This Other Eden
First performed by Soho Theatre Company, London in 1990.
Directed by Michael Kingsbury.
| CHARACTERS | CAST |
| Hannah | Maggie Shevlin |
| Dave | Dorian Healy |
| Sue | Helen Patrick |
| Ken | Shaun Curry |
| Da | " " |
| Patrick | " " |
ACT ONE
SCENE 1
Music loud. Big bass riffs pounding. Blackout.
In the darkness the music gets louder, deafening.
In the darkness on a radio feedback – the odd disjointed optimistic passages of the social and architectural manifesto for Airport Estate. This is done with the bass in rhythm.
Spotlight finds a disembodied hand attached to a spray can. Spraying on to a wall ‘All bastards round ‘ere Round ‘ere all bastards’. Blackout.
Silence. Lights up.
See this is where I live. Airport Estate. Tall and lovely. Lovelily dreadful. Built on the old London Airport, Croydon. The East End, moved to the work-plenty suburb. A concrete desert surrounded by an oasis of comfortable snobbery. The Old Days. Jim Mollison and Amy Johnson, crowds of flag-waving flesh. The earth-bound seeing off the high flyers. Zooming, sailing off into space up there in their bits of balsa-wood and string flying machines. Flying off into the sky of fame and fortune. You can still see part of the runway round the back of our Close. I used to close me eyes and think of the planes taking off. The tarmac of the Second World War. Now it’s over-grown. The only flying here now is when the rich kids from outside come with their dads to play with their remote-control models.
Remote control.
Blackout.
Bleeding insult. Thing about this place is – you’ve got to know the short cuts. People are after ya all the time around here.
Oi! Dave! Kev told his brother you were after him with hammer.
It weren’t true. He told his big brother that so they’re after me and my mates. So you’ve gotta know the short cuts. Coming back from town you can get the 157 and stop the other side of the wasteground and cut through to the back of Helena Close. Or if you come up Mollison Drive – you cut through Instone Close under the garages, left up the steps, under the shops and run for it when you hit daylight. If you come up from the other end of Mollison you cut through the park, round Moor Close past the school and into Helena that way.
Repeat: rap/sample music of the Estate Manifesto. Blackout.
The Flat: Hannah, Dave and Sue kneeling saying Rosary.
Ken reads paper.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you, blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end.
Amen.
Blackout.
The Flat: Lights up.
Brigid? Yeah. Han here. How’s things? Yeah. Still the same here, yeah? Ken’s still looking for a job. And Dave. Sue’s still at the chemist’s. Doing well there, yeah. My school dinners are still the best in the Western World. Yeah. How’s things over there? The whole family? All the neighbours? Did Rory get drunk again? Yeah. Michael came down from Dublin? Great. Long way to Kerry. How is it? Did they ask after me? God I miss it, Bridie. No. No I’m fine. I’m fine here. Like to move out of this place, though. Yeah. Like to. Move the family to a nicer flat, a better estate, yeah. Da’s grave? Anything wrong? Flowers every week, you’re great, Bridie. I will. I’ll visit.
It’s getting the time, love. Yeah. I promise. No. Never see the neighbours here. Never speak, no. Father said he might do a House-Mass here. That’s if Ken agrees. Yeah. Does the house look any different? Danny cut the tree down? Why?
I thought Da wanted it left as it was. The storm? Oh yeah. Rainy. Sunny. That air. Never see the sun here, really. No. Fine, love. (brisk) Look, this’ll cost a fortune, Bridie, I’d better go. Yeah. I will. Send my love to the family will you? I miss you all, darling. Love you. Bye. (puts the phone down, shrugs, sighs, smiles.) Oh well.
Blackout.
Lights up.
I think I should go to Croydon. Yeah. That’s it. I’ll get geared up. Go to Sinatra’s. That’s where they all go. The real women. Buy a couple of drinks. I’ll walk in. Stroll up to the bar. Grin my cool mean grin at the bar-lady, cool as a cucumber and away. Pubs ain’t what it’s about. I want some real women. Women who’ll appreciate my wit and charm. I don’t need a motor. I’ll go back to their place. Won’t tell ‘em I come from the Estate. Say I’m just in the area from abroad. That’s it. I’m over here on a special assignment from Switzerland. That’s it. I’m a banker. I’ve got a private jet parked on the old Croydon Airport and I want a few laughs. Mine’ll be called – Samantha, that’s it. I’ll write a poem for her on the back of a beer mat and she’ll be putty in my hands. (pause) Oh sod it. I’m going down the pub.
Blackout.
Tableaux: Very quick flashes. (5 seconds)
1. Flat with Ken sitting reading paper. Hannah standing with plates. Sue and Dave at table. Blackout.
2. Flat with Ken sleeping with his feet up. Hannah staring at him. Blackout.
3. Flat again with Ken glued to paper. Hannah standing with plates. Sue and Dave at table. Blackout.
Sue. Not much of a name. Sounds like a half hushed-up fart. Don’t it, though? Susan. Sloth swimming. Thassit. (pause. To customer) Certainly madam. That eye-shadow’s nice on ya. Goes with your eyes. (To herself) Vomit Green. (To customer) Yeah. No, it’s very popular, that one. (To herself) Is this it? Really? This what it’s all about? Now. Manageress. Yeah. I could handle that. Charge of the beauty and cosmetics department. Women like it. Like to make up. Change. Please themselves? Or their crud-bag blokes? Who knows?… Yeah. Manageress. Manage. Sort it out. Nice little flat. One of them smart sporty cars. Independence. Gotta get there first. Gotta pay the price. Gotta say things like this. (To customer again, bright) Yes Madam, the smoky crushed koala chocolate velvet uses only natural ingredients.
Blackout.
Lights up on The Flat:
So I laid him out, Sue.
Why?
Mouthing off about ya. Heard him.
What?
Don’t like to say.
What?
Called you a slag.
Well, that’s nice coming from a male whore. He’s got as much sex appeal as a fart in a bath.
Yeah. What about me?
What?
Fart in a bath or movie star?
Neither. More like a pissed version of the Hunch-back of Notre Dame.
He’s alright. We were gonna call our band after him.
What?
‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame and his Supple Bollocks.’
Yeah. Go down well on Top of the Pops.
Reckon?
Yeah. Get a lot of airplay. I can just see it.
No, maybe not. I’m glad we changed it to something more sensible.
What?
My multi-coloured baboon shaped gonads.
Very commercial.
You going out tonight?
Yeah.
Croydon Hilton?
Maybe. No I was thinking of flying to Bermuda for the weekend.
There’s no such thing.
What? Bermuda or the weekend?
Croydon Hilton. It’s a fig-leaf of my imagination. (pause) I reckon I’ll pop round Buckingham Palace tonight.
She ain’t in.
How d’you know?
She’s promised to take me out tonight.
Oh yeah, I forgot.
Hannah enters. Starts to unpack shopping. Bustling. Bright. Busy.
Hello loves.
Hello Mum.
Alright Mum? Been to Mass?
Yeah. Just been to the six o’clock. Coffee club afterwards. Oh, the excitement. Could’ve done with something stronger. I left your tea over the pot. Did you get it?
Oh, was that the tea? I thought you were boiling the skidmarks off Dad’s knickers.
Sue.
Sorry Mum. Yeah, it was nice.
Skidmarks? I gave up trying to boil them off. The only way to get rid of them is with a laser beam and I don’t think his dole would stretch to that. (They laugh)
Do they do laser beams on the National Health?
Listen Dave, Father Pearce was wondering why you weren’t at Mass again.
Sue sniggers to herself.
Mum, I’ve told ya. I’m busy.
Busy with what?
This and that.
Well, you’ve got plenty of time for getting into trouble, that’s for sure.
Well, why don’t you ask her to go?
Mum’s given up on me. (laughing. Irish accent) She knows. I’m a lost soul.
Sue’s made up her own mind, if she wants to be lapsed that’s her own affair.
That ain’t the only affair, either. (Sue and Hannah stare at him) Look, I’ll go next Sunday, OK?
Alright, love. (She kisses him on cheek)
Blackout.
The Flat: After breakfast. Hannah running around clearing breakfast things. Ken reading paper. Long period of just this. Silence. Then Hannah tries to kiss Ken, he lazily pushes her away.
