Spiral Eyes – New Book & Screenplay by Lucy Brazier

Well, this should keep me out of mischief for a little while – I’ve got two writing projects on the go but somewhat fortuitously they are basically the same thing. It’s been awhile since I’ve worked on a long form project so I thought I’d get myself back into the swing of things by concentrating on the novel first, but it already feels so much like a screenplay that I thought I’d jot down a first draft of that alongside the more familiar territory.

The protagonist is an elderly lady with dementia, feisty and fearless as she has ever been but now facing the challenges of living in a rapidly deteriorating reality, her own mind and body fighting relentlessly against her. She has the support of loving friends and family (some real, some not, others she still isn’t sure about) but not everyone is so well-intentioned…

This is a subject close to my heart, as I know it is for many of you. Inevitably, we see how the lives of those close to our heroine are not so much touched as thumped ferociously and continuously – but this story isn’t really about that. It’s about the woman herself, the life she has lived and continues to fight for, it’s about food and wine, the lies we tell the world and ourselves, love and secrets, what’s real and whether it really matters or not. The humour is pretty dark, the tragedy is light. Oh, and there’s an evil vicar in it. Except he might not be evil. Or even a vicar.

Here’s a little excerpt from the novel –

It wasn’t so much the getting old that Doris had a problem with, it was the remembering she was getting old. Or had got old. Was old. How old was she? Well, that’s just it, she couldn’t remember. Not that it was important.

Was it?

Look at that morning! Sun streaming through the sycamores like a summer on Southend Pier. She hadn’t seen a morning like this since she didn’t know when. Every morning was like this. Except when it wasn’t – not on the dark days when the sun didn’t shine at all. Doris didn’t like those days. She was sure there was nothing to worry about, but she didn’t understand why sometimes the sun didn’t come up. She had asked her daughter about it once. What was it the tall man had said?

“Doris?”

Maurice got up from the table and walked softly across the thick pile carpet to where Doris stood by the window. He might have described her as frail-looking, but that wasn’t quite right. More like… a wisp of a person. She wasn’t broken down, but there wasn’t much of her left.

“Doris, you’ll come and drink your tea, won’t you? Jean’ll be round soon.”

Doris turned her head to him, eyes a-twinkle.

“My daughter’s coming.”

“That’s right, shall we sit down at the table and wait for her?”

Maurice offered a guiding arm but it was ignored, as was usually the case. Silly old thing didn’t realise how doddery she was. Never mind. If she fell, she fell. This new carpet would cushion the fall of a concrete elephant, it wouldn’t be out of place in a palace. Or a padded cell. Never mind the carpet, Doris wouldn’t be out of place, either. Give her another cup of tea. She’ll need the bathroom again. The floor’s much harder in the bathroom.

“Now. It’s about time we got the lunch on, isn’t it?” Doris placed her teacup with great care on her saucer. Her parchment-skinned hands were certainly slow, but there was still precision in their movements. Her eyes settled on a bottle of ginger wine in the nook by the patio doors.

“Not quite, if you have a little look at the clock over there you’ll see we’re still a way off dinner time”.

“It’s half past ten?”

“Yes.”

“In the morning?”

The long curtains shifted as the air in the room moved. Scuffling beyond the living room door.

“Hiya, it’s only me!”

The living room door opened and Jean popped a smiling face around the frame. “Hallo!”

Jean had inherited her mother’s short stature, as well as her mischief. Walking smartly across the room, she placed a large shopping bag on the oversized-footstool.

“I’ve done the sheets. I’ll pop them on the bed in a bit. You’ve got a cuppa, have you?”

“I’ve just finished one!”

“It’s been awhile since she’s had a drink,” said Maurice, smiling kindly. “I’ll put the kettle on if you like..?”

Jean swung her handbag over the back of the dining table chair and shook her head.

“It’s fine, I’ll take it from here.” She beamed brightly at Maurice, a smile so big it barely fit upon her little face. “You get off.”

Hesitating, Maurice rose from his seat and nodded benignly at both ladies.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, no doubt!”