Instant Weight Loss - A Radio Play
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Patrick Whittaker
Instant Weight Loss
INSTANT WEIGHT LOSS An Original Radio Drama By Patrick Whittaker
Patrick Whittaker [email protected] www.coldfusion.freewebtools.com
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Patrick Whittaker
Instant Weight Loss
INSTANT WEIGHT LOSS By Patrick Whittaker
Characters COOMBES WILSON TANNOY MISS HARDY MISS WHEELER FORTESCUE MURCHISON NURSE WAITER VICAR AMBULANCE DRIVER POLICE OFFICER FAT PERSON#1 FAT PERSON#2 FAT PERSON#3 FAT PERSON#4
A surgeon. A Junior Consultant. A disembodied voice. A young lady. An efficient middle-aged lady. A diet doctor. A doctor.
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SCENE 1. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR F/X:
THE SUBDUED CACOPHONY OF A BUSY HOSPITAL. BRISK, EFFICIENT FOOTSTEPS: EXPENSIVE SHOES ON A CONCRETE FLOOR.
NURSE:
Good morning, Dr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Mr Coombes, Nurse. I’m a surgeon.
TANNOY:
(FILTERED) Dr Mills to Ward 3, please. Dr Mills to Ward 3.
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SCENE 2. SURGICAL CONSULTANTS’ OFFICE
F/X:
A DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES.
WILSON:
Good morning, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Says who?
WILSON:
Now don’t be like that. Spring’s finally arrived. The snowdrops are out and the sun is shining.
COOMBES:
Shut up, Wilson, and fix me a coffee.
WILSON:
The pot's over there. Freshly brewed.
COOMBES:
Black no sugar.
WILSON:
No disrespect, Mr Coombes, but I'm a junior consultant not a tea lady.
COOMBES:
I'm in the middle of writing your appraisal.
WILSON:
One coffee coming up.
COOMBES:
Six!
WILSON:
Sugars?
COOMBES:
No. On my desk. Six case files.
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F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
One…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Two…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Three…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Four…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Five…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Six! They expect me to do six operations in one shift.
WILSON:
Well, if anyone can...
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
Just fix my coffee, Wilson. I’ll let you know when I want you to suck up to me.
F/X:
COOMBES SMACKS HIS LIPS.
COOMBES:
My tongue needs a shave.
WILSON:
Late night last night?
COOMBES:
Dinner at my club. Fine port. Fine brandy. Intelligent conversation. Nothing you’d appreciate.
WILSON:
One coffee in your favourite chipped mug.
F/X:
COOMBES SLURPS.
COOMBES:
Tastes like mud. Where's my gastric band?
WILSON:
(PUZZLED) Beg pardon, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
According to these files, my caseload today consists of two appendectomies, one anterior resection of the rectum, a couple of colectomies and an anal fistula. No gastric band. I thought I was going to be operating on old what’s-her-name? Mrs Lardy or whatever she's called.
WILSON:
Miss Hardy. She rang a few days ago to cancel the operation. Says she doesn't need it. 7
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COOMBES:
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Doesn’t need it? Have you seen the size of that woman? Anyone who thinks no man is an island hasn’t met Mrs Lardy. If she doesn’t have this operation she’s going to die. Get me social services.
WILSON:
They were contacted right after Miss Hardy called.
COOMBES:
And?
WILSON:
They went to her flat and she wasn't there.
COOMBES:
Nonsense. She can't even get out of bed let alone her front door. They must have gone to the wrong flat.
WILSON:
Checked and double checked. Her GP’s been there. The police have been there. Even the head of the construction crew that was going to winch her down has been there. They all say the same thing: Anna Hardy has vanished into thin air.
COOMBES:
Why wasn't I informed?
WILSON:
Do you recall what you said you'd do to anyone who contacted you while you were on leave?
COOMBES:
Imaginative, wasn't it?
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WILSON:
We've filed a missing persons report.
COOMBES:
There are only two man-made objects visible from outer space. One is the Great Wall of China; the other is Mrs Lardy. How can she possibly go missing? And what the hell do they put in this coffee?
F/X:
PHONE RINGS.
COOMBES:
If that’s for me, I'm not here.
F/X:
WILSON PICKS UP THE PHONE.
WILSON:
Camford General. Surgical consultants’ office. How may I help you? Yes, he's here. I'll pass you over to him.
COOMBES:
What did I tell you?
WILSON:
It's Miss Hardy.
COOMBES:
Give me that phone. Miss Hardy? What the devil are you playing at? Yes, well when you qualify as a surgeon maybe you'll be competent to make decisions like that. In the meantime, let me 9
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assure you that without this operation you are going to die. I fail to see what's so funny, Miss Hardy. Who? Charles Fortescue? That quack? No, Mrs Lardy, I will not. I have better things to do than run around the country chasing recalcitrant chubbies. You can tell Fortescue to take his slimming clinic and shove – Hello? She hung up! WILSON:
Is she OK?
COOMBES:
No, she is not OK. She's fallen into the clutches of Beanpole Fortescue.
WILSON:
Dr Charles Fortescue? The slimming expert?
COOMBES:
Expert, my eye. The only thing he's expert at is parting gullible fatties from their money. I shudder to think what's he's doing - or has done - to poor Mrs Lardy.
WILSON:
Miss Hardy.
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
We were at med school together. I wouldn’t trust him to treat a veruca.
WILSON:
Where's Miss Hardy now?
COOMBES:
At Rochdale House, Fortescue’s slimming clinic. She wants me to meet her there straight away. The woman had the cheek to tell me to wait outside for a car to pick me up.
WILSON:
Out of the question of course.
COOMBES:
Phone Powell. See how much of my caseload you can dump on him. Reschedule everything else for tomorrow.
WILSON:
With respect, Mr Coombes, that's not my job.
COOMBES:
With respect, Mr Wilson, until such a time as I've finished your appraisal, your job is whatever I say it is. If Fortescue's doing anything illegal - and that's something of a given - I intend to see he pays for it. This is a golden opportunity to rid the medical profession of one of its worst elements.
WILSON:
What shall I tell Mr Powell?
COOMBES:
That I'm taking a much-needed day off.
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WILSON:
Instant Weight Loss
But you've just come back from a week's leave.
COOMBES:
Then tell him my mother's died.
WILSON:
That’ll be the third time this year.
COOMBES:
(IRRITABLY) Tell him anything you like - just so long as it's not the truth. And Wilson...
WILSON:
Yes, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
Don't ever let me catch you being cheerful at work again.
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SCENE 3. OUTSIDE ROCHDALE HOUSE
F/X:
CAR PULLING UP ON GRAVEL. FRONT CAR DOOR OPENING. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. BACK DOOR OPENING.
COOMBES:
Thank you, driver. It's been most pleasant conversing with the back of your head.
F/X:
CAR DOOR BEING CLOSED. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Coombes?
COOMBES:
Mr Coombes. I'm a surgeon, not a village GP.
MISS WHEELER:
I'm Miss Wheeler. Welcome to Rochdale House.
COOMBES:
All five hundred acres of it.
MISS WHEELER:
Fifty.
COOMBES:
Fleecing fatties is obviously a lucrative occupation.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Fortescue has invested every penny he owns into this place and does not expect to
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make a profit. He’d rather be poor than turn away anyone who needs his help. COOMBES:
(SARCASTIC) The man's a saint.
MISS WHEELER:
(TO DRIVER) You may go, Duncan. Park the Rolls by the stables, will you?
F/X:
FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. CAR DOOR CLOSING.
COOMBES:
The strong silent type, isn't he? Didn't say a single word throughout the entire journey.
MISS WHEELER:
He's a mute. Would you care to come inside?
COOMBES:
Well, I didn't come here just to admire your tennis courts.
F/X:
CAR PULLING AWAY. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL.
COOMBES:
This building’s Georgian, isn't it? Eighteenth century.
MISS WHEELER:
I have no idea.
F/X:
DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.
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SCENE 4. ROCHDALE HOUSE, ENTRANCE HALL
F/X:
FOOTSTEPS ON A TILED FLOOR.
MISS WHEELER:
This is the main hallway. As you can see, it is decorated with many works of art.
COOMBES:
You can skip the guided tour. Just take me to Fortescue.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Fortescue will be pleased to see you in about ten minutes.
COOMBES:
(SARCASTIC) That's good of him. I hope I'm not putting him to any trouble.
MISS WHEELER:
Perhaps you'd care to wait by the pool? You'll find a fully equipped bar there.
COOMBES:
Where's my patient?
MISS WHEELER:
Miss Hardy is in her room. I'll have her meet you at the pool.
COOMBES:
Best keep her away from water. We don't want her getting harpooned.
MISS WHEELER:
I assume that's a reference to her weight with the implication that she might be mistaken for a whale?
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
Don't split your sides just yet. I get funnier as the day goes on.
MISS WHEELER:
The pool's at the end of that corridor. I take it you're capable of fixing yourself a drink.
COOMBES:
Sure. And I know who to come to if I need any ice.
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SCENE 5. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SWIMMING POOL
F/X:
SOMEONE SPLASHING ABOUT IN THE POOL. SOUND OF DRINK BEING POURED. ICE THROWN INTO GLASS.
MISS HARDY:
Hello. Are you a patient?
COOMBES:
I beg your pardon?
MISS HARDY:
I said: 'Are you a patient?'
COOMBES:
Bearing in mind that this is a fat clinic for fat people, do I look like a patient?
MISS HARDY:
I thought maybe you'd had the treatment. But that was before I spotted your spare tyre. Not to worry. Charlie can have you fixed in no time.
COOMBES:
This is muscle. And who's Charlie when he's at home?
MISS HARDY:
Dr Fortescue, of course. Give me a hand, will you? I don't think I can get out on my own.
COOMBES:
There are some steps over there.
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MISS HARDY:
Instant Weight Loss
Too far. I'm not a very good swimmer. In fact, I can't swim at all. If it wasn’t for these water wings, I’d drown.
COOMBES:
Shouldn't there be a lifeguard here?
MISS HARDY:
The pool isn't officially open right now. But I just had to give it a go. I've not been in a swimming pool since I was six. So how about it?
COOMBES:
How about what?
MISS HARDY:
Helping me out of the pool.
COOMBES:
I'll get my suit wet.
MISS HARDY:
(LIGHT-HEARTEDLY) Fine. Leave me to drown. And when they drag my lifeless body out of the pool, you can give yourself a pat on the back.
COOMBES:
(IRRITABLY) All right. But grab my hands, not my sleeve. Ready? Here goes!
F/X:
COOMBES HAULS MISS HARDY OUT OF THE WATER.
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MISS HARDY:
There! That wasn't so hard, was it?
COOMBES:
My jacket's wet.
MISS HARDY:
Only the cuff. It will soon dry. Pass me that towel, will you?
COOMBES:
(SARCASTIC) Yes, ma'am. Anything else I can do for you? Perhaps Her Majesty would like me to fix her a drink?
MISS HARDY:
Oh you are a love. I'll have a brandy and diet lemonade.
COOMBES:
Would you like a cherry with it?
MISS HARDY:
Yes, please. And one of those paper umbrella things.
FX:
DRINK BEING POURED.
COOMBES:
I'm giving you Greek brandy. Somehow I think the real stuff would be wasted on you.
MISS HARDY:
Look!
COOMBES:
At what?
MISS HARDY:
Me.
COOMBES:
Why?
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MISS HARDY:
Isn't my body great?
COOMBES:
As bodies go, it's fairly impressive.
MISS HARDY:
Pinch my tummy.
COOMBES:
Why would I want to do that?
MISS HARDY:
Go on - pinch it. See? Not a gram of fat.
COOMBES:
Personally I prefer a woman with something to hold on to.
MISS HARDY:
You wait till I get my new wardrobe. I’ll be irresistible.
COOMBES:
OK, Miss. Nice sales job. I get the message. 'You too can have a body like mine'. If Fortescue's thinks I’m investing in his fat farm, he can think again.
FX:
SWING DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.
MISS WHEELER:
Ah, Miss Hardy. There you are! I see Mr Coombes has managed to find you all by himself.
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MISS HARDY:
Instant Weight Loss
So you’re Mr Coombes? You sounded so much younger on the telephone.
COOMBES:
That wasn’t you who rang me, was it? I thought you were someone else. Damn it! I’ve come all this way for nothing. Do you realise wasting a surgeon’s time is a criminal offence?
