 
### Tripwires: A Collection of Original Radio Plays

Copyright 2019

Gary Kittle

Published by Gary Kittle (2019)

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to the vendor or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Tripwires: A Collection of Original Radio Plays.

Copyright Gary Kittle, 2019.

This eBook is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual

places or events, the names, characters, incidents and locations within are

from the author's imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

*

Dedication:

To my cousin, Anthony Rose.

*

Cover design and illustration by

'germancreative'

## Contents

Introduction

BLACK ICE

HARD SHOULDER

THE SKIN TEST

MUSSELMEN

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## INTRODUCTION

It's been a long time since radio was the 'next big thing', the technological marvel that took pride of place in the world's living rooms and needed two people to lift. And no, before you ask, I'm not old enough to remember those times personally! Since then, of course, we've had a succession of wired (and wireless) new kids on the block: television, cinema, the internet, etc. But radio hasn't died out, any more than vinyl records have. My first love on the airways was music, of course. As a teenager I had 'an old tranny' that I used sneak up to bed with me so I could listen to Radio Luxemburg into the small hours. As I got older, however, I started listening to radio plays on the BBC. The quality was consistently high, and I remember trawling through the Radio Times circling every radio drama I could find, short or long, with a red pen. By this time I was writing short fiction, unspectacularly at first, but improving with every story. Much later in life I returned to writing and experimented in different areas from my usual short story repertoire. The results of those endeavours can be found in **DUMB ANGEL** (screenplays), **TRAPDOORS** (stage plays) and now, in **TRIPWIRES,** with four of my radio plays.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to get any of these broadcast, though I've come frustratingly close on numerous occasions. If I had to choose my personal favourite it would probably be 'Skin Test', which I adapted from its original stage version, following a frustrating 'near miss' with a local theatre. The main reason for this choice was because my father, who never reads any fiction, picked it up one day and read it from cover to cover, unable to put it down.

The plays all read well, and you'll find a mixture of humour and tension, politics and passion throughout the collection. I hope you enjoy reading these radio plays as much as I did writing and editing them. And if you haven't tried listening to a radio play recently, do give BBC Radio a try.

Gary.

Wivenhoe. March, 2019.

## BLACK ICE

### SETTING:

An Essex country pub. Halloween. Just before midnight.

### CAST:

DAVE (The Husband, 33)

ED (The Landlord, 48)

JIMMY (The Gatecrasher, 22)

KEVIN (The Best Friend, 34)

### SCENE 1.

DAVE:

Listen!

FROM A DISTANCE WE HEAR THE DRONE OF AN APPROACHING CAR.

KEVIN:

That's him. Has to be.

ED:

Best unlock that door, then. Eh?

DAVE:

You're not seriously suggesting we let him?

ED:

I'm not 'suggesting' anything, Dave. But I am serious.

THE SOUND OF THE CAR IS HEARD AGAIN, CLOSER THIS TIME.

Now let's get this over and done with.

KEVIN:

Think of it as a play. Everyone has his role.

ED:

Everyone has his lines.

DAVE:

I'll think of it as the fifth anniversary. Because that's what it is. We can't keep this up forever.

THE SOUND OF A CAR ENGINE GUNS AROUND THE CORNER, FOLLOWED BY TYRES CRUNCHING ACROSS GRAVEL.

ED:

Listen, Dave. This is my pub. I open it. I close it. No one else. Understand?

DAVE:

But it's been five years, for pity's sake!

ED:

Read my lips, Dave. I'm not asking.

THE CAR ENGINE DIES, A CAR DOOR SLAMS, THEN FOOTSTEPS CRUNCH ACROSS GRAVEL.

DAVE:

I won't do it! Do you hear? Not this time. I won't!

THE FOOTSTEPS STOP.

ED:

You're not wriggling out of this. We're all in this together. Just like we were five years ago.

KEVIN:

He'll only be here for ten minutes, Dave. Just ten minutes once a year. It's nothing.

