Tuesday 9 November 2010

Renegades Chapter 1

Here's another chapter from the Renegades. It was originally going to be chapter 2, but now I've decided to make it the first one, with either the previous chapter 1 moving to chapter 3, or becoming the prologue. I'm trying to decide where it would be best served right now, so elements in this chapter will probably shift around either way.

Anyhoo, here we see main protagonist Sophie being driven to her new school on her first day, and she ain't exactly happy about it...

1 – First Day
Sophie Austen let her head fall against the car window with a soft thump, watching the water droplets speed past along the glass as the car accelerated away from the traffic lights. The rain became heavier as it beat against the windshield with a hypnotic drone. She sighed as her eyes flickered to the clock on the dashboard. Half past eight. Only thirty minutes to go now.
     “Isn’t London a wonderful city?” her Mum asked as she increased the speed of the windscreen wipers. Sophie didn’t reply, instead staring glumly out at the rain soaked suburbs passing by. She watched as the pedestrians on the pavement wrestled with umbrellas and skipped around puddles. As they stopped at another set of traffic lights they drew level with a car being driven by a man taking his three young children to school. The children were laughing as their Dad pulled funny faces at them in the mirror. Sophie could only watch enviously as the Dad then deliberately revved his car’s engine pretending to be a racing driver, causing his children to laugh even more. Then the light changed to green and their car turned to the left whilst her Mum accelerated forward, the family leaving Sophie’s world as fast as they had entered it.
     “Do you like your new uniform?” her Mum asked brightly, once again trying to start a conversation.
    “It’s green” Sophie grunted, eyeing the sickly green blazer, green and white striped tie, dull grey skirt and opaque green tights. She much preferred the bright red sweatshirt and comfortable black trousers she had worn at her old school.
    “Well I think you look very pretty” her Mum told her. “I’m sure there will be plenty of boys at the academy who will think so too.”
    Sophie rolled her eyes and gave an obvious tut to show that she disapproved of this remark. She pulled down the sun visor and slid open the mirror to check her makeup. She stared up at the fourteen year old reflected back at her and attempted to figure out which parts of her face she could improve. From the schoolbag at her feet she pulled out some black coloured eyeliner and applied it liberally around the tops of her hazel eyes. She next began covering her lips in gloss, trying to make them as shiny as possible. For a final touch she swept at her fringe so her dark, shoulder length black hair was almost falling into her eyes. It had not always been black. She had dyed it this colour a week before the move, much to her Mum’s disapproval. Sophie found that she wasn’t happy with the deep brunette hair she shared with her parents anymore. She had spent twenty minutes straightening it this morning so it fell in such a way that it covered the sides of her face. 
       Her Mum glanced over at her with a look of disapproval. “You really don’t need that much makeup on” she pointed out. Sophie didn’t reply. She flicked the visor back up, slouched into her seat and returned to gazing out the window at the shops and houses passing by. The rain was coming down even harder now and the window was splashed with water as they drove through a large puddle.
      Her Mum gave a long sigh as she tried to come up with another way of communicating with her daughter. “How about we put the radio on?” she suggested, but didn’t wait for an answer as she began fiddling with the dial on the dashboard. A couple of seconds later the car was filled with the dull voice of a newsreader.
   This got Sophie’s attention immediately.  “Do we have to listen to this?” she moaned. “Can’t we listen to Galaxia FM instead?”
    “I have no idea why you insist on listening to that awful station” her Mum insisted.
    “Because it’s actually good, that’s why” Sophie retorted.
   Her Mum, however, wasn’t giving in. “Honestly Sophie you should really broaden your horizons a little more. It wouldn’t hurt you to be more aware of what is going on in the world around you.”
     Sophie turned her head back to the window. “Dad lets me listen to Galaxia FM” she muttered.
    Her Mum began to drum her fingers on the steering wheel, which she always did when she was angry. ‘Yes, well, I’m not your Dad am I?’ she said slowly and deliberately.
     Sophie knew there was no point continuing the argument. Besides she was sick of fighting and could tell her Mum was as well. Instead they sat in silence as they turned off the dual carriageway and onto a single lane street creeping slowly uphill. They were flanked by red brick buildings on either side and the only other cars on the road were those parked up on the pavement. Sophie knew she would become very accustomed to this road so she didn’t bother to look outside anymore. Instead she closed her eyes and let the words of the newsreader wash over her.
