Lolly by Amanda Verlaque

Scene one. Ormeau Park.

SFX: PARK SOUNDS, E.G. LEAVES RUSTLING IN THE BREEZE, LOOSE TARMAC STONE UNDERFOOT. A DOG BARKS. SFX: URSULA (41) AND HER SISTER JACINTA (39) WALKING SLOWLY.

SFX: A flap of wings and a lone magpie calls out.

JACINTA: Good day to you sir! Good day!

URSULA: Keep your voice down!

JACINTA: I want it to hear me.

URSULA: Do you have to do the salute?

JACINTA: Them’s the rules. Why, worried what people will think?

Ursula doesn’t answer.

URSULA: Great, we’ve the bench to ourselves.

SFX: (UNDERNEATH THE DIALOGUE AND THROUGHOUT): TENNIS BALLS THWOCKING ON AN OUTDOOR COURT, CYCLISTS WHIZZING PAST, KIDS PLAYING IN A NEARBY CHILDREN’S AREA. SFX: A CIGARETTE PULLED FROM A BOX, A LIGHTER SPARKING UP. JACINTA INHALES AND THEN BLOWS THE SMOKE OUT.

JACINTA: That’s your problem, too concerned with opinions. Anyone with a titter of wit will know what that salute was for.

URSULA: They’ll think you’re doolally.

JACINTA: They’ll know I saw one magpie, which is one for sorrow. Its mate will be around here somewhere, the place is full of them. Pause. What did you want to see me about?

URSULA: I need to –

JACINTA: - Here, doesn’t that look like that wee dog everyone’s looking for?

URSULA: I’ve no idea.

JACINTA: I heard they had a drone up looking for it. God love them. Sorry what were you saying?

URSULA: Did you know Fr Mullan left?

JACINTA: Everyone knows that.

URSULA: He gave Mum a lovely Mass.

JACINTA: He’s a therapist in Armagh now. Married.

URSULA: You said it almost made you want to go to Mass again.

JACINTA: Have you been? Only, Paula Quinn said she saw you talking to Fr McKendry yesterday. I told the nosy witch her eyes need testing.

URSULA: It always stuck in my head, you saying that.

JACINTA: That was 2 years ago. I was emotional. A beat. Don’t tell me you’ve found God?

URSULA: Wise up. Pause. Mum’s funeral was lovely wasn’t it? I fed and watered about 300 people that day.

JACINTA: Mum needed a good send off, you said so yourself.

URSULA: If she died now I’d save a fortune.

SFX: two magpies squawking.

JACINTA: Look, there’s its mate! I told you didn’t I? What a racket.

URSULA: Two for joy so all’s well in the world?

JACINTA: That’s what they say. You should try it, a wee bit of superstition.

A beat.

JACINTA: You’re probably too busy. Hard to get hold of these days.

URSULA: You know how it is.

JACINTA: I know that most people are struggling. Closing up, shutting down. It’s rare the ones who say they’re doing well.

URSULA: Thankfully I don’t have so many overheads.

JACINTA: That’s a relief. Our Emma was worried.

URSULA: Why what’s up with her?

JACINTA: Your God daughter’s plans for her First Holy Communion are ramping up.

URSULA: Ach sure that’s ages away.

JACINTA: So you keep saying, but that dress needs to be paid for or she’ll lose it. I told you about that witch in McCleary’s.

URSULA: No you didn’t.

JACINTA: I did Ursula. I told you I phoned her and she said there was only one design per school. No one else will have the same dress as our Emma but the balance needs to be paid in full or she’s putting it back in the window.

URSULA: She can’t do that!

JACINTA: She can and she will. Sure didn’t she do something similar to Michelle Mullan’s wee girl last year? The howls of her Julie when she found out. Michelle ended up revamping a flower girl dress she wore at a wedding a few months before and no one was any the wiser. (A beat) Including Julie.

URSULA: I’ll sort it.

JACINTA: Thanks. I’ll tell Emma her Aunty Urs is on the case. Or you could tell her yourself. We’ll call over later.

URSULA: Not tonight. I’ve a lot on.

JACINTA: Ok, later in the week. She misses hanging out with you and sharing all the goss. Remember me telling you about wee Tiffany Murphy’s dress? Hand made in England. She’s already been over for a fitting, in between lockdowns. You can imagine the hype that’s causing in the classroom. Her Ma’s one of the McQuillan’s - minted. But then so are you said our Emma. I said to her she’s lucky to have an Aunty like you cos I could never afford a gig like this.

URSULA: I’d hardly describe a religious ceremony as a gig.

JACINTA: You’re just not entering into the spirit of things.

URSULA: But it’s ages –

JACINTA: - I know it’s a wee while away, but some Mums plan for this from the day their child is born. Just cos I had four boys before I got my wee princess shouldn’t mean she misses out.

URSULA: Five boys if you count their waste of a space Da.

JACINTA: I know. Useless shite. Doesn’t bother him that it takes me all year to pay for Christmas never mind birthdays, school uniforms, holy communions.

THE SISTERS SIT QUIETLY FOR A MOMENT. SFX: PARK SOUNDS RISE, THEN FALL. SFX: A CIGARETTE PULLED FROM A BOX, A LIGHTER SPARKING UP. JACINTA INHALES AND THEN BLOWS THE SMOKE OUT.

URSULA: I never understood the appeal. Dressing up like wee brides. Creepy.

JACINTA: Remember yours? You had a fake bun holding your veil on cos you’d cut all your hair off.

URSULA: It was a protest for having to wear that awful dress.

JACINTA: Imagine if that was now. You’d have a canary. There’s the hair, the makeup, the tiara, the limo, the party, the –

URSULA: - what limo?

JACINTA: What is wrong with you? The one you told Emma she could have.

URSULA: We’ll have to pare things back a bit.

JACINTA: I thought you said you were doing ok?

URSULA: I need to be realistic. I’ve clients who have lost their jobs. What’s the point of a limo?

JACINTA: Well, the party can probably go cos it’s impossible to book anything with a decent crowd cos of the distancing, so you’ve saved a wee fortune right there. We could do something in your garden, a barbecue, that’ll keep costs down. But Emma never shuts up about that limo. In fact you’ll have trouble talking her out of the lollies and balloons with her face on them.

URSULA: Give me strength!

JACINTA: This is all your fault Ursula, you put this stuff into the child’s head after youse saw the cups and plates at wee Mandy’s party, her face plastered over everything.

URSULA: Right… just… leave it with me, ok?

Scene two. Ursula’s house.

SFX: DOORBELL. DOOR OPENS.

URSULA: Jacinta! I wasn’t expecting you.

SFX: JACINTA BUSTLES PAST URSULA AND HEADS INTO KITCHEN.

JACINTA: No answer from you all week, so here I am. Where’s your Merc?

URSULA: I’m up to my eyes here sis.

SFX: OVER JACINTA’S DIALOGUE: PLASTIC BAG RUSTLING. CUPBOARD DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING. A CLIP BOX PRISING OPEN AND LIQUID BEING DECANTED. THE CLIP BOX FIRMLY SHUT.

JACINTA: Only a flying visit. I brought you some soup. Spuds and leek. My ones can’t look at a vegetable unless it’s shaped like a chip. Are you ok?

URSULA: I am but I’m mad busy here.

JACINTA: You weren’t answering your phone so –

SFX: JACINTA’S MOVEMENTS COME TO AN ABRUPT STOP. A BEAT.

JACINTA: - where’s your dining table?

URSULA: I’m getting a new one.

JACINTA: Chairs too? You’ve only had them a year!

URSULA: I was fed up with them.

JACINTA: Did you give them away? I would’ve taken them. Wait, where did you say your Merc was?

Pause.

URSULA: I didn’t. It’s… getting serviced.

JACINTA: Didn’t they give you a courtesy car?

Ursula doesn’t answer. Jacinta takes in the room.

JACINTA: Where’s all your stuff Urs?

URSULA: Did you see the photos of that wee dog, they’re everywhere?

JACINTA: Never you mind the wee dog. What’s going … where’s Mum’s clock?

A beat as the penny drops for Jacinta.

Scene three. Exterior Dunbar’s Pawnbrokers.

SFX: INTERMITTENT TRAFFIC ON A MODERATELY BUSY STREET.

JACINTA: Who closes for lunch these days? It’s Bloody Baltic out here.

URSULA: Told you we should’ve checked.

JACINTA: Why couldn’t you go to Cash Converters like normal people?

Ursula snorts derisively.

URSULA: Like they’d know the value of a Cloisonne.

JACINTA: You’re such a friggin know it all. Pause. What’s it called?

URSULA: Cloisonne. It’s the ancient art of enamelling –

JACINTA: - aye ok. I don’t need the history lesson.

SFX: A CIGARETTE PULLED FROM A BOX, A LIGHTER SPARKING UP. JACINTA INHALES AND THEN BLOWS THE SMOKE OUT. SFX: URSULA SIGHS HEAVILY.

A beat.

JACINTA: Go on. Say it. Get it off your -

URSULA: - you’re always skint but you’ve money for cigarettes!

JACINTA: Feel better now?

A beat.

URSULA: Three thousand, six hundred and forty pounds. At least. The way you chain smoke it’s probably more. How many do you get through in a day?

JACINTA: Don’t start.

URSULA: Twenty. At least. You burn the guts of four grand every year but you sit back and expect me to pay for your daughter’s first holy communion.

JACINTA: You offered. You told her –

URSULA: - I know! You never shut up about it! What have you done to help?

Silence.

JACINTA: I didn’t pawn Mum’s clock! What possessed you?

URSULA: I’d no choice. Anyway we’re here now and I’m buying it back. See?

SFX: URSULA PULLS A PACKAGE FROM HER BAG.

JACINTA: What’s that?

URSULA: Come closer.

JACINTA: Sweet mother of god! Where did you get that?

URSULA: Shut you up, we’ll get robbed! I got it from pawning the clock you twit.

JACINTA: Alright, alright, no need to get nasty. He gave you actual cash for it?

URSULA: I could hardly put it into my account.

JACINTA: Why not?

URSULA: Cos I’m bankrupt Jacinta!

Silence.

JACINTA: Sorry. Pause. You’ll have to dodge the bills like the rest of us. So what if everyone knows you’re skint?

URSULA: Let’s see how you cope when you can’t come running to me for a handout! You’ve sponged off me for years.

Silence.

JACINTA: Urs –

URSULA: - Piss off Jacinta -

JACINTA: - Look, there it is in the window, Mum’s pride and joy. So pretty.

URSULA: So loud.

SFX: A KNOWING, GENTLE SHARED LAUGH.

JACINTA: Listen, you can hear it ticking from here.

Another laugh. A softening.

JACINTA: The only thing in the house we weren’t allowed to dust and polish. I’d love to look after it for a wee while.

URSULA: Your lot would break it.

JACINTA: They wouldn’t get near it. I’d put it somewhere they never go.

URSULA: The washing machine?

Silence.

JACINTA: Mum wouldn’t let anyone touch it, even you.

Ursula mimics their Mum.

URSULA: “Dust, polish, dust. Use the proper cloths. I’ll be checking your work.”

Jacinta joins in.

JACINTA: “But don’t touch that clock, I’m warning ye!”

URSULA: Remember Mum used to say once a clock has its day it starts to lose time, no amount of winding it up will keep it right?

JACINTA: Did she?

URSULA: She did. She said it keeps getting slower and slower until one day it just stops for good.

JACINTA: Like a worn out heart, god love her.