I think I’ll retire. I do. Man of my age. Think I will. How about Tunisia? Yeah. Could do. Spain’s nice. Spanish ain’t, though. Italy? I fucking hate Italy. Never been there but I fuckin’ hate it. (Hannah stares at him – language.) Knew this geezer who went to Nairobi. Did. He just got up one morning. Looked at his missus, looked at his kids. ‘I’ve had enough,’ he thought. So he went to Nairobi. Painting the insides of brothels lime green. True story. Wonder if he got shot by guerrillas? Mind you, maybe he thought being shot by guerrillas was better than spend-ing the rest of his life bored out of his box. Guts, though. You need guts to do a thing like that. Must be going, though, love. (He pecks her on the cheek. Leaves. Hannah sits down, staring.)
Blackout.
Light up.
God above, dear God. Help me. Out of this little hole try and hear me. I can’t talk to him so I’ll talk to you. I’ve never asked you for big things before. Just help me. Now. I’m, well, I’m a bit - lost. Only now. I can’t quite see what you want from me. Or even if you’re still with me. I’m just a bit - lonely, that’s all. I’m lost. Just give me some guidance, just a bit. See me. Down here. A little bit trapped. That’s all. So try and help me out, darling. Thanks. (crosses herself.)
Blackout.
Lights up.
Try it bastards, just fuckin’ try it!
Blackout.
Lights up. The flat: After breakfast. Hannah clearing things away. The ritual. Ken reading the paper. Silence. Hannah tries to snuggle up to Ken. He absently moves slightly away.
That Michael Caine looks old now nowadays. He used to be a good-looking geezer. What marriage will do to a man, eh? What won’t it do? Look at the state of that.
Hair ponced up like a bleedin’ garden hedge. Pop stars. What a bunch of prats, eh? What Mass you going to tonight?
Eight o’clock. I’ll leave your dinner over the pot.
Right, see you later then.
Yeah.
Ken goes. Hannah – an inaudible sigh. Staring blankly.
So what happened? I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve asked you now so many times. Are you there? Where are you? What? Did you say some-thing? (pause) Just make it clearer. That’s all I want. A bit of a clearer view.
Lights fade.
Spotlight: Dave in slow motion street fight. Hard. Raw. Passionate. Music loud. Screams at the end:
Airport boys run from no one. I hate you posh town bastards. I’ll rip you apart. Rip out yer heart.
Blackout.
Lights up on Hannah in bed with Ken. No bed necessary, could be suggested just by lighting. Actors on floor. Hannah tries to touch and move closer to Ken. He sleepily turns over. Light closes in just on desperation on Hannah’s face. Sound of melancholic Irish lament or air. Da appears. The actor playing Ken moves round to stand over Hannah, his face lit by a dim, smoky light. He shouldn’t be played at all ‘spooky’ but just natural, conversational.
Han. Han.
God-in-Heaven-who’s-that?
Don’t you recognise me, darlin?
No. It’s not.
Yes.
Da?
That’s right, darlin. Been a long time.
Ken!
No – don’t wake him up. Be quiet. He wouldn’t understand.
God! Are you a ghost or something?
Kind of. But it depends on what you mean by ghost.
This is no time for Celtic philosophy. Da, what’s going on? Are you really here?
Yes. In a way. Frightened, darlin?
Terrified.
Don’t be love.
What’re you here for?
Just a little chat. I felt you calling for me.
How? Did I?
You did. I felt you. Across the bloody black hours. You know, the tired inside-out hours of eternity. A bit like one of Father Joe’s sermons.
I’m going mad.
No. God, can’t you take a little vision now and again? Han you’ve become so English.
Da?
Yeah?
Love me?
Yeah. Always did. The best. Spiritual, that’s what you always were.
Was. Maybe.
You’re not happy are you, sweetheart?
No.
What?
No, Da. No, I’m not.
There. There.
(Hannah feels a bit more comfortable. Looks at Da.)
Da? Do you remember that time when you and Pat were being chased by those soldiers with guns?
Yeah. Oh yeah. Under the bridge you mean?
Yeah.
Yes. They chased me and your sister down a boreen. I held Pat in me arms up to me chest in water as those black-guards took pot shots at my cattle. I’d done nothing. They shot them all. We were only out for a Sunday stroll. They were drunk and wanted a laugh. A good laugh.
Or the time when me, Declan and Liam came back from London to visit and the boys flew the Union Jack from the roof.
Coves.
They only did it to annoy you. Skitting you.
Yeah. Great lads.
Not what you said at the time!
I know.
And the music evenings. God, d’you remember?
I do.
And the pipes, and the uncles and the cousins and you playing the fiddle.
And the drinks boiling in our hearts.
And the singing.
Some say the devil is dead,
The devil is dead,
The devil is dead.
Some say the devil is dead,
And buried in Killarney.
More say he rose again,
Rose again,
Rose again,
Rose again,
More say he rose again,
And joined the British Army.
(They laugh together.)
Shhh! We’ll wake the old man.
Can’t be doing singing songs like that in England, love.
No. And you a leading Republican. You with your talking and organising. God, you were so handsome. A hero. You – shone for me. Lit things up.
It’ll go straight to me head, Han.
Da?
What love?
You weren’t happy me coming over here, were you? Marrying an Englishman.
I gave you my blessing.
But you weren’t happy.
Well...
I should never have gone to England. Should I, Da?
Why don’t you go back?
I’ve been thinking about that. I’d like to, you know. On me own, maybe.
How? Leave the family?
They’d never come with me. Ken wouldn’t come.
Well that’s it, then, love. An Irish mother never leaves her family.
But Da I’m so lonely here. I don’t fit in. I feel lost and scared, Da. I feel like I’m in a prison. Shut up here.
You may have to just offer it up to the Lord, darlin’.
That sounds so old-fashioned, Da.
Old-fashioned? What else do you expect of a spectre of my years? (She laughs) What about the faith? Do they keep it up?
Yes. Sort of. Ken never goes. I try to encourage Dave and Sue. It’s hard, though, Da. I find it hard meself.
Yeah, love. It is hard. I know. I know. But we fought for it. Got spat on and shot and despised for it. Badge of our lives. Symbol of our hope, our joy, our land. Land squeezed out of the blood of the young gods that screamed and cried and died for it. It really means something darlin’. It really means something. We must believe. We must allow ourselves to believe.
I know, Da.
Look, I’m going to have to be going.
Da? Is there anything else you wanted to say to me?
Yes. Don’t worry, love. You’ll fight through. You’re from a family of warriors and chieftains and poets. The concrete little hell you’re in, is here to test you. Your heart’s not concrete Han. That’s why it hurts. But don’t let it beat you. Fight, Han. Fight.
Da? Is that it?
No. Go back to Ireland, Han. Take the family with you. (starts to leave)
But Da! How can I? They -
I have to go.
Will I see you again?
Perhaps my darlin’ girl. My angel. My precious. I love you.
I love you too Da.
Da disappears into the smoky dark. We are left with a bewildered, worried and inspired Hannah. Blackout.
Lights up on Dave, leaning against a wall, smoking a fag.
So I’m sitting on the top of the 233. Favourite seat. Top deck. First seat at the front on the right. Just above the driver’s periscope window. Due to some local poet, the warning words ‘Do not obstruct driver’s periscope glass’ transformed by magic into ‘Do not obstruct the driver’s penis or ass’. (Dry) Brilliant. How many exams did he pass, I thought. I’ve got me feet up on the front window, right. There’s this bloke sitting opposite. Looking over. Had a briefcase. Heard him mutter something to himself like ‘Typical Estate Hooligan’, or some-thing. See the bus passes through the posh parts near the estate. Then he calls me a pig. Under his breath. ‘Dirty Estate Pig.’ ‘Ignore him’, I thought. Posh tosser that he is. But he’s looking over. You know when someone’s looking at you? Then it happened. He leans over. ‘Oh no’, I thought, ‘He’s gonna speak’ then as he leans over, there was a pause that seemed to last three million and nine years. ‘Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid, I thought’. Then it comes. ‘Do you mind?’ ‘Do I mind?’ Do I fuckin’ mind? Sounds weird, but me Mum’s face. Me Mum’s face, just then. I saw it. (pause) I MIND LOTS YOU POSH FUCKER. I span me boots round into his mush. Ripped him off his seat, booted his arse down the bus. ‘Yeah, I do mind’. The driver had been seeing through his penis or glass or whatever and stopped the bus. I just flipped the handle on the emergency doors and legged it. Do I mind? Do I mind? What a fuckin’ insult.
Lights fade.
Lights up. The flat: Morning.
Did you go then?
Where?
Did you go to Mass, then?
Nah. Couldn’t be bothered. Went round Terry’s. Played Monopoly.
Oh, yeah. Who won?
No one. We got bored in the end. He cheats anyway. Keeps putting extra houses on Park Lane. All I had was an hotel in the Old Kent Road.
What’s wrong with that?