WE HEAR THE METAL LATCH RATTLE.

DAVE:

Listen. If we keep quiet, keep away from the windows...

KEVIN:

Ha! You think he'll just give up and disappear? He doesn't know it's been five years. It's cruel to keep him waiting.

ED:

Now open that door!

WE HEAR POUNDING ON THE DOOR.

DAVE:

You shouldn't have served him that night. Hell, we should never have let him walk back out that door.

KEVIN:

Maybe not, Dave. But the fact is we did. And the rest is history. Our history.

WE HEAR THE LATCH RATTLE, FOLLOWED BY SUSTAINED POUNDING AND SHOUTING.

ED:

Ten minutes and it's over for another year.

DAVE:

I know. I know! (SIGHING) But seeing him again. Standing there, talking, laughing, _breathing_...

WE HEAR THE BAR HATCH OPEN WITH A BANG.

ED:

(SNARLING) Dave!

DAVE:

All right. All right!

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS ON FLOORBOARDS AND TWO HEAVY BOLTS DRAWN BACK.

DAVE:

(WHISPERED) God forgive me...

SOMEONE BURSTS IN, SLAMMING THE DOOR CLOSED WITH A BANG.

JIMMY:

(VOICE SLURRED) What's this, then, Eddie? Another lock-in on a Saturday night? They'll have your licence.

ED:

Only if they catch me selling. I'm just enjoying a private drink with some friends. Usual, Jimmy?

FOOTSTEPS STRIDING OVER TO THE BAR.

JIMMY:

Actually, I'm not stopping.

DAVE:

(UNDER HIS BREATH) We know...

JIMMY:

But I will have a quick whiskey. If you're offering. Just to keep the cold out, you understand.

WE HEAR LIQUOR SPLASHING INTO A GLASS.

JIMMY:

You're quiet, Dave. Everything all right?

ED:

Dave's just fine.

JIMMY:

Really? Looks like he's just seen a...

DAVE:

(LOUDLY) Don't you think you've had too much already, Jimmy?

ED:

Dave!

JIMMY:

Yer! Easy, _Daddy_. I'm only going to Hedingham after this. And besides, you never see a patrol car on the back roads. I'll be fine. Now let me enjoy my...

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS POUND ACROSS THE FLOORBOARDS.

DAVE:

I won't let this happen. Not again!

WE HEAR A GLASS THROWN AGAINST A WALL AND SHATTER.

JIMMY:

What the...?

ED:

For God's sake, Dave!

DAVE:

Now make him a coffee, Ed. Strong, black. Two sugars.

ED:

There isn't time.

JIMMY:

(SNIGGERING) What _is_ wrong with you tonight, Dave?

DAVE:

Something soft, then. An orange juice.

JIMMY:

I think you've gone soft, Dave. Eh, lads?

DAVE:

There must be ice all over those back roads. Wherever you're going, I'm telling you, you won't make it.

JIMMY:

Is that a fact? Well, you listen carefully. I can handle the roads tonight. And I can handle you, too. (BEAT) If I have to.

WE HEAR DAVE PACING THE FLOOR.

DAVE:

Why did you come here at all? Why just pop in and leave ten minutes later? That's what I can't work out.

JIMMY:

I saw the lights on. Thought I'd say hello. What's wrong with that?

DAVE:

Nothing. Except this is not exactly on the way to Hedingham, is it?

JIMMY:

Ah, Dave. You think I'm up to something?

DAVE:

Well, aren't you? You do have something of a reputation.

ED:

No good will come of this! I'm warning you!

JIMMY:

(CHUCKLING) All right, then. I'll level with you. (WHISPERED) I had to make a little detour to be sure her husband's out the way. (BEAT) Which he is. So, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen...

WE HEAR A CHAIR SCRAPING THE FLOOR.

DAVE:

I mean it, Jimmy! You sober up before you walk back through that door or you don't walk through it at all.

ED:

Dave! Enough! Let it lie, man!