URSULA: She would never say where she got it. Dad said he won it playing poker.

JACINTA: Dad was a liar. Pause. Is it really worth a lot?

URSULA: About a year’s worth of cigs.

JACINTA: Ouch. Pause. That’s a fortune.

URSULA: Enough for the best First Holy Communion gig ever.

The penny drops for Jacinta.

JACINTA: Ach Ursula.

URSULA: I promised Emma a party. And that friggin limo. Once I get the clock back I haven’t a bean.

JACINTA: The wee Princess will have to do without.

Silence.

URSULA: What’ll you tell her?

JACINTA: That some things just aren’t worth it? I dunno, I’ll think of something. There he is. Come on.

SFX: A LOCK TURNS AND AN OLD FASHIONED DOORBELL TINKLES AS THE PAWNBROKER OPENS FOR BUSINESS.

Iris

by Frankie McCafferty

Lines in bold are vocalized, the rest is internal monologue.

SFX: URBAN EXTERIOR ATMOS

IRIS: Don’t see as many rainbows now. Odd and Even go the door to door.

In French Postman is Monsieur Le Facteur. So I’d be Madamoiselle la Facteuse. Or just la Facteuse? Or is it Factrice? Postwoman.

Post woman. Oooh. Interesting.

No junk mail. Yeah, like I’m gonna edit your post. Sorry sunshine, not in the job description. You’ve got mail. I deliver it. That’s the deal.

La Factrice.

SFX: BREEZE IN THE TREES

The noise in my head. Breeze in the trees on the Avenues. Ash, Elm. Sycamore, Oak.

Number 22 gets a credit card bill, and a greeting card.

Birthday? Get well soon? With Sincere Sympathy. Could be any.

A glimmer is all you get.

The waft of food cooking.

The smell of death.

Jesus. Steady on.

SFX: GIRL PLAYING ON A PHONE IN A FRONT STREET, RANDOM ELECTRONIC NOISES. IRIS OPENS THE GATE

Hiya. Girl gamer. What are you playing?

NO ANSWER

Is it the latest thang?

JACINTA: (from hallway) Emma, have you got my phone again?

IRIS: She’s lost to the world. Post for you there.

JACINTA: She’s rude. Emma, you should answer people when they speak to you.

COMMOTION OF MORE KIDS UPSTAIRS. JACINTA YELLS UP

JACINTA: Joe! Are you minding them?

HUSBAND: (from upstairs loo) I’m taking a dump.

JACINTA: Oh for f-. Are you married love?

IRIS: Me? No.

JACINTA: Take my advice. Don’t.

Iris laughs

IRIS: See ya.

SFX: IRIS CLOSES THE GATE

IRIS: Fag in the mouth. Kids running amok. Don’t think either of them work. A happy family.

What are you going to do about Alex? Uggh.

Alex. You’re beautiful babe. And we have fun. Isn’t that enough?

If we start living together we could ruin all that.

Why does Pat the Flatmate have to move out now?

And announce it in front of Alex.

Creating a vacancy to expose my…

Dropped me right in it.

Alex. Lovely Alex.

We might have to break up.

I don’t want that.

I don’t want anything to change. But this is a game changer.

Should have pre-empted this. Set things straight from the start.

That first Valentine’s fiasco. Alex made you a beautiful necklace and you gave Alex a “comedy” card that said Happy Love Day Retail Festival.

SFX: A FRONT DOOR IRIS HAS JUST PASSED IS OPENED

DANI: Excuse me, postie! Post person.

IRIS: Yeah?

DANI: Nothing for 26?

IRIS: Ahm-

SFX: IRIS CHECKS THROUGH HER MAIL

IRIS: Nothing today.

DANI: Oh.

IRIS: No news is good news?

BOY: (from inside) Did your package not come Dani?

DANI: Mind your own business.

BOY: Your “broadcast quality microphone.”

DANI: Piss off.

BOY: The world’s gonna have to wait a bit longer for your podcast of wisdom.

DANI: I’m gonna wring your neck.

BOY: Have to catch me first!

DANI: Ya little-

SFX: DANI CHASES HIM BACK INTO THE HOUSE

IRIS: I walk these streets like a shadow. No-one knows my name. Iris.

SFX: WIND CHIMES IN A FRONT GARDEN INSPIRE AND CONTINUE OVER THE SONG

And I like it like that.

Enough of settled life for me. What I see here.

I walk these streets every day but I am not a member. I’m in betweeny.

SINGS: Just walk away Renee, you won’t see me follow you back home/ the empty sidewalks on my block are not the same/You’re not to blame.

It’s not weird to want to sleep alone. After sex. Business time. Hoochy coochy time.

She laughs

I can go to the spare room after lurve until I get a new flatmate.

But not cohabiting with my lover. Not. That.

No marriage.

No mortgage.

No kids.

Aww!

Missing dog poster on the Sycamore tree. George.

I didn’t know that was your name when I used to talk to you. Sit. Shake paw. I called you Archie cos you looked like an Archie.

Someone might have stolen you. Doggies are worth a fortune now.

I hope you’re not dead.

Maybe George got a premonition and just took off. Maybe he’s living feral in the countryside.

Maybe he floated away down the Lagan on an old door or something. All the way out to sea.

I am the messenger.

The eternal messenger.

In the troubles I could have been a target. The postie. For being one or the other. Or mistaken identity.

Maybe that’s what’s bugging Mum. Irrational.

-You have a degree in humanities, you never even used it.

-It’s a degree in letters Mum, and I work with letters.

She didn’t find that funny.

SFX: A PRESSURE HOSE AND SCRUBBING BRUSH BEING USED ON A WALL

Number 53, number 55, (the target) number 57. Shit. Not again.

Hi. HI. Excuse me, HI!

SFX: HOSE AND BRUSH STOP

Registered delivery for you there. On your doorstep.

JAY: You need a signature?

IRIS: No we’re not doing that now. I just take your name to log it.

JAY: It’s for my Mum, Mum!

IRIS: It’s okay I can just take yours.

JAY: Oh. It’s Jay Flynn.

IRIS: J A Y?

JAY: Yeah. F L Y N N.

IRIS: That’s it, thank you.

JAY: Thanks.

IRIS: I’m sorry they graffitied your wall.

JAY: I know. I’ve nearly got it off.

I told a lie when I said I work with letters. Even though it was a joke. These aren’t letters. Not in the way they once would have been.

They’re bills, documents, parcels, practica.

People don’t write letters any more.

Maybe that’s a thing we’ve lost that we shouldn’t have.

No more love letters.

People texting each other nudes.

Scrawling “Paki” on a teenager’s wall.

SFX: MUSIC PLAYING A BIT TOO LOUD FROM A HOUSE

Mum thinks the world is going backwards.

Back to the dark ages.

Feudal times with WiFi.

I bet the neighbours are delighted with this lot. Students.

Judge ye not! That was you.

Going to change the world. One party at a time.

Earnest shagging after arguing about A Room of One’s Own.

Unmade beds, slabs of beer and Marlboro lights.

Wonderful.

Couldn’t live like that now. Six in a house.

Here we are. Mr M. Hughes. M for Mark.

SFX: SHE PUTS POST THROUGH THE LETTERBOX AND A LITTLE DOG BARKS EXCITEDLY SOMEWHERE DEEP IN THE HOUSE

That’s funny. Was that from here? Or next door? I should-n’t…

SFX: IRIS OPENS THE LETTERBOX AGAIN AND LISTENS, SHE CALLS

Hellloo!

SFX: BARKING FROM BEHIND CLOSED DOORS, HARD TO TELL IF IT’S THIS HOUSE.

No. Can’t be. This guy doesn’t have a dog. Works long shifts he said. Lives alone. Gaydar says maybe.

What’s that on the window? Muddy smudges. Doggy nose prints. Maybe he got one.

None of my business. Moving on. Nothing to see here.

SFX: IRIS WALKS TO HER VAN. OPENS THE DOOR AND GETS IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT. CLOSES DOOR, PULLS ON SEATBELT. SHE STARTS THE ENGINE, HITS THE INDICATOR, INTO GEAR AND PULLS OFF. TURNS ON THE RADIO. ADS AND DAYTIME BABBLE.

Can almost feel the properties rise in value. Sithe Bilfawst hoity toity.

SFX: A PHONE-IN QUIZ ON THE RADIO: HOST; Bill Gates is the co-founder of which company?

IRIS: Microsoft!

SFX: NAME DOROTHY’S DOG IN THE WIZARD OF OZ.

IRIS: Toto!

SFX: WHAT IS THE CENTRE OF AN ATOM CALLED?

IRIS: Dunno!

SFX: WHAT IS THE LAST LETTER OF THE GREEK ALPHABET?

IRIS: Omega!

SFX: WHO WROTE THE NOVEL ULYSSES, SET OVER A SINGLE DAY IN 1904?

IRIS: Joyce! Ha-ha! Smashing it! Now piss off.

SFX: SHE CHANGES THE CHANNEL TO SOOTHING CLASSICAL MUSIC

Pain in the hole getting parked. Tempted to leave it in that Lady’s driveway.

(lilts along to the classical) Can’t-do-that, against-the-rules, you’d- get-your-knuckles-rapped-by-your super! Because-some busy-body- would grass-you-up!

Her Merc’s not there. She must be out. Here’s a spot.

SFX: SHE PULLS IN AND PARKS. ENGINE AND RADIO OFF. SHE GRABS THE NEXT BATCH OF MAIL.

Lot of mail for her.

SFX: IRIS GETS OUT OF THE VAN AND STARTS HER NEXT ROUND OF DELIVERY. SHE WALKS TO THE LADY’S FRONT DOOR. SHE DELIVERS SOME LETTERS.

This one won’t fit. Ring the doorbell and write out the chit.

SFX: DOORBELL RINGS

We were unable to deliver because… Item is too big for-

SFX DOOR OPENS AND DRAGS THROUGH THE LETTERS ON THE FLOOR

IRIS: Oh. Hello. I thought you were out.

URSULA: Oh look at all of this mail.

IRIS: I was just thinking. People don’t write ordinary letters any more.

URSULA: Nothing but bills.

IRIS: Tell me about it. This wouldn’t fit in your letterbox.

SFX: IRIS HANDS HER A PACKAGE

URSULA: Thank you.

SFX: DOOR CLOSES, IRIS WALKS AWAY

IRIS: There used to be a solid oak dining set in that bay window. The Merc’s gone and she looks stressed.

You don’t know what’s going on in people’s lives. Poor lady.

SFX: IRIS MAKES DELIVERIES AND SINGS ANOTHER SNATCH OF THE SONG

IRIS: Just walk away Renee/ You won’t see me follow you…

This is all redirected. Must be just moved in. Mr Robert Smyth. Like your man from The Cure! Maybe this guy’s a Goth too.

SFX: SHE PUTS THE MAIL IN MR. SMYTH’S LETTERBOX. THE NEXT DOOR FRONT DOOR OPENS

MRS. DUNWOODY: Avon lady. I’m in here.

IRIS: Sorry?

MRS.DUNWOODY: Parfums de Paris.

IRIS: No, I’m your postie Mrs.

MRS. DUNWOODY: Vous venez Mercredi d’habitude.

IRIS: I deliver your post.

MRS. DUNWOODY En francais s’il vous plait!

IRIS: Je suis, qu’est ce qu’on dit, la facteuse ou la factrice?

MRS DUNWOODY: La factrice.

IRIS: Je suis votre factrice.