      “...key witness was found dead in their hotel room. Police are continuing with their investigations, but suspect they died of natural causes. In other news, crime figures throughout the capital have decreased to their lowest level in fifteen years, as rumours of a band of masked vigilantes continue to gain strength...”
     “For goodness sake” Sophie’s Mum suddenly exclaimed as she listened to the report, as much to herself as to her daughter. Sophie turned her head towards the radio, as she too began listening to the news report.
    “The number of sightings of this group, known only as ‘the Thunderbolts’, have increased over the past three months, with more sightings being reported last night. According to witnesses, some girls were being mugged by a gang when they were stopped by five masked figures. Reportedly one was a girl with butterfly wings on her back, another a teenage boy wielding a sword and shield. The girls were unharmed but are currently being treated for post traumatic stress. The Police and officials remain sceptical that such a band of apparent super heroes exists, however rumours began...”
     Sophie’s Mum gave a long drawn out sigh. “As if the news wasn’t watered down as it is. Real life isn’t good enough for them now, so they have to go making up stories instead.”
      “Who says these Thunderbolts aren’t actually real?” Sophie remarked without opening her eyes.
     “Surely you can’t believe there are a gang of crime fighting children running about London who wear hoodies to hide their faces?”
     “I wear hoodies. What’s wrong with wearing them?”
      Once again her Mum began drumming her fingers. “You know what I’m getting at, you aren’t stupid. And all this nonsense about having superpowers. How can people in this day and age honestly believe there are children with the ability to shoot fire from their arms?”
     “You always told me that part of being a good scientist was to keep your mind open to new ideas” Sophie remarked idly, but her comment finally caused her Mum to snap.
     “Oh will you stop acting like a smug little smart-alec” she barked loudly, as her momentary lapse in concentration caused her to inadvertently lurch the car forward. “You don’t care about these Thunderbolts. All you care about is trying to prove me wrong and I’m sick of it!”
     Sophie opened her mouth to dispute this, but again decided not to continue the argument. Her Mum was wrong about the Thunderbolts though. She had followed the activities of this mysterious group ever since they had begun to make headlines. She had even joined Thunderbolt fan clubs on the internet in an attempt to learn more about them. She was secretly pleased by the thought that a gang of teenagers were making a stand against problems that should have been sorted out years ago. She wondered if that was why so many people didn’t like them, because they were making everyone else look bad.
    They turned into a road with a long metal railing on the left hand side, over which towered a line of grand oak trees, their leaves beginning to turn a light shade of yellow as autumn approached. Through the metal rails and trees was a vast playing field at the foot of a small hill, on which stood a set of newly built brick buildings. When she saw them Sophie felt her stomach twist into a nervous knot. They had finally arrived at the Grant Academy, her new school. It had only been built three years ago, funded entirely by Peter Grant in order to aid exceptional teenagers in achieving their potential. Sophie had been offered a place after her Mum took a new job working for Grant Industries, though that was nothing special. Many of the pupils here had parents working for Grant Industries.
     Just ahead a line of cars were waiting to turn up a pristine tarmac driveway leading to the academy. Instead of joining them her Mum found a gap in the cars parked on the pavement and nestled their car into it. Neither of them said a word as her Mum turned off the ignition and reclined against her seat with a sigh. A group of girls about Sophie’s age and dressed in the same uniform ran past, laughing madly as they attempted to protect their hair by covering it with their bags. The rain had now turned into a light drizzle but large droplets were falling from the sodden trees onto the parked car with heavy clunks.
    “I’m sorry I snapped Sophie” her Mum said to her, sounding as weary as she now looked. “I understand this is a big day for you. But you’re not the only one having to start again. I had to take this job. It’s so much better than what I had in York.”
    “Good for you” Sophie grunted.
    “It’s better paid, I get more funding and best of all I’m in control of my own research team. Plus I get more time off to spend with you.”  Sophie ignored her; her Mum had used these reasons countless times already. None of them had convinced her before and they didn’t convince her now. “Oh please try to understand” her Mum pleaded, now sounding quite desperate. “This is our chance for a fresh start, to put our old life behind us. I did this for us.”
     Sophie didn’t bother to look at her as she picked up her bag from the floor. “You didn’t do this for us” she growled angrily. “You did this for yourself!” With that she opened the door, stepped out into the rain soaked street and kicked the door shut with her foot.