JIMMY:

Yer. That's fighting talk, _daddy_. Maybe I'm not the one that needs to sober up here.

DAVE:

I'm not bluffing, Jimmy. You're going nowhere.

WE HEAR A BOTTLE HASTILY OPENED AND POURED.

ED:

Just have the blasted orange juice and be on your way, Jimmy. I don't want any trouble.

JIMMY:

(SLYLY) You know, Dave, if I didn't know any different, I'd say you were jealous.

WE HEAR A DRINK SWALLOWED WITH AN EXAGGERATED GASP OF SATISFACTION.

(SARCASTICALLY) Happy now, Dave?

WE HEAR THE GLASS BANGED DOWN ONTO THE BAR.

(CHEERFULLY) Right, then. Quick slash and I'm out of here. Leave you _older_ gentlemen to your lock-in.

WE HEAR JIMMY WALKING AWAY, WHISTLING, AND A DOOR BANG CLOSED BEHIND HIM.

ED:

Dave, what in God's name is wrong with you?

DAVE:

But didn't you see what just happened? Don't you get it? (BEAT) We stopped him drinking.

KEVIN:

So?

DAVE:

So it proves we can intervene. Change the outcome. I think if we stop him from leaving we can end this tonight. Lay him to rest, once and for all.

KEVIN:

You're crazy, Dave. We all went to the funeral. Remember?

ED:

Listen! Another two minutes and he's gone, none the wiser. That's the only rest we can give him!

KEVIN:

Ed's right. In two minutes that poor sod will say goodnight and drive off. And just as we do every year, we'll let him. Last year, this year, every year. Got it?

DAVE:

Even though he's over the limit? Even though the temperature is plummeting, and he'll be speeding down blackened lanes with somebody else's wife on his mind?

ED:

It's too late, damn it! This is the best we can do for him!

WE HEAR A FIST STRIKE A TABLE.

DAVE:

No! We can end this. Right here, right now. I know we can! Why don't you want that, too?

ED:

(SHOUTING) Because the cost will be too high, you fool!

WE HEAR A DOOR BANG CLOSED.

JIMMY:

Should my ears be burning?

ED:

(FORCED LAUGH) No, Jimmy. Course not. We were just, you know... chatting.

JIMMY:

You're lying, Ed. Shut up.

WE HEAR JIMMY WALKING SLOWLY ACROSS THE PUB.

Now I know what's wrong with you, Dave.

THE FOOTSTEPS CEASE.

You know. Don't you?

DAVE:

Know? Know what?

JIMMY:

About me and my new lady, of course.

ED:

(MOANING) I warned you nothing good would come of this! I warned you!

JIMMY:

She doesn't love you any more, Dave.

DAVE:

Ed? Kev? W-What's he saying?

KEVIN:

We were just trying to protect you.

JIMMY:

It's me she wants. And there's nothing you can do about it.

WE HEAR JIMMY WALK OVER TO THE FRONT DOOR AND OPEN IT.

JIMMY:

I'm sure your mates can fill you in with all the details. They've known for weeks. (BEAT) Isn't that right, lads?

ED:

Damn you, Jimmy Duncan!

DAVE:

Known what?

JIMMY:

(LAUGHING) Ed's right, Dave. You are a fool.

DAVE:

(WHISPERED) No...

JIMMY:

Thanks for the drink, Ed.

WE HEAR THE FRONT DOOR SLAM SHUT.

DAVE:

He wasn't driving to Hedingham, was he? (BEAT) And you knew. Both of you!

ED:

(PLEADING) Don't do this to yourself. We'll get drunk. You can stay over in the spare room. By tomorrow morning you'll have forgotten everything. I promise.

DAVE:

(ROARING WITH ANGER) I don't want to forget everything! I want the truth, damn you!

ED:

But you have to forget! You have to!

WE HEAR A TABLE OVERTURNED AND GLASS SHATTER.

