Geric | An Inspector Calls fanfiction

1

[takes places at the end of the play. The phone call at the very end does not happen.]

Mr Birling wavers his finger between his two children. "Now look at the pair of them - the famous younger generation who know it all. And they can't even take a joke-"

"How can you say that!" Eric exclaims, his chair falls to the floor as he forcefully stands up to confront his father. "My child is dead because of all of us, and you think it's a joke!" His face steams the colour red and his chest puffs out with rage.

"Son, you heard what Gerald said, this Eva girl might not even exist. The inspector has played us, made us think we're some kind of monsters."

"But we are." Sheila cries. Her hands lie limply in her lap as she sits at the end of the table. Her makeup has run, trickling down her face along with the many tears she has cried throughout the evening.

"Sheila darling, you're too tired to think. Go up to bed." Mrs Birling says, approaching her daughter. Sheila flinches as her mother's wrinkled hand touches her shoulder.

"No. I can't. Not now." Sheila shifts her body away for her mother. She stares hard at the clothed table. The inspector's final words rush round her mind. Why do her parents not understand what the inspector was telling them? Why can't they realise how selfish they are being? Sheila wishes she could make them see sense but it's pointless, they're just as stubborn as each other.

"Right, well I'm off to bed now. We'll talk about this properly and civilly in the morning, especially you Eric, I want to know all about how you're planning on paying me back." Arthur Birling stands up from his place at the table, smooths down his jacket with a victorious smirk before exiting the dining room. 

Eric huffs. An empty glass rests in his hand. "He cares more about his money than his own children."

"Eric!" A stern look is thrown at Eric from Mrs Birling. She moves around the cluttered dining table, each step poised and graceful. She stops at the huge oak doors and turns on her heel to face her family.

"I'm going to bed now and I suggest you all do the same." She announces and leaves the dining room.

Sheila suddenly lets out a great sigh. "I'm glad they've gone." She says and relaxes into her chair.

Silence creeps across the room as the remaining three are lost in their own thoughts. Gerald stands by the window, his hands are shoved in his pockets and his crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the top. His once perfect hair now flops over his eyes, which stare out into the night. He holds a glass of port in his hand, but he's hardly touched it. Unlike Eric, who sits at the table pouring himself another glass. He gulps it down in seconds and pours himself another. Eric's bloodshot eyes gaze over the table. He feels nothing. He doesn't want to feel anything, and the drink is helping with that.

"What are we going to do?" Sheila speaks in a hushed tone. Her slim fingers fiddle with the expensive piece of jewellery around her neck.

"What do you mean, 'what are we going to do'!" Eric snaps. He glares across the table at his sister, his left hand clenched into a fist while the other tightens its grip on the glass.

"Well...Gerald's theory could be right, but that doesn't mean we haven't all individually hurt someone just because we have more money than them. Instead of there being one Eva Smith dead because of us, there could be 5, or more! Or they could be close to death and I think that we should do something about that." Intimidated by her brother's stare, Sheila avoids eye contact. She speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, almost sounding like her mother. 

"My child could be dead because of me, because of all of us! I wish I had tried harder with Eva. I wish I hadn't let her push me away like she did. She was vulnerable and I could have helped her." Eric suddenly breaks down into a fit of tears. He rests his forehead on the smooth table and runs his fingers through his hair. Sheila and Gerald stare at him, stunned as his muffled sobs fill the room. Neither of them have ever seen Eric break down like this. 

"You don't understand, Eric." Sheila says. "The Eva you met could still be alive with your child." 

Eric stops crying. He raises his head slightly to look at Sheila. Then his eyes dart away to empty space as he realises she is right. This could be his second chance at helping Eva. 

"I need to find her." He says and jolts up from his seat. He wipes the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand and heads for the door. 

"Eric, stop!" Gerald says and steps towards him. "You can't go out like this." Concern washes over Gerald's face. "It's the middle of the night, what are the chances of you finding her now?" 

Eric stares hard at Gerald. 

"Come on, I'll help you to bed." Gerald places his arm around Eric, who's drunken weight slumps against his side. Gerald half carries, half leads Eric up the wide marble stairs to Eric's bedroom. No words are exchanged as Gerald helps Eric into bed, Eric seems to be in a daze. 

"What if they are dead, though?" Gerald turns around at the doorway when he hears Eric's croaky voice. He crosses the room again, to the bed, and perches on the edge of it.

"If they are...then it wouldn't be your fault. You tried to help but she denied it." Gerald speaks in a whisper. 

"She went to mother for help, and mother didn't help her." 

"That girl might not have been the same one you know." Gerald watches Eric stare up at the ceiling, a dark shadow cast over his face. 

"Stay with me." Eric says and Gerald's heart suddenly starts racing. He doesn't object. He slips off his shoes and jacket before sliding onto the empty space next to Eric. He lays on top of the cover, facing upwards with his hands clasped together over this chest. 

Gerald wishes he could hold Eric and comfort him until he drifted off into a deep sleep, but he's too afraid. He's not afraid of Eric rejecting him, because he knows Eric wouldn't. He's afraid of getting caught, especially in the Birling household. So, they just lie there in the dark, staring up at the white ceiling.