     She could hear her Mum shouting her name through the glass but pretended not to hear her as she stormed off towards the driveway. She made the decision not to look back, but when she reached the entrance she found that she could not help herself. Her Mum did not see her looking. She was resting her head against the back of the seat with her eyes closed. Sophie suddenly felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t the only person to have left her entire life behind her. Her Mum was also leaving a city she had grown up in, as well as the friends and family who lived there. In many ways their situations were identical.
     Her parent’s marriage had been breaking down for years. She had almost got used to listening to their arguments from her bedroom in the middle of the night, trying to block their angry screams by covering her head in her pillow. And then the following morning she would come down for breakfast to see them treading on eggshells, pretending that nothing was wrong. 
      Years of frustration and pain came to a dramatic conclusion at her thirteenth birthday party. In front of her family, school friends and a restaurant full of people they had both exploded. Her Mum accused her Dad of fooling about with other women; her Dad accused her Mum of being a manipulative witch with no grasp on reality. The argument eventually turned violent with both families becoming involved, and ultimately the police were called. Sophie could not forget how intensely embarrassed she had felt as she sat beside a pile of unopened presents while the argument raged around her, unable to prevent the tears from streaming down her face.  She had never forgiven her parents for that day and doubted she ever would. Two days later her Mum had filed for divorce. Three months after that a Judge had granted it.
     After her Dad had moved out Sophie had hoped that would draw a line under the whole affair. All she wanted was to live a normal life without the shadow of her parents break-up hanging over her. However six months later her Mum announced she had been offered a job in London and that she was going to take it. This time her Dad had not been the only one to voice his opposition. Sophie had made it clear from the start that she hated the thought of moving away from the city she had lived in her entire life. Ultimately however her Mum won. A week after her fourteenth birthday the removal vans arrived and began to pack up her belongings for the journey south. Her Dad had promised to come and visit once a month, but he had yet to make his first visit.
    Sophie did not go up the driveway immediately; instead she rested against a large iron gate flanking the entrance. Ignoring the cars driving past and water droplets falling on her from the trees, she gazed up at where she would spend the next four years of her life.  She could now see more red brick buildings behind those visible from the road. Between these buildings and the playing fields was the tarmac school courtyard, which was largely empty save for small groups of pupils huddled in its corners chatting idly. She watched miserably as a gang of them walked past her as though she was invisible. One boy in particular caught her eye, with jet black hair ruffled up with wax, a bag slung casually over his shoulder and surrounded by a large group of pupils laughing at some joke he had just told.
     She closed her eyes and thought back to the life she had left behind. She began to picture her old secondary school in her mind, thinking of all the people she had grown up with and who would be starting their new term without her. There had been many tearful goodbyes on her last day, with everyone promising to keep in touch and visit in the holidays. However deep down Sophie knew it would never be the same. Texting and Facebook messaging were not the same as seeing them every day. Soon everyday life would get in the way and they would forget about her.
     She wondered if she could have done more to prevent all this from happening. Maybe if she had been brave enough to intervene in her parent’s arguments she would still be in York preparing for a regular school day.  Everyone, her grandparents, her friends and her teachers, had told her repeatedly that none of it was her fault. That didn’t stop her from feeling guilty. Maybe things would have worked out differently if she had told her parents how she was feeling. Maybe they would have made more of an effort to work things out. However all she was now left with was a list of regrets, and a life that would change forever whether she wanted it to or not.
     She looked back and saw that her Mum’s car had disappeared, and then taking a breath she began to sullenly walk up the driveway.
     She was so wrapped up in thought she did not see the boy with waxed jet black hair watching her. Neither did she see him take his phone out of his pocket and text the message ‘she’s here.’ He quickly sent it before anybody realised he had his phone out, before he resumed telling his joke to the group surrounding him, acting like nothing had ever happened.  