DAVE:

He crashed in Great Yeldham because _that_ was his destination. Wasn't it? Wasn't it!

KEVIN:

All right! All right! He only came by to make sure you were still here. To make sure you were too drunk to drive home and disturb him.

WE HEAR ANOTHER TABLE OVERTURNED.

DAVE:

(SHOUTING) Abigail!

ED:

But he never made it to the house. Nothing happened!

DAVE:

Wait! If you knew where he was going... You could see he wasn't fit to drive... And the roads... The ice...Is that how you tried to protect me? With manslaughter?

ED:

No, Dave! You've got it wrong. It wasn't like that, I swear! I phoned the police. Told them he was driving under the influence and where to find him. We only wanted to keep him away from your Abi!

KEVIN:

But Ed forgot something crucial. A fatal omission, as it turned out. Didn't you, Ed?

ED:

(MOANING) And I'll have to live with it for a lot longer than five years.

JIMMY:

(ECHOED) _You never see a patrol car on the back roads._

OUTSIDE, THE CAR REVS ITS ENGINE.

ED:

And because of that he lost his life. (SOBBING) Because of _me_!

DAVE:

But surely now I know the truth, we can do what we should have done that night. And that will end it. Right?

KEVIN:

No, mate. No. (SIGHING) You still don't get it, do you?

ED:

There's something else.

KEVIN:

The real reason we have to keep this going.

(BEAT)

Forever.

ED:

You can never be at home on this night.

KEVIN:

Not this or any other year.

DAVE:

What...What the hell are you talking about?

ED:

It's Abigail, bless her.

KEVIN:

She's at home right now, Dave, sobbing her heart out. My Mary told me years back.

DAVE:

You mean... Did she... love him, then?

ED:

No, Dave. It's not that. Believe me. But she blames herself for Jimmy's death. He'd been pestering her for weeks. Sending her flowers. Texting her every day.

KEVIN:

She wanted to tell you, but she was afraid you'd try to hurt him.

ED:

When she heard where he'd crashed his motor that night she knew exactly where he'd been heading. And why.

KEVIN:

If she sees that you know her secret, that guilt will destroy the love you have as surely as any affair would have.

ED:

And she will see it, too. Because it's already written all over your face.

OUTSIDE, THE CAR SPRAYS GRAVEL AS IT SKIDS TOWARDS THE ROAD.

KEVIN:

So right now you're going to get drunk, sleep off the hangover and then get on with the rest of your life.

ED:

(SIGHING) You'll forget, because you have to. For the sake of your marriage. And next year we'll go through the whole thing all over again. See?

WE HEAR SLOW, HEAVY FOOTSTEPS.

KEVIN:

It's like a play, Dave. Remember? Everyone has his role.

ED:

Everyone has his lines.

WE HEAR THE SOUND OF TWO BOLTS SCRAPING HOME.

DAVE:

(HUSHED) And this is where the curtain falls...

OUTSIDE, THE CAR GUNS ITS ENGINE AND RACES OFF INTO THE FROZEN NIGHT.

## HARD SHOULDER

### SETTING:

Refer to scenes.

### MAIN CAST:

LEWIS BREWER (Son, 19)

ALAN (A Friend, 19)

MICKY (2nd Friend, 20)

BRIAN BREWER (Lewis' father, 43)

TIM HORNE (The Victim, 7)

MICHELLE HORNE (The Victim's mother, 27)

### MINOR CHARACTERS:

A PRISON OFFICER (early forties)

TAXI DRIVER (late thirties)

FOOTBALL OPPONENT (early twenties)

### Scene One:

PRISON CELL. NIGHT-TIME.

WE HEAR METAL CLASHING AGAINST METAL AS DOORS ARE CLOSED. A TELEVISION IS SWITCHED OFF ABRUPTLY. A TOILET FLUSHES.

PRISON OFFICER:

Lights out in five minutes!

RECEDING FOOTFALLS ECHO DOWN A LONG CORRIDOR.