MISS HARDY:
No it isn’t.
COOMBES:
Well, it ought to be. And take off those ridiculous water wings. They make you look like Popeye’s anorexic sister.
MISS WHEELER:
Please keep your voice down, Mr Coombes. This is a clinic after all.
COOMBES:
Some clinic! Where are the patients?
MISS WHEELER:
They’ve all been cured and sent home. Miss Hardy here is the last of them. She’ll be on her way just as soon as I've run some tests on her.
MISS HARDY:
So soon, Miss Wheeler? I was hoping to stay one more night.
MISS WHEELER:
Fine by me. To be honest, I didn't fancy spending the night in this big old house on my own.
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COOMBES:
Where's Miss Hardy?
MISS HARDY:
I'm here. At least what's left of me.
COOMBES:
I'm talking about Anna Hardy.
MISS HARDY:
So am I.
COOMBES:
Thirty-seven stone Anna Hardy, aka The Goodyear Blimp!
MISS HARDY:
Actually I was only thirty-six stone twelve.
COOMBES:
(SARACSTIC) Oh ha-ha. I don’t know what you people think you’re playing at, but I've had enough of this. I'd appreciate a ride back to the hospital, if you don't mind.
MISS WHEELER:
But surely you won’t go without seeing Dr Fortescue? He's dying to meet you again after all these years.
F/X:
BLEEP-BLEEP. BLEEP-BLEEP.
COOMBES:
That's my pager. It's probably an emergency and thanks to your shenanigans I'm not going to be able to help.
MISS WHEELER:
Actually, that's my pager. Must be a message from Dr Fortescue.
PAUSE 22
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MISS WHEELER:
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(CONT’D) Oh yes. The doctor’s ready to see you now, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Lead on, Miss Wheeler. There are a few things I'd like to say to your beloved employer.
MISS WHEELER:
Take the lift over there. Press 'B' for basement.
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SCENE 6. ROCHDALE HOUSE, LIFT/BASEMENT
F/X:
LIFT DESCENDING. HALTS. PING! DOORS OPEN. SOUND OF MACHINERY: MECHANICAL PUMPING NOISES; SOMETHING LIKE A GIANT BELLOWS; VARIOUS ELECTRONIC PINGS AND BEEPS.
COOMBES:
What the - ?
FORTESCUE:
Ah Coombes. I glad you could make it.
COOMBES:
Fortescue?
FORTESCUE:
Come in before the doors close on you. It's an old lift and quite temperamental.
F/X:
LIFT DOORS CLOSING.
COOMBES:
Where are you?
FORTESCUE:
I'm afraid I'm rather obscured by all this paraphernalia. If you push aside those red cables, you'll be able to see me.
COOMBES:
Dear God! What is this?
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
Please don't faint. People are forever fainting when they first see me like this. I'm finding it rather tiresome.
COOMBES:
Is this your idea of a joke?
FORTESCUE:
No joke, Coombesy. You're welcome to poke me to make sure I’m real. It’s what they all do. Go on - stick your finger anywhere you like. I promise what you see is what you get.
COOMBES:
You must weigh at least a hundred stones!
FORTESCUE:
Nearer one hundred and fifty.
COOMBES:
But that’s impossible. Nobody could be that gross and live!
FORTESCUE:
That's what all these machines are for. One’s giving my lungs a helping hand. That contraption next to you keeps my heart going. The box next to that cleans my blood. And that slurping sound is fat being sucked out of me. Go on. Have a look. You won't find any fakery.
COOMBES:
You must be 90% fat!
FORTESCUE:
By my estimates, 99%.
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COOMBES:
And you call yourself a slimming expert?
FORTESCUE:
Ironic, isn't it?
COOMBES:
Is this your leg?
FORTESCUE:
Give it a prod and I'll tell you. Yes. That's just below my knee.
COOMBES:
This is obscene.
FORTESCUE:
You always were judgmental. Remember back in med school? All those names you called me? Stick insect. Beanpole. Toothpick.
COOMBES:
Any thinner and you’d have given people paper cuts.
FORTESCUE:
Well, you can't say that about me now. And still you criticise.
COOMBES:
What's this all about, Fortescue?
FORTESCUE:
It's about saving people from obesity.
COOMBES:
But why have you dragged me away from my patients?
FORTESCUE:
I need you to get me back on my feet again.
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COOMBES:
I don't think I could even find your feet.
FORTESCUE:
This equipment isn't one hundred percent reliable. All it takes is for a fuse to blow and I'm a goner.
COOMBES:
You must have a back-up generator.
FORTESCUE:
Back-up generators have been known to fail. I'm feeling quite vulnerable, you know. Unless I can start getting rid of my fat faster than I accumulate it, I'm not going to be around much longer.
COOMBES:
Well, here's a suggestion for you, Fortescue: stop accumulating fat.
FORTESCUE:
Easier said than done, old chap. What would you say if I told you I've not eaten for almost six months?
COOMBES:
I'd say you were as big a liar now as you were in med school.
FORTESCUE:
Twice a day, Miss Wheeler pours vitamin pills down my throat, but other than that I’m nil by mouth.
COOMBES:
And I suppose all this fat came out of thin air? That's one thing all you chubbies have
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in common: an enormous capacity for selfdeception. FORTESCUE:
It came from my patients.
COOMBES:
What did you do? Eat them?
FORTESCUE:
In a way. Think of me as a vampire – only not your traditional sort. Instead of blood, I feast on fat.
COOMBES:
That’s just sick. And if you’re going to lie, at least make it plausible. I’m not an idiot.
FORTESCUE:
You've seen Miss Hardy?
COOMBES:
I've seen a Miss Hardy. But that woman that stick insect - is not my Miss Hardy.
FORTESCUE:
Take my hand.
COOMBES:
What?
FORTESCUE:
Take my hand. Go on. What's there to be afraid of?
COOMBES:
Which part of you is your hand?
FORTESCUE:
I’ll wriggle my fingers. See?
COOMBES:
Got it. Though why I’m humouring you, I’ll never know.
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FORTESCUE:
How does my hand feel?
COOMBES:
Cold and clammy. Like a piece of tripe.
FORTESCUE:
And now?
COOMBES:
Warm?
FORTESCUE:
And now?
F/X:
SLURPING SOUND. LIKE SOMEONE LICKING YOUR EAR.
COOMBES:
Ah gross! Stop it!
F/X:
SLURPING SOUND GROWS LOUDER, MORE GREEDY, MORE OBSCENE.
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) Stop it!
THE SLURPING ABRUPTLY STOPS. FORTESCUE:
There! How was it for you, Coombesy?
COOMBES:
I feel...
FORTESCUE:
Like a great weight's been lifted?
COOMBES:
Violated. And nauseated. Let go of me, you creep!
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FORTESCUE:
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You should have let me carry on. I've considerably reduced your love handles but you're still quite flabby in places.
COOMBES:
My stomach feels funny. You’ve drugged me!
FORTESCUE:
Trust the evidence of your own eyes. Look at you tucking your shirt in. Why is it suddenly so loose?
COOMBES:
What have you done?
FORTESCUE:
Relieved you of a few pounds of fat. It’s now a part of me.
COOMBES:
That's not possible.
FORTESCUE:
Depends on your definition of possible.
COOMBES:
I don't know what you're trying to pull, Fortescue, but I'm sure it's not legal. I'm getting out of this nightmare clinic right now and heading for the nearest police station.
FORTESCUE:
No! You mustn’t do that My work here must remain secret. I can only help so many people at a time. If word got out that I can cure obesity in an instant, I’d never be able to cope with the demand. It would kill me!
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COOMBES:
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Give it up, Fortescue. You’re not fooling me one bit.
F/X:
LIFT DESCENDING. PING! DOORS OPENING.
FORTESCUE:
Ah there you are Miss Wheeler. Your timing as ever is perfect. Mr Coombes was just leaving. You’ve just got time to show him what you have in that briefcase.
COOMBES:
I'm not interested.
MISS WHEELER:
I think you will be.
F/X:
LATCHES ON BRIEFCASE SPRINGING OPEN.
MISS WHEELER:
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one million pounds before.
FORTESCUE:
It's yours, Coombes, if you rid me of this fat. No diets. No gastric bands. Just get in there with your scalpel and have done with it.
MISS WHEELER:
One million pounds for a few hours work.
COOMBES:
You want me to perform a radical lipectomy? I'd need an earth mover.
FORTESCUE:
Whatever it takes, Coombesy.
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COOMBES:
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I couldn't possibly remove that much body tissue in one go. You’d never survive.
FORTESCUE:
It's just fat. So long as you don't hit any blood vessels, I'll be fine. I'm not asking you to remove it all – just enough so that I can stand on my feet again.
COOMBES:
It can't be done. What you're asking is impossible.
FORTESCUE:
The alternative is to leave me to die. How long do you think before my heart gives out? A month? A week?
COOMBES:
Why me, Fortescue?
FORTESCUE:
Don’t be so modest, Coombesy. You’re the National Health Service’s foremost expert on fat removal. If anyone can save me, it’s you.
COOMBES:
I'm going to need an anaesthetist.
FORTESCUE:
Miss Wheeler can oblige. She's fully qualified.
COOMBES:
Some power tools.
FORTESCUE:
I'll have a porter run down to the hardware store.
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COOMBES:
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And some big strong men to haul the fat away.
FORTESCUE:
Miss Wheeler knows where to find plenty of those. Don't you, Miss Wheeler?
MISS WHEELER:
Yes, Mr Fortescue.
COOMBES:
Well, go fetch them, woman. And leave that briefcase where it is.
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SCENE 7. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
F/X:
THE SUBDUED CACOPHONY OF A BUSY HOSPITAL. BRISK, EFFICIENT FOOTSTEPS: EXPENSIVE SHOES ON A CONCRETE FLOOR.
NURSE:
Good morning, Dr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Get bent.
TANNOY:
(FILTERED) Dr Mills to Ward 3, please. Dr Mills to Ward 3.
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SCENE 8. SURGICAL CONSULTANTS’ OFFICE
F/X:
DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.
WILSON:
Ah, the wanderer returns. You'll be pleased to know we coped marvelously during your unscheduled absence. Still, it's good to have you back, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
What have I told you, Wilson, about being cheerful?
WILSON IGNORES THE QUESTION. WILSON:
Hello. You must be the intern we were promised.
COOMBES:
No she isn't, Wilson. And stop drooling. You've seen a woman before, haven't you? Although probably not this close.
WILSON:
Aren't you going to introduce us?
COOMBES:
No.
WILSON:
Did you find Miss Hardy?
COOMBES:
Possibly.
F/X:
KNOCK ON THE DOOR. DOOR OPENING.
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MURCHISON:
Instant Weight Loss
Ah, there you are, Coombes. You caused quite a flap disappearing like that. There's a certain hospital administrator who's planning to make cufflinks out of bits of your anatomy.
COOMBES:
Miss Hardy, I believe you already know Dr Murchison.
MURCHISON:
Have we met, my dear?
MISS HARDY:
You've been to my flat twice.
MURCHISON:
(DEFENSIVE) No I haven't.
MISS HARDY:
You spent quite some time in my bedroom with me.
MURCHISON:
What's going on, Coombes? Is this some kind of stitch-up? I have never seen this woman in my life, let alone gone to her flat! And anyone who says otherwise will be hearing from my lawyer.
COOMBES:
Relax, Murchison. No one's suggesting anything beyond a proper doctor-patient relationship.
MURCHISON:
They'd better not be.
COOMBES:
Miss Hardy, tell Dr Murchison about his visits. See if you can jog his memory.
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MISS HARDY:
Instant Weight Loss
Well, the first time was when he gave me an examination to see if I was a suitable candidate for a gastric band.
MURCHISON:
Now you're being absurd. You need a gastric band about as much as I need a third nostril.
MISS HARDY:
The second time, you took some blood and tissue samples.
MURCHISON:
You're confusing me with someone else. I never make out-calls.
WILSON:
You did about a week ago.
MURCHISON:
That was an exception. The patient was too fat to even roll out of bed.
WILSON:
Not too fat to vanish though.
MURCHISON:
Yes. Most extraordinary business. One of the orderlies has put forward the theory that she ate herself.
COOMBES:
I'll give you another theory, shall I? It's equally absurd but it might just be true.