Lovely weather for ducks

Sitting at my computer watching the rain splatter against the windows. No, that's not my opening line for a Mills and Boon novel, it actually sums up my situation quite nicely. The bad weather meant that yesterday we only had 28 tables in the courtyard cafe over the course of the entire day (yes I counted, I was that bored). Still, gave me plenty of time to think some things through and come up with some new ideas.

I felt like I hit a brick wall with the Renegades the other day, until I came up with a real hum dinger of an idea that changes things nicely. Means I've had to shake things round and edit things heavily, but I feel like it makes it a much better story. Above all else I'm looking forward to getting it done, so I can return to Alpha Squad with a fresh sense of purpose that the story needs. Still, Renegades should be alright for a first draft if I may say so myself. Although it probably won't be once some friends of mine cast their eagle eyes over it. But at least  feel like I'm making progress, which is a huge improvement over the past weeks for me.

Thursday 28 October 2010

Gaffer

This is a final draft of a script I developed for my MA. I originally wanted to write a story based on the financial situation many football clubs find themselves in. But as I developed the characters I felt the story would be better suited revolving around them, and the focus of the story shifted towards the strained relationshipo between a father and a daughter 

EXT. TRAINING PITCH – DAY

It is a windy, late winter day. On a muddy, bobbled playing field a team of footballers dressed in light blue tracksuits are practicing. The players don’t seem to be very well organised and are acting in a very rowdy manner.

At the side of the field TERRY, 54, a chain smoker with thin grey hair and a weary demeanour, stands alone with his arms folded and wearing an identical blue tracksuit. He watches his team constantly as they continue their passing exercise.

TERRY
Come on lads. Pass it. Use your sodding eyes for Christ’s sake!

His words have no visible effect on the players. He gives a frustrated sigh and puts a cigarette into his mouth. He is about to light it when an agonising scream is heard.

JERMAINE
Arrrrgggghhhh!!!

TERRY looks up and sees JERMAINE, a 26 year old in the mould of a young Ian Wright, rolling on the floor clutching his leg with the rest of the team huddled around him. TERRY runs over.

TERRY
Keep back! For fuck’s sake, keep back, the lot of you!

TERRY reaches JERMAINE and kneels down beside him. JERMAINE is still crying out in pain. The look on TERRY’s face shows that he realises it is a very serious injury.

JERMAINE
Aaah, aaah shit owwww...

TERRY
Someone go call an ambulance. Now!

INT. HOSPITAL WARD – DAY

JERMAINE is lying on a bed. He is the wards only occupant and is half-asleep from the painkillers. His left leg is wrapped in bandages and is being propped up. TERRY and a DOCTOR are standing in the wards entrance. TERRY has a grim look on his face.

DOCTOR
The good news is that it’s not as bad as we first thought. He will play again, but he’s certainly not going to make the rest of the season.

TERRY
Shit.