PRISON OFFICER (DISTANT):

Lights out in five minutes!

LEWIS BREWER:

Anyway... where was I? Ah, yes: how I got here.

PRISON OFFICER:

Lights out in...

LEWIS:

There's this dream I keep having, nearly every night. In this dream everything has slowed down to a crawl. What do they call it? Super slow motion, that's it. There's this woman with legs the colour of supermarket cheddar – No, really! - or maybe it's just her cheap tights? – Anyway, she has a big umbrella clutched in both hands. She turns in surprise as something small and furtive darts past her right knee. About the size of a dog, say. Then a man seems to make a grab for her legs but gets a mouthful of wet umbrella for his trouble. Undeterred, the man pushes forward, shoulder-charging the big umbrella like it's a locked door or something and sending Mrs. Cheddar Legs spinning backwards on to the pavement. That's when the furtive creature the bloke is trying to get to before it steps out onto the road is revealed. And it's definitely not a dog.

PRISON OFFICER:

Two minutes, people!

LEWIS:

Because it's in slow-motion the approaching car only seems to be doing four miles an hour, but in reality it was nearer forty. I should know. It was me driving. The thick white bars on the crossing look dry, but the raindrops are bouncing up one by one like a million ball bearings, each one catching the light for a split-second. It was hard enough to see let alone stop. Mrs. Cheddar Legs has slumped down on her big fat arse with the umbrella falling over her head like a parachute canopy. But it's not her I'm staring at, it's the tiny figure running out in front of me. Running out without looking, without thinking. The thinking should have been down to me.

PRISON OFFICER:

That's it.

WE HEAR A CLUNK AS THE LIGHTS ARE EXTINGUISHED

Sleep well, people.

LEWIS:

I hate this part of the day. I can't believe I had to become an adult to be afraid of the dark. (SLOW CONTROLLED BREATHING) There, that's better. I can carry on now. If you're still interested, that is? (BEAT) Back to the dream, then, where that little boy's movements are drawing him towards my front bumper a lot faster than my feet can jump on the brake and clutch. And it is wet. And I am speeding. And there's nothing anyone can do about it.

WE HEAR THE PRISON OFFICER WHISTLING.

LEWIS:

Except for the father, that is. Afterwards, he will at least be able to console himself that he tried. Daddy used to be a goalkeeper until a back injury forced him to hang up his gloves. With a look of desperation he launches himself full length across the road. The boy, Tim, hurries on regardless, thinking only of the cake and hot chocolate his mummy promised because he'd sat so still in the barber's chair (WE HEAR SCISSORS SNIPPING LOUDLY THREE TIMES). I'm braking now (WE HEAR A SLOWLY GROWING WHINE OF DISC BRAKES ENGAGING) and all I can do is watch helplessly as the car that isn't even mine starts its belated slide into infamy.

WE HEAR A CROWD OF ONLOOKERS SUCK IN ITS COLLECTIVE BREATH

LEWIS:

The father should have kept playing, if you ask me, because just as my front bumper is about to turn Tim's ribcage into cat food his sinewy fingers hook themselves into his collar and yank him backward out of danger.

WE HEAR THE CROWD EXHALE AND A WOMAN SCREAM. THEN ECHOING SILENCE.

LEWIS:

But that's the worst part of the dream. Because it's not true. The father's fingers only brushed little Tim's collar before I drove straight through his chest. (LAUGHS) Well, you didn't think I'd spent the last three years in here just for speeding, did you?

### Scene Two:

A BUSY HIGH STREET. NIGHTIME.

WE HEAR YOUNG PEOPLE LAUGHING, CURSING, SHOUTING. CARS RACE PAST HONKING THEIR HORNS. GIRLS ARE SINGING BADLY. A POLICE CAR'S SIREN WAILS IN THE DISTANCE.

LEWIS:

Well, of course I went out that night as planned. Why wouldn't I? Saturday night is Saturday night.

ALAN:

Now that's what I call a good night out!

