyper alert, awake, startled, body low down,
crushing against glass, angry flings me, convulses
and I am powerless, my breath comes in gulps,
I may die here, I call out again, wisps of sounds
lost in the air, and I again greeted with silence,
how irrelevant I am. I managed to grasp at one.
Inhale. Exhale. The light at an angle hits my
face. The world is on its side. Breathe. Another
inhale. Don't dwell on the past. Exhale. What
to do when you... When the past kicks the door
in and grasps you by the throat. Breathe, Alice.
Plants need feeding. Heartbeats. Average is out.
The shop needs to be ready. The world angles
back. Distraction. Distraction. This morning.
The blue hour. The shop. The plants. The opening.
I need to focus or I'll break. Her breathing
is levelling out. I'm OK. I'm OK. I can sit up,
I think. She lies slumped against the back of
the counter. Christ! Who was I before? Before
this? What did I like before, Dad? Before I was
this? Alice before loved nature, plants, people.
If I can get back to that. It's okay, Dad. I'm
standing now. I look through the window and I
can see the light. It's changed, shifted. It's
the golden hour, just before the sun starts setting,
where the last of the light paints everything
and it's dark, metallic, you... She's shaking.
But she is standing. The plants are leaning forward.
They sense a shift in the atmosphere. I just
need you to focus, Alice. If only you could hear
me. I can do this. If I go back to the plants,
what I love then, I won't let it consume me now.
You need to talk to someone, Alice. You need
to tell your story. I can make this work. I can.
It's the woman from the window. Hello? It's a
start. The role of Alice was played by Charlotte
Barnes. The role of Cactus was played by Gregory
Cox. B4 Alice is an artful scribe production.
Sound designed, mixed, mastered and recorded
by Antosz Fujcik. The audio play was commissioned
and produced with support from Arts Council England
and Mayflower Studios. Artful Scribe is a writer
development agency supporting writers and writing
in the Solent region. To find out more, visit
the website ArtfulScribe .co .uk