INT. TERRY’S KITHCEN – DUSK

MOLLY is sitting at a table in a small, but well-furnished kitchen. MOLLY, 17, is pretty in a chavy sort of way, with her brunette hair tied into a tight ponytail. She is reading the evening newspaper sprawled out on the table and is struggling to hold back tears.

There is the sound of a door opening and closing, at which she hastily recomposes herself and closes the newspaper. TERRY enters.

MOLLY
What happened to Jermaine?

TERRY sees the paper lying on the table and sighs.

TERRY
Oh shit, how did they find out already?

TERRY scoops up the paper and from it a postcard falls out. It shows a long sandy beach and the writing in the top right hand corner reads ‘Hola desde España.’ TERRY flips it over and reads it while MOLLY looks on nervously.

TERRY
How is she...?

MOLLY
I’m going out.

She turns and hastily leaves the room. TERRY looks as if he wants to ask her another question, but stops himself. He throws the paper onto the table in frustration.

INT. TERRY’S STUDY – NIGHT

TERRY takes seat by his desk, looking exhausted. He casts his eyes to the wall on which are hung numerous pictures of football teams. The pictures gradually become more recent and show him with the teams he has managed. Some show him lifting trophies.

He rummages through some drawers in his desk before taking out a photo album. He comes to a page depicting a child’s birthday party. It shows a young girl with brown hair about to blow out her candles. The writing underneath the picture reads “Molly’s eighth birthday, 9th May 2001”.

TERRY then gazes over at a picture on the wall of him lifting a trophy while being showered in champagne by members of his team. The text under the picture reads “Tinchester FC gain promotion to the North East Premier – 9th May 2001”.

There is the sound of a door slamming and hurried footsteps coming downstairs.

TERRY
(Hopefully) Hey Mols do you fancy going out tonight? Maybe for a pizza or...?

MOLLY (O.S.)
I’m going out!

TERRY
(Looking disappointed) Oh...Ok. But if you change your mind, you know...

There is silence for a couple of seconds as TERRY waits for an answer. The silence is broken as the phone on his desk begins to ring, which he answers almost immediately.
TERRY (CONT’D)
(into phone)
What?
(pause)
Look how the hell could I predict he would get injured?
(pause)
Do you really think I don’t know how important Saturday’s game is?

Suddenly the sound of MOLLY’S footsteps start again. TERRY hears her and focuses on the sound of the front door opening, ignoring the person he is talking to. He hears the door slam shut, at which he exhales glumly and turns his attention back to the phone call.

TERRY (CONT’D)
Yeah yeah, I know you want me to take that holiday. Question is will I still have a job when I get back? I’m not an idiot John.
(pause)
Look look look, just listen. If I don’t, win on Saturday, then feel free to get rid of me.
(pause)
Fi...fine.
(hangs up)
Twat!

EXT. TRAINING PITCH – DAY

TERRY has his players crowded together into a circle. He is in the centre handing out instructions while making excitable gestures with his hands and arms. He constantly turns clockwise in order to look at each member of his team.

TERRY
We’re all upset about Jermain, but we’ve got to put that behind us. It’s the biggest game of our lives coming up, and by God we are going to win.

The team watch him intensely, all looking thoroughly disenchanted. JASON, a young player in his teens, looks very upset and regularly shakes his head.

TERRY (CONT’D)
It’s either them or us for relegation. We all know this isn’t a one man team, so let’s prove that to everyone else!

TERRY looks about his team for a reaction, but doesn’t get one. They continue to look miserable. This irritates him.

TERRY (CONT’D)
Ok. What the hell do I have to do? What the hell do I have to do to motivate you lot?

JASON
(Almost inaudibly) Maybe you should bugger off.

TERRY
What was that?

TERRY takes a couple of steps closer to JASON. JASON stares back defiantly. The team fall silent as they watch.

JASON
Nothin’.

TERRY
No. If you’ve got some grand scheme that will win us the game, then let’s hear it.

JASON
Why, because you can’t think of one?