MRS DUNWOODY: I know that, I’m not an idiot. Do you have any post for me?

IRIS: Not today.

MRS DUNWOODY: Then why did you drag me out into the cold? I’m 86 you know.

IRIS: My mistake, very sorry Mrs.

MRS DUNWOODY: Not to worry. Cheerio.

IRIS: Cheerio.

SFX DOOR CLOSES

IRIS: Madame.

I’ll write you a letter, lover.

In the Service of Venus.

Dear Alex

Dear Alex.

How do I begin?

You want me to say that I love you. I shouldn’t have to say it.

You want me to give you things to show that I love you.

You want to hold me all night after hoochy coochy. I get too hot.

You want us to live together and plan a future. I think that could be the end of us babe, I’m not a product of a happy home. The future will happen whether we plan it or not.

La Factrice. I’m post woman. I’ve moved beyond.

I get it. When we’re together it’s intense. And you want to trap that. Catch it somehow.

You can’t.

You would kill it.

Skip outside number 71.

Old lady must have died. Nurse coming and going these last few months.

Her life piled up in a skip.

A little picture trinket. From a holiday in Spain or somewhere. One of those your name means things.

Iris. Goddess of Rainbows and Messenger to the Gods.

BRICKS By Joseph Nawaz

Scene: ext a street.

SFX: SOUND OF A WALL BEING SCRUBBED

MAUREEN: A photo. Righto. Thanks now officer…

SFX: CAR DOOR SLAMS. POLICE CAR DRIVES OFF

MAUREEN: For absolutely bugger all.

Did you hear that?

JAY: (he’s scrubbing the wall)

You kissing their arse? I did, aye.

MAUREEN: Polite to their face Jay. Always polite. It’s just easier.

JAY: There’s polite, and there’s feeling ‘em up…

MAUREEN: Don’t be disgusting Jay.

Seriously though, “Get a selfie next time, ma’am”? Idiot.

JAY: He didn’t say that though, did he?

MAUREEN: Aye he did. Wasn’t I just talking to him?

JAY: He said photo. It’s not a selfie unless yourself is in it, is it? A selfie with you, me an’ the lads and “hashtag Pakis out”, all touched up with a cheeky wee filter an’ there you go officer.

MAUREEN: Selfie. Photo. Whatever. And please. PLEASE. Stop using that word son. It’s not how I brought you up.

JAY: (snarky) What word? Filter?

MAUREEN: (ignores comment)

It’s horrible Jay. Hateful. What the hell’s wrong with people anyway?

JAY: Darren says it’s just a handy abbreviation like Aussie or Scots.

MAUREEN: Jay son. You’re not stupid. Stop acting like you are.

Wait, Darren said “handy abbreviation”?

You haven’t seem him today have you?

JAY: No why?

MAUREEN: Ah, nothing. Anyway since when did you start listening to what Darren says? He’s not the… well, he’s not the sharpest tool in the box is he?

JAY: He’s my mate.

MAUREEN: Oh I know he is Jay. So, you definitely didn’t see anything? I mean, you can tell me if…

JAY: I said to the cops didn’t I?

MAUREEN: It’s just weird is all. Why our house?

JAY: Dunno do I. (pause) Do you?

MAUREEN: Do I what?

JAY: That’s right. What.

MAUREEN: Jay, son, this isn’t…

JAY: I mean, why the hell would anyone write “PAKIS OUT” on OUR wall instead of like a Paki’s wall? Mental isn’t it? Makes you think dunnit?

(scrubbing really hard)

MAUREEN: (lost for words) Jay. Jay! Stop for a second.

Whatever you think you’re thinking, here’s the actual truth. That? That’s nonsense. By idiots. Are you listening to me? Ignorant scared idiots who always have to be turning on something, someone. It has NOTHING to do with us. See this here? This old bird is your mother. You are MY son. I love you. Always. Them’s the hard facts. I can’t spell them clearer.

JAY: Dunno. You could write it in big white letters on the side of our house I s’pose. Right underneath “Pakis Out”.

MAUREEN: We are NOT doing this now. Not with all this going on…

JAY: All this “Pakis out” stuff y’mean?

MAUREEN: JAY. STOP. NOW. I MEAN IT.

(silence)

JAY: (nonchalant) Fine fine. That’s just fine ma, aye. Cos it’s nothing to do with us anyway is it? Cops said so. We’re just the Flynns, sure. The Flynny Flynn Flynns of Flynsville.

MAUREEN: Now look…(laughs) Aye we are, you wee melt. Flynns against the world, kid. (Jay groans)

MAUREEN: Seriously though Jay – we’re gonna be ok, ok?

JAY: Course. Whatever. Here, old bird are ya now??

SCENE: INT JAY AND MAUREEN’S HOUSE.

SFX: TAP RUNNING, LOCAL RADIO ON

MAUREEN: …look you’re not like those ones son. You’re kind, beautiful, sensitive...

JAY: (washing his hands) Ma. What are you on about?

MAUREEN: Awk, you’re just different. Better. Well it’s true! One good thing about you being off school. You don’t even see Darren as much these days, right?

JAY: Yeah, well. Lockdown.

MAUREEN: Oh here, saw Darren senior the other day. Boke. You know he’s one of those anti-mask melts?

JAY: Aw he’s alright. You don’t like anyone sure. Except Auntie Sinead.

MAUREEN: Don’t be ridiculous. He was in the shop swaggering about like he owned it. And did he have a mask on?

JAY: (snarky) Yes?

MAUREEN: Not even a hand over the mouth. Nothing. He totally wanted someone to say. Janice nearly did but I said it wasn’t worth it and he’s a neighbour and… well you don’t know do ya?

JAY: Don’t know what?

MAUREEN: Well..with the graffiti.

JAY: Ma!

MAUREEN: Actually, y’know this graffiti nonsense. Could be a silver lining. Bound to be worth a few housing exec points.

JAY: Here’s ok.

MAUREEN: We deserve better. Know that African family round the corner? The wee girl was in your class?

JAY: She’s…They’re Somalian.

MAUREEN: That’s African smart alec. I heard they got burnt out and were fast-tracked. Here! Can you IMAGINE the state of where they were?

(laughs a hollow laugh)

Poor things... What’s that wee girl’s name now? Lovely, always said hello… Haven’t seen her for ages...

(MAUREEN:’s voice fades down, radio seems louder)

SCENE: EXT SECONDARY SCHOOL YARD. A LUNCHTIME.

SFX: SCHOOL SOUNDS. PUPILS MILLING ABOUT ON LUNCHBREAK.

(Jay with mates)

DARREN: Jay Jay Jay!

JAY: Don’t be a dick Darren.

DARREN: Here he fancies RamadamaHamjob!

(laughs)

JAY: How do I? Wise up. Anyway Mr Rolston’s across the yard, see?

DARREN: He’s not even looking! Anyway, we’re just checking that new pupils are sticking to school uniform regulations. Old RocknRolston’d be cool with that. Right lads?

(the group starts baying)

Jay! Jay! Jay!

JAY: Alright alright Shut up will ya?

(walks towards another pupil) Uh. Ambura? Hi. Hey. Jay- We’re in the same Geography class this year? Uh listen, I uh, well I was wondering if you…

(shouts drown out what he’s saying/doing) JAY JAY JAY JAY! JAY JAY JAY YEEEEEAAASS YEOW!!!!

SCENE: INT SNAPS BACK TO MAUREEN AND JAY IN KITCHEN

MAUREEN: Jay! Is there a Jay in the house!

JAY: Hmm??

MAUREEN: Back on earth, some of us have to go to work.

Oh aye Bobby said he’d keep over those nice trainers in your size. The ones you liked.

JAY: What those gippy shop ones?? No I never! I said look at the state of them!

MAUREEN: No, you definitely did. I’m getting staff discount.

JAY: I don’t care if they’re paying you, I’d rather go barefoot. Seriously like.

SFX DOORBELL RINGS

MAUREEN: Get that would you? Where’s my handba…oh got it. Bodes well…

SFX DOOR OPENS

DARREN: Jay Jay whaddaya say! S’up man. Here, c’mon help us look for this dog.

Oh hello Mrs Flynn.

MAUREEN: You’ve a dog Darren?

DARREN: No Mrs Flynn. Just one I seen about. Said in a flyer he’s gone missing.

I thought we could look for him.

JAY: Hang on mate. I’ll get my coat.

MAUREEN: Jay. You have school-work to be doing.

(protests from Jay. She’s firm.)

Maybe tomorrow.

DARREN: But what if he’s in trouble or something? He’s lovely, like!

MAUREEN: Aw look...I’m sorry Darren. He was…is fine I’m sure. And I’m sure he’ll find his way home – they usually do.

DARREN: Mrs Flynn, what’s the craic with rewards for finding dogs d’ya know?

MAUREEN: Ah. Reward. Sure, knowing that wee dog is back safe and sound would be the best reward of all, right Darren?

Incidentally Darren. While we’ve the pleasure of your company. Know anything about that?

(gestures to graffiti)

DARREN: Aw not again. That’s bad luck so it is. Sorry Mrs Flynn not a clue.

MAUREEN: Bad luck right enough, Darren...

Right mister FIVE minutes.

(kisses Jay - in front of Darren)

JAY: Ugh! Ma!!

SFX MAUREEN STEPS, HURRYING OFF

JAY: Sorry ‘bout that mate. She’s a bit mental. As you know.

DARREN: Mental is right.

JAY: (laughs) Oy! That’s my ma you’re talking about.

DARREN: Sorry about the wall mate.

JAY: Awk yeah, just dicks.

DARREN: Probably aye. Coming to help me find this dog then or what?

JAY: Aw here you know what my ma’s like. Better not…

He’ll turn anyway up sure.

DARREN: (pauses, Ruffles Jay’s hair)

You’re a good wee mummy’s boy aren’t ya Jay Jay? I’m away on here then.

JAY: Oh aye, your da’ll be wondering wHere his lunchtime carry out is.

DARREN: What’s that mean?

JAY: No nothing Darren mate! Just having a laugh. It’s...it’s lunchtime innit?

DARREN: ‘least I have a dad. Where’s your dad?

(painful silence) You never talk about him do ya? Your dad. D’ye even have one?

Is he a Paki Jay? Are you wee Abdul Flynn the mad Fenian mullah?

JAY: Jesus Darren. Don’t be a dick.

DARREN: Dick mate? Least I have one. And a dad. ‘least mine’s not a Paki, mate.

JAY: Shut up. Neither’s mine, is he?

DARREN: You tell me mate. I mean…look at ya. Says so on your wall dunnit?

JAY: What’s the point..You’re being an eejit. I’ve gotta go.

DARREN: (realises he’s gone too far) Hold on! C’mere Jay mate. Only messing. Course you’re not! I’m only slaggin.

JAY: Yeah well, It’s not funny is it?

DARREN: Here now, just ignore me sure. We good? Good lad. Up the lads!! Wha?

JAY: The lads aye.

DARREN: Here, I’ll swipe a bottle of vodka at Tina’s and we’ll hit the park tomorrow aye?

JAY: Uh. Yeah mate. Defo. Laters.

DARREN: Sweet to the beat. Me, Mackers and my wee brown buddy Osama Flynn Laden. Kidding mate kidding!!

JAY: Funny one.

DARREN: Here, you lot aren’t meant to drink anyway are ye??

JAY: Why don’t you just fu....