MICKY:

Yer, but now we have to walk home.

ALAN:

Here, wait up. There's a taxi waiting over there.

LEWIS:

You're wasting your time, Al.

ALAN:

Watch and learn, lads. Watch and learn...

LEWIS:

They're all booked.

_(INTERNAL)_ But I followed him anyway.

ALAN:

Here, driver, you waiting for Jay?

**TAXI** **DRIVER:**

Jay? No. Do you mean John?

ALAN:

That's right. He's Jay to his mates, driver. (SHOUTS) Hey, Jay! It's this one. Come on!

**LEWIS:** (WHISPERED)

You jammy little...

WE HEAR THE YOUNG MEN BUNDLE INTO THE CAR.

TAXI DRIVER:

Harbour Road?

ALAN:

That's the one, driver. Cheers!

THE TAXI PULLS AWAY

MICKY:

We'll still have to walk the last mile, then?

ALAN:

I can't believe you're complaining.

LEWIS:

Here, driver, pull over and let this one out. He's about to throw up.

DRIVER:

What?

ALAN:

He's joking!

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Oh, I was having a rare old time, and no mistake. Dad's car safely off the streets and according to the radio news no one had taken down the licence plate number. On account of all the confusion and the heavy rain restricting visibility. That and the fact I'd speeded up to get away. Now I was clowning with my mates as if nothing had happened. But you never know what's around the next corner, do you?

DRIVER:

I'm glad to see you guys are not drinking and driving tonight. Especially after what's happened.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Oh, why couldn't you just shut up and drive?

ALAN:

What's that, driver?

DRIVER:

Not drinking and driving, I said. After what happened in town this afternoon.

MICKY:

What's that, then? (BELCHES) What's he on about, Al?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I wanted to change the subject without making it seem obvious. But I was too plastered to make my brain cooperate. So in the end all I did was sit there and squirm.

DRIVER:

Seven-year-old kid was killed in the middle of town. Killer never even slowed down. He had to be drunk, man. Why else was he driving like a maniac?

ALAN:

Shit. What a bastard.

MICKY:

And he's dead?

DRIVER:

Died instantly. Never stood a chance.

ALAN:

I heard someone had been knocked down. But not killed. And a kid. Shit!

LEWIS:

Driver, pull over. Pull over! I'm not joking. I think I'm going to be....

DRIVER:

Ah!!!

WE HEAR THE CAR SCREECH TO A HALT AND A CAR DOOR OPENING. LEWIS SCRAMBLES OUT AND VOMITS

ALAN/MICKY:

(SINGING TOGETHER TO THE TUNE OF 'KNEES UP MOTHER BROWN') She can't hold her drink! She can't hold her drink! She can't hold it! She can't hold it! She can't hold her drink!

WE HEAR LEWIS GASPING FOR BREATH.

LEWIS:

(PANTING) I think I'll walk the rest of the way.

ALAN/MICKY:

Ah, poor little Lou.

MICKY:

Can't hold her drink anymore.

WE HEAR THE PASSENGER DOOR SHUT, THEN THE WINDOW ROLL DOWN.

ALAN:

I hope we'll still see you at the match tomorrow?

WE HEAR THE TAXI PULL AWAY.

ALAN:

(SHOUTING) Couple of bacon sarnies and a fried egg should sort you out!

MICKY:

Lightweight!

ALAN/MICKY:

(BEGIN SINGING AGAIN AS THEIR VOICES FADE) She can't hold her drink! She can't hold...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ And do you know by the time I'd walked home I'd actually convinced myself that was the reason I'd returned my kebab. But it was something in my head not my stomach that was making me sick. And a good night's sleep wasn't going to fix it – even if I could get one.

### Scene Three:

A FOOTBALL PITCH. SUNDAY MORNING.

WE HEAR BALLS BEING KICKED ABOUT. BIRDS SINGING.

ALAN:

Here he is! Told you he'd make it. (SHOUTING) One Lewis Brewer. There's only one Lewis Brewer!