TERRY pauses, before he starts to laugh darkly. He loses his temper and begins to rant at his squad.

TERRY
Oh so this is how it begins is it? This (he points around at his team) is how the revolution starts? Well before you decide to chuck me out let me just say this. I haven’t won five trophies to be bossed about by a bunch of whiny kids. You lot won’t stand a fucking snowball’s chance in hell on Saturday without me. If you disagree, feel free to fuck right off.

As he speaks nobody on his team dares to say a word. Some of his players snap to attention as a result of the rollicking, others continue to look dismayed.

TERRY (CONT’D)
Everyone else, five laps of the field warm up, then we practice defending set pieces. Go!

The players break away from the circle, clapping and shouting words of encouragement to each other. JASON lingers behind, eyeing his boss with disdain.

TERRY
Anything else?

JASON
(pause)Think you’re so bloody brilliant don’t you?

TERRY
Thank you for your opinion lad, now hop to it!

JASON shakes his head again and sets off after his team. TERRY watches them set off, before he lights a cigarette.

INT. TERRY’S STUDY – NIGHT

TERRY sits at his desk scribbling on various pieces of scrap paper, on which he has drawn diagrams outlining tactics for the next game.

There is the sound of the front door opening as MOLLY returns home. TERRY pauses as he listens to her walk upstairs and slam her door behind her. Shortly afterwards, hip-hop music starts, drifting downstairs from her room.

INT. TERRY’S OFFICE - DAY

TERRY sits behind his desk in his manager’s office, talking on the phone. He becomes increasingly exasperated as the conversation continues.

TERRY
(into phone)
Do I really have to devote three hours of my life stroking the egos of journalists?
(pause)
I don’t care what they are paying...
(pause)
Ok, ok I’ll talk to them for an hour. That fair?
(slams the phone down)
Twat!

He slumps against his seat angrily. He looks at his computer screen, on which is a picture of a tropical holiday resort with a huge swimming pool surrounded by palm trees. TERRY gives a smile, before he reaches for his phone and dials.

TERRY
(into phone)
Hi there. I was just wondering if there are any rooms available for this summer?
(pause)
Yes...yes for two please.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – DUSK

TERRY is walking through the hospital on his way to check on JERMAINE.

INT. HOSPITAL WARD - DUSK

TERRY is about to walk into the ward when he freezes in the entrance. JERMAINE is lying in his bed looking a lot happier than before. Sitting at his bedside is MOLLY. She is holding his hand and is smiling at him happily.

Neither of them notices TERRY standing in the entrance staring at them in absolute horror. This look intensifies when MOLLY leans over JERMAINE and kisses him passionately, after which she hugs him tightly.

JERMAINE looks over her shoulder and sees TERRY watching.

JERMAINE
Jesus Christ!

He pushes MOLLY off him as fast as he can. MOLLY first looks at JERMAINE in confusion, but then turns her head and sees TERRY glaring at her.

MOLLY
Dad, what the hell are you...?

JERMAINE
It’s not what you think gaffer.

TERRY
(With angry sarcasm)Oh really?

JERMAINE
I swear...

TERRY
(Points at JERMAINE) You stay the fuck away from her (turns to Molly) and you...!

TERRY takes a step forward, pointing at MOLLY looking furious. He tries to shout at her but finds he can’t do it. He covers his face with his hand and wheels out of the room.

INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR – DUSK

TERRY walks back down the corridor as fast as he can travel. MOLLY runs after him shouting loudly.


MOLLY
Dad, listen. Jermain and me are...

TERRY
Don’t even talk to me!

MOLLY
Will you listen to me for once? (Pause)Or are you just going to run back to your shit football team?

TERRY ignores her as he comes to a pair of swing doors that he barges through. MOLLY stops following and stands on the other side of the swing doors as they slowly begin to close.

MOLLY (CONT’D)
You aren’t even going to lecture me? God, would it hurt you to try and act like a dad for once in your life?