MURCHISON:
I'm all ears, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
What if I were to tell you that this young lady might – just might - be your Mrs Lardy?
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MURCHISON:
Instant Weight Loss
This skinny little thing? (TO MISS HARDY) No offence, Miss.
MISS HARDY:
Call me skinny all you like. In fact, I might change my name by deed poll. 'Skinny Hardy' has such a lovely ring to it.
MURCHISON:
Now be serious, Coombes. You don’t expect me to believe that this slip of a girl is Anna Hardy, aka The European Butter Mountain, do you?
COOMBES:
I'm not sure I believe it myself. But there's one way to be certain, Dr Murchison. You took tissue samples from Anna Hardy. They should still be in the lab.
MURCHISON:
OK. Now I see where this is going. I go tell the lab technicians some preposterous story about a woman losing three quarters of her bodyweight in an instant and you all have a good laugh at my expense. Just how dumb do you think I am, Coombes?
COOMBES:
All I ask is for you to sign a release form and then I can order the necessary tests myself. Then if anyone looks stupid, it’ll be me.
MURCHISON:
You're crazy, Coombes. Don't you have anything better to do with your time?
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COOMBES:
Just sign the form.
MURCHISON:
No!
COOMBES:
I’ll make it worth your while.
MURCHISON:
How?
COOMBES:
I'll bet you fifty - no - one hundred pounds that this Miss Hardy is the Miss Hardy – the one I was supposed to fit a gastric band to.
MURCHISON:
Make it five hundred.
COOMBES:
All right. Five hundred pounds.
MURCHISON:
You're on.
COOMBES:
Wilson, fetch a release form.
WILSON:
With all due respect, Mr Coombes, I am not your secretary.
COOMBES:
Point duly noted. They’re in that filing cabinet. And when you've sorted that out, book a table for two at the Blue Phoenix. Miss Hardy and I have a dinner date.
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SCENE 8. RESTAURANT.
F/X:
A BUSY RESTAURANT.
COOMBES:
We'll start with the crispy duck and watercress salad. Then the roasted cod fillet for the lady and I'll have Dorset dressed crab.
WAITER:
Very good, Mr Coombes. Your usual wine?
COOMBES:
Got it in one.
MISS HARDY:
You won't let me eat too much, will you, Mr Coombes? I don't want to end up back where I started.
COOMBES:
Don't worry about the calories, Miss Hardy. I’ll help you burn them off.
MISS HARDY:
Please call me Anna.
COOMBES:
Anna.
MISS HARDY:
And…?
COOMBES:
What?
MISS HARDY:
What should I call you?
COOMBES:
Mr Coombes.
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MISS HARDY:
You must have a first name.
COOMBES:
Lost in the mists of time. Even my ex-wives call me Mr Coombes.
MISS HARDY:
Ex-wives? How many have you got?
COOMBES:
Three of the darling little parasites. Between them they’ll take care of most of that million I got from Beanpole Fortescue.
MISS HARDY:
He's a wonderful man, isn't he?
COOMBES:
He’s an opportunistic slime ball who’s made a fortune from conning the general public into believing there's a quick and easy route to weight loss.
MISS HARDY:
But there is a quick and easy route. I'm proof of that.
COOMBES:
My dear Miss Hardy - if that is indeed your real name –
MISS HARDY:
Please call me Anna.
COOMBES:
Anna. If you'd had one tenth of the amount of fat removed from you that you claim to have done, you'd be tripping over your own skin. And yet you don't even have stretch
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marks. I doubt you've ever weighed an ounce more than you do now. I don’t know what Fortescue’s game is, but I’m not falling for it. MISS HARDY:
He removed some of your fat. How do you explain that?
COOMBES:
He slipped me something to make my stomach muscles tighten. As soon as it wears off, my love handles will be back in all their former glory.
MISS HARDY:
So it's all a big con, is it?
COOMBES:
It's simply not possible for a man to absorb somebody else's fat like that. It doesn't make sense.
MISS HARDY:
And yet you bet Dr Murchison five hundred pounds that it's true.
COOMBES:
In the full expectancy that I will lose. Then I can expose Fortescue for the snake oil salesman he is and have the satisfaction of seeing him put away.
F/X:
MOBILE PHONE RINGING.
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
That’ll be Murchison with the lab results. Of course, he's going to be unbearable now, but I consider that a price worth paying. Hello? Steady there, Murchison. I didn't catch a word of that. Say it again slowly. Uh-uh. Yes. I see. Now why would I do a thing like that? There's no need for that sort of language. And don't you dare hang up He hung up
MISS HARDY:
I take it you’re now five hundred pounds richer.
COOMBES:
And in need of a very stiff drink.
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SCENE 9. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SWIMMING POOL
FORTESCUE:
Ah, Coombesy. Back already?
COOMBES:
You should be in bed. I told you to take it easy for a few days.
FORTESCUE:
I can take it just as easy by this lovely swimming pool as I can in my bed.
COOMBES:
Where’s your skin?
FORTESCUE:
It shrunk just as I told you it would. I’m a little crinkly around the waist but I can put up with that. Do help yourself to a drink.
MISS WHEELER:
Shall I pour you one, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
No thank you, Miss Wheeler. I'd like a word with Charlie boy here.
FORTESCUE:
Well do sit down old chap. These recliners are amazingly comfortable.
COOMBES:
I've had tests done on Anna Hardy.
FORTESCUE:
And?
COOMBES:
She's who she says she is. Which kind of leaves me doubting my own sanity.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
Yes, I know. I've been exactly where you are now. It's all too fantastic for words, isn't it?
COOMBES:
Experience has taught me that if things don’t make sense it’s generally due to a lack of data.
FORTESCUE:
You want to know how I do what I do?
COOMBES:
Exactly.
FORTESCUE:
So do I. All I know is that whenever I touch someone, my body absorbs their fat.
COOMBES:
When did it start happening?
FORTESCUE:
About six months ago. I’d opened a weightloss clinic in Hollywood and was doing very well for myself. Thanks to my cutting-edge treatments, I was Hollywood’s number one fat-buster. The amount of money I earned was frankly obscene.
COOMBES:
I’m sure your conscience kept you awake nights.
FORTESCUE:
Not in the least. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I suddenly found myself a whole lot less popular than I used to be. There was a new kid in town and he was poaching my customers on a wholesale basis. His name
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was Heston Willoughby. You may have heard of him. COOMBES:
Author of ‘The Willoughby Diet’ and ‘Say Goodbye to Fat Forever’?
FORTESCUE:
That’s him.
COOMBES:
He disappeared, didn’t he? Under mysterious circumstances, I seem to recall.
FORTESCUE:
Not mysterious to me. I know exactly what became of him.
COOMBES:
Don’t tell me you did him in.
FORTESCUE:
You think me capable of murder?
COOMBES:
He was stealing your livelihood. You must have been rather miffed about it.
FORTESCUE:
Believe it or not, I wasn’t. In a few short years, I’d amassed quite a large fortune. Plus I’d bought my clinic just as a property boom came along. So even before I’d lost all my customers, I was thinking about calling it a day. The idea of buying an island in the Caribbean appealed to me no end. But first I had to satisfy my curiosity. What did Willoughby have that I didn’t?
COOMBES:
Customers.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
My old clients avoided me out of embarrassment but I couldn’t help but bump into the odd one here and there. And the change in some of them was amazing. I’m talking about real porkers turning into catwalk models over night. One of my last patients walked out of my clinic for the final time weighing seventeen stones. When I saw her a week later, she was a size zero! Whatever Willoughby was doing was phenomenal! The thing is, Coombes: nobody would tell me what was going on. It was Hollywood’s biggest secret. People kept their traps shut for fear that Willoughby would refuse to treat them. I just had to know Willoughby’s secret or go insane! So, one dark night, I broke into his clinic. Can you imagine me doing anything so sneaky?
COOMBES:
Vividly.
FORTESCUE:
It was too easy. I kept telling myself that as I climbed the perimeter wall and snuck across the lawn. There were no guards, no dogs. If there were alarms, they stayed silent – even when I forced open a window and climbed through. And do you know what I found
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inside? Bearing in mind this was the foremost weight-lost clinic in the world? Nothing! The place was empty. No furniture. No machines. Not so much as a bathroom scale. And it was dead silent – all except for what I thought was the beating of my heart. F/X:
A SLOW, RHYTHMIC PUMPING.
FORTESCUE:
I was afraid. More afraid than I’d ever been. Up until then, I’d assumed that whatever Willoughby was doing was what I’d been doing – only more so. But now… You may laugh, Coombes, but it occurred to me that Willoughby might be meddling in matters best left alone. What if he was a modern day Frankenstein? Or in league with the devil? I was about to leave when I realised that the sound was coming from a room at the end of a long, dark corridor. Curiosity overcame my fear and I tip-toed through the darkness towards the room.
F/X:
THE SOUND GROWS LOUDER. IT IS JOINED BY SOMETHING LIKE A GIANT BELLOWS AND VARIOUS ELECTRONIC
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PINGS AND BEEPS. IN OTHER WORDS, THE SOUNDS COOMBES HEARD IN FORTESCUE’S CELLAR – BUT MUTED.
FORTESCUE:
I reached the door and stood there trembling. Somehow I knew that what lay beyond would change me forever. I wanted to run from that room and erase the memory of it from my mind. But I had to know Willoughby’s secret even if it destroyed me. I had to! So I pushed open the door!
F/X:
THE NOISE IS SUDDENLY FULL-ON.
FORTESCUE:
And there – amidst a fantastic array of machinery and tubes - lay the ugliest, most hideous travesty of a human being I ever saw. It was the size of an elephant and looked like a maggot. I shuddered when it turned its bloated face towards me and said: ‘Ah, Fortescue. You’ve come at last.’
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SCENE 10. WILLOUGHBY’S CLINIC - FLASHBACK
WILLOUGHBY:
Heston Willoughby at your service. Although, I fear, not for much longer. My heart grows weaker by the second. The strain on it is enormous and all this wonderful machinery can only do so much. Come closer, Fortescue, that I may lower my voice. The exertion of shouting a single syllable could be my undoing.
FORTESCUE:
What have you done to yourself, Willoughby?
WILLOUGHBY:
I have made the ultimate sacrifice in the war against obesity.
FORTESCUE:
I don’t understand how you could let yourself go like this when you possess the secret of instant weight loss.
WILLOUGHBY:
One man’s loss is another man’s gain.
FORTESCUE:
This is some sort of trick! An illusion! You’re messing with my head and I won’t stand for it.
WILLOUGHBY:
I am doing nothing. You came of your own accord.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
But you knew I would. This is what you wanted.
WILLOUGHBY:
Would you permit me to offer you a piece of advice, Fortescue? Leave this place. Now! Before it becomes your undoing.
FORTESCUE:
I can’t. Not without the secret of instant weight loss.
WILLOUGHBY:
Then you will be cursed as I am cursed.
FORTESCUE:
Will you share the secret with me?
WILLOUGHBY:
Are you willing to pay the price?
FORTESCUE:
Damn it, Willoughby! You know I am.
WILLOUGBY:
Then come closer. Closer than that. Bend your head towards my mouth. That’s it!
F/X:
WILLOUGBY MAKES OBSCENE SLURPING/SLOBBERY NOISES.
F/X:
FORTESCUE GASPS. HE WHIMPERS IN EVIDENT HORROR.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
Stop it! That’s too horrible. I can’t take it! No!
F/X:
FORTESCUE SCREAMS. WILLOUGHBY BELCHES.
WILLOUGHBY:
At last, the curse is lifted. I need suffer no more.
END FLASHBACK
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SCENE 11. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SWIMMING POOL FORTESCUE:
With a groan like the creaking of old timbers, Heston Willoughby breathed his last. But even in death he was not done with me. What happened next was too ghastly – too hideous… No. It’s no use. I can’t bring myself to describe it.
COOMBES:
Oh come on, Fortescue. You can’t leave me dangling like this.
FORTESCUE:
It is best you don’t know what happened to Heston Willoughby.
COOMBES:
So help me, unless you tell me, I – well, I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pleasant.
FORTESCUE:
Very well then; on your head be it. Heston Willoughby melted before my very eyes. His flesh turned to liquid and crept across the floor. The last I saw of him, he was disappearing down a drain. And that’s why they never found Heston Willoughby.