You been down the Old Kent Road, lately?
Right.
The punters never pay their hotel bills, anyway.
I think you should move out the hotel business.
Yeah. Unless I can open the Croydon Hilton. Stars, photographers, the works.
What you doing up so early?
Gotta sign on today.
Oh. Where’s Mum?
Still in bed, I think.
Is she alright?
Think so.
Ken enters, bleary-eyed.
Mornin’ love. (To Dave) Morning wanker, crud, tosspot, toe-rag, urchin, lout, whelp.
Don’t be shy, Dad, just say what’s on your mind.
What you doin’ up so early?
Great. I show me face before twelve for once and this is the welcome I get. I gotta sign on Dad.
Yeah, well it makes a change.
What about you, then? Got some serious work on today? Got some serious drinking to do?
Watch it, you. Creative drinking, that’s what it is.
Do what?
Gives me ideas. Helps me to think things out.
Oh yeah. Planning your world tour? Still thinking of going to China?
Oh, less of the cheek, son. You’re not too old for a good hiding. (Dave ignores this.)
Where’s Mum, Dad?
Still in bed.
Is she OK?
I think so.
She’ll be late for work. (gives her a shout) Mum!
Probably just tired.
Lights change to Hannah in her bed.
Da? Da? Please come back. Look at me still in bed, will you? I can’t breathe. How can I fight when I can’t even breathe? Breathe the green sea – so much love to give. So few to take it. The living green in the concrete dead grey. (quiet, intense, passionate) Save me Da. Save me. Soul Desert. Forty days and nights. Save me.
Light on Hannah snaps off. Lights back on the group.
You going to sign on looking like that? You got no self-respect?
Look, it ain’t a fashion show, Dad.
Yeah, well it ain’t a Worzel Gummidge lookalike contest, neither.
Leave it out, you two.
Look at him though. Don’t you mind as a tax-payer giving your hard-earned money to a specimen like that?
Yeah, Dad. If you’re gonna scrounge, you might as well be a smart scrounger. You used to only dress up on Sundays. Now you don’t go to Mass, you wear your church-suit to the dole.
Scrounge, eh? Skilled mate, that’s what I am. You’re the only scrounger round ‘ere so button it, OK?
Alright, alright.
Hannah enters, in her dressing gown. She looks tired. Surprised reaction from the others.
You alright, love?
Yeah, I’m fine.
Mum, about Mass on Sunday -
I know, you didn’t go.
Yeah, sorry.
That’s OK. Doesn’t matter.
Chance of any breakfast, love?
I don’t know. Yes I think so.
Only I’m off out in a minute and Sue’s waiting to get to work.
If you ain’t feeling well, Mum, I can do it.
No, no, I’ll do it. It’s OK. (gets up, walks a few steps, stops and just stands there. Pause.)
You alright, Mum?
Yeah, yes. Fine. Just – well.
Come on Mum, let me do it eh?
Mum. That’s not my name, is it? My name used to be Hannah. People used to say, ‘What a lovely name.’ Nobody calls me that, anymore.
Sudden snap lighting change. Hannah’s view.
Army life? See the world? I been stuck on this shitty green island with these thickos for so long now I wish I’d never joined. Leather boots and cold steel. Anglo-Saxon way. Lovely.
Lights snap back to normal. All look on as Hannah reacts to this.
No. Get out.
Mum?
Hannah is confused. She looks at Sue. Sue changes to become Hannah’s idealised view of her. Lights change.
A beautiful young Celtic princess. Maeve. A leader of the tribe. A fount of inspiration and victory. Life, young and rich and full of promise.
Lights back to normal. Everyone as they were.
Yes, Maeve. Yes. That’s it. (sees them all staring at her. She is embarrassed and confused.)
Come on love, sit down. Have a cup of tea. (He sits her down) Ain’t you gonna be late for work?
Yes.
If you ain’t feeling well, you should take the day off.
Alright, I think I will then.
Look, shall I do some breakfast, then?
No, I’ll pass on that one. You’ll be late anyway, Sue.
OK. I’ll be off then. You coming?
Yeah. (To Hannah) I’ll see ya later then, love.
See ya Mum. Take care now.
They leave. Pause.
You OK?
Yeah.
Shall I take you to the doctor’s?
No. I don’t need a doctor.
Just a bit tired, eh?
Yeah. Tired of it all. (pause) It’s nice to be alone together, isn’t it? We never seem to have time.
Yeah.
You know something? You’re different from him.
Dad? How d’ya mean?
You’ve always been more like me. Even since you were a little kid. Your face glowing in the candles on a birthday cake – your eyes really huge – enquiring. You’re just – different people, that’s all.
Are you alright, Mum?
No. Look, will you stop for just one second? One moment let your guard down. You know what I’m saying. Don’t you think it’s sad? What you once had. Completely gone now? Like me. I’m the same. Do you think this is really me? A school dinner lady? That Headmaster. I remember the first week I went in there. I used to know him before I worked there, from the Church. He was friendly, so I thought I’d keep up the friendship. He’d come and inspect the kitchens and I’d stop what I was doing and go straight up to him. ‘Hello love, how are ya?’ He’d talk, but there was always a feeling of: ‘Yes, that’s fine, but remember your place’. And the looks I’d get from the English women. Really annoyed. Really angry that I was so full of myself. I never stopped, though. It was like a battle every day. Assert meself. Be meself. (pause).
You always used to give me seconds.
And thirds sometimes.
Yeah.
But is that what I really am? And you? Do you think you’re just a tearaway – a hard case? ‘Cos you’re not love – oh it doesn’t matter.
What do you mean, Mum?
I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s just a feeling. Like a recurring dream. It’s like a room stuffed, crammed with flowers. Big, beautiful colours and smells – and I’m in the middle. There’s a smile on my face. But then I see that the smile is contorted – I’m there, I’m in a funeral parlour stretched out and the room’s a coffin. But there I am, still smiling. (pause)
Look, Mum do you want me to stay with you today?
But do you know what I’m saying? Do you understand? (stares at him)
What’s the matter? Eh? Is it ‘cos I ain’t going to Mass so often these days?
God, I don’t mind. You’ve got to make your own mind up on that one. You know I don’t even know if you’re not right.
How do you mean, Mum?
I stopped the new priest the other day. Outside the church. Wanted to talk to him. He seemed a nice person. We were getting on. Then I mentioned where I lived. ‘Oh, the Estate’, he said. He changed. He moved ever-so-slightly away from me. Shuffled from one foot to the next. Dave, he looked down on me, OK. I wasn’t imagining it.
Now you’re learning. I’m used to that, Mum.
Yeah, but he’s supposed to be God’s representative.
God’s a snob, Mum. (pause) Sorry.
God’s a snob.
No, I was only joking.
No, don’t back down, Dave. Don’t try and spare the old girl from the fact that she’s been slaving away the best years of her life for a snob. A cheat. It really means something, though. I must allow meself to believe.
(Pause. She gets up. Puts record on. Irish traditional music, featuring violin. She moves to it.) Flying. Living on the old London Airport. This is where Chamberlain waved Hitler’s bit of paper. Betrayal. Yeah. Travel. Funny. When Jim Mollison and the rest of ‘em took off from here I wonder if they even thought what would come in its place. They’d have champagne and picnic hampers and taffeta. Broderie anglaise and feathered hats. Clinking of cut crystal and voices raised gently from the private enclosure. The change. Broken glass, slashed wrists and graffiti. (pause) Yeah. I wonder when the last person flew from here.
Fifty years?
Long time ago. This place, though. Dumped in the middle of nowhere. Cut off from everything. It’s done something to you. What a waste. Out of my womb, for God’s sake.
Bloody ‘ell Mum, leave it out. I’m just worried about you.
Sometimes I look at you and wonder where you came from. Sorry, love, it’s just so frustrating. All my efforts, everything I did to help you grow – wasted. What am I, against this place?
Come on Mum.
I just don’t want you to be apart from the rest of the world all your life. You’re still young – just make a break.
It ain’t that easy, Mum.
Yes, it is. Sorry, love, I don’t want to sound so desperate, different from how I was. It must be difficult for you. But what’s all this ‘big man’ stuff? Eh? When you’re with me you can hug me and tell me you love me without being ashamed. Why is it you’re different when your mates come round? Or even with your father around?
It’s different, though, ain’t it?
How?
You’re me Mum. I can be like that with you. But when I’m out there it’s gotta be different, know what I mean?
No. I don’t.
I’m gonna fight, Mum. No-one’ll stop me doing that. It’s self-respect. It’s important, OK?
Come on. Do you enjoy it?