The swing doors close, hiding her from view. TERRY walks a little further before he stops. He pulls a print-out of holiday resort from his pocket and gazes at it, his look of fury beginning to crack into one of despair.

TERRY
Just like your fucking mother.

He tears up the picture angrily, throws the pieces onto the hospital floor and storms away.
   
INT. TERRY’S KITCHEN – DAY

MOLLY sits at the table texting. She is toasting bread but has forgotten about it. The radio is playing commentary of her Dad’s game. The COMMENTATOR doesn’t sound excited.

COMMENTATOR (V.O)
We’re halfway through the second half and the score remains nil-nil. And despite the importance of this game it has hardly been an inspirational game of football. Just what can Terry Mitchell do to lift his players following the devastating injury to Jermain Lee earlier this week...

As the commentary drones on MOLLY finishes her text. There is a close-up on the final line, which reads “Plz come home mum. Rly missing u.” She gazes at it sadly for a moment, before she presses send and flips her phone shut.

Suddenly the COMMENTATOR’S voice becomes much more excited, at which she turns to face the radio. She doesn’t notice the toaster beginning to smoulder.

COMMENTATOR (CONT’D) (V.O)
Oh but that’s a brilliant pass by Thompson, and he’s played Fenchurch onside. Surely this has to be IT IS!

Through the radio is the sound of a crowd celebrating. MOLLY closes her eyes, looking upset yet resigned at the same time.

COMMENTATOR (CONT’D) (V.O)
That could be the goal that keeps Tinchester FC in the league! And look what it means to everyone here.

MOLLY suddenly smells burning and remembers the toaster.

MOLLY
Shit!

She runs over to the toaster and takes the toast out, burning her fingers in the process.

MOLLY (CONT’D)
Ow, ow, ow!

She cradles her fingers as she casts her eyes to the ceiling, looking as if she is struggling to contain her emotions.

COMMENTATOR (CONT’D) (V.O)
Just when it looked all over, Terry Mitchell has done it again. You just can never write this man off. What an extraordinary couple of weeks it has been for a manager who lives and breathes football...

MOLLY
(In sheer exasperation) God!

She walks over to the radio and slams her hand against the off switch. The radio turns off and she storms out of the room.

INT. POST MATCH INTERVIEW – DUSK

TERRY is being interviewed by the COMMENTATOR after the game has finished. The COMMENTATOR cannot be seen but his microphone is being held out towards TERRY. We hear the sound of the team celebrating. TERRY doesn’t seem to be all that enthusiastic
COMMENTATOR (O.S)
Terry, would you call this the finest moment of your career?

TERRY
Well not for me. I mean full credit to the lads, they’ve been working hard all year, but they deserve this more than I do. I’ve had a good career and it’s time for me to stand aside.

COMMENTATOR (O.S)
(Sounding surprised) Are you telling us that you intend to retire at the end of the season?

TERRY
(looking suddenly relieved) I believe I am.

EXT. FOOTBALL STAND – DUSK

TERRY is sitting alone in the empty football stand, watching the sun slowly begin to sink towards the opposing stand. He takes a big puff of his cigarette, lost in his thoughts.


MOLLY (O.S)
Mum called.

TERRY looks over to see MOLLY walking through the seats towards him. She sits down two seats apart from him.

MOLLY (CONT’D)
She said you quit.

TERRY gives a sad chuckle.

TERRY
Something like that.

MOLLY
You didn’t have to.

TERRY
Yeah I did.

TERRY takes another puff of his cigarette. They both look over at each other at different times, both wanting to say what needs to be said but not knowing how. MOLLY gets up.

MOLLY
When you want that pizza, let me know.

TERRY
Maybe later Mols.

MOLLY stares at him for a few seconds, before she turns and leaves TERRY alone, smoking his cigarette and watching the sun set behind the stand.

FADE OUT:

THE END