COOMBES:
You shouldn’t have told me. Now I’m going to have nightmares. 53
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
I thought that was the end of it, that Heston Willoughby had taken the secret of instant weight loss to the grave. But I was wrong. He’d passed his gift on to me.
COOMBES:
I thought you said it was a curse?
FORTESCUE:
It was Willoughby who said it was a curse, not I. I have been given the opportunity to serve humanity, to redeem myself for the many sins I have committed in the past. I am not cursed, Mr Coombes. I am blessed.
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SCENE 12. CHURCH VICAR:
Do you Francis Albert Coombes take this woman, Anna Christina Hardy, to be your lawfully wedded wife?
COOMBES:
I do.
VICAR:
And do you Anna Christina Hardy take Francis Albert Coombes to be your lawfully wedded husband?
MISS HARDY:
I do.
VICAR:
I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.
MUSIC:
CHURCH ORGAN PLAYING THE BRIDAL CHORUS. FADES.
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SCENE 13. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
F/X:
THE SUBDUED CACOPHONY OF A BUSY HOSPITAL. BRISK, EFFICIENT FOOTSTEPS: EXPENSIVE SHOES ON A CONCRETE FLOOR.
NURSE:
Good morning, Dr Coombes.
COOMBES:
(CHEERILY) Good morning, Nurse.
NURSE:
(HURRIEDLY) Mr Coombes! I meant Mr.
COOMBES:
Mr? Dr? What does it matter? A rose by any other name…
TANNOY:
(FILTERED) Dr Mills to Ward 3, please. Dr Mills to Ward 3.
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SCENE 14. SURGICAL CONSULTANTS’ OFFICE
F/X:
A DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES.
COOMBES:
Good morning, Wilson.
WILSON:
If you say so, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Oh cheer up. Life can’t be that bad. Why don’t you ask me how my honeymoon went?
WILSON:
It obviously went very well.
COOMBES:
My best honeymoon ever! Ah, that coffee smells great. Would you care for a cup?
WILSON:
I’d rather drink my own bathwater.
COOMBES:
Now what do I have here? Oh look: an aortic aneurysm - my favourite kind. And a cholecystectomy. Haven’t done one of those in ages. It’s so good to be back.
F/X:
PHONE RINGS. COOMBES PICKS IT UP.
COOMBES:
Camford General. Surgical consultants’ office. How may I help you?
MISS WHEELER:
(FILTERED) Mr Coombes? 57
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COOMBES:
Speaking.
MISS WHEELER:
(FILTERED) This is Miss Wheeler. Dr Fortescue is in grave danger. He needs your help.
COOMBES:
No can do, Miss Wheeler. I’m a busy man. Perhaps you should phone 999?
MISS WHEELER:
(FILTERED) They keep on coming. I can do nothing to stop them. They’re killing him.
COOMBES:
Who’s killing him?
FORTESCUE:
(FILTERED) The fat people. They won’t leave him alone. No! Get back in line. Get back, you fat fiends! Back, I say!
F/X:
CLICK. RING TONE.
COOMBES:
It seems like Charlie boy’s bitten off more than he can chew. You know the drill, Wilson.
WILSON:
(RESIGNEDLY) Fine. What did your mother die from this time?
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SCENE 15. AMBULANCE
F/X:
AMBULANCE RACING ALONG, SIREN BLARING. THE OCCASSIONAL SCREECH OF TYRES.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
You know, Mr Coombes, I could get the sack for this. I’m only meant to go out on orders from the dispatch office.
COOMBES:
Tish! You’re here for medical emergencies and this is a medical emergency.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
All the same, I’d feel happier if you let me call it in.
COOMBES:
No time for that. And keep your foot on that pedal. If people won’t get out of your way, that’s their look-out.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
What if I hit someone?
COOMBES:
Pick them up on the way back.
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SCENE 16. AMBULANCE/APPROACHING ROCHDALE HOUSE F/X:
A LARGE, UNRULY CROWD BORDERING ON THE RIOTOUS. POLICE SIRENS. A HELICOPTER. THE BEEPING OF A HORN AS THE AMBULANCE EDGES THROUGH THE THRONG.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
Come on! Move it!
COOMBES:
Get out of the way, you great tub of lard!
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
I’ve never seen so many fat people. There must be thousands of them. Where have they all come from?
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) Officer! What the hell’s going on?
POLICE OFFICER:
(SHOUTING) Some idiot started a rumour on the Internet. Said there was instant weight loss for free at the fat farm over there.
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) We need to get through. Can you clear a path for us?
POLICE OFFICER:
(SHOUTING) Not until the riot squad gets here.
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AMBULANCE DRIVER:
Instant Weight Loss
Then that’s it, Mr Coombes. Might as well go back. You’d need a helicopter to get past this lot.
COOMBES: AMBULANCE DRIVER:
Order me an air ambulance. Oh no, Mr C. There’s no way I’m going to do that. No way you can make me.
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SCENE 17. HELICOPTER / ROCHDALE HOUSE F/X:
HELICOPTER. CROWD SOUNDS. SIRENS. THE HELICOPTER TOUCHES DOWN.
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) OK, boys. I can take it from here.
F/X:
HELICOPTER TAKES OFF AGAIN. FADES INTO THE DISTANCE.
MISS WHEELER:
Mr Coombes! Thank heavens you made it. They’re killing him. I’ve begged Dr Fortescue to send them away but he won’t hear of it. That man just gives and gives and soon he’ll have given everything.
COOMBES:
Where is he?
MISS WHEELER:
In the cellar. This way.
COOMBES:
Gangway! Mind your backs! Surgeon coming through.
FAT PERSON#1:
Oi! There’s a queue. You wait your turn.
COOMBES:
Out of my way, Fatso! Breath in, everybody! Make room for a little’un. 62
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Excuse me, Madam, but at least three of your stomachs are in my way. MISS WHEELER:
Come on, people! What have I told you about blocking the doorway?
FAT PERSON #2:
When are we going to get to see this Fortescue geezer? We’ve been waiting hours.
FAT PERSON #3:
And how about some food? I’m starving.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Fortescue is resting. He’ll see you as soon as he can – provided you behave yourselves!
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SCENE 18. ROCHDALE HOUSE, LIFT/CELLAR F/X:
LIFT DESCENDING.
MISS WHEELER:
Actually, Dr Fortescue can’t possibly see anyone else today – if ever. But I don’t dare announce it for fear of starting a riot. Since word got out about Dr Fortescue’s work, just about every fat person in the country is either here or on their way. He’s already slimmed over a hundred people today. He can’t possibly do any more without killing himself.
FX:
LIFT HALTS. PING! DOORS OPEN.
FORTESCUE:
Is that you, Miss Wheeler?
MISS WHEELER:
Mr Coombes is with me.
FORTESCUE:
I told you he’d come. Wouldn’t let an old mate down, would you, Coombesy?
COOMBES:
My god, Beanpole! You’re the size of a killer whale!
FORTESCUE:
So many fat people; so much fat.
COOMBES:
There are thousands of porkers out there. It’s turning into a riot. 64
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MISS WHEELER:
They’re going to have to send in the army.
FORTESCUE:
No! Not in my name. I wish to serve my fellow man. Let them come, Miss Wheeler. Let them come.
COOMBES:
I hate to be blunt, Fortescue, but you should be dead. What happened to your machines? Not that they’d be much good to you now.
FORTESCUE:
I had them removed. They were taking up too much room.
COOMBES:
I’m going to have to operate immediately.
FORTESCUE:
Forget it, Coombes. You can’t save me. Nobody can. But that’s OK. Let my death serve as a warning to the world and an inspiration to fat people everywhere. Tell the lard-arses of Britain: Charles Fortescue died for your sins.
MISS WHEELER:
But you’re not going to die, Charlie! You’re not!
FORTESCUE:
I must, Miss Wheeler. It is my destiny.
MISS WHEELER:
No!
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F/X:
Instant Weight Loss
A CROWD HAMMERING REPEATEDLY ON A LOCKED DOOR. ANGRY CRIES. WOOD SPLINTERING.
MISS WHEELER:
They’ve found the fire exit! It’s not going to hold!
F/X:
A WILD CHEER AS THE DOOR GIVES AND THE MOB STREAMS IN.
MISS WHEELER:
Keep away from him! Don’t touch him!
FORTESCUE:
Ah yes, come to me, my chubby children. Let me take the weight from you. Believe in me and you shall see your toes again.
F/X:
A MINI STAMPEDE. PEOPLE COMING TO BLOWS. MULTIPLE SLURPING SOUNDS.
FAT PERSON#4:
I’m thin! It works! It works!
MISS WHEELER:
Get away, you blubber-bods! Leave him alone! Can’t you see you’re killing him?
COOMBES:
It’s no use, Miss Wheeler. He’s inflating like a balloon. We have to get out of here before we get crushed.
MISS WHEELER:
Oh Charlie! My sweet Charlie!
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
Miss Wheeler! Pull yourself together or we’re going to die. What’s through that door?
MISS WHEELER:
A service tunnel. It leads to the wine cellar.
COOMBES:
Hang on to my arm.
MISS WHEELER:
But we’ll never make it. Not with all these stomachs in the way.
COOMBES:
We have to try!
F/X:
COOMBES AND MISS WHEELER GROAN AND GRUNT AS THEY STRUGGLE THROUGH A FOREST OF FAT.
COOMBES:
That’s it, Miss Wheeler! Just one more belly to negotiate.
F/X:
A DOOR IS THROWN OPEN AND SLAMS AGAINST A WALL.
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SCENE 19. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SERVICE TUNNEL
F/X:
THE MOB FIGHTING TO GET TO FORTESCUE. COOMBES AND MISS WHEELER PANT HEAVILY AS THEY REGAIN THEIR BREATH.
MISS WHEELER:
I thought I was going to suffocate.
COOMBES:
My whole life flashed before my eyes. Twice.
MISS WHEELER:
All that flesh! And sweat! And body odour!
COOMBES:
Come on, Miss Wheeler. Let’s get out of here.
MISS WHEELER:
But Dr Fortescue –
COOMBES:
There’s nothing we can do for him now.
F/X:
AN OMINOUS RUMBLING.
MISS WHEELER:
What is it? What’s happening?
F/X:
THE BUILDING CREAKS AND GROANS. MASONRY COMES CRASHING DOWN.
COOMBES:
An earthquake! Come on! Let’s go! This whole house is about to fall down. 68
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F/X:
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RUNNING FEET. BUILDING SHAKING. MORE FALLING MASONRY – BIGGER PIECES NOW. THERE IS A HUGE GROAN AS THE CEILING GIVES WAY.
COOMBES:
Look out!
F/X:
MISS WHEELER SCREAMS.
F/X:
AN ALMIGHTY CRASH! AND THEN SILENCE.
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SCENE 20. ROCHESTER HOUSE, LAWN F/X:
FADE IN: SOUND OF A MOB. SIRENS. A HELICOPTER. ALL FAIRLY DISTANT.
MISS WHEELER:
Mr Coombes. Can you hear me?
COOMBES:
(BLEARILY) Where am I? What happened?
MISS WHEELER:
You took a nasty knock back there. I had to carry you out.
COOMBES:
You saved my life. Thank you.
MISS WHEELER:
Don’t try to stand up just yet. You’re still concussed.
COOMBES:
The house! It’s collapsed.
MISS WHEELER:
Nobody in the cellar could have survived. But look: still they crawl over the ruins, digging into the rubble with their bare hands. Don’t they realise its over? Charlie can’t help them now.
F/X:
GROANING. RUMBLING. DISTANT SCREAMS.
COOMBES:
Now what?
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MISS WHEELER:
The house – it’s sinking!
COOMBES:
No wonder! Fortescue must weigh a thousand tons. The ground can’t hold him.
MISS WHEELER:
The Earth is swallowing him whole!
F/X:
AN ALMIGHTY GROAN. A GREAT CRASH. A DEAFENING RUMBLE. AND THEN SILENCE.
COOMBES:
It’s gone.
MISS WHEELER:
And so is Charlie.
COOMBES:
And all those deluded fat people who thought they were being saved.
MISS WHEELER:
Do you think there will be other Charlie Fortescues, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
I hope not, Miss Wheeler. I hope not.