What?
Do you enjoy seeing people suffer?
What’s all this about? (annoyed)
Do men enjoy seeing people suffer?
I ain’t ‘men,’ Mum. I’m me.
Dave, don’t ignore it.
That’s enough, right.
Violence. All this aggression. I could never understand that part of you Dave.
Look, leave it out.
You wouldn’t hit me – not like him?
Part of it’s your fault, OK? (pause)
What do you mean?
Violin lessons, Mum? Round ‘ere?
What about ‘em?
During this speech a fiddle takes up a slow lament.
I’m walking down the deck between the blocks, right? I’m thirteen. Carrying me violin. I’ve got the latest gear on, cool trousers, good barnet, tasty shirt and a fancy walk – carrying a violin. I see Tracy on me right. I used to fancy her, OK? She’s into raves and sound systems. As I get closer, she sees the violin. I keep walking. Make out I haven’t seen her. Then I hear her laughing. My steps got longer. Felt like I was walking through treacle. Laughing in me ears. Then I dodged down the steps for the garages.
I thought – ‘That’s it’ – I’ll take the route that goes under-ground beneath the garages. No one saw me. Then I made it to the edge of the estate and the bus stop for town.
Then I saw ‘em. Frank O’Dowd, Steve Healy and the rest of ‘em. I kept me eyes straight ahead. Sat on the wall waiting for the 157. ‘Oi, wanker,’ I heard O’Dowd shout. Heard ‘em laughing. ‘Oi. Pansy-bollocks, where’s yer handbag’ and ‘Play us a tune.’ I just kept me eyes in front, praying for the bus to come. Then someone punched me in the side of the head, another punch in the guts, a clump in the gob. I grabbed hold of me violin. Wouldn’t let go. They were trying to get it off me, but me knuckles were white with the holding-on. Then they had me over on the floor. Grabbed the violin. Opened the case. Forced me to play.
I was still learning, so I weren’t no good. I could have been though, the teacher said. So they ripped the violin off me. Smashed it against the bus stop. I stood there.
Nothing I could do. It made little noises as it was being busted up – like it’s very last tune sort of thing. And I cried. I cried. Like a little fuckin’ baby I cried.
(pause)
So that was it. I knew that was it. No one, nowhere was ever going to do that to me again, OK? (beat)
Told you I left it on the bus, remember.
I had a feeling it must have been something like that, love.
I know.
So that’s it then.
Yeah. ‘Spose it is. Round ‘ere they’re bastards, Mum. Not all of ‘em. Not my mates. But most of ‘em. Show ‘em any decency, you get shat on.
Yeah. What are we good for? Bastards like us? Poetry ain’t for us. Kindness ain’t for us. Violins ain’t for us. Us bastards must be kept away from all things spiritual or sensitive. But that’s the English in a way. God I love ‘em really but... If those kids had been Irish they’d have respected your music.
But Mum, these kids were Irish. Well, London-Irish anyway. O’Dowd, Healy, Downey, the lot of ‘em.
Yeah. But would they have been like that had they stayed in Ireland? Perhaps. Still, your own tribe, eh? Shame. Your grandfather was a great fiddle player. Famous for it. Genius really. You couldn’t even have that.
How Irish am I Mum, anyway? Am I English? Irish? What?
How do you feel?
I dunno. Never knew the English side of the family. Dad’s side. Never met ‘em. All the cousins and uncles and aunties were Irish. Feel closer to it, I suppose. When I hear that fiddle music I feel it in me guts. Love it. Understand it. At school I always felt a bit different from the English kids. I never felt – like I knew exactly where me guts were. Know what I mean?
I do, love.
I ‘spose I come over as English but me guts tell me somfin’ else. All the ‘thick paddy’ jokes at school and the scraps me and the other London-Irish lads got into. But if I went to Ireland they’d think I was just another Brit, when really me heart’s with them. Oh I dunno.
Would you ever want to go back there Dave?
I used to love the holidays we had there. Creamy milk. Playing out late on the farm. That sort of – light you get. (beat) Oh I dunno, Mum, I just feel funny, cooped up here. I’m old enough to have me own flat. But there ain’t none. No job. No flat – I’m like a great big bleedin’ baby. Still at home with me Mum and Dad.
You’re wasted here, Dave. There’s nothing for you here. Why don’t you go somewhere where you could be happy? Why don’t we both go back? Eh, Dave?
I dunno, Mum.
Just the two of us. Or all of us. That would be best. (quietly, or we hear Da’s voice) ‘An Irish mother never leaves her family’. It’s just a thing you get over here. The hatred. You see young men outside pubs. Looking at strangers with hatred. It’s getting worse. There’s a deadness here now. I always loved the English for a kind of tolerance they had. Mind you, it was tough when I first came over here. ‘No blacks or Irish need apply’ on ads for jobs or outside lodging houses. That shocked me, Dave.
Yeah.
The joke was we all thought it was temporary. Said we'd be home soon. Lied to ourselves. We all stayed together, for protection, me and your uncles and aunts. Cricklewood, Kilburn, places like that. God, we worked hard. Just to survive. Sending a bit of money back home. But I always felt that the English were deep down in their hearts kind, strong people. The ones I met anyway. (beat) Things are changing, perhaps.
Da appears, seen only by Hannah.
Han, have you told him of how Mr Cromwell took two hundred Irish women and children, herded them into a church, bolted the doors and set fire to it and over their screams, proclaimed he was doing the will of God?
Yes, I know that’s true but I don’t want to fill his mind with hate.
Mum?
History. Not hate for its own sake. What do you think his mind is full of now?
Mum, what is it?
Look at him. He comes from a line of warriors, chieftains and artists, and now his only joy and anger comes from hitting someone because they’ve spilled his beer or because they don’t support the right football team. Eh? Where’s the nobility in that? Where’s the history, Han, where’s the joy?
Lights change. In Hannah’s view Dave changes into an ancient warrior.
A young chieftain. A noble warrior.
My dangerous young prince.
Ancient Hannah, bold and beautiful.
My matriarch. My heroine. There’s blood on these hands that serve you. A wind. A falcon rising. Our territory. Our patch. The filthy invaders closing on our hills, on our burial grounds, on our poetry and our fields, our souls.
You’d fight them with poetry if you could.
If I could. But I live through this mud. Through this peat my fist comes punching up with a sword. To protect the soul of our land from the trees to the west and the bogs to the east.
Directed energy. Applied. A noble soul. He’s a good lad. A poet. A priest. A tree can’t grow in a desert, Hannah.
Lights snap back to normal. Dave and Hannah alone again.
Da! I’m sorry, Da. I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t want to give them this.
Dave is stunned. Holds Hannah.
Mum. Oh God Mum what’s going on, eh darlin’? What’s the matter?
It’s me Da, Dave. I keep thinking I see me Da.
Mum.
He was here. He loves you. He says you could have been anything. Done anything. Do you believe me?
Well –
Am I going mad, Dave?
No, Mum. I believe you saw what you saw. (holds her, rocks her.) You feel a bit better now, love?
I’m sorry, Dave. I didn’t want to bring you up around here. But it’s all we settled for.
I love ya Mum. I do. (They cuddle for a while.)
See, love, I don’t come from all this. When we were kids, we had space. We used to run barefoot along the fields to school in Ireland. Me and your uncles and aunts. We could do what we liked, laugh, scream, be ourselves.
Yeah.
If there’s a clear blue sky, I’ll run today. They don’t run with happiness. Anyone on this estate. It’s all pretence and fear. They’re like you, love. Running. Dodging through the flats. Scared. Scared of doing anything from sheer joy. Poor bastards.
We’re alright, though.
We could be. I just want to get outside all this for a while. Escape. Be selfish for once. Think about myself. (Light) Why don’t you take me out, sometimes?
Yeah. Where, though?
Oh, you know what I mean. Do something else. The two of us. We can escape all of that round here. Me and you. But, Dave I don’t need anyone else. I can go on my own.
I’m with you Han. Eh?
What?
Fancy a pint?
Yeah.
Lights fade slowly.
The flat: The sound of pop music on the radio. Sue sits at a table. She is getting ready to go out. She puts on make-up, looking in a mirror. Hannah comes in, watches her. Sue hasn’t seen her. No words as Hannah watches. Finally Hannah leaves without Sue noticing. Sue gets up. Music gets louder. She dances in front of the mirror, turns to the audience. She is ready.
Right!
Music cuts. Blackout.
Spotlight: Hannah running through the estate.