DARREN: (interupts) Whooaah!! Language young man! Aw c’mon Jay Jay lighten up mate! You ever heard of a joke?! Seriously though mate, you could actually do with lightening up. Or maybe washing your face once in a while like, amirite?? OKOKOK I know I know. I’m stopping. Right now. Now! I swear! NOW. I know I know. I’m mental.

JAY: Seriously Darren it’s not funny. You know I’m no more Paki than you are.

DARREN: Course. Sure we’re all equal these days anyway mate aye? Oh here, that reminds me what did Mackers call that dead black muzzy again? The one in geography?

JAY: She’s Somalian.

DARREN: Hamjob! That was it!

JAY: She’s called Amburo, mate.

DARREN: An’ so what? You looking a hamjob, aye? (laughs)

Remember you grabbed her muzzy headdress an’ Mackers wore it ran round the yard. Near pissed myself.

JAY: Yeah mate. Class.

DARREN: TOTAL geg. I miss school sometimes. Weird isn’t it?

JAY: T’is. See ya.

DARREN: Tomorrow mate. The three Amigos getting wrecked old school!

SFX: JAY’S FRONT DOOR SLAMS. RADIO ON IN BACKGROUND

JAY: Old school.

SCENE: SECONDARY SCHOOL CORRIDOR

SFX SCHOOL BELL. KIDS FLOODING CORRIDOR

JAY: Ambura! Wait! I’m not like them. They’re just mates. I know that’s..I’m just saying you probably shouldn’t tell anyone. They’ll do worse. They have. I mean…I’m not like that. I’m not them, y’know right?

SCENE: INT JAY AND MAUREEN’S HOUSE

SFX RADIO IN BACKGROUND

JAY: (to himself)

I’m not. I am NOT like you. Or you. Or you.

SCENE: SECONDARY SCHOOL YARD

JAY: Ambura! Wise up! Wait up!! I’m trynna explain! You need to understand! Please hold up for a second would ya!! Jesus!

Ambura! Wait up! Oh hey! OK. Right. So…

AMBURA:(stops) Go away Jason. I’ve said nothing. I won’t.

JAY: Do you think I...

AMBURA: (cuts in) I don’t care. Just leave me alone yeah? All of ya.

JAY: (he’s cornered her) Now hang on a second! I’m not them. They’re not...What I mean is...

AMBURA: (quietly) Please

JAY: Thing is... The thing is... what am I trying to say here? Look I’m not them. OK? But you get it Ambura, right? I know you do, and I just want to say....

AMBURA: (more forceful) I told you get away from me.

JAY: Ambura!

AMBURA: (kinetic rage) Get the hell off me you creepy racist prick!

JAY: Wha? That’s a laugh! That’s a… Ok yeah fine. Walk on then sure. Who are you anyway? Do what you want you stupid terrorist bitch! (pause) AND I’M JAY!!!!

SCENE: INT JAY AND MAUREEN’S HOUSE

SFX DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES. RADIO STILL ON

JAY: (to himself) Or you. Yeah you reckon? You’re pathetic. Disgusting. And I’m not like that. I’m not mate. I’m not.

MAUREEN: Jay! Jay you seen my work keys? On that wee torch keyring. Forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on. Jay?

JAY: I’m not like that…

MAUREEN: Jay? Son?

JAY: I’m NOT like that.

ENDS

Dani Dives In By Diona Doherty

Int – Dani’s bedroom – Day

DANI: Hello and welcome to another episode of the ‘DANI: Dive’s In’ podcast, where each week, I’ll be discussing the topics that really get under my skin.

SFX: DANI’S INTRO MUSIC

DANI: (cont’d) This episode, I want to talk about the representation of women in movies because, as we all know=

Door swings open. Dani’s brother Michael barges in.

MICHAEL: Dani, are you nearly done yet?

DANI: Gone get out, I’ve only just started recording.

Michael comes really close up to a static microphone, in a silly voice –

MICHAEL: Dani eats fart sandwiches.

DANI: Would you get away? I’m just gonna edit that out anyway, so raging for ye.

Michael returns to the microphone

MICHAEL: and washes it down with a glass of her own pish.

DANI: You’re not allowed to say pish. I’m gonna tell Mammy and Daddy on ye.

MICHAEL: I am allowed. I’m allowed to say pish, fart sandwiches and bell end.

DANI: You don’t even know what a bell end is.

MICHAEL: Yes I do.

DANI: Use it in a sentence then.

MICHAEL: Uh… Okay… Dani is a bell end.

DANI: Ugh, what do ye even want, Michael?

MICHAEL: I need my headset for the Play Station, is it in here?

DANI: Well everything else seems to be shoved in here, so probably. Look behind the ironing board, or around those Halloween decorations.

SFX: THE SOUND OF THINGS BEING MOVED ABOUT / THROWN. MICHAEL SHOUTING OVER THE NOISE.

MICHAEL: Are you not gutted you have to live in the jink room now coz you’ve no job and can’t afford your apartment anymore?

DANI: Are you not gutted you were a mistake?

MICHAEL: I’d hate to live in a junk room when I was 31! Ye probably shouldn’t have had a pure meltdown at work then you wouldn’t have to sleep beside a broken fish tank.

DANI: Gone hurry up will ye?

MICHAEL: (mocking her Derry accent) Gone hurry up will ye? Could you sound any more Derry?

DANI: Says Julian Simmons.

MICHAEL: Who’s Gillian Simeon’s?

DANI: Julian Simmons? Belfast’s sweetheart? You’ve a lot to learn about your own culture, Michael. AND if Mammy and Daddy stayed living in Derry a wee while longer, you’d have a belter Derry accent too! Youse are all just raging, the Belfast’s hanging out of yous. Get out!

SFX: DOOR SLAMS

MICHAEL: (outside) Don’t to so up your own bell end Dani!

SFX: MOBILE PHONE RINGING. DANI SCREAMS INTO A PILLOW.

Dani takes a deep breath, then answers in the chirpiest tone.

DANI: Hi Emma, I’m just chilling out in the apartment, aye. Naw, don’t call up! I’m…I’m a bit swamped here. What dog it is? Awk, wee George? Did he just run away or what? I wouldn’t be surprised if our Michael had him shacked to a radiator in his room, the wee clepto! Live, obviously I;m a cat person but I wouldn’t see a wee dog stuck to a radiator listening to Michael screaming down a headset to his made up makes in England about Fortnite. How did you know I was off work? Naw, I’ll be back in a few weeks. Jeepers, everything’s grand, it was only coz I’d… extra holidays to take so, aye. Loving life! Oh, here there’s the amazon fella, I’ll have to chat to you soon, bye.

Dani sets the phone down.

DANI: (mocking herself) Loving life. Talking through your hoop Dani! Delete. All. That.

Dani takes a deep breath and continues the podcast.

DANI: So, today I’d like to touch on the representation of women in films. So, you might not have heard of a thing called the Bechdal test? That’s how we measure if a film is sexist or decent. So, it needs to have at least two women in it, who talk about something other than men, but like 90 percent of films don’t. That’s not an official statistic or anything but 90 percent of the films I’ve watched don’t, but then again I wouldn’t watch your Mad Max’s or your Wonder Woman’s or anything. As if them girls could batter the big, massive fellas they’re fighting? Set’s a really unrealistic standard for wee girls growing up thinking

they have to be able to rip heads out in the street. It’s irresponsible. Just like –

Door flying open – hoover on. Shouting over hoover.

MUM: Don’t mind me.

DANI: Mum, I’m trying to record.

Hoover stops

MUM: I’ve just got to get this hoovering done before your granny calls in, sure she’s so judgey. Jesus, Dani, what the hell have you done with your hair?

DANI: I’ve cut it, why?

MUM: With a spatula? Why is it so mental? Oh sorry love, I didn’t mean to say mental, in front of you. But it’s just all lopsided looking. That’s bound to keep you single for even longer, you know.

DANI: Right. Grand. Tell us this, why does Michael have three different Play Stations but when I was 10 I wasn’t even allowed a Tamagotchi?

MUM: Well, Dani, we just felt you weren’t responsible enough to keep one alive.

DANI: A digital keyring?

MUM: You were always a bit airy fairy.

DANI: And what was it ye were saying about my granny being so judgey? MUM: She’s so judgey! She’s calling in for lunch soon. She can be so rude! Right, maybe put a hat on your head before you come down because she’s bound to slag off your mental – your new hairdo.

SFX: DOOR CLOSES. HOOVER ON AGAIN, FADING OFF. DANI SCREAMS INTO A PILLOW. SHE THEN TAKE’S A DEEP BREATH AND EXHALES.

DANI: 3… 2… 1. Let’s look at famous movie roles that could easily have been played by a woman. For example, Shrek. A woman could have easily been Shrek, and yes Fiona turns into a ogre for two seconds but, like, how has SHE managed to be a feminist icon? How can she be, if she has massive tits? I just don’t know if they think those things through properly. It’s dead offensive to the rest of us without-

Door banging open. Dad enters.

DAD: Dani, tell us this, if I leave this laptop sitting open, can everyone see into our living room?

DANI: Who is… everyone, dad?

DAD: Like the government, big brother, Bill Gates and his microchip?

DANI: (sarcastically) Aye da, if you leave your laptop sitting open on the coffee table, Bill Gates will have a live feed of us eating a cheesy pasta bake.

DAD: On that, your mum says you’ve been shovelling away the pasta since you’ve been back home. Now, I don’t know much about depression, but you don’t want to come out the other end of it like a balloon do you?

DANI: Ideally, naw… It’ll be end harder to find someone to marry then won’t it and sure wasn’t that all the fuss?... Well, it was definitely more than just-

DAD: I mean, yes, your three best friends are all married and settled but you have time Dani. And, you’ve at least 4 years left to have a baby before it’s considered a geriatric pregnancy. Dr. Gormley told me that.

DANI: Why was he telling you that?

DAD: Well, we wanted to ask him when was your sort of cut off, you know, before you’d dry up! Plenty of time! But not loads, to be fair.

DANI: Thanks for discussing my biological clock with Dr Gormley but did it ever occur to you that I might not want kids? Why do I constantly keep hearing that I’ve time yet to have kids? I don’t want to be changing pee ridden nappy’s and I don’t want to be stuck in a junk room on a rickety single bed talking crap down a mic to nobody. Nobodies listening. Nobody ever listens! What if I’m meant for something bigger?

DAD: Like a double bed? Jesus, I’ve just remembered I need to sort the TV Licence, or they’ll be at the front door reading me the riot act.

DANI: Nobody’s watching through the laptop!

DAD: Well, how come last week I was telling your Mum we need to cut the grass and the next thing you know there are all these fellas, all over my laptop trying to sell me hedge trimmers? Hmm? They’ve obviously been looking through the camera on it, out into the garden. Or how else would they know my hedges were a shambles? Maybe I should just buy the hedge trimmers and they’ll leave me alone. NO! That’s what they want! May as well send them my pin number whilst I’m at it.

DANI: Who?!

DAD: They’ll be trying to sell me an oven door next if they look into our kitchen and see our one has been cracked since Christmas.

Dad gasps. Covers mouth.

DAD: (muffled) Jesus, I’ve said too much now, Dani. They’ll be listening.

Door slams

DAD: (outside) I was never here, Dani!

Dani screams into a pillow. Then exhales.