THE END
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INSTANT WEIGHT LOSS An Original Radio Drama By Patrick Whittaker
Patrick Whittaker [email protected] www.coldfusion.freewebtools.com
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INSTANT WEIGHT LOSS By Patrick Whittaker
Characters COOMBES WILSON TANNOY MISS HARDY MISS WHEELER FORTESCUE MURCHISON NURSE WAITER VICAR AMBULANCE DRIVER POLICE OFFICER FAT PERSON#1 FAT PERSON#2 FAT PERSON#3 FAT PERSON#4
A surgeon. A Junior Consultant. A disembodied voice. A young lady. An efficient middle-aged lady. A diet doctor. A doctor.
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SCENE 1. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR F/X:
THE SUBDUED CACOPHONY OF A BUSY HOSPITAL. BRISK, EFFICIENT FOOTSTEPS: EXPENSIVE SHOES ON A CONCRETE FLOOR.
NURSE:
Good morning, Dr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Mr Coombes, Nurse. I’m a surgeon.
TANNOY:
(FILTERED) Dr Mills to Ward 3, please. Dr Mills to Ward 3.
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SCENE 2. SURGICAL CONSULTANTS’ OFFICE
F/X:
A DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES.
WILSON:
Good morning, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Says who?
WILSON:
Now don’t be like that. Spring’s finally arrived. The snowdrops are out and the sun is shining.
COOMBES:
Shut up, Wilson, and fix me a coffee.
WILSON:
The pot's over there. Freshly brewed.
COOMBES:
Black no sugar.
WILSON:
No disrespect, Mr Coombes, but I'm a junior consultant not a tea lady.
COOMBES:
I'm in the middle of writing your appraisal.
WILSON:
One coffee coming up.
COOMBES:
Six!
WILSON:
Sugars?
COOMBES:
No. On my desk. Six case files.
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F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
One…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Two…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Three…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Four…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Five…
F/X:
FILE BEING DROPPED ON DESK.
COOMBES:
Six! They expect me to do six operations in one shift.
WILSON:
Well, if anyone can...
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COOMBES:
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Just fix my coffee, Wilson. I’ll let you know when I want you to suck up to me.
F/X:
COOMBES SMACKS HIS LIPS.
COOMBES:
My tongue needs a shave.
WILSON:
Late night last night?
COOMBES:
Dinner at my club. Fine port. Fine brandy. Intelligent conversation. Nothing you’d appreciate.
WILSON:
One coffee in your favourite chipped mug.
F/X:
COOMBES SLURPS.
COOMBES:
Tastes like mud. Where's my gastric band?
WILSON:
(PUZZLED) Beg pardon, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
According to these files, my caseload today consists of two appendectomies, one anterior resection of the rectum, a couple of colectomies and an anal fistula. No gastric band. I thought I was going to be operating on old what’s-her-name? Mrs Lardy or whatever she's called.
WILSON:
Miss Hardy. She rang a few days ago to cancel the operation. Says she doesn't need it. 7
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Doesn’t need it? Have you seen the size of that woman? Anyone who thinks no man is an island hasn’t met Mrs Lardy. If she doesn’t have this operation she’s going to die. Get me social services.
WILSON:
They were contacted right after Miss Hardy called.
COOMBES:
And?
WILSON:
They went to her flat and she wasn't there.
COOMBES:
Nonsense. She can't even get out of bed let alone her front door. They must have gone to the wrong flat.
WILSON:
Checked and double checked. Her GP’s been there. The police have been there. Even the head of the construction crew that was going to winch her down has been there. They all say the same thing: Anna Hardy has vanished into thin air.
COOMBES:
Why wasn't I informed?
WILSON:
Do you recall what you said you'd do to anyone who contacted you while you were on leave?
COOMBES:
Imaginative, wasn't it?
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WILSON:
We've filed a missing persons report.
COOMBES:
There are only two man-made objects visible from outer space. One is the Great Wall of China; the other is Mrs Lardy. How can she possibly go missing? And what the hell do they put in this coffee?
F/X:
PHONE RINGS.
COOMBES:
If that’s for me, I'm not here.
F/X:
WILSON PICKS UP THE PHONE.
WILSON:
Camford General. Surgical consultants’ office. How may I help you? Yes, he's here. I'll pass you over to him.
COOMBES:
What did I tell you?
WILSON:
It's Miss Hardy.
COOMBES:
Give me that phone. Miss Hardy? What the devil are you playing at? Yes, well when you qualify as a surgeon maybe you'll be competent to make decisions like that. In the meantime, let me 9
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assure you that without this operation you are going to die. I fail to see what's so funny, Miss Hardy. Who? Charles Fortescue? That quack? No, Mrs Lardy, I will not. I have better things to do than run around the country chasing recalcitrant chubbies. You can tell Fortescue to take his slimming clinic and shove – Hello? She hung up! WILSON:
Is she OK?
COOMBES:
No, she is not OK. She's fallen into the clutches of Beanpole Fortescue.
WILSON:
Dr Charles Fortescue? The slimming expert?
COOMBES:
Expert, my eye. The only thing he's expert at is parting gullible fatties from their money. I shudder to think what's he's doing - or has done - to poor Mrs Lardy.
WILSON:
Miss Hardy.
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COOMBES:
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We were at med school together. I wouldn’t trust him to treat a veruca.
WILSON:
Where's Miss Hardy now?
COOMBES:
At Rochdale House, Fortescue’s slimming clinic. She wants me to meet her there straight away. The woman had the cheek to tell me to wait outside for a car to pick me up.
WILSON:
Out of the question of course.
COOMBES:
Phone Powell. See how much of my caseload you can dump on him. Reschedule everything else for tomorrow.
WILSON:
With respect, Mr Coombes, that's not my job.
COOMBES:
With respect, Mr Wilson, until such a time as I've finished your appraisal, your job is whatever I say it is. If Fortescue's doing anything illegal - and that's something of a given - I intend to see he pays for it. This is a golden opportunity to rid the medical profession of one of its worst elements.
WILSON:
What shall I tell Mr Powell?
COOMBES:
That I'm taking a much-needed day off.
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WILSON:
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But you've just come back from a week's leave.
COOMBES:
Then tell him my mother's died.
WILSON:
That’ll be the third time this year.
COOMBES:
(IRRITABLY) Tell him anything you like - just so long as it's not the truth. And Wilson...
WILSON:
Yes, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
Don't ever let me catch you being cheerful at work again.
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SCENE 3. OUTSIDE ROCHDALE HOUSE
F/X:
CAR PULLING UP ON GRAVEL. FRONT CAR DOOR OPENING. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. BACK DOOR OPENING.
COOMBES:
Thank you, driver. It's been most pleasant conversing with the back of your head.
F/X:
CAR DOOR BEING CLOSED. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Coombes?
COOMBES:
Mr Coombes. I'm a surgeon, not a village GP.
MISS WHEELER:
I'm Miss Wheeler. Welcome to Rochdale House.
COOMBES:
All five hundred acres of it.
MISS WHEELER:
Fifty.
COOMBES:
Fleecing fatties is obviously a lucrative occupation.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Fortescue has invested every penny he owns into this place and does not expect to
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make a profit. He’d rather be poor than turn away anyone who needs his help. COOMBES:
(SARCASTIC) The man's a saint.
MISS WHEELER:
(TO DRIVER) You may go, Duncan. Park the Rolls by the stables, will you?
F/X:
FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL. CAR DOOR CLOSING.
COOMBES:
The strong silent type, isn't he? Didn't say a single word throughout the entire journey.
MISS WHEELER:
He's a mute. Would you care to come inside?
COOMBES:
Well, I didn't come here just to admire your tennis courts.
F/X:
CAR PULLING AWAY. FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL.
COOMBES:
This building’s Georgian, isn't it? Eighteenth century.
MISS WHEELER:
I have no idea.
F/X:
DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.
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SCENE 4. ROCHDALE HOUSE, ENTRANCE HALL
F/X:
FOOTSTEPS ON A TILED FLOOR.
MISS WHEELER:
This is the main hallway. As you can see, it is decorated with many works of art.
COOMBES:
You can skip the guided tour. Just take me to Fortescue.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Fortescue will be pleased to see you in about ten minutes.
COOMBES:
(SARCASTIC) That's good of him. I hope I'm not putting him to any trouble.
MISS WHEELER:
Perhaps you'd care to wait by the pool? You'll find a fully equipped bar there.
COOMBES:
Where's my patient?
MISS WHEELER:
Miss Hardy is in her room. I'll have her meet you at the pool.
COOMBES:
Best keep her away from water. We don't want her getting harpooned.
MISS WHEELER:
I assume that's a reference to her weight with the implication that she might be mistaken for a whale?
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COOMBES:
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Don't split your sides just yet. I get funnier as the day goes on.
MISS WHEELER:
The pool's at the end of that corridor. I take it you're capable of fixing yourself a drink.
COOMBES:
Sure. And I know who to come to if I need any ice.
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SCENE 5. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SWIMMING POOL
F/X:
SOMEONE SPLASHING ABOUT IN THE POOL. SOUND OF DRINK BEING POURED. ICE THROWN INTO GLASS.
MISS HARDY:
Hello. Are you a patient?
COOMBES:
I beg your pardon?
MISS HARDY:
I said: 'Are you a patient?'
COOMBES:
Bearing in mind that this is a fat clinic for fat people, do I look like a patient?
MISS HARDY:
I thought maybe you'd had the treatment. But that was before I spotted your spare tyre. Not to worry. Charlie can have you fixed in no time.
COOMBES:
This is muscle. And who's Charlie when he's at home?
MISS HARDY:
Dr Fortescue, of course. Give me a hand, will you? I don't think I can get out on my own.
COOMBES:
There are some steps over there.
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MISS HARDY:
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Too far. I'm not a very good swimmer. In fact, I can't swim at all. If it wasn’t for these water wings, I’d drown.
COOMBES:
Shouldn't there be a lifeguard here?
MISS HARDY:
The pool isn't officially open right now. But I just had to give it a go. I've not been in a swimming pool since I was six. So how about it?
COOMBES:
How about what?
MISS HARDY:
Helping me out of the pool.
COOMBES:
I'll get my suit wet.
MISS HARDY:
(LIGHT-HEARTEDLY) Fine. Leave me to drown. And when they drag my lifeless body out of the pool, you can give yourself a pat on the back.
COOMBES:
(IRRITABLY) All right. But grab my hands, not my sleeve. Ready? Here goes!
F/X:
COOMBES HAULS MISS HARDY OUT OF THE WATER.
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MISS HARDY:
There! That wasn't so hard, was it?
COOMBES:
My jacket's wet.
MISS HARDY:
Only the cuff. It will soon dry. Pass me that towel, will you?
COOMBES:
(SARCASTIC) Yes, ma'am. Anything else I can do for you? Perhaps Her Majesty would like me to fix her a drink?
MISS HARDY:
Oh you are a love. I'll have a brandy and diet lemonade.
COOMBES:
Would you like a cherry with it?
MISS HARDY:
Yes, please. And one of those paper umbrella things.
FX:
DRINK BEING POURED.
COOMBES:
I'm giving you Greek brandy. Somehow I think the real stuff would be wasted on you.
MISS HARDY:
Look!
COOMBES:
At what?
MISS HARDY:
Me.
COOMBES:
Why?
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MISS HARDY:
Isn't my body great?
COOMBES:
As bodies go, it's fairly impressive.
MISS HARDY:
Pinch my tummy.
COOMBES:
Why would I want to do that?
MISS HARDY:
Go on - pinch it. See? Not a gram of fat.
COOMBES:
Personally I prefer a woman with something to hold on to.
MISS HARDY:
You wait till I get my new wardrobe. I’ll be irresistible.
COOMBES:
OK, Miss. Nice sales job. I get the message. 'You too can have a body like mine'. If Fortescue's thinks I’m investing in his fat farm, he can think again.
FX:
SWING DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.
MISS WHEELER:
Ah, Miss Hardy. There you are! I see Mr Coombes has managed to find you all by himself.
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MISS HARDY:
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So you’re Mr Coombes? You sounded so much younger on the telephone.
COOMBES:
That wasn’t you who rang me, was it? I thought you were someone else. Damn it! I’ve come all this way for nothing. Do you realise wasting a surgeon’s time is a criminal offence?
MISS HARDY:
No it isn’t.
COOMBES:
Well, it ought to be. And take off those ridiculous water wings. They make you look like Popeye’s anorexic sister.
MISS WHEELER:
Please keep your voice down, Mr Coombes. This is a clinic after all.