The sky is blue. So I’m running. Look at it. Sheer concrete. Shapes of steel lines of iron. Gaping slits in blocks, flats, decks. Iron Gods. Old old shit. People here dead. I’m running. This place is me. Designed by a fella. Like to find the man who designed this place. People here dead. No soul. No light. Just this. No one alive. Except for me. Maybe I’m the last person alive in this place. People here dead. (pause) I’m here. I’M AWAKE. I bleed. I can feel blood. Body blood. Body-for-baby blood. I can still feel. I’m here. YES, YOU. I’M HERE. No more rules. No more silent sinking. Just me. I can see my face in concrete. My image. My face concrete like me. So I’m running. (She tears off her shoes, throws them in the air) Ancient Celtic me. I’m in a RAGE with me. HERE I AM. Day after day of hiding. Year after year of anaemia. Throwing up in private. The polite smile. The reassuring hug. Denying myself any real PASSION. (She starts ripping off her clothes) But I’m still ALIVE. I made it. Maybe my prayers were heard. But, God, you’ve got to accept me as I am or lose me. ‘Cos I’m going with or without you. I feel my SEX. JOY. WOMB. This is me, OK? This is me! (She screams in triumph).
Blackout.
End of Act One.
ACT TWO
The flat: The room is blooming with flowers, in vases everywhere. Hannah is dressed in bright vivid colours. She wears lots of make-up. Her hair is down. Flowers in her hair. ‘The folks who live on the hill’ sung by Peggy Lee plays. Hannah moves to it, sings along. After a while, Ken arrives.
I got the wrong flat.
Beautiful, isn’t it?
Oh, no.
Reminds me of beautiful places. Strangeness. Exotic smells. Adventures in far away lands. Blood colours. The red. Do you like it? That smell! I’ve been here. All day. Surrounded by them.
Yeah?
You used to love this song.
Yeah, well.
Let’s get away somewhere, Ken. Sweep me off my feet to somewhere wonderful. Somewhere different. Just for a change.
Where?
Somewhere nice.
On my dole, do me a favour.
I’ve got a bit saved up.
Yeah, you won’t have much of it left if you carry on taking days off and setting up as a florist.
Do you think I look nice?
Bit much, innit?
Yeah, I suppose so. But I want everything to be a bit much.
Do what?
I dunno. You know what I mean.
Yeah. (pause) Fancy going down the pub?
Can’t you think of anything else? (pause) We could go to bed. Right now. Before the kids get back. (She goes to him, he shrugs her off, slowly.) Ken, I just need a bit of a cuddle, OK? (He cuddles her.) That’s nice.
That enough?
Yeah. That was nice.
Ken sits down, gets paper out. Hannah takes it from him.
Come on, Ken. Let’s go upstairs.
Don’t wanna go upstairs.
Here then. Right here. Make love right here.
You been reading that pulp romance again?
I just want you. Know what I mean?
Don’t feel like it love. (takes paper back.)
Why not? (grabs paper out of his hand)
Give it back.
I need you, you bastard.
I told you, I don’t feel like it. Now give me the paper.
Oh yeah. (turns to the pin-up on page 3) Bet you’d feel like her, wouldn’t you? If she came into this room now you’d feel like it.
Maybe – what’s the matter with you today?
Well, how real do you think she is?
What’s the matter?
You are. I’ve got breasts as well, you know. But they’re real and that’s the problem ain’t it?
That’s enough, OK? (picks up paper and sits down. She turns the music off.) You’d better get an early night. Don’t want to miss another day.
I’m not going there again.
Oh yeah. I reckon.
I’m not going there again.
What you on about?
Time to throw in the towel. I’ve had enough.
We’ve been through all this before. You’ll go in.
I won’t.
How many more times do I have to tell you? Do yourself a favour, it’s bad enough – me and Dave out of work – without you an’ all. It’s a disgrace when you’ve got a job.
A disgrace? Tens of thousands. Day in day out. On the treadmill. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. In my head. In my head there are a thousand pictures, with-out any story to ‘em. They just go on. On the treadmill. Day in day out for hundreds of slow-moving years. So many corpses. Tens of thousands. Wasted bloody wreckage. I need to stand outside. See what’s happening. A disgrace?
You have been reading them romances again.
Look, Ken. I just want some time to myself. I had a lovely day today.
Yeah, but how long do you think it’ll last? When I was made redundant, the first month was like being on holiday. You’ve got to keep occupied, keep your mind occupied.
It is – occupied. I just want to – get to know about myself. Get to know you better. That’s all I want.
You don’t reckon thirty years is enough?
Yeah, but we’ve never spent much time together.
Look we had Sue and Dave to think about.
Those two are like strangers to us. Sue’s out every night – where’s her life going? What does she want from life?
Sue’s OK. She’s holding down a steady job. One day soon she’ll get married. She’ll be OK.
You think so?
I’ll have a word with her.
What about Dave? When was the last time you sat down and talked to him?
He’s a bloody little vandal and that ain’t down to me, neither.
You know he’s not though, Ken.
What do you mean, I know he’s not?
It’s OK.
What about me? If you’d pay me a bit more attention instead of pampering them two – oh, why do I bother?
Lighting change. Hannah and Ken in their youth. Reprise of ‘Folks who live on the hill’.
I’ve only known you a year, gel, but it just gets stronger, don’t it?
Yes. It does. You look so handsome in that suit.
Yeah? Yeah. Not bad at all. Best worker on the line – best suits.
Showing off again, eh?
Course darlin.’
Love me?
Yeah. Course I do, Hannie. And you?
Very much darlin’.
Irish women. Beautiful. We’re gonna be great. Us two. I can feel it. Change the bleeding’ world. Oh ‘scuse me French. Strong. That’s how you make me feel. Could fight a bleedin’ lion.
They kiss passionately. Lights fade. Music cuts.
Ken, I wanted to tell you something.
What?
I’ve see me Da.
Do what?
I’ve seen me Da. He appeared to me.
You – what – you –
In me head, maybe. I dunno. But I saw him.
Oh.
Well?
I – Are you OK?
I don’t know. He said we should go back to Ireland, love. The family.
Look. You’re tired. You been working too hard. Seen your Dad? Well...
Strange, isn’t it? Ken, am I going mad?
I dunno. Nah. Not really. Ghost, was it?
I don’t know.
Cos I reckon they hang about, you know. Creepy, ain’t it? I read about this bloke who went to Egypt. Reckons he saw all these old people, like from the olden days. Kings an’ that. Where was he?
In the house.
Creepy, eh?
He told me to take the family back to Ireland.
Yeah, well.
But I’ve been thinking about it, anyway, Ken. I’m sick and tired of this place.
Yeah. I know.
You’re always wanting to go abroad.
Yeah, but Ireland ain’t abroad, is it? It’s Britain. (She bristles, does not want to argue)
I want to go, Ken.
Don’t be silly, love.
I’m not being silly. I just want to go home. Me and you could have a bit more space. Get closer.
I dunno.
Look. I’d like to go with you and the kids but I’ll go on my own if necessary.
Nah, you won’t. You won’t leave. That’s the one thing about you Irish women. My Dad said that. He said, ‘You want yer head examined but you got a good sort there’.
I want to go home, Ken.
Look. Take a bit o’ time. Think it over.
I have done.
Thanks for telling me first.
I tried to. I wanted to.
What would we do out in Ireland? I mean, they ain’t – sort of, my type of people.
Why not?
Argumentative. Violent. Horrible place. There’s no work, neither.
I’m sure you’d find something. Is there any work for you here?
No, but it’s what I know, ain’t it?
What you know? What about all those adventures you want to go on?
I will. One day. But I don’t see sitting in a pub in the middle of a bog on a rainy day as adventure.
I want to go Ken.
Well you go then. I’m staying here. And the kids. That’s that. (She goes to him and tries to put her arms around him. He moves away.)
Look, you bastard, am I that disgusting?
Yeah. What’s the matter with you? Ghosts and Ireland and sex mad. What’s the fucking problem, eh?
I’m not disgusting.
Look.
I’m not disgusting, I’m not disgusting. I’m not disgusting.
For fuck’s sake -
Not disgusting! Not disgusting! (She starts to attack him. He slaps her really hard across the face. She stops. Pause, quietly) Thank you. I’m not disgusting.
Ken walks slowly, calmly, out. Hannah just sits there. She takes the flower out of her hair, empties all the flower vases, puts on ‘Mna na Heirreann’ (Women of Ireland) by the Chieftains. She sits there, bites off the head of a flower, eats it, crying. Lights fade.
Ritual Tableaux: We see a repeat of the kitchen ritual we saw earlier. This time Sue is holding the plates, etc. Dave and Ken sitting at the table. Hannah’s chair empty. Lights change. Then Dave running through streets. The actor runs on the spot.