DANI: 3… 2… 1. Even during interviews, actresses are facing misogyny and sexism. Like when Scarlett Johansson is being interviewed about her role as Black Widow in The Avengers movie, Robert Downey Junior, who plays Iron Man, gets asked some really artistic, existential questions and then Scarlett gets asked what sort of knickers she was wearing under her costume! I mean, as least ask her something about her career, like, what ws it like being allowed to be in a movie with a class actor like Robert Downey Jr? Common sense. I would hate to be asked about my knickers at work. Although I’d say

everyone’s afraid to even look at me now after losing it. Jesus. Delete. Nobody needs to-

SFX: DOORBELL DOWNSTAIRS. MUM RUNNING UPSTAIRS SHOUTING.

MUM: (outside) Dani! Dani, your granny’s here!

SFX: DOOR OPENING. MUM IS OUT OF BREATH.

MUM: She’s early and I haven’t even swopped the teapot over yet to the one she got us, it’s still in the shed. Would you hurry up with that silly wee radio show thing and come down? I can’t make conversation with her on my own.

DANI: Why don’t you pre-warn her about my mental haircut sure? That’ll keep you both entertained for a while.

MUM: YES! That’s what I’ll do. Thank god for your wee crisis Dan, giving us all something to talk about.

DANI: My pleasure. Be down now.

MUM: Right, well, turn it off now and come on.

SFX: DOOR CLOSES. DANI SCREAMS INTO A PILLOW, THEN EXHALES.

DANI: 3… 2… 1.

SFX: BUTTON FUMBLING. DANI TURNS OFF RECORDING. DEAD AIR.

RECORDING STARTING BACK UP AGAIN.

MICHAEL: This is DJ Michael on the decks on Belfast F.M. What’s up my G? CHICKEN BURGERSSSS! (Darth Vader impression) Luke, I am your father!

SFX: DOOR SWINGS OPEN. IT BANGS AGAINST THE WALL.

DANI: Michael, get away from that mic!

MICHAEL: I’m gonna upload it!

DANI: Naw, I’ve to edit out the crap from all yousins.

MICHAEL: Too late!

SFX: COMPUTER CLICKING SOUNDS

DANI: Don’t people will know I’ve-

SFX: DANI’S INTRO MUSIC

END.

Tout Va Bien by Christine Murphy

SFX: IN THE BACKGROUND THROUGHOUT, AS REGULAR AS A PULSE, AN ANTIQUE CLOCK TICKS, SOFT FURNISHINGS AND THICK CARPETS ABSORB THE SOUND. IT FEELS COSY. OPENS WITH THE SOUNDS OF ROBERT JORDAN (60S) DIALLING A SERIES OF NUMBERS ON HIS MOBILE AND MAKING A CALL TO HIS CLIENT. CLEARING HIS THROAT, HE ADOPTS HIS POSH, PROFESSIONAL MYSTIC VOICE; THE ONE HE USES FOR HIS READINGS AND MEDITATION PODCASTS.

ROBERT: Hello Mrs Carmichael. This is Robert Jordan. We had an appointment at seven o’clock and it’s now quarter past seven. If you are still coming this evening, can you please text me and let me know? Thank you.

There is a knock at the front door.

ROBERT: (cont’d) Now where did I leave that bloody mask? Ah! There it is.

Robert puts on the mask as he goes to the front door. He clears his throat to resume his professional mystic voice. He opens the front door to an abrupt lady in her 80s

ROBERT: (cont’d) Mrs Carmichael?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Yes.

ROBERT: Please come in. Can you manage the step okay?

MRS CARMICHAEL: I can.

SFX: WE HEAR THE SOUNDS OF HER ENTERING THE HALL AND THE FRONT DOOR BEING CLOSED BEHIND HER.

ROBERT: (cont’d) There’s some hand-sanitiser here. Let me give you a wee quirt of it. There you go.

SFX: WE HEAR GEL BEING SQUIRTED OUT OF A PUMP. THE WOMAN RUBS IT VIGOROUSLY INTO HER HANDS.

ROBERT: I’ve wiped down the surfaces with anti-bacterial spray and I’ve spare masks if you’d like one.

MRS CARMICHAEL: No, thank you.

ROBERT: If you don’t mind, I’ll remove mine once we are seated at either end of the table. Did you have trouble finding the address?

MRS CARMICHAEL: No. I have never been lost in my life. I have an excellent sense of direction.

ROBERT: Aren’t you blessed? It’s Baltic out there. Did you leave your coat in the car?

MRS CARMICHAEL: What car?

ROBERT: The one you came in.

MRS CARMICHAEL: I walked here.

ROBERT: In this weather? Without a coat? They don’t make them like you anymore, sure they don’t? … I’m sorry but have we met before?

MRS CARMICHAEL: I very much doubt it.

ROBERT: O…kay… We’re just through here.

He leads her into the front room

ROBERT: Have you had a reading with a medium before?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Why do you ask?

ROBERT: Well, some people expect that a medium is like a fortune teller. I can’t tell the future and I won’t be able to give you the winning lottery numbers/

MRS CARMICHAEL: I don’t do the lottery. The idiot tax, my daughter calls it.

ROBERT: Sounds like a sensible girl. But just to be clear, I contact the spirits of those who have passed on. I relay their messages. Sometimes the signal is weak and the messages get a bit jumbled, but I’ll do my best to tell you exactly what they say. Do you understand?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Of course I understand. I’m not doting.

Robert laughs nervously

ROBERT: I know you probably have a fantastic memory, but there are often so many messages from the spirit realm that my clients like to record the readings. So, please feel free to use your mobile.

MRS CARMICHAEL: I don’t have one.

SFX: WE HEAR THE SOUND OF A DOG BARKING LOUDLY COMING FROM NEXT DOOR

MRS CARMICHAEL: Do you have a dog?

ROBERT: No, it’s the neighbours. Let me just close the door.

Robert closes the door, and the noise of the barking is greatly reduced

ROBERT: There, that’s better, isn’t it?

MRS CARMICHAEL: I don’t know how you stick it. I’d call the council.

ROBERT: Please, have a seat and we’ll begin.

They sit. He starts to make noises as if he’s trying to decipher what’s being said to him.

ROBERT: Uh-huh. Yes. OK. Now, I’ve got a gentleman here with me. His name is John, Johnny… or maybe Jackie… It might be your husband.

MRS CARMICHAEL: My husband’s name is James.

ROBERT: It was a ‘J’ name, but the connection is a bit fuzzy.

MRS CARMICHAEL: That’s probably because he’s not dead.

ROBERT: Well, there’s a man on the spirit side who has a message for you. Definitely a ‘J’ name. He says that your daughter has been for tests recently…

MRS CARMICHAEL: No, she hasn’t…

ROBERT: I beg your pardon, he says she should go for tests. Something to do with the menopause… or diabetes

perhaps? It’s nothing serious, but she should have it checked out.

SFX: ROBERT’S MOBILE PHONE PINGS ROBERT: I am sorry. I forgot to switch it off. Let me just mute it.

Robert picks up his mobile and taps on it a few times. He drops the posh mystic voice.

ROBERT: I’ve a text here from Mrs Carmichael saying she can’t make it this evening. I’m sorry, love, but who are you?

MRS CARMICHAEL: I’m Sheila

ROBERT: Carmichael?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Sheila Dunwoody.

ROBERT: But you said you were Mrs Carmichael

MRS CARMICHAEL: No I didn’t.

ROBERT: You did… Hang on. Sheila Dunwoody? I knew I recognised you. You were my French teacher at school.

MRS CARMICHAEL: You’re too old to be one of my pupils.

ROBERT: Not now, but a long time ago. Almost 50 years ago.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Don’t talk nonsense. I’m not 50 yet myself. Who are you?

ROBERT: I’m Robert Johnson.

MRS CARMICHAEL: No you’re not. Robert is only 14 and he’s skinny.

Robert realises she has dementia

ROBERT: Ah, Mrs. Dunwoody, God love you… Yes, I was skinny once upon a time. Skinny and pimply. You used to say I would never pass my ‘O’ level French and you were right/ I was never good with foreign languages, but I’ve ended up working as a kind of translator. Passing on messages from the departed. But it’s all lies.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Robert is a liar too. Always an excuse for why his homework isn’t done.

ROBERT: Shall I tell you where the lies began, Mrs Dunwoody? In confessions. My mother used to send me every Sunday. I was eight years old and I’d no sins to confess. So, I made stuff up to tell the priest. Every week I’d have to find a new transgression. I started getting food at it. Inventing elaborate situations that led me to sin, which the priest could clearly see wasn’t my fault at all. Then one Saturday, I came out of the confession box and knelt down to say my penance. To my left I heard sobbing and I saw a young woman sitting at the other end of my pew. I

knew this woman was a widow because she was dressed in black. She was crying sore and I felt awful for her. That’s when I had an idea. I went over to the woman and told her that her husband spoke to me. He told me that he misses her too, but he was OK. She was shocked at first, but them she smiled and hugged me. She took a pound note out of her purse and pressed it into my hand. I was shocked too. I hadn’t expected her to give me money. I’ve been passing on messages ever since.

MRS CARMICHAEL: You’re a liar.

ROBERT: But I’ve never told a malicious lie. I try to comfort people. That’s what they mostly come here for; comfort and reassurance that their loved one is in a better place and waiting for them. All of them are a wee bit sceptical. On some level, they know it’s a lie, but they go along with it. I suppose their need for contact is greater than their need for the truth.

MRS CARMICHAEL: There is nothing more important than the truth.

ROBERT: But sometimes, Mrs Dunwoody, the little white lie is kinder. I’m sad to see you older and that your memory is playing hide and seek with you, but it’s such a relief to finally have an honest conversation with someone. I can tell you anything in absolute certainty that five minutes from now you will have forgotten everything, won’t you? Here’s a bit of truth that might shock you. It’s a sort of confession. When I was in your class, I had a ‘despert’ crush on you. You were a looker back in the 70’s, Mini

skirts and white knee boots. All the boys fancied you. Did you know that?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Away with you!

ROBERT: Honest to God. You were strict, but you were a knock-out. And we loved those French songs you used to make us sing. I remember the one about the old lady who was away and phoning her servants back home. They were telling her everything was OK, apart from her horse being dead, the house burning down and her husband killing himself. What was that called? Tout va bien or something?

She begins to sing, and he joins in on the final line

MRS CARMICHAEL: Un incident, une bêtise, La mort de votre jument grise, Mais à part ça, Madame la Marquise Tout va très bien, tout va très bien.

ROBERT: Oh my God! You remembered it perfectly. That’s amazing! Mrs Dunwoody’s singing has given her clarity. She is back in the moment and frightened.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Who are you?

ROBERT: It’s OK Mrs Dunwoody. I’m Robert.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Where am I?

ROBERT: You’re in my house. If you tell me where you live, I can take you home.

MRS CARMICHAEL: I live at number 42. The house with the yellow door.

ROBERT: You live next door?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Yes, with my daughter Barbara. How long have you lived here Robert?

ROBERT: Only a few weeks.

MRS CARMICHAEL: We moved here in the summer of 1976, during the heatwave. The wee ones were never out of the paddling pool in the garden – all covered in calamine lotion. It was so hot the dog refused to go out – the flagstones burned his paws. And the ice cream van could still be heard doing the rounds after dark. It played the theme from The Godfather. I always thought that was a wee bit sinister.

ROBERT: Hang on! So, the dog next door is yours?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Do you know… there is a wee dog in my house.

Robert gets a piece of paper from a drawer

ROBERT: This notice came through my letter box earlier about a missing dog.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Oh, there’s a reward for him.

ROBERT: Is there? I hadn’t noticed. (liar!) Mrs. Dunwoody, does the dog in your house look anything like this?