COOMBES:
Some clinic! Where are the patients?
MISS WHEELER:
They’ve all been cured and sent home. Miss Hardy here is the last of them. She’ll be on her way just as soon as I've run some tests on her.
MISS HARDY:
So soon, Miss Wheeler? I was hoping to stay one more night.
MISS WHEELER:
Fine by me. To be honest, I didn't fancy spending the night in this big old house on my own.
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COOMBES:
Where's Miss Hardy?
MISS HARDY:
I'm here. At least what's left of me.
COOMBES:
I'm talking about Anna Hardy.
MISS HARDY:
So am I.
COOMBES:
Thirty-seven stone Anna Hardy, aka The Goodyear Blimp!
MISS HARDY:
Actually I was only thirty-six stone twelve.
COOMBES:
(SARACSTIC) Oh ha-ha. I don’t know what you people think you’re playing at, but I've had enough of this. I'd appreciate a ride back to the hospital, if you don't mind.
MISS WHEELER:
But surely you won’t go without seeing Dr Fortescue? He's dying to meet you again after all these years.
F/X:
BLEEP-BLEEP. BLEEP-BLEEP.
COOMBES:
That's my pager. It's probably an emergency and thanks to your shenanigans I'm not going to be able to help.
MISS WHEELER:
Actually, that's my pager. Must be a message from Dr Fortescue.
PAUSE 22
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MISS WHEELER:
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(CONT’D) Oh yes. The doctor’s ready to see you now, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Lead on, Miss Wheeler. There are a few things I'd like to say to your beloved employer.
MISS WHEELER:
Take the lift over there. Press 'B' for basement.
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SCENE 6. ROCHDALE HOUSE, LIFT/BASEMENT
F/X:
LIFT DESCENDING. HALTS. PING! DOORS OPEN. SOUND OF MACHINERY: MECHANICAL PUMPING NOISES; SOMETHING LIKE A GIANT BELLOWS; VARIOUS ELECTRONIC PINGS AND BEEPS.
COOMBES:
What the - ?
FORTESCUE:
Ah Coombes. I glad you could make it.
COOMBES:
Fortescue?
FORTESCUE:
Come in before the doors close on you. It's an old lift and quite temperamental.
F/X:
LIFT DOORS CLOSING.
COOMBES:
Where are you?
FORTESCUE:
I'm afraid I'm rather obscured by all this paraphernalia. If you push aside those red cables, you'll be able to see me.
COOMBES:
Dear God! What is this?
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Please don't faint. People are forever fainting when they first see me like this. I'm finding it rather tiresome.
COOMBES:
Is this your idea of a joke?
FORTESCUE:
No joke, Coombesy. You're welcome to poke me to make sure I’m real. It’s what they all do. Go on - stick your finger anywhere you like. I promise what you see is what you get.
COOMBES:
You must weigh at least a hundred stones!
FORTESCUE:
Nearer one hundred and fifty.
COOMBES:
But that’s impossible. Nobody could be that gross and live!
FORTESCUE:
That's what all these machines are for. One’s giving my lungs a helping hand. That contraption next to you keeps my heart going. The box next to that cleans my blood. And that slurping sound is fat being sucked out of me. Go on. Have a look. You won't find any fakery.
COOMBES:
You must be 90% fat!
FORTESCUE:
By my estimates, 99%.
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COOMBES:
And you call yourself a slimming expert?
FORTESCUE:
Ironic, isn't it?
COOMBES:
Is this your leg?
FORTESCUE:
Give it a prod and I'll tell you. Yes. That's just below my knee.
COOMBES:
This is obscene.
FORTESCUE:
You always were judgmental. Remember back in med school? All those names you called me? Stick insect. Beanpole. Toothpick.
COOMBES:
Any thinner and you’d have given people paper cuts.
FORTESCUE:
Well, you can't say that about me now. And still you criticise.
COOMBES:
What's this all about, Fortescue?
FORTESCUE:
It's about saving people from obesity.
COOMBES:
But why have you dragged me away from my patients?
FORTESCUE:
I need you to get me back on my feet again.
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COOMBES:
I don't think I could even find your feet.
FORTESCUE:
This equipment isn't one hundred percent reliable. All it takes is for a fuse to blow and I'm a goner.
COOMBES:
You must have a back-up generator.
FORTESCUE:
Back-up generators have been known to fail. I'm feeling quite vulnerable, you know. Unless I can start getting rid of my fat faster than I accumulate it, I'm not going to be around much longer.
COOMBES:
Well, here's a suggestion for you, Fortescue: stop accumulating fat.
FORTESCUE:
Easier said than done, old chap. What would you say if I told you I've not eaten for almost six months?
COOMBES:
I'd say you were as big a liar now as you were in med school.
FORTESCUE:
Twice a day, Miss Wheeler pours vitamin pills down my throat, but other than that I’m nil by mouth.
COOMBES:
And I suppose all this fat came out of thin air? That's one thing all you chubbies have
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in common: an enormous capacity for selfdeception. FORTESCUE:
It came from my patients.
COOMBES:
What did you do? Eat them?
FORTESCUE:
In a way. Think of me as a vampire – only not your traditional sort. Instead of blood, I feast on fat.
COOMBES:
That’s just sick. And if you’re going to lie, at least make it plausible. I’m not an idiot.
FORTESCUE:
You've seen Miss Hardy?
COOMBES:
I've seen a Miss Hardy. But that woman that stick insect - is not my Miss Hardy.
FORTESCUE:
Take my hand.
COOMBES:
What?
FORTESCUE:
Take my hand. Go on. What's there to be afraid of?
COOMBES:
Which part of you is your hand?
FORTESCUE:
I’ll wriggle my fingers. See?
COOMBES:
Got it. Though why I’m humouring you, I’ll never know.
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FORTESCUE:
How does my hand feel?
COOMBES:
Cold and clammy. Like a piece of tripe.
FORTESCUE:
And now?
COOMBES:
Warm?
FORTESCUE:
And now?
F/X:
SLURPING SOUND. LIKE SOMEONE LICKING YOUR EAR.
COOMBES:
Ah gross! Stop it!
F/X:
SLURPING SOUND GROWS LOUDER, MORE GREEDY, MORE OBSCENE.
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) Stop it!
THE SLURPING ABRUPTLY STOPS. FORTESCUE:
There! How was it for you, Coombesy?
COOMBES:
I feel...
FORTESCUE:
Like a great weight's been lifted?
COOMBES:
Violated. And nauseated. Let go of me, you creep!
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FORTESCUE:
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You should have let me carry on. I've considerably reduced your love handles but you're still quite flabby in places.
COOMBES:
My stomach feels funny. You’ve drugged me!
FORTESCUE:
Trust the evidence of your own eyes. Look at you tucking your shirt in. Why is it suddenly so loose?
COOMBES:
What have you done?
FORTESCUE:
Relieved you of a few pounds of fat. It’s now a part of me.
COOMBES:
That's not possible.
FORTESCUE:
Depends on your definition of possible.
COOMBES:
I don't know what you're trying to pull, Fortescue, but I'm sure it's not legal. I'm getting out of this nightmare clinic right now and heading for the nearest police station.
FORTESCUE:
No! You mustn’t do that My work here must remain secret. I can only help so many people at a time. If word got out that I can cure obesity in an instant, I’d never be able to cope with the demand. It would kill me!
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COOMBES:
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Give it up, Fortescue. You’re not fooling me one bit.
F/X:
LIFT DESCENDING. PING! DOORS OPENING.
FORTESCUE:
Ah there you are Miss Wheeler. Your timing as ever is perfect. Mr Coombes was just leaving. You’ve just got time to show him what you have in that briefcase.
COOMBES:
I'm not interested.
MISS WHEELER:
I think you will be.
F/X:
LATCHES ON BRIEFCASE SPRINGING OPEN.
MISS WHEELER:
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one million pounds before.
FORTESCUE:
It's yours, Coombes, if you rid me of this fat. No diets. No gastric bands. Just get in there with your scalpel and have done with it.
MISS WHEELER:
One million pounds for a few hours work.
COOMBES:
You want me to perform a radical lipectomy? I'd need an earth mover.
FORTESCUE:
Whatever it takes, Coombesy.
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I couldn't possibly remove that much body tissue in one go. You’d never survive.
FORTESCUE:
It's just fat. So long as you don't hit any blood vessels, I'll be fine. I'm not asking you to remove it all – just enough so that I can stand on my feet again.
COOMBES:
It can't be done. What you're asking is impossible.
FORTESCUE:
The alternative is to leave me to die. How long do you think before my heart gives out? A month? A week?
COOMBES:
Why me, Fortescue?
FORTESCUE:
Don’t be so modest, Coombesy. You’re the National Health Service’s foremost expert on fat removal. If anyone can save me, it’s you.
COOMBES:
I'm going to need an anaesthetist.
FORTESCUE:
Miss Wheeler can oblige. She's fully qualified.
COOMBES:
Some power tools.
FORTESCUE:
I'll have a porter run down to the hardware store.
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
And some big strong men to haul the fat away.
FORTESCUE:
Miss Wheeler knows where to find plenty of those. Don't you, Miss Wheeler?
MISS WHEELER:
Yes, Mr Fortescue.
COOMBES:
Well, go fetch them, woman. And leave that briefcase where it is.
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SCENE 7. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
F/X:
THE SUBDUED CACOPHONY OF A BUSY HOSPITAL. BRISK, EFFICIENT FOOTSTEPS: EXPENSIVE SHOES ON A CONCRETE FLOOR.
NURSE:
Good morning, Dr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Get bent.
TANNOY:
(FILTERED) Dr Mills to Ward 3, please. Dr Mills to Ward 3.
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SCENE 8. SURGICAL CONSULTANTS’ OFFICE
F/X:
DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING.
WILSON:
Ah, the wanderer returns. You'll be pleased to know we coped marvelously during your unscheduled absence. Still, it's good to have you back, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
What have I told you, Wilson, about being cheerful?
WILSON IGNORES THE QUESTION. WILSON:
Hello. You must be the intern we were promised.
COOMBES:
No she isn't, Wilson. And stop drooling. You've seen a woman before, haven't you? Although probably not this close.
WILSON:
Aren't you going to introduce us?
COOMBES:
No.
WILSON:
Did you find Miss Hardy?
COOMBES:
Possibly.
F/X:
KNOCK ON THE DOOR. DOOR OPENING.
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MURCHISON:
Instant Weight Loss
Ah, there you are, Coombes. You caused quite a flap disappearing like that. There's a certain hospital administrator who's planning to make cufflinks out of bits of your anatomy.
COOMBES:
Miss Hardy, I believe you already know Dr Murchison.
MURCHISON:
Have we met, my dear?
MISS HARDY:
You've been to my flat twice.
MURCHISON:
(DEFENSIVE) No I haven't.
MISS HARDY:
You spent quite some time in my bedroom with me.
MURCHISON:
What's going on, Coombes? Is this some kind of stitch-up? I have never seen this woman in my life, let alone gone to her flat! And anyone who says otherwise will be hearing from my lawyer.
COOMBES:
Relax, Murchison. No one's suggesting anything beyond a proper doctor-patient relationship.
MURCHISON:
They'd better not be.
COOMBES:
Miss Hardy, tell Dr Murchison about his visits. See if you can jog his memory.
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MISS HARDY:
Instant Weight Loss
Well, the first time was when he gave me an examination to see if I was a suitable candidate for a gastric band.
MURCHISON:
Now you're being absurd. You need a gastric band about as much as I need a third nostril.
MISS HARDY:
The second time, you took some blood and tissue samples.
MURCHISON:
You're confusing me with someone else. I never make out-calls.
WILSON:
You did about a week ago.
MURCHISON:
That was an exception. The patient was too fat to even roll out of bed.
WILSON:
Not too fat to vanish though.
MURCHISON:
Yes. Most extraordinary business. One of the orderlies has put forward the theory that she ate herself.
COOMBES:
I'll give you another theory, shall I? It's equally absurd but it might just be true.
MURCHISON:
I'm all ears, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
What if I were to tell you that this young lady might – just might - be your Mrs Lardy?
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MURCHISON:
Instant Weight Loss
This skinny little thing? (TO MISS HARDY) No offence, Miss.
MISS HARDY:
Call me skinny all you like. In fact, I might change my name by deed poll. 'Skinny Hardy' has such a lovely ring to it.