Oi! You seen my Mum? My Mum. Mum. Mum. Where? Mum. Where are you Mum. Name. Han. Han. Han! I fucking need ya. Mum! Please come back. I need ya. Mum. Han!
Lights change. Ken in a pub, holding a pint of bitter. Very drunk, thinking.
Gone. Finally gone. Gone off her head. Funny lot, the Irish. Two bleedin’ days of Sue’s cooking. Not that I mind cooking. When she was ill that time I cooked and helped out with the washing up. Then when I told her I’d done it, she said, ‘Why can’t you just do it without asking for a medal?’ I don’t half pick ‘em. (beat) She was a looker, though. Beautiful. Diamond of a girl. Proud to take her out, I was. I don’t know. It’ll all blow over. Clear itself up. We had a laugh, though. Battersea funfair. The Cat’s Whiskers, the Lyceum. Good job, then. Now no one’ll employ ya if you’re over the age of six. This beer’s piss. They do that, don’t they? In the desert. Drink piss. Filtered by the sand. (pause) I wouldn’t mind going there. The desert. Just to see it. (suddenly bitter, desperate) Fuckin’ in one, ain’t I? (regains control) Wouldn’t catch me drinking piss, though. (looks at his glass).
Sue enters with a drink.
Alright, Dad? (He gives her a kiss)
Hello gorgeous, had a good day?
You had a few then, Dad? Take it easy eh? (He nods. Bright) Yeah, not too bad. That bitch of a supervisor, though. I think I just might knock her out one of these days.
Yeah?
Yeah, she’s such a tight-arsed bitch. She came in today, looking like a right brass. How she’s running a cosmetics department, I’ll never know. She goes to me, ‘We’ll have a little less make-up please Sue’. A little less make-up? If she wore one more false eyelash she’d keel over. My life.
Yeah, I see her when I went in there. I goes, ‘Can I speak to Sue, please?’ She goes, ‘Who?’ I said ‘I know it’s not long but she has been working here four years, now. (They try to laugh)
Yeah, that’s the one. She don’t like me. Bloke she’s got! Reckons he’s all sun-tanned, but it’s straight out of a bottle. Looks like he’s smeared his face with baboon’s afterbirth.
Hold up, Sue, it don’t take much to put me off this little brew.
Yeah.
Blackout.
Then spotlight on Ken.
I think I’ll go on a wine-tasting holiday in the Dordogne.
Lights snap back to normal.
Can I have a drop?
Yeah. (hands her the glass)
Oh, what? Tastes like a snake’s arse.
Yeah.
Blackout.
Then spotlight on Sue.
This’ll go on for a while. The same old jokes and chat. Look at him, though. Trying to ignore the fact that Mum’s gone. He can’t handle emotion. Can’t talk about it. He ain’t a bad bloke. He’s just, well… he’s just a loser. Let’s face it. I can stand here and have a chat with him. Have the odd laugh. But it ain’t what I’m thinking. I’m thinking, ‘Why can’t you get yourself a job, you old sod?’ Not nasty. Just sort of – real. I’m thinking what a randy old bastard he is an’ all. I see him in here sometimes. Eyeing up the talent. No time for Mum like that. Don’t blame her for leaving really. Yeah, real lechy. Noncey stares across the room. Mind you, some of ‘em encourage him. Tease him to get a drink. Slags. I don’t tease no one. If I want to have someone I have ‘em. Simple as that. Go to clubs, see a geezer – have a laugh. Marriage? Forget it. For now. I’m also thinking about Mum – how she’s ended up. But she knew what she was doing. I ain’t gonna end up like her. If and when I marry it’ll be someone rich and good-looking. In that order. And sexy. You know what frightens me? I am my Mum. I am, though. ‘S I get older. I can see it. Little things. Little habits. That’s scary. But not just that. It’s the way me mind works, me ideas. Just like hers. Sometimes.
I can’t explain it. But I can feel it. I’m becoming my Mum. More and more each day. I love me family but... I dunno... I just don’t like ‘em. I don’t really know ‘em. Can’t – contact ‘em. None of ‘em. When I see the wallies on this estate and in this pub I want to puke. I’ll save up enough cash to get away somewhere. In the sun. I’ll send the odd postcard. Then I won’t have to be here. Thinking this.
Lights snap back to normal.
Hot in here, ain’t it?
Certainly is, love.
Look, Dad. What about Mum?
Bitch.
Where do you reckon she is?
Dunno. Don’t care.
Don’t worry, Dad. She’ll be back.
Don’t want her back.
What about her side?
Her side? Her fuckin’ side?
Quiet, Dad. She’s just going through a bad patch. I dunno. She might need some of them – what do you call ‘em? Valium. Tranquillisers. Help her through it. You should get her to see the doctor, Dad.
D’ya reckon?
Yeah. ‘Snothing serious. Lot of people take ‘em, you know. I bet there’s a lot of ‘em in this place, right now. Take away the tranquillisers and the whole world would just crack up.
One big breakdown, you mean.
Thassit. One big breakdown. Anyway, Dad. Must be going.
Going out?
Yeah. Club.
See ya love. (He kisses her cheek, runs his hand slowly through her hair. Hold the moment.)
Bye, Dad. Don’t worry, eh?
She goes.
One big breakdown.
Lights fade.
Top of block of flats: Moonlight. Hannah stands with her suitcase, alone.
So this is it. Top of the highest tower block. Instone Close. Made it. Right near the edge. (pause) Long way down. Long way to fall. Fallen. Fallen. Oh God, fallen. (She stands at the edge, about to throw herself off.)
Out of the darkness, a figure appears. He is dressed in full bishop’s vestments in green, complete with mitre. In one hand he holds a cigarette, in the other a pint of Guinness.
Now then, Han. What’s all the fuss?
Who the hell are you?
Language. Anyway, you can’t get Guinness in hell.
Whoever you are, just leave me alone.
I can’t leave you alone. You prayed to me.
Patrick? Oh no. No.
Saint Patrick if you please. Me mates call me Paddy.
Oh leave me alone, will you? I can’t take this. You’re not real. I can’t take this. I don’t believe you’re here.
Don’t be such an ungrateful gob-shite I’ve come a long way to be here.
Where from?
Football match at Croke Park. Hill Sixteen. Me favourite spot. We was winning too. The guv’nor dragged me away. Emergency, he says. So what’s the problem?
Look, this is a very special, serious moment in my life. Delicate. Important. Don’t cheapen it with your stupid version of Irish whimsy.
Don’t be a bollix. I’m a bleedin’ apparition. I’m entitled to be whimsical.
That’s it.
Wait, Han. Wait, will ya? I’m sorry. It’s just me way. You don’t get to convert the Irish by being a wimp. Look, I’m a Saint, right? I exist, whether you like it or not and I know that you’ve got yer old man and a coupla kids back down there who love ya. Right? You’ve gotta take ‘em to Ireland or stay here. Leaving on your own or jumping over just aren’t the way.
Why not?
Do you want to spend eternity without Guinness or music or laughter or a fag or two?
Go away!
Besides. You’re an Irish woman.
Yeah? So? What is that? What does that mean? It’s like a band of death around my neck. ‘Irish Woman’. Is that English for ‘Not free’? Is that man’s talk for ‘Not free’?
Not much freedom in being splattered among the shite and fish and chip wreckage down there.
Yes there is, Paddy. Yes there is.
What?
Coldness. Blackness. Death. No ideas. No worries. Not existing. Thin. Empty. Gone. Forever. A brief spark. Then gone. Nothingness. Beautiful.
Han, stop for God’s sake. You know that’s not true.
Do I?
Yeah. It’s not over when you breeze out, you know. I can tell ya.
What is it then?
Secret. (quickly, to Hannah’s reaction) But I will say this. It’s not just the old bollix of reward and punish-ment. That’s part of it but – I dunno – it’s more an – easiness in space. A light. An energy. Don’t do it, Han, love. Hang on in there. Will ya? Look, someone’s coming. I better go.
Who?
Dunno. (leaving) Han?
What?
You’re alright, you know that?
Yeah?
Yeah. See yiz.
He disappears. Hannah stands on her own. Dave arrives on the roof.
Mum. Hannah. What you doing up here?
Hello, Dave.
God, Mum, I’ve been so worried about you. Where’ve you been?
Walking around. Thinking. (He goes to her) Don’t, Dave. Don’t come too close.
Mum, be careful.
Just surveying our little kingdom.
Get away from the edge, Mum.
No.
Come on.
Please, Dave. Leave me alone. I have to be alone to do this.