MRS CARMICHAEL: No. Nothing like it!

ROBERT: Are you sure?

MRS CARMICHAEL: Positive. The one in my house is white and fluffy. Do I know you?

ROBERT: Oh dear, that didn’t last long, did it, Mrs. Dunwoody?

Mrs Dunwoody starts to cry, she’s confused.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Who are you? Where’s Barbara? What am I doing here?

Robert adopts his professional voice

ROBERT: Mrs Dunwoody, I have a message from your husband

That catches her attention

ROBERT: You always call him James but everyone else called him Jimmy.

MRS CARMICHAEL: That’s right

ROBERT: James says he misses you, but he is watching over you and waiting for you to join him.

MRS CARMICHAEL: He is? Really?

ROBERT: Yes, Mrs. Dunwoody. He says that everything is OK. Tout va bien.

MRS CARMICHAEL: Tout va trés bien.

ROBERT: Come on Mrs Dunwoody. Let’s get you home. Barbara will be wondering where you’ve got to.

END.

Ginger Beer and Low Self Esteem By Ciara Elizabeth Smyth

SFX: SLOW CREAK OF A DOOR

CAOIMHE: Last Spring I found myself lying face down on my kitchen floor, sobbing. Loudly. I was sinking so quickly and deeply into the heart shattering reality of singledom, that I barely noticed my housemate step over me to boil the kettle.

SFX: CLICK OF A KETTLE

I didn’t resist when she gently picked me up and dragged me toward the table. Nor did I fight her when she tenderly pushed a chocolate digestive into my mouth and moved my jaw to chew. So when the time came for her to softly offer some advice, I took it – and downloaded Bumble. I chose the men only setting, my hear had recently been demolished at the hands of a woman, a coal haired raven, and to be reminded of even her sex was unbearable. My flatmate sat with me to select my pictures. “Four or five max, don’t give the game away” she instructed. I nodded, mesmerized. How did she know that rule? Was there somewhere I could read these rules? At that moment I resolved to do whatever she said. We chose four pictures. One of me laughing, one where my boobs look huge, one of me with the dog and a full body shot from when I was thinner than I am now. “For the bio” she said, ushering us along, “Just write something funny. Don’t talk about your interests and for God’s sake don’t call yourself a feminist.” “But I am a feminist” I replied without thinking.

“We all are, love.” She said firmly, “But it’s just not something you say to men on the internet. It angers them.” We both agreed a quote would be safest. We had no doubt Monty Python would get the most attention, but I couldn’t rapidly regurgitate enough full sketches, so I went for a quote from The Office instead – UK not US. Reel them in, nice and easy. At this stage lockdown was my friend. I needed to date in order to shake the creeping existential dread that I would be alone forever, but heartbreak had rendered me functionally useless. Shaving or showering seemed mammoth tasks and putting shoes on felt impossible. So to date on a medium where the other person could not smell me, felt right.

SFX: ANSWERING A SKYPE CALL

My first video date was with a man who’s profile said he was 32 and a firefighter but his face and bedroom indicated that he was, in fact, a teenager. During out chat his mum asked him to empty the dishwasher and he had to go. My second video date was with an engineer from the Ivory Coast. He was living in North Belfast and after pleasantries, he casually asked to see my nipple. “Just the one” he assured, “I am a gentleman.” I laughed it off as a joke because he was gorgeous, and I was desperate, but he persisted. I considered it but in the end I was unable to muster the courage to get just one breast out and I closed the laptop. I then matched and video chatted with a red-haired comedian whose house was covered in framed pictures of Jerry Seinfeld. He was sweet. We talked for hours and, foolishly, I felt like he was falling for me. I couldn’t fall for him, or anyone yet, there was still broken glass in my chest, but I was intoxicated by his desire for me. It made me want to wash my hair. (I had been hiding it in a selection of scarves for several weeks). “You’re funny.” He said, “Let’s do this again”

He liked me; I was excited. In the morning he sent me a message that said, “Hello gorgeous” and for a moment I was fixed. No more heartbreak. However he followed that message with several links to videos of his sketched which at best could be called lazy and at worst could be called racist, sexist, classist and long. I didn’t respond and an hour later I received a message announcing, “You wouldn’t know comedy if it smacked you in the face you stupid whore”. I saw inside more people’s homes than I would do in a ten-year stretch. I met a thumb-sucking accountant, a thought-addled tree surgeon and a programmer who mounted his gun collection in the living room of his flat share. I chatted to a stressed student, a bored vet and a man who called me beautiful 18 times but when I didn’t write back asked me why I was such a bitch. Before long Summer was here and I felt like washing my hair again.

SFX: SOUND OF BIRDSONG

When the lockdown lifted, I was ready to meet dates in person. I no longer stank like a wet dog. I washed all the Doritos out of my hair, and I could put on shoes again. It was a revelation. Delirious with my new lease of life, I jumped at the first person who asked me out. Which is how I met Keith. It was Thursday in June, and it was my birthday. The sky was so blue it looked computer generated. Outside everyone was smiling and I’m fairly sure a cat winked at me. I had asked Keith to meet me for a coffee, but he was quite insistent that we had a drink on my birthday. I booked us a table in a bar where the barmaids are more like mermaids with nose rings. I was worried my head would be turned but then Keith walked in. He was a Viking. The whole bar turned to look at him. Thinking back without the muscles and the tan and the beard and the full lips and chocolate brown eyes he probably wasn’t that good-looking but at the time I was salivating. Suddenly, I was aware of my entire body. I was wearing my usual first date ensemble, a red wrap dress. Which was comfortable when my dates were via webcam but not in person I felt like my

mum’s friend, Evelyn, from the tennis club. My focus shot to my lumpy midriff, a stomach that comes in handfuls and always had. My brain began building a blueprint of my thick calves. One of my hands rose to hide my double chin while the other tugged sharply at my chest – how can I hide everything at the same time? During his ten second walk to our table I was sure he’d stop, shake his head and sigh “Not for me love, thanks all the same.” So when he sat down and kissed my cheek, I was beside myself. “Sorry, you are Caoimhe, aren’t you?” “A-ah. I am.” I stammered. When Keith told me I looked lovely, I snorted with laughter, euphoric. Fuelling that euphoria, of course, was my low self-esteem combined with a deep- seated fear that conventionally attractive people are simply better than me, but a bar is no place for psychological self-analysis, and he did buy me prosecco. We gabbled, hungrily. I had expected to be stiff, rigid, rusty after months of social isolation. But I was delightful. We clicked. I mean I actually heard clicking. He was opening his own gym and formulating a line of kale smoothies. Revolting, I thought, but noble. He didn’t participate in a lot of my talking points (politics, art, the environment) but he did listen intently. What a fantastic listening he was. He kept holding my hand, he couldn’t stop touching me, gazing at me. His concentration was unnerving, but I had no doubts. This Viking was mad about me. Later that night we went for a walk in the park. The summer sky was dark but glowing still. I knew I couldn’t be high on ginger beer and moonlight, but I was. Out hands clasped, I led Keith off the path, and we did it behind a shrubbery. Global pandemic be damned. It felt right. Our relationship was perfect. And it lasted exactly five days.

SFX: DING OF TEXTS

After our date we were texting non-stop, minimum 14 hours a day. We sent each other pictures of everything. We exchanged songs and discussed lyrics (“What does Frank Ocean mean though?”). We watched films in the evening, texting throughout. Keith even made a joke about us moving in together. The sixth morning was the beginning of a sharp decline in communication. By the eighth day my brain was swirling, pouring over previous sentence structure. On day ten when my panic subsided and rational thought washed over me briefly (the eye of the storm), I chose to address his disappearance. He responded, his first in days. “Yeah the thing is, you’re really nice and all, but I’m just not looking for anything serious at the moment.” “Neither am I!” I lied in my hurried reply. But that was it. That’s all I got. Unceremonious and instantaneous. I never heard from him again. If that had been an anomaly, our encounter would be anecdotal by now but unfortunately Keith was domino zero. Our relationship was the start of a distressing pattern. I fell into an uneasy rhythm of matching, clicking and being temporarily adored by men from the internet. In person they’d wax lyrical, and a subsequent slew of messages would include such hits as “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head” and “I Think I’m Falling For You”. But five to seven days later the “Not Looking For Anything Serious” text came with staggering predictability. Rising numbers had dulled my want for physical contact so it wasn’t like they were getting what they wanted and discarding me. And with each rejection, my bar lowered. Until soon I was seeing men that I actively disliked. Like the man who opened our date in the park with a confident “Hey baby” and then asked why I was “so much rounder than my pictures”. When I tried to laugh it off, he raised his eyebrows as if he was expecting an answer. Dumbfounded, I searched the path for an empathetic visage but was defiantly avoided by power walkers and giggling children. When I did lock eyes with someone it was a lone Labrador – and he looked so disappointed in me. “Have

some self-respect” I felt he was saying telepathically. I was on the cusp of sinking to my knees and apologising to the dog but instead I shuffled off with my offender. Before our date ended my suitor stated, with genuine pity, that it was biologically impossible for a woman to be as funny as a man. It took him four days to reject me. By Christmas I had returned to my kitchen floor, not only to sob but also to cool my forehead which was radiating with embarrassment.

SFX: SLOW CREAK OF A DOOR

The kitchen door opened. I lifted my head just enough to see my lovely housemate’s face sandwiched in the slit. “Everything OK?” I croaked. “Yeah, fine”, she whispered. “Are you OK?” She’s on to me. I cleared my throat and did my best impression of happy. “I’m brilliant, yeah. What’s up?” “Nothing. It’s just, you’re on the floor. Sobbing. Again.” It is a difficult position to feign contentment from so I relented. “I’ve just gotten to a stage where even people I don’t like are rejecting me and I feel, very strongly, that maybe no one will ever love me again.” “I love you.” She said, smiling. “Thanks pal” I exhaled “The problem is kid” she started, “You’re really quite spectacular. And you need someone who themselves is quite spectacular. And there’s just not a lot of them around.” I thought back to my dates. I hadn’t told them a thing about me. Thinking I was punching above my weight, I did everything to make them feel comfortable. I never mentioned my job or my house or my masters. I made jokes where I could and laughed at theirs. I was generally just grateful for their company. They didn’t like me, they couldn’t, they didn’t know me. And even though I had told each of them I didn’t want a relationship, I did.

“And dory but why are you going out with people you don’t like?” she said plainly. I sat up. “Insecurity?” I offered. “Good to recognise that” she said. “Try not to do it again?” With that we got up for the floor, dragged ourselves to the table and I chewed on a chocolate digestive all by myself.

END

Duet for One

by Chris Robinson

Sound of shower. Mark is in there singing- this is a song that is stuck in his head all day- he doesn’t know what it is/ lyrics. The Mic is the listener and we are in the Bathroom, but Mark doesn’t know.

Shower turns off. Shower curtain pulls back.

MARK: AHHH!!! What the..? Are you trying to kill me? Jesus, my heart’s going a dinger….. I didn’t even hear you come in…... Why are you watching me shower anyway?.....I have to get ready. Go On..GET OUT

The sounds change slightly as we move into the other room. He is more distant but we can still hear Mark shouting through to us from the bathroom.

Sorry I snapped at you, you freaked me out is all. I don’t really enjoy the whole silent stalker thing.

Mark comes into the room. He is drying off.