MURCHISON:
Now be serious, Coombes. You don’t expect me to believe that this slip of a girl is Anna Hardy, aka The European Butter Mountain, do you?
COOMBES:
I'm not sure I believe it myself. But there's one way to be certain, Dr Murchison. You took tissue samples from Anna Hardy. They should still be in the lab.
MURCHISON:
OK. Now I see where this is going. I go tell the lab technicians some preposterous story about a woman losing three quarters of her bodyweight in an instant and you all have a good laugh at my expense. Just how dumb do you think I am, Coombes?
COOMBES:
All I ask is for you to sign a release form and then I can order the necessary tests myself. Then if anyone looks stupid, it’ll be me.
MURCHISON:
You're crazy, Coombes. Don't you have anything better to do with your time?
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COOMBES:
Just sign the form.
MURCHISON:
No!
COOMBES:
I’ll make it worth your while.
MURCHISON:
How?
COOMBES:
I'll bet you fifty - no - one hundred pounds that this Miss Hardy is the Miss Hardy – the one I was supposed to fit a gastric band to.
MURCHISON:
Make it five hundred.
COOMBES:
All right. Five hundred pounds.
MURCHISON:
You're on.
COOMBES:
Wilson, fetch a release form.
WILSON:
With all due respect, Mr Coombes, I am not your secretary.
COOMBES:
Point duly noted. They’re in that filing cabinet. And when you've sorted that out, book a table for two at the Blue Phoenix. Miss Hardy and I have a dinner date.
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SCENE 8. RESTAURANT.
F/X:
A BUSY RESTAURANT.
COOMBES:
We'll start with the crispy duck and watercress salad. Then the roasted cod fillet for the lady and I'll have Dorset dressed crab.
WAITER:
Very good, Mr Coombes. Your usual wine?
COOMBES:
Got it in one.
MISS HARDY:
You won't let me eat too much, will you, Mr Coombes? I don't want to end up back where I started.
COOMBES:
Don't worry about the calories, Miss Hardy. I’ll help you burn them off.
MISS HARDY:
Please call me Anna.
COOMBES:
Anna.
MISS HARDY:
And…?
COOMBES:
What?
MISS HARDY:
What should I call you?
COOMBES:
Mr Coombes.
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MISS HARDY:
You must have a first name.
COOMBES:
Lost in the mists of time. Even my ex-wives call me Mr Coombes.
MISS HARDY:
Ex-wives? How many have you got?
COOMBES:
Three of the darling little parasites. Between them they’ll take care of most of that million I got from Beanpole Fortescue.
MISS HARDY:
He's a wonderful man, isn't he?
COOMBES:
He’s an opportunistic slime ball who’s made a fortune from conning the general public into believing there's a quick and easy route to weight loss.
MISS HARDY:
But there is a quick and easy route. I'm proof of that.
COOMBES:
My dear Miss Hardy - if that is indeed your real name –
MISS HARDY:
Please call me Anna.
COOMBES:
Anna. If you'd had one tenth of the amount of fat removed from you that you claim to have done, you'd be tripping over your own skin. And yet you don't even have stretch
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marks. I doubt you've ever weighed an ounce more than you do now. I don’t know what Fortescue’s game is, but I’m not falling for it. MISS HARDY:
He removed some of your fat. How do you explain that?
COOMBES:
He slipped me something to make my stomach muscles tighten. As soon as it wears off, my love handles will be back in all their former glory.
MISS HARDY:
So it's all a big con, is it?
COOMBES:
It's simply not possible for a man to absorb somebody else's fat like that. It doesn't make sense.
MISS HARDY:
And yet you bet Dr Murchison five hundred pounds that it's true.
COOMBES:
In the full expectancy that I will lose. Then I can expose Fortescue for the snake oil salesman he is and have the satisfaction of seeing him put away.
F/X:
MOBILE PHONE RINGING.
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COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
That’ll be Murchison with the lab results. Of course, he's going to be unbearable now, but I consider that a price worth paying. Hello? Steady there, Murchison. I didn't catch a word of that. Say it again slowly. Uh-uh. Yes. I see. Now why would I do a thing like that? There's no need for that sort of language. And don't you dare hang up He hung up
MISS HARDY:
I take it you’re now five hundred pounds richer.
COOMBES:
And in need of a very stiff drink.
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SCENE 9. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SWIMMING POOL
FORTESCUE:
Ah, Coombesy. Back already?
COOMBES:
You should be in bed. I told you to take it easy for a few days.
FORTESCUE:
I can take it just as easy by this lovely swimming pool as I can in my bed.
COOMBES:
Where’s your skin?
FORTESCUE:
It shrunk just as I told you it would. I’m a little crinkly around the waist but I can put up with that. Do help yourself to a drink.
MISS WHEELER:
Shall I pour you one, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
No thank you, Miss Wheeler. I'd like a word with Charlie boy here.
FORTESCUE:
Well do sit down old chap. These recliners are amazingly comfortable.
COOMBES:
I've had tests done on Anna Hardy.
FORTESCUE:
And?
COOMBES:
She's who she says she is. Which kind of leaves me doubting my own sanity.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
Yes, I know. I've been exactly where you are now. It's all too fantastic for words, isn't it?
COOMBES:
Experience has taught me that if things don’t make sense it’s generally due to a lack of data.
FORTESCUE:
You want to know how I do what I do?
COOMBES:
Exactly.
FORTESCUE:
So do I. All I know is that whenever I touch someone, my body absorbs their fat.
COOMBES:
When did it start happening?
FORTESCUE:
About six months ago. I’d opened a weightloss clinic in Hollywood and was doing very well for myself. Thanks to my cutting-edge treatments, I was Hollywood’s number one fat-buster. The amount of money I earned was frankly obscene.
COOMBES:
I’m sure your conscience kept you awake nights.
FORTESCUE:
Not in the least. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I suddenly found myself a whole lot less popular than I used to be. There was a new kid in town and he was poaching my customers on a wholesale basis. His name
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was Heston Willoughby. You may have heard of him. COOMBES:
Author of ‘The Willoughby Diet’ and ‘Say Goodbye to Fat Forever’?
FORTESCUE:
That’s him.
COOMBES:
He disappeared, didn’t he? Under mysterious circumstances, I seem to recall.
FORTESCUE:
Not mysterious to me. I know exactly what became of him.
COOMBES:
Don’t tell me you did him in.
FORTESCUE:
You think me capable of murder?
COOMBES:
He was stealing your livelihood. You must have been rather miffed about it.
FORTESCUE:
Believe it or not, I wasn’t. In a few short years, I’d amassed quite a large fortune. Plus I’d bought my clinic just as a property boom came along. So even before I’d lost all my customers, I was thinking about calling it a day. The idea of buying an island in the Caribbean appealed to me no end. But first I had to satisfy my curiosity. What did Willoughby have that I didn’t?
COOMBES:
Customers.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
My old clients avoided me out of embarrassment but I couldn’t help but bump into the odd one here and there. And the change in some of them was amazing. I’m talking about real porkers turning into catwalk models over night. One of my last patients walked out of my clinic for the final time weighing seventeen stones. When I saw her a week later, she was a size zero! Whatever Willoughby was doing was phenomenal! The thing is, Coombes: nobody would tell me what was going on. It was Hollywood’s biggest secret. People kept their traps shut for fear that Willoughby would refuse to treat them. I just had to know Willoughby’s secret or go insane! So, one dark night, I broke into his clinic. Can you imagine me doing anything so sneaky?
COOMBES:
Vividly.
FORTESCUE:
It was too easy. I kept telling myself that as I climbed the perimeter wall and snuck across the lawn. There were no guards, no dogs. If there were alarms, they stayed silent – even when I forced open a window and climbed through. And do you know what I found
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inside? Bearing in mind this was the foremost weight-lost clinic in the world? Nothing! The place was empty. No furniture. No machines. Not so much as a bathroom scale. And it was dead silent – all except for what I thought was the beating of my heart. F/X:
A SLOW, RHYTHMIC PUMPING.
FORTESCUE:
I was afraid. More afraid than I’d ever been. Up until then, I’d assumed that whatever Willoughby was doing was what I’d been doing – only more so. But now… You may laugh, Coombes, but it occurred to me that Willoughby might be meddling in matters best left alone. What if he was a modern day Frankenstein? Or in league with the devil? I was about to leave when I realised that the sound was coming from a room at the end of a long, dark corridor. Curiosity overcame my fear and I tip-toed through the darkness towards the room.
F/X:
THE SOUND GROWS LOUDER. IT IS JOINED BY SOMETHING LIKE A GIANT BELLOWS AND VARIOUS ELECTRONIC
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PINGS AND BEEPS. IN OTHER WORDS, THE SOUNDS COOMBES HEARD IN FORTESCUE’S CELLAR – BUT MUTED.
FORTESCUE:
I reached the door and stood there trembling. Somehow I knew that what lay beyond would change me forever. I wanted to run from that room and erase the memory of it from my mind. But I had to know Willoughby’s secret even if it destroyed me. I had to! So I pushed open the door!
F/X:
THE NOISE IS SUDDENLY FULL-ON.
FORTESCUE:
And there – amidst a fantastic array of machinery and tubes - lay the ugliest, most hideous travesty of a human being I ever saw. It was the size of an elephant and looked like a maggot. I shuddered when it turned its bloated face towards me and said: ‘Ah, Fortescue. You’ve come at last.’
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SCENE 10. WILLOUGHBY’S CLINIC - FLASHBACK
WILLOUGHBY:
Heston Willoughby at your service. Although, I fear, not for much longer. My heart grows weaker by the second. The strain on it is enormous and all this wonderful machinery can only do so much. Come closer, Fortescue, that I may lower my voice. The exertion of shouting a single syllable could be my undoing.
FORTESCUE:
What have you done to yourself, Willoughby?
WILLOUGHBY:
I have made the ultimate sacrifice in the war against obesity.
FORTESCUE:
I don’t understand how you could let yourself go like this when you possess the secret of instant weight loss.
WILLOUGHBY:
One man’s loss is another man’s gain.
FORTESCUE:
This is some sort of trick! An illusion! You’re messing with my head and I won’t stand for it.
WILLOUGHBY:
I am doing nothing. You came of your own accord.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
But you knew I would. This is what you wanted.
WILLOUGHBY:
Would you permit me to offer you a piece of advice, Fortescue? Leave this place. Now! Before it becomes your undoing.
FORTESCUE:
I can’t. Not without the secret of instant weight loss.
WILLOUGHBY:
Then you will be cursed as I am cursed.
FORTESCUE:
Will you share the secret with me?
WILLOUGHBY:
Are you willing to pay the price?
FORTESCUE:
Damn it, Willoughby! You know I am.
WILLOUGBY:
Then come closer. Closer than that. Bend your head towards my mouth. That’s it!
F/X:
WILLOUGBY MAKES OBSCENE SLURPING/SLOBBERY NOISES.
F/X:
FORTESCUE GASPS. HE WHIMPERS IN EVIDENT HORROR.
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
Stop it! That’s too horrible. I can’t take it! No!
F/X:
FORTESCUE SCREAMS. WILLOUGHBY BELCHES.
WILLOUGHBY:
At last, the curse is lifted. I need suffer no more.
END FLASHBACK
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SCENE 11. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SWIMMING POOL FORTESCUE:
With a groan like the creaking of old timbers, Heston Willoughby breathed his last. But even in death he was not done with me. What happened next was too ghastly – too hideous… No. It’s no use. I can’t bring myself to describe it.
COOMBES:
Oh come on, Fortescue. You can’t leave me dangling like this.
FORTESCUE:
It is best you don’t know what happened to Heston Willoughby.
COOMBES:
So help me, unless you tell me, I – well, I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pleasant.
FORTESCUE:
Very well then; on your head be it. Heston Willoughby melted before my very eyes. His flesh turned to liquid and crept across the floor. The last I saw of him, he was disappearing down a drain. And that’s why they never found Heston Willoughby.
COOMBES:
You shouldn’t have told me. Now I’m going to have nightmares. 53
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FORTESCUE:
Instant Weight Loss
I thought that was the end of it, that Heston Willoughby had taken the secret of instant weight loss to the grave. But I was wrong. He’d passed his gift on to me.
COOMBES:
I thought you said it was a curse?