Oh, what? Come down, Mum.
Please, Dave. I don’t want you to see it.
Mum. I been thinking. What you were saying. ‘Bout Ireland. You gotta go.
Too late, love.
No. You go. Go on. You’re too good for this place. Go back to Ireland.
I can’t. Not now.
Why not?
Makes you feel like God or something. Looking down. Look, there’s our flat. Looks so small. It’s like Jesus on the mountain. The devil appears to tempt him. ‘If you throw yourself down you will be caught by angels’.
Not many angels round here.
Some. Some. Would I be caught, I wonder? How far would I fall? I’ve already done it though, Dave. I thought your father was an angel.
Have you see Da again, Mum?
No. Not much. I think he’s left me.
Maybe he said all he had to say.
Yeah.
Look, Mum -
Don’t. (he stops) I just don’t have the nerve, Dave. Going back to Ireland on my own. Deserting the family. It goes against my guts, everything I’ve been taught to believe a mother should do.
None of us deserve you, Mum. Dad doesn’t. Sue doesn’t. Just go. Just be free for once in your life.
I can’t Dave. I haven’t got the courage.
Well why don’t you come back home, then? Try and make a go of it here. We’ll go out together, do things together like you said.
Dave. I can’t come home.
You can’t come home, you can’t go to Ireland. What...?
I can go down. Down. Descend into hell. I can’t stay. I can’t leave. But I can go down.
Mum. For God’s sake. I love you darlin.’ Mum... You mean more to me than anything or anyone else in the whole fuckin’ world. Don’t that mean nothing to you?
Yes! You bloody little fool. Yes it does. Love? Love got me up here. Love? It’s a dark golden burning lucifer of coldness with a fiery burning halo disguising it. Love. Love destroys it’s own children. Love hammers people to crosses. Love burns down houses. Love? Unless you’re standing here on the edge with me don’t talk to me about love. It’s ugly and cruel... and... and I don’t want to live in a world where there are... no lions anymore... The grief of it… God – the death and sex and horror of it all. We’re burning down the world with love. We’re pouring filth into the sky with love. I eat love. The love that hurts. That blinded that Paul fella on the road. The love that wounds... Wounded healer. Don’t talk to me about love, boy, man, fooleen, gossoon. Turn me skull inside out with it. Lord God punish me with love. (screams to the world) Hello everyone down there. I’m Hannah and my skull is exploding with love and pain and guilt and purity. I’m alive and I’m in pain and I’m sad. There! Lord I hate you and love you. I’m losing my faith. Lost it perhaps. But I must believe. I must allow myself to believe. There must be more to life than this. Than that down there. The ripped-up buses, the greed, the shopping trolleys, the hatred, the violence, the graffiti, the sheer grey numbness of it. (suddenly calm, quiet.) Up here. Quiet. You can’t hear their pain. But it’s there. Private. Locked up. (looks at Dave) Dave. If I went to Ireland. Would you come with me?
I dunno, darlin.’
What?
I ain’t gonna say yes I’ll go to stop you jumping. I ain’t gonna lie to you. Not now, Mum. I just need more time. You’ve got to make a decision here. You’ve got to make your own choice. And I’m tellin’ ya. I love ya. I don’t know what that means but I know I feel it in me guts. That’s it.
A Heroic Decision. Yeah. That’s about it. (pause. She thinks) Dave, you believe in me, don’t you?
Yeah. Course I do.
I’m going home, Dave.
Dave rushes up to her. They hug. Dave cries. A little boy. Hard man gone. They go slowly downstairs. Lights fade.
The flat: Ken sitting down, tipsy, with a bunch of flowers on his lap. ‘Folks who live on the hill’ playing. Ken sings along with it.
Fuckin’ foreigner. At the bar. Started pushin’ me. I asked him politely enough. ‘Oi, fucker, hold up will you?’ He took a swipe at me. (suddenly vulnerable) Han... Han... Her eyes. Miss ‘em...Voice. Sound of her coming in the door. Her nuttiness. Miss it. Too much time to think. Looking at meself. Grey, kind of thing. Useless. Redundant. Sound of her snoring. Even miss that. Way she coughs a little bit during the night. Way her nose goes. (desperate, pain) I need ya, Han. (controlled) No. (pain) I need ya darlin.’ (hard again) I blocked it with me left and clumped him with me right. Like the old days. Still pretty fit. So he’s on the deck. ‘Had enough, boy?’ ‘Yeah’, he goes. Well it ain’t right to go on. Not like the kids now. Booting someone when he’s on the deck. Having people over from behind with blades and all that. Like that Dave. Reckons he’s the real hard man. We could have shown him a thing or two. The Bermondsey boys. Now they were hard. Cruel but fair. There was Johnny the head case, Sam and Joe the blade brothers, Frank, the one-eyed Irishman with a right so hard they had him deported. Yeah. Good geezers. We had a code. There were rules of the game. Now they’ve all gone fucking mad. You could go out of a day – leave the door open – nothing got nicked. You never nicked from one of your own. Now they don’t give a fuck for no one. No one.
Sue enters.
Hello Dad. How are ya?
Well, I had to turn down the invitation to Highgrove from the Prince of Wales. Camilla was a bit put out and the Sultan of Brunei ain’t feelin’ too good neither. Other than that it’s been a quiet evening.
Flowers?
Yeah. She phoned. Said she might come and pick up the rest of her things. Thought I might – you know.
Yeah. Where’s Dave?
Still out looking for her. Takes after her, he does. Right pair of nutters. Still, maybe once she got them pills she’d calm down a bit, eh?
Yeah.
Have a good night?
Not too bad. You been in all night?
Yeah. Well – after the pub closed.
You eaten?
Yeah. Pub grub. (pause) Sue, what happened to that bloke you was going out with?
Which one?
Nice geezer – one I saw in the pub.
Gary – oh I blew him out.
Why?
Bad breath.
Bad breath? You blew him out ‘cos he had bad breath?
Yeah.
He seemed like a nice enough geezer to me.
He was alright. I just got bored.
Listen, love. You know, you’ve gotta start thinking about finding a fella.
Why?
All this to-ing and fro-ing.
Look Dad, I’ve got time.
Listen, my love. I’d have swept you off your feet as soon as look at ya.
Ta. But look, I’m alright.
Well, I’m telling you. Your youth ain’t gonna last forever. It’s like a greyhound at Walthamstow. You see it all lovely and glistening ready to go with its coat on and freshly painted number. The roar of the crowd. They’re expecting something. Then the hare runs, the trap flies up and it’s gone. Along with a load of lost bets.
I ain’t a bleedin’ greyhound. I know what I’m doing. I got time. (pause. She feels like telling him) When I see this place and the people in it I could throw up. I mean it. I don’t want fish and chips and a mini-cab home after the club forever. I dunno, I just reckon there’s something else. I don’t wanna be leered at. I don’t wanna be treated like a bit of meat, but I am. That’s the way it is. So that’s the way I treat blokes, Dad. Meat. Some steak, some Kangaroo burger.
What about love, gel?
Come on, Dad.
Yeah.
Look, Dad, that’s it though. I’m happy enough. I just ain’t staying here.
Do me a favour, girl. I never said you should. You’re sounding like your mother.
No. Not like that. Not her way. (pause) I seen photographs of you when you was younger. You were a good looking bloke.
What’s all this ‘were’ business?
No, you know what I mean.
Yeah, but so was your Mum.
Yeah, but she was stupid.
Hold up.
She was, Dad. She took what she was offered. You and the whole thing and bought it. All I’m saying is I’m gonna take me time. Wait for the right opportunity, that’s all. (pause)
Well, if you’re sure, Sue. Stone me you’ve always had your head screwed on.
He gets up, puts record on. Smoochy number. He dances round the room.
Come on, Sue.
Nah.
Come on. Make out I’m some sharp geezer in an I-tie whistle.
Oh, alright. (She joins him. He holds her at some distance) Dad, you ain’t a bad little mover.
In my day, girl. In my day.
Sudden spotlight on Ken. Music sharp, pounding and hard. Suddenly he seems thirty years younger.
In my day we could have shit ‘em. There’s a beautiful girl on yer arm and a sparkle in yer eye. A cool clean feeling washing up yer back like millions of little needles o’ fun. You feel good. You look good. Yer with your mates. You stroll up to the bar. Anyone looks at yer lady, you lay ‘em out. It’s a feeling in the gut. Like the dark in the building and the lights on the dance floor. It’s real and it’s old and you know you’re YOUNG. It’s the looks of admiration on yer mates’ faces. Just a glint, a nod or a stare. She was a good dancer, too. Stockings, high heels. Fresh face. Nose, eyes, everything right. You got a job, you got mates, you got money and the evening’s never gonna stop with booze and the music pounding and lifting ya. You can’t see this moment. Not the here and now of it. Not the blood and pain and failure and heartache and dead old bones of it. Cos you’re YOUNG.