I’ve had that before. Helen, she would just turn up places ‘by coincidence’, now that’s fine if it’s the co-op or the off-license, it happens, but I once went to have them wee fish eat the skin off my feet and there she was. Coincidence my hole. Total straight girl stalker. She was one of those that see a gay man as

a must have accessory. The witty punctuation to their dull life, the roughly drawn support act, only there for the sassy one liners.

They actually feel short changed if you’re gay and not upbeat…so I give them what they want. Talk so much that they don’t have room to ask me anything, not that they would.

Mark sits on the bed to get dressed.

Don’t look at me like that , I have to go. You know I’d rather just stay here with you but duty calls. Nobody would have stood on their doorstep clapping if I’d stayed in bed all day..well unless I’d left the curtains open. That was a joke….tough crowd.

Mark stands up, finishes getting dressed.

What’s wrong with you? Is this cos I have to go in? I told you I had to work. I’m covering for Liz. She has a court thing. Parking fines, I think, or was that last month? Anyway she’s said she’ll only be a couple of hours so I’ll be back before you know it.

Mark does hair, sprays deodorant

I’ll do us something nice for tea, will I? I’ve all that meat in the freezer that my Mum gave me. She’s a cheek like. She spends the whole visit telling me how much weight I’ve put on and how, at my age, I need to watch out for heart attacks and then she sends me away with a backpack full of red meat. Clearly it doesn’t kill you if it’s a multibuy from the meat man. That’s Irish Ma logic for you.

Right that’s me.

Mark comes over to the bed, kneels down and speaks closely into our ear.

You’ll probably still be lying there when I get back. ( Kiss on head) Be good.

He moves away from the bed, speaks from the doorway

Oh, and stay away from the windows..I don’t want her across the road to see you. She’ll recognise you straight away. She’s never away from them venetians.

Sounds of Mark going downstairs singing to himself, grabbing keys in the hall and opening the door.

DOOR CLOSES

SFX: Scene connector piece of music to suggest change of location and passing of time. Maybe the tune that Mark’s humming or singing turning into atmosphere sound of nursing home.

We are now in the Care home where Mark works. We are in a staff area. He is talking to another work colleague about a patient while making tea. The mic is the work colleague.

That kettle’s just boiled, I’ll make you one.

Making tea through next dialogue.

First chance I’ve had for all day. It’s been mental.

Goes to cupboard for cup

Well at least it feels like we’re getting back to a bit of normality in this place.

Sets cup down

Some of them have really suffered without their usual routine. Heartbreaking for them not being able to see their family properly.

(pours kettle over teabag)

I really noticed it with Jean. Her memory has been getting worse. It’s like she’s been retreating into herself because she can’t cope with it all.

(pours milk and stirs)

The other day she was talking to me about her parents as if they were about to walk into the room at any minute.

Now that milk looks off but I had it in mine and it’s grand.

Sets tea down in front of her.

She was really disoriented, it’s been happening more and more. I’m hoping that getting her back into the lounge with everyone today will help but who knows, this whole thing has been really hard on her. She just didn’t understand why her family stopped coming. It’s as though she thought they’d abandoned her. They tried FaceTiming on the iPad a few times but she didn’t even recognise them. She barely spoke. You could tell her son was a bit shocked how quickly she’s gone downhill. I think he felt guilty seeing her, but like there’s nothing they could have done.They’re here tomorrow I think. Must be devastating like..especially with Jean. She’s normally the life and soul.

God I didn’t even offer you a biscuit. The good ones are in a tin in that bottom cupboard.

Right that’s me, I may get back.

Rinses cup

Did you say earlier that the wee music therapy girl is back from next week? Great, hopefully that’ll do the trick, bring her round a bit. Jean loves her sessions.

DOOR CLOSES

A resident’s room. The audience hears everything from the resident’s perspective. TV is on low in the background/ studio audience noises, laughter/clapping etc.

Door opens. Mark enters.

Knock, knock. How’s my favourite today then?

I know I shouldn’t say that but sure they can sue me.

Moves over to bed

You watching that Davy? Things can’t be that bad surely. Eugh, I cannot stick that show. Your woman there, the dark haired one, does my head in... Do you mind?

Turns TV off

That’s better. If you really want to watch a bunch of oul women fighting, I can wheel you down to the common room. Annie has taken that corner chair again and it’s gonna kick off big time. Who do you fancy? Not like that you! Sake you're wild…..I’d say Annie could hold her own but wee Margaret looks scrappy, so my money is on her...knockout- third round. Want in on the action?

Hold on a second..don’t tell me...was that a smile? Aye you can try to hide it all you like but I saw ye. You’re busted.

Ahh you know I’m only messing but you do seem brighter today. Did you sleep alright?

You must be looking forward to your daughter coming later? It’ll be nice to see her on this side of the glass I’m sure. Is she bringing the whole clan with her?

Well then, with the VIPs arriving we better get you up and looking sharp for them. Let’s get you dressed will we?

Mark pulls back the sheet and starts to change them.

We’ll have you sorted in no time.

Mark starts humming as he continues to do the dressing (it’s the same song he was singing/ humming to as he left his house)

What is that song? It’s been stuck in my head all day.

He hums a bit more

Is it……? No. God I hate that, when you get something stuck in your head. It’ll probably come to me on the way home.

He hums it again

Nope, it’s gone. Not a clue.

He has finished the change

Let’s have a look at you, perfect. I’ll just run a comb through your hair and sure that’s you red carpet ready.

Goes and picks up comb and runs it over the patients hair

You look good enough to meet the president, the new one, not that last catastrophe...sure the only way to meet him would be with a baseball bat down a dark alley.

Stop that you….another smile?...you’re spoiling me. I’m the quare comedian today. You’ll have me going out of here with a big head.

Now are you happy enough there or would sir prefer his usual seat by the window?

Window? Good choice. Means I can get this bed changed easier for you too.

Mark is in close to side of binaural head preparing to lift and manoeuvre patient into chair

Right, usual routine. Up you get. Legs over and 3,2,1, up. That's it. Comfortable? We have that wee move down perfectly. If the comedy career doesn’t pan out, you and me can take up the gymnastics.

Not even a smirk for that one? Fair enough.

Mark moves away, toward the window

There you are now, the finest view of... a car park in all the land. Sure, at least you get to see all the comings and goings.

Speaking of which there’s Liz, just the two hours late. She’s been shopping. Look at all the bags on her backseat...oh hell no

What’s she doing now? Is she lighting up a…

Mark knocks the window. Liz sees him and starts to run inside.

Aye you may run, this is supposed to be my day off. Cheeky hoor.

Turning back into room

I don’t mind helping people out but I hate it when they take liberties with it, know what I mean?

Goes over to bed and starts to make it

I’ll just make this bed up and then I’ll be out of your way Davy.

Right, that’s me, I’m back in tomorrow so have a lovely time with your daughter and if you need anything just buzz Liz...in fact, even if you don’t, buzz her anyway for the craic. Keep her on her toes.

Do you want that TV back on before I go?

Sound of TV going back on, same programme/ studio audience clapping etc.

Jesus

DOOR CLOSES

SFX: Scene connector piece of music to suggest change of location and passing of time. Maybe it's traffic noise or bus sounds...ticking clock etc. Mixed with whatever the tune is that’s stuck in Mark’s head.

Back at Mark’s House. EVENING

Sound at the beginning is muffled/ distant as though the mic is in another room.

Keys in the Front Door, it opens.

Sorry I’m late.I know, I know...I said I’d only be a couple of hours but it wasn’t my fault.

Where are you?

Hello?

Mark moves into the living room

Noooooooo

Jesus what have you done?

You’ve trashed the place

And you’ve been at the window

Mark comes up stairs and into the bedroom, his voice gets clearer and closer

Where are you?

Finds him in the bedroom, more directed to mic

Bad Dog, what did you do? Bad Dog.

And you needn’t bother with the sad eyes.

You’ve destroyed the place. Typical. Jesus I can pick em.

You were supposed to be company without the complications.

You can’t stay here. They’ll know.

There are posters everywhere with your face on them and your nose has smudged all over that front window.

I told you to stay away from the window.

Miss Marple across the way has definitely seen you. I knew something was off as I came up the road. She was trying to hide but I saw the street light bouncing off her glasses.

I’m screwed.

No, No they can’t find you here. They’ll think I kidnapped you.

I did. I kidnapped a dog.

Who am I?

Oh Jesus, I can’t go to prison, I just can’t.

My sex life would probably pick up but my head won’t take it.

I’m not strong enough. I pretend I am but I’m not. I’m really not.

I’m not……….I’m not right.

That admission is too much for him.

Right come on you. You have to go.

Mark and the dog head downstairs. They go to the back door.

Out the back, no-one will see you.

I’m better on my own.

If I’m on my own then no-one can hurt me.

Go on, Go home. GO.

DOOR CLOSES

END.

SOUR BREATH // adolescent gutter by Meghan Tyler

Characters Sophie 18 years old, Belfast Deborah Early 20s, Newry Danielle Early 20s, French Scott Late teens / early 20s, Irish

A student house, The Holylands, Belfast, 2021 Dialogue should go at a lick.

SFX: THE SOUND OF A JANGLED KEYBOARD: SCOTT HUMS A TUNE OVER IT. IT DOES NOT SOUND GOOD… QUITE DEMENTED IN FACT.

SOPHIE: Scooooooottttt…

SCOTT:

SOPHIE: SCOTT!

SCOTT: What, Sophie, what!? I’m clearly submerged in my creative process here. What ray of sunshine, “we are all made of stardust, ooh it’s not raining today, maybe the mould upstairs will turn sentient and fix itself” waffle is about to come out of your mouth now? What?

SOPHIE: Just… the cooker’s working again… so I made some banana bread, if you’d like some?

SCOTT: No… or YES. Jesus.

SFX: THE SOUND OF BANANA BREAD BEING CUT UP AND DELIVERED TO THE KEYBOARD.

SOPHIE: Maybe your creative process would be better served upstairs?

SCOTT: The mould damages my vocal folds. And they’re highly delicate, Sophie. Look at them.

SOUND OF SCOTT OPENING HIS MOUTH.

SOPHIE:

SCOTT: What’s wrong with your face?

SOPHIE: Your… teeth are very… sweet.

SFX: THE DOORBELL GOES.

SOPHIE: Who could that be?

THE SOUND OF DEBORAH RUNNING DOWN THE STAIRS.

SCOTT: Deborah’s daily McDonald’s delivery probably.

DEBORAH: Oh yes! Here we go! Here we goooooo-

THE SOUND OF DEBORAH TRIPPING DOWN THE STAIRS.

SOPHIE: Deborah! Are you okay- do you need a hand?

DEBORAH: Get away, ye lick. I’m grand – you don’t feel things when you’ve had the foresight to be drunk since September. Thaaaat’s science.

SOPHIE: You look lovely.

SCOTT: Dressing up for your McNuggets, aye?

DEBORAH: Wind yer greasy neck in, Scott. Hoh, okay.

DEBORAH opens the door.

DANIELLE: Bonjour.

DEBORAH: Hi. Wow. Hi.

DANIELLE: Tu es magnifique.

DEBORAH: Ohhhh, yep. All the feelings… thought they’d died. Wow.

The sound of a kiss – it becomes more impassioned... It’s been a while.

SCOTT: Boke.

DEBORAH: (to Danielle) Just give me a minute, okay?

DANIELLE: Of course.

DEBORAH: (In a hushed whisper) Right. You two. Upstairs.

SCOTT: Not a chance, Deborah, not a chance – have you seen the mould up there?

DEBORAH: Jesus. When was the last time you brushed your teeth?