FORTESCUE:
It was Willoughby who said it was a curse, not I. I have been given the opportunity to serve humanity, to redeem myself for the many sins I have committed in the past. I am not cursed, Mr Coombes. I am blessed.
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SCENE 12. CHURCH VICAR:
Do you Francis Albert Coombes take this woman, Anna Christina Hardy, to be your lawfully wedded wife?
COOMBES:
I do.
VICAR:
And do you Anna Christina Hardy take Francis Albert Coombes to be your lawfully wedded husband?
MISS HARDY:
I do.
VICAR:
I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.
MUSIC:
CHURCH ORGAN PLAYING THE BRIDAL CHORUS. FADES.
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SCENE 13. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR
F/X:
THE SUBDUED CACOPHONY OF A BUSY HOSPITAL. BRISK, EFFICIENT FOOTSTEPS: EXPENSIVE SHOES ON A CONCRETE FLOOR.
NURSE:
Good morning, Dr Coombes.
COOMBES:
(CHEERILY) Good morning, Nurse.
NURSE:
(HURRIEDLY) Mr Coombes! I meant Mr.
COOMBES:
Mr? Dr? What does it matter? A rose by any other name…
TANNOY:
(FILTERED) Dr Mills to Ward 3, please. Dr Mills to Ward 3.
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SCENE 14. SURGICAL CONSULTANTS’ OFFICE
F/X:
A DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES.
COOMBES:
Good morning, Wilson.
WILSON:
If you say so, Mr Coombes.
COOMBES:
Oh cheer up. Life can’t be that bad. Why don’t you ask me how my honeymoon went?
WILSON:
It obviously went very well.
COOMBES:
My best honeymoon ever! Ah, that coffee smells great. Would you care for a cup?
WILSON:
I’d rather drink my own bathwater.
COOMBES:
Now what do I have here? Oh look: an aortic aneurysm - my favourite kind. And a cholecystectomy. Haven’t done one of those in ages. It’s so good to be back.
F/X:
PHONE RINGS. COOMBES PICKS IT UP.
COOMBES:
Camford General. Surgical consultants’ office. How may I help you?
MISS WHEELER:
(FILTERED) Mr Coombes? 57
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COOMBES:
Speaking.
MISS WHEELER:
(FILTERED) This is Miss Wheeler. Dr Fortescue is in grave danger. He needs your help.
COOMBES:
No can do, Miss Wheeler. I’m a busy man. Perhaps you should phone 999?
MISS WHEELER:
(FILTERED) They keep on coming. I can do nothing to stop them. They’re killing him.
COOMBES:
Who’s killing him?
FORTESCUE:
(FILTERED) The fat people. They won’t leave him alone. No! Get back in line. Get back, you fat fiends! Back, I say!
F/X:
CLICK. RING TONE.
COOMBES:
It seems like Charlie boy’s bitten off more than he can chew. You know the drill, Wilson.
WILSON:
(RESIGNEDLY) Fine. What did your mother die from this time?
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SCENE 15. AMBULANCE
F/X:
AMBULANCE RACING ALONG, SIREN BLARING. THE OCCASSIONAL SCREECH OF TYRES.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
You know, Mr Coombes, I could get the sack for this. I’m only meant to go out on orders from the dispatch office.
COOMBES:
Tish! You’re here for medical emergencies and this is a medical emergency.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
All the same, I’d feel happier if you let me call it in.
COOMBES:
No time for that. And keep your foot on that pedal. If people won’t get out of your way, that’s their look-out.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
What if I hit someone?
COOMBES:
Pick them up on the way back.
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SCENE 16. AMBULANCE/APPROACHING ROCHDALE HOUSE F/X:
A LARGE, UNRULY CROWD BORDERING ON THE RIOTOUS. POLICE SIRENS. A HELICOPTER. THE BEEPING OF A HORN AS THE AMBULANCE EDGES THROUGH THE THRONG.
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
Come on! Move it!
COOMBES:
Get out of the way, you great tub of lard!
AMBULANCE DRIVER:
I’ve never seen so many fat people. There must be thousands of them. Where have they all come from?
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) Officer! What the hell’s going on?
POLICE OFFICER:
(SHOUTING) Some idiot started a rumour on the Internet. Said there was instant weight loss for free at the fat farm over there.
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) We need to get through. Can you clear a path for us?
POLICE OFFICER:
(SHOUTING) Not until the riot squad gets here.
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AMBULANCE DRIVER:
Instant Weight Loss
Then that’s it, Mr Coombes. Might as well go back. You’d need a helicopter to get past this lot.
COOMBES: AMBULANCE DRIVER:
Order me an air ambulance. Oh no, Mr C. There’s no way I’m going to do that. No way you can make me.
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SCENE 17. HELICOPTER / ROCHDALE HOUSE F/X:
HELICOPTER. CROWD SOUNDS. SIRENS. THE HELICOPTER TOUCHES DOWN.
COOMBES:
(SHOUTING) OK, boys. I can take it from here.
F/X:
HELICOPTER TAKES OFF AGAIN. FADES INTO THE DISTANCE.
MISS WHEELER:
Mr Coombes! Thank heavens you made it. They’re killing him. I’ve begged Dr Fortescue to send them away but he won’t hear of it. That man just gives and gives and soon he’ll have given everything.
COOMBES:
Where is he?
MISS WHEELER:
In the cellar. This way.
COOMBES:
Gangway! Mind your backs! Surgeon coming through.
FAT PERSON#1:
Oi! There’s a queue. You wait your turn.
COOMBES:
Out of my way, Fatso! Breath in, everybody! Make room for a little’un. 62
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Excuse me, Madam, but at least three of your stomachs are in my way. MISS WHEELER:
Come on, people! What have I told you about blocking the doorway?
FAT PERSON #2:
When are we going to get to see this Fortescue geezer? We’ve been waiting hours.
FAT PERSON #3:
And how about some food? I’m starving.
MISS WHEELER:
Dr Fortescue is resting. He’ll see you as soon as he can – provided you behave yourselves!
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SCENE 18. ROCHDALE HOUSE, LIFT/CELLAR F/X:
LIFT DESCENDING.
MISS WHEELER:
Actually, Dr Fortescue can’t possibly see anyone else today – if ever. But I don’t dare announce it for fear of starting a riot. Since word got out about Dr Fortescue’s work, just about every fat person in the country is either here or on their way. He’s already slimmed over a hundred people today. He can’t possibly do any more without killing himself.
FX:
LIFT HALTS. PING! DOORS OPEN.
FORTESCUE:
Is that you, Miss Wheeler?
MISS WHEELER:
Mr Coombes is with me.
FORTESCUE:
I told you he’d come. Wouldn’t let an old mate down, would you, Coombesy?
COOMBES:
My god, Beanpole! You’re the size of a killer whale!
FORTESCUE:
So many fat people; so much fat.
COOMBES:
There are thousands of porkers out there. It’s turning into a riot. 64
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MISS WHEELER:
They’re going to have to send in the army.
FORTESCUE:
No! Not in my name. I wish to serve my fellow man. Let them come, Miss Wheeler. Let them come.
COOMBES:
I hate to be blunt, Fortescue, but you should be dead. What happened to your machines? Not that they’d be much good to you now.
FORTESCUE:
I had them removed. They were taking up too much room.
COOMBES:
I’m going to have to operate immediately.
FORTESCUE:
Forget it, Coombes. You can’t save me. Nobody can. But that’s OK. Let my death serve as a warning to the world and an inspiration to fat people everywhere. Tell the lard-arses of Britain: Charles Fortescue died for your sins.
MISS WHEELER:
But you’re not going to die, Charlie! You’re not!
FORTESCUE:
I must, Miss Wheeler. It is my destiny.
MISS WHEELER:
No!
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F/X:
Instant Weight Loss
A CROWD HAMMERING REPEATEDLY ON A LOCKED DOOR. ANGRY CRIES. WOOD SPLINTERING.
MISS WHEELER:
They’ve found the fire exit! It’s not going to hold!
F/X:
A WILD CHEER AS THE DOOR GIVES AND THE MOB STREAMS IN.
MISS WHEELER:
Keep away from him! Don’t touch him!
FORTESCUE:
Ah yes, come to me, my chubby children. Let me take the weight from you. Believe in me and you shall see your toes again.
F/X:
A MINI STAMPEDE. PEOPLE COMING TO BLOWS. MULTIPLE SLURPING SOUNDS.
FAT PERSON#4:
I’m thin! It works! It works!
MISS WHEELER:
Get away, you blubber-bods! Leave him alone! Can’t you see you’re killing him?
COOMBES:
It’s no use, Miss Wheeler. He’s inflating like a balloon. We have to get out of here before we get crushed.
MISS WHEELER:
Oh Charlie! My sweet Charlie!
66
Patrick Whittaker
COOMBES:
Instant Weight Loss
Miss Wheeler! Pull yourself together or we’re going to die. What’s through that door?
MISS WHEELER:
A service tunnel. It leads to the wine cellar.
COOMBES:
Hang on to my arm.
MISS WHEELER:
But we’ll never make it. Not with all these stomachs in the way.
COOMBES:
We have to try!
F/X:
COOMBES AND MISS WHEELER GROAN AND GRUNT AS THEY STRUGGLE THROUGH A FOREST OF FAT.
COOMBES:
That’s it, Miss Wheeler! Just one more belly to negotiate.
F/X:
A DOOR IS THROWN OPEN AND SLAMS AGAINST A WALL.
67
Patrick Whittaker
Instant Weight Loss
SCENE 19. ROCHDALE HOUSE, SERVICE TUNNEL
F/X:
THE MOB FIGHTING TO GET TO FORTESCUE. COOMBES AND MISS WHEELER PANT HEAVILY AS THEY REGAIN THEIR BREATH.
MISS WHEELER:
I thought I was going to suffocate.
COOMBES:
My whole life flashed before my eyes. Twice.
MISS WHEELER:
All that flesh! And sweat! And body odour!
COOMBES:
Come on, Miss Wheeler. Let’s get out of here.
MISS WHEELER:
But Dr Fortescue –
COOMBES:
There’s nothing we can do for him now.
F/X:
AN OMINOUS RUMBLING.
MISS WHEELER:
What is it? What’s happening?
F/X:
THE BUILDING CREAKS AND GROANS. MASONRY COMES CRASHING DOWN.
COOMBES:
An earthquake! Come on! Let’s go! This whole house is about to fall down. 68
Patrick Whittaker
F/X:
Instant Weight Loss
RUNNING FEET. BUILDING SHAKING. MORE FALLING MASONRY – BIGGER PIECES NOW. THERE IS A HUGE GROAN AS THE CEILING GIVES WAY.
COOMBES:
Look out!
F/X:
MISS WHEELER SCREAMS.
F/X:
AN ALMIGHTY CRASH! AND THEN SILENCE.
69
Patrick Whittaker
Instant Weight Loss
SCENE 20. ROCHESTER HOUSE, LAWN F/X:
FADE IN: SOUND OF A MOB. SIRENS. A HELICOPTER. ALL FAIRLY DISTANT.
MISS WHEELER:
Mr Coombes. Can you hear me?
COOMBES:
(BLEARILY) Where am I? What happened?
MISS WHEELER:
You took a nasty knock back there. I had to carry you out.
COOMBES:
You saved my life. Thank you.
MISS WHEELER:
Don’t try to stand up just yet. You’re still concussed.
COOMBES:
The house! It’s collapsed.
MISS WHEELER:
Nobody in the cellar could have survived. But look: still they crawl over the ruins, digging into the rubble with their bare hands. Don’t they realise its over? Charlie can’t help them now.
F/X:
GROANING. RUMBLING. DISTANT SCREAMS.
COOMBES:
Now what?
70
Patrick Whittaker
Instant Weight Loss
MISS WHEELER:
The house – it’s sinking!
COOMBES:
No wonder! Fortescue must weigh a thousand tons. The ground can’t hold him.
MISS WHEELER:
The Earth is swallowing him whole!
F/X:
AN ALMIGHTY GROAN. A GREAT CRASH. A DEAFENING RUMBLE. AND THEN SILENCE.
COOMBES:
It’s gone.
MISS WHEELER:
And so is Charlie.
COOMBES:
And all those deluded fat people who thought they were being saved.
MISS WHEELER:
Do you think there will be other Charlie Fortescues, Mr Coombes?
COOMBES:
I hope not, Miss Wheeler. I hope not.
THE END
71
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