Lights snap back to normal. Ken moves closer to Sue. Sensual. They move together. He lifts his hand and strokes Sue’s hair. Hannah and Dave enter. Hannah stares at Ken. Sue and Ken break off. Silence. Embarrassment.
Oh. Hello. Been doing some dancing. Just teaching Sue the Old Style.
The Old Style?
Where you been or am I allowed to ask?
Around. I’ve been out with Dave.
What you doing keeping your Mum out all night?
We felt like it.
Don’t get lippy with me, son.
So.
Yeah.
Anyway.
Look, Han. Can we talk?
No, Ken. I’ve just come for the rest of my things. I’m going home.
This is your home, love.
Really?
Look, can we talk alone?
No, Ken.
Come on.
I’ll just get the rest of my things. Sorry, love. (She goes to the door. Ken takes her arm)
Look, Han. (embarrassed at Sue and Dave being there, standing uncomfortably) I – I been thinking. I need you here.
Ken, please.
You can’t go, Han. Please.
Ken -
You wanted me. Right? You wanted me. Yeah. I shoulda said this before. Couldn’t. Anyway. You wanted a man. I’d had me balls cut off when I was made redundant. No pride. When it first happened you were so bleedin’ kind to me. Kindness, yeah. Then pity. I couldn’t. Couldn’t see meself as a man. No pride. No. Got worse and worse. Lost interest in it. Didn’t – deserve it.
Kenny...
Kind to me. You was, Han. I’m in fuckin’ hell. Right now. You gotta help me. You gotta be kind to me again. Just a little bit. Please stay, Han.
I can’t, Ken. I can’t. Not now.
You fuckin’ bitch. What I done. Yeah. What I done for you. Wasted me life on you. When I was working it was OK, weren’t it? Oh yeah. OK then. Now I’m out, you’re done with me, ain’t ya? I hate you. (He slaps her really hard across the face. Dave starts to go for him.)
Don’t Dave! (He stops, goes to comfort Hannah.)
Han, I’m sorry.
You fucking old cow! (She shouts through tears) Just kick him while he’s down, why don’t you? Why don’t you just fuck off if you feel so bad about it here? Go on. I’ve had enough of all this moaning and weird chat. Giving everyone a hard time. You made your choice with Dad and us so you can bloody well take the consequences.
I made my bed. But I can remake it. I don’t have to lie in it.
Oh. Piss off then. I don’t care. You either stay here and stop moaning – like me – or you should just piss off.
Sue, I didn’t know. I didn’t. Life is something that just crept up on me. OK? I couldn’t plan it.
Well, I can.
How different do you think it’ll be?
Act your age. That’s the trouble though, ain’t it? It’s all going and you can’t handle it.
Fuckin’ ‘ell Sue.
She’s old enough to know better. I want something, Mum. OK? Something better.
Great. So do something about it.
I will, but I ain’t gonna do what you did.
I’m glad.
You ain’t got a clue, have you?
Knock it on the head, OK?
I’ve just about had enough of this.
Oh yeah? Gettin’ fed up with the cooking are ya?
Yeah, right.
Now you know what it feels like, don’t ya?
Oh yeah, why don’t you do some fuckin’ work round here.
Look at him. (Ken) He ain’t done a stroke round ‘ere.
That’s enough, Dave.
Button it, wanker. (To Sue) Just ‘cos he ain’t workin’ don’t mean he can treat Mum like a fuckin’ slave.
Did you fill his head with this?
One reason. Go on. One good reason why you should lounge around while Mum’s working and expect three meals a day.
Watch it, Dave.
One reason. (pause) There ain’t none. You two have got some front. You can’t see her, can you? Can’t see what she is. Well, I shit on ya. I shit on you and yourn. You’re right, Han. There’s nothing for us here. I’m comin’ with ya.
Dave –
But first. On your feet Dad. We’re going for a walk upstairs. Right to the top of the block.
What you on about?
Get moving. (glares) I wanna talk to you. (Ken senses he has no choice)
What are you doing?
Bastards, Mum. I told ya, didn’t I? Bastards. (Ken goes with Dave, clutching the flowers.)
See you in a while, Han.
Where are you going?
They leave. Uncomfortable silence between Sue and Hannah.
What’s Dave gonna do? He won’t hurt Dad, will he?
No, love.
(Silence. They stare at each other. They move slowly towards each other. Hannah strokes Sue’s hair.) Strangers.
Yeah.
Do you really hate me, Sue?
No. Don’t like you very much. Can’t lie about that.
I know love. (Sue puts her arms round Hannah)
(very quietly) Love ya, though.
So this is it. The funny thing was I knew it would come to this. Deep inside me. Selling myself short. It was like a novelty, I suppose. Self-destruction, cheapening myself. You’re right, Sue. It is all going. But it’s not too late. I’ve got to get out, love. If you ignore reality for too long, it’ll kick you in the head for attention. I’m leaving, Sue. Tonight.
Best a’ luck Mum.
Lights fade slowly.
Rooftop: Moonlight. The top of the block.
Can you see it Dad?
What you dragging me up here for?
Can you see it?
Yeah. Got vertigo.
Well ain’t it lovely? This is what we’ve got. Couple of bastards like me and you. S’all we need.
Look, stop pissing about, Dave.
Bottle ain’t going is it, Dad? I thought we were the Real Men – me and you.
You’re fuckin’ mad.
Yeah. Maybe I am. I don’t give a shit for you, this place. Where’s your stories now Dad? Where’s your big stories about how you took five on single-handed. In your day? How about taking this place on?
Let’s go down now shall we?
Dave spits. Watches it go sailing down.
Long way down ain’t it Dad?
Yeah.
Quickest way down, though. Right. To the edge, sunbeam.
No.
To the edge. Now on your knees.
No.
On your knees. (Ken kneels down, terrified, at the edge.) You need this, Dad. I’m gonna show you the kingdom. Right. Beautiful, ain’t it? This is where you live. This is where you brought me up. You ain’t going nowhere but here. ‘Less you change. This is it for you. End of the line time. There ain’t no package tours to Tunisia, Nairobi, China or fuck all anywhere else. Got it? I’m half your age and I can see that. I’ve accepted it. I know we got fuck all now but I’m gonna do something about it. I’m out of here. This is your lot, Ken. This is what you settled for.
No, no.
Right. Why couldn’t you have told Mum what you was feeling before? Eh? ‘Hard Man’? Is that it? Afraid? Yeah. Me too. Dead similar. Me and you. Dreams is good. But not bullshit ones. You gotta see that. I want you to see that, Dad. Otherwise you’ll dream yourself up your own arse and snuff it there. Have a good butchers at reality, Dad. Like Mum done. Like I done. Then maybe you just might have a chance.
Alright, I promise. (pause)
It’s so still. Up here. No sound. Funny. Everyone quiet for once. Quietly sleeping. No nothing from no one. Like none of them give a shit. She’s right, you know. Han. They’ve accepted it. Most of ‘em. Settled for it. But you got something, Dad. We don't get on or nothing but I can see... you're... deep down... you’re alright.
You reckon, Dave?
I know it, you old sod. Alright, Ken. Get up. (Ken gets up. He vomits.) That’s right, Dad. Get it all out of your system.
Can I go down now?
Yeah. You–can–go–down–now.
Ken walks slowly away. Hannah arrives. Ken passes her. Stops. Gives her the bunch of flowers.
I–bought–you–some–flowers.
Hannah smiles, takes them. A moment between them in which we feel they want to say something to each other. Ken kisses her lightly on the cheek, leaves. Hannah looks at the flowers.
So.
So.
Nervous?
Yeah.
Me too.
We hear an air on the fiddle. Wind blowing.
Dave, Da’s here. He’s come back.
I know. I felt it.
I’m coming home, Da.
The sound of the wind starts to build. Dave and Hannah blown by it, struggle to hold on.
Look. That’s the direction of Ireland.
Yeah. Yeah.
I’m coming home, Da. I’m coming home.
Sound of wind blowing hard now, mixed with the plaintiff fiddle air. Hannah has to shout above it. She throws the flowers into a shower in the air. Petals fall.
One two three – who’ll remember me? Five six seven – I’m on my way to heaven.
The sounds of the wind and the fiddle build to a loud climax. Sound and lights snap off.
The end.