SCOTT: Says you, Cactus Jack.

DEBORAH: C’mon – there’s a leak in my room needs fixin’ and I’ve not had the ride since… well… you were there.

SCOTT: Suddenly I am incredibly comfortable right where I am.

DEBORAH: Such a prick. Sophie. Soppphiiieee.

SCOTT: All the colour’s drained from her bake. Maybe she’s sick with the plague. Maybe your wee friend will have to go home.

SOPHIE: YES I THINK THAT IS A GOOD IDEA.

DEBORAH: Wise up, have you eyes? Have you seen her? You don’t tell that to go home. You feed that the finest wine or fat purple figs, you don’t tell that to go home.

DANIELLE: I can hear you.

SOPHIE: Perhaps, potentially, you guys could go for a walk? A nice, socially distanced walk? Maybe- maybe- touch your fun parts in front of each other in the park, a nice two metres between yiz?

SCOTT: I’ll never feel horny again.

DEBORAH: The world would be a better place.

SFX: A BEAT. SCOTT PLAYS THE KEYBOARD AGAIN, ANGRILY.

SCOTT: (singing) DEBORAAAH HAS CHLAMYDIAAAAA-

DEBORAH: SCOTT-

SOPHIE: (singing along – it’s an act of bravery) SUPER STRAIN CHLAMYDIAAAA-

DEBORAH: Sophie!

SOPHIE: Sorry, Deborah. It’s for the greater good.

DANIELLE laughs.

DANIELLE: Deborah – these are your housemates?

DEBORAH: Sorry – yes, unfortunately, yes. Danielle this is Sophie. Now about the chlamydia thing-

SOPHIE: Would you care for some hand sanitizer, Danielle? Or a mask? I have spares – I make them y’see and-

DEBORAH: Okay so I did catch chlamydia but I got it treated- it’s fixed and-

SCOTT gives a hearty “HA!”

DANIELLE: And who is this?

DEBORAH: Adolf. This is Adolf.

DANIELLE: Ooft, quite the difficult name to have.

DEBORAH: He’s a failing artist too.

DANIELLE: Dangerous.

SCOTT: I loathe the gays as well, good luck to you both.

DANIELLE: Funny! Well, peace offering? I have plenty of wine-

DEBORAH: Goddess.

DANIELLE: We could get to know each other a little better? Play a game?

A beat. The housemates all speak at the same time:

DEBORAH: Babe, you really do not have to do that-

SCOTT: I would rather stick pins in my eyeballs-

SOPHIE: Maybe you could sit outside and I’ll give you some banana bread-

DANIELLE stops them.

DANIELLE: What, you have better plans?

A beat. They shut up.

DEBORAH: Okay, so we’re doing this.

SFX: THE SOUND OF GLASSES BEING RETRIEVED / WINE BEING POURED THROUGHOUT THIS NEXT SECTION.

DANIELLE: The game is this: Action ou Vérité… Truth or Dare.

SOPHIE: Oh, goodness, no…

SCOTT: Such a chicken

DANIELLE: Truth or Dare, Sophie.

SOPHIE: Em… truth, I guess?

SCOTT: Shocking.

DANIELLE: What is the most dangerous thing that you have ever done?

SOPHIE: Oh… oh no, no em-

SCOTT: The quicker you answer, the quicker this ends. Don’t keep me from the composing of my song!

SOPHIE: Em… okay… please don’t think less of me but… I bought some mushrooms.

DEBORAH: Classic Sophie – the most dangerous thing she’s done, is a Tesco shop.

SOPHIE: No, like… mushrooms mushrooms. The funny kind. When we started uni, I thought maybe they would be good to have, to make some- to take with some friends.

DEBORAH: Well, smack my arse and call me Sophie, you’re being serious?

SCOTT: Oh, whatever, she bought some mushrooms, big fecking whoop. Next.

DANIELLE: Truth or dare, Adolf?

SCOTT: Ugh. Dare, obviously.

DANIELLE: I dare you… to take the mushrooms.

A MOMENT. THAT SHUT HIM UP.

SCOTT: (the fear in his voice) Yeah, fine, whatever. But- but- but I double dare youse to take them with me.

DANIELLE: Oui, c’est bon.

DEBORAH: Bangin’.

SOPHIE: Em, well, see-

DANIELLE: Oho, little Sophie! You bought them, no? Take a risk!

SCOTT: It’s a double dare, Sophie.

DANIELLE: Join us, mon ami!

SOPHIE: Mon ami… okay. I guess I can grab them from the freezer.

SCOTT: Of course the freezer would be one thing in here that isn’t broken.

DEBORAH: YAAAAS! UPPA FREEZER! HERE WE GO, LADS!

Time passes. SCOTT’s previous tune merges into a lighter, happier, psychedelic tune. It should sound very groovy.

SOPHIE: I definitely overthink how much I overthink. Or do I? I find myself asking myself in my head, “is this overthinking, or are you overthinking overthinking, or are you overthinking the adequate amount? The normal overthinking amount?” I fear I’ve overthought overthinking. It’s that, or my toes. I do not like my toes.

DANIELLE: Merci beaucoup, Sophie. Next! Scott!

SCOTT: Truth me.

DEBORAH: Och, scared to lose another eyebrow?

SCOTT giggles.

SCOTT: Oh, I am so daring you to shave your head.

DEBORAH: It would fit in well with my whole 2007 Britney-being-pushed- over-the-edge meltdown vibe to be honest.

SCOTT: Free Britney.

DEBORAH: FREE US ALL!

SOPHIE: Okay! Truth! Scott, do you ever brush your teeth?

DEBORAH: YEEEOUUUCHHHH. Brutal.

SOPHIE: Sorry. Goodness I can’t really seem to stop my mouth right now.

SCOTT: No no, I- What’s the point, really? Locked up here since September, not seeing anyone, I’ve not really… cared about myself, I guess. Little voice tells me not to bother. Plus when it comes to money-

DEBORAH: Boke!

SCOTT: Boke indeed. It’s saving pennies for this hellhole, or buy toothpaste.

SOPHIE: You can always use some of mine.

SCOTT: You don’t have to pretend to care about me, Sophie.

SOPHIE: I do care about you… you’re another human…

DANIELLE: À votre santé, Sophie. Truth or dare, Deborah?

DEBORAH: Truth, ya goddess.

SOPHIE: Why do you drink every day?

DEBORAH: Sophie hitting us with nuclear truth bombs here.

SOPHIE: Sorry…

DEBORAH: You’re grand. Shrooms head and all. Eh… initially it was just something to do, eh? Bit of fun for yet another Wednesday trapped in this broken place. Then… yeah, I don’t know. Made it easier to sleep at night. Just pass out without that voice in my head – ooft, she loves to reminisce about all of my mistakes, even the ones that haven’t happened yet, all the failures all the Chicken McNuggets. Jesus, Danielle, this must be a vaginal boner killer for ya like.

DANIELLE: Your honesty is refreshingly sexy, actually.

SOPHIE: THEN I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY. I AM INCREDIBLY LONELY. AND I REALLY WANTED TO MAKE FRIENDS THIS YEAR. And I try to be optimistic, I work my little butt off to be optimistic, but I’m sad. And tired. And I’m tired of being sad, and sad about being tired. My brain feels like it’s in overdrive overdrive overdrive all the time, and I need to be told it’ll be okay because my head keeps telling me it won’t be. I NEED TO BE TOLD IT WILL BE OKAY.

DEBORAH: Me too, Sophz. Not the optimistic thing, like I’m a walking, saturated dark hole, but-

SCOTT: The final straw for me was that dog.

DANIELLE: What dog?

SCOTT: That missing dog. George. His wee face on the poster. I mind seeing that and thinking, “what’s the point anymore? Look at George’s wee

face. Of course – OF COURSE a human being would take him because human beings are just awful. We’re the worst.” Poor George.

SOPHIE starts giggling, it becomes an uncontrollable cackle.

DEBORAH: This is a sight to behold.

SOPHIE: (hardly able to speak) Have- you- not- brushed- your- teeth- because of- a missing- DOG?

DEBORAH joins in with the manic cackle.

SCOTT: No, I’d stopped way before then but… but… he’s…

SCOTT can’t move for shuddering.

SCOTT: (a high-pitched voice) He’s who my song’s about.

The trio fall about the floor laughing.

DEBORAH: You wrote-

SOPHIE: YOU- YOU-

SCOTT: (breathless) I wrote a song… about a missing dog!

They laugh, forever. That settling noise from all, with the hangovers of giggle.

SCOTT: This is the most fun I’ve had in years.

SOPHIE: This is the most fun I’ve had, ever.

DEBORAH: Except for the nuclear truth bombs.

SOPHIE: Yeah, we’re all unhinged… that is so sad. We are so screwed.

DANIELLE: Hmmm.

DEBORAH: Danielle, beautiful? You go, it’s your turn.

DANIELLE: Truth.

SOPHIE: Chickennnn.

DANIELLE: Ha!

DEBORAH: Ever written a song about a missing dog, babe?

SCOTT: (with a smile) Such a prick.

SOPHIE: Danielle… have you ever… have you ever felt like… really broken?

SCOTT: The French supermodel with a lust for life? I highly doubt it.

DANIELLE: Oui. I tried to kill myself once.

A sobering moment.

SOPHIE: (a small voice) That’s crossed my mind.

SCOTT: Mine too.

DEBORAH: Mine tells me not to look when I cross the road.

DANIELLE: Mine did the same. Mine told me to stop taking care of myself; “you are the worst, you do not deserve care! Oh do you feel sad when others have it worse? How selfish of you, Danielle.” On a loop. In my head. Constantly exhausted but could not sleep; I kept addictive things at my fingertips to find a numb silence; my breath grew heavy and sour. Coffee – extra hot, s’il vous plâit – to scald my mouth – the endorphin hit - my mind told me I deserved the pain. But here’s the thing – something in my mind was broken. It needed fixed. That voice, it was not my voice, it was the voice of the illness, and the illness wanted to win. It wanted to exhaust me so I would lash out at others until the guilt of the words from my mouth would drive me into isolation, then into the arms of death. Now, this house, it is full of mould, oui? So, do we let the mould infest everything until the house crumbles in? Deborah, your room is leaking. Do we take a chainsaw to the leak? Flood ourselves? Wash the house down the street?

SOPHIE: Well, no we need to fix it.

DEBORAH: That’s a house though. A rent-controlled house.

DANIELLE: And chlamydia?

SCOTT: Yeah, Deborah.

DANIELLE: Did you keep the chlamydia?

DEBORAH: Well… no.

DANIELLE: Pour quoi?

DEBORAH: Well… sex.

DANIELLE: So you will take care of your vagin, your body but not your brain? Is your brain not a part of your body?

A beat.

SOPHIE: But how do we… how do we fix “the house”?

SCOTT: There’s a very long waiting list to fix the house.

DANIELLE: But if you can be kind, even when you feel the darkness take over, you will find the house is in a playful city, with wisdom to be sung. If you can make kind tiny changes to earth, you can help fix many houses. It takes a collective kindness.

SCOTT: Like banana bread.

A beat.

SCOTT: I dare us all to be more like Sophie.

SOPHIE: I dare us all to brush our teeth with my toothpaste.

DEBORAH: I dare us all to get on that house-fixing waiting list, and listen to Scott’s song about the dog.

SOPHIE: What about you, Danielle? Do you have a dare?

DANIELLE: Oui, and it is quite simple. I dare us- non- I double dare us all. To live.

END.