MICKY:

Ah, nice one, Lou. (SARCASTICALLY) We weren't sure whether the match would clash with your beauty sleep.

LEWIS:

At least I don't go to sleep on the pitch, Micky.

MICKY:

That's funny, 'cause you look like you're sleep walking right now.

LEWIS:

(ANGRILY) That's because I still don't feel too good from last night.

MICKY:

Did you bring a sick note, then?

ALAN:

(LAUGHING) Ah, knock it off, Micky. You know his parents have abandoned him for the week.

MICKY:

(SNIGGERING) Perhaps he's sickening for them?

LEWIS:

You heard him, Micky. Knock it off. I'm not in the mood. (QUIETLY) Seriously, Al, stick me on the bench, will you?. I'll be fine a bit later.

_(INTERNAL)_ It convinced him a lot sooner than it did me.

ALAN:

All right. But we'll need you on in the second half. We're up against the Old Red Cow.

MICKY:

Any cow would be right at home on this pitch. I've seen flatter chests.

LEWIS:

(VICIOUSLY) Yer, that's because you're a pervert who only goes for underage girls.

MICKY:

Ah, piss off, Lewis. She was seventeen. (WE HEAR HIM RUNNING OFF).

ALAN:

(CONFIDENTIALLY) What's gotten into you? I know she was sixteen, but that's why he finished it straight away. He was dead keen on her, too. Give him a couple of weeks before you start taking the piss. You're supposed to be his mate.

LEWIS:

It's not him. It's me.

ALAN:

'Me' meaning you and Shannon, right?

WE HEAR A REFEREE BLOW HIS WHISTLE TO START THE GAME.

LEWIS:

(UNCERTAINLY) Something like that. (SIGHS) Go on. They're about to kick off. Go tan some leather!

_(INTERNAL)_ He trotted off, but in truth I'd forgotten who Shannon was. I hadn't seen her for days. I grabbed a black coffee with two sugars from the burger van. Splashed cold water in my face and had a dump in the gents, and by half time my head was clearer. By which time the Old Red Cow had been well and truly tanned and it was time for my cameo appearance.

WE HEAR A COMPETITIVE GAME ENSUE.

ALAN:

(BREATHLESSLY) Go on, Lou. For fuck's sake. Take him out!

WE HEAR A BOUNCING BALL AND TWO BODIES CLASH AND A GROAN OF PAIN, FOLLOWED BY THE REFEREE'S WHISTLE.

ALAN:

That's more like it, Lou... (SOUND OF SNIVELING) Hey, Lewis, what the hell?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I remember the shock and incredulity in his voice. Everyone was looking at me and bizarrely I didn't know why. As if what was happening was happening to someone else. I haven't kicked a ball in anger since. I don't think I ever will.

ALAN:

(HISSING UNDER HIS BREATH) Lou, what the hell are you crying about? It's just a fifty-fifty challenge. A free kick to the opposition. The ref's not even going to book you!

THE SNIVELLING IS PARTIALLY SUPRESSED.

MICKY:

(CONTEMPTOUSLY) I've seen it all now.

LEWIS:

Look, I'm sorry, mate. I went for the ball, ref. Honest. I went for the ball! (PLEADINGLY) I didn't mean it. It was an accident. OK? An accident!

MICKY:

Get a grip, Brewer. What the fuck's wrong with you?

OPPONENT:

It's nothing. I'll run it off.

LEWIS:

Listen mate, I'm really sorry! Let me buy you a drink after.

SEVERAL PLAYERS LAUGH.

OPPONENT:

Piss off. Call that a tackle? I've had harder erections!

MICKY:

(UNDER HIS BREATH) Tit.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I don't remember the end of the match, let alone the score. All I can remember is being substituted by Alan, grabbing my bag from the changing room and walking home alone again, still in tears. I needed a stiff drink but opted for a stiff bottle instead. By mid-afternoon I was out for the count. When the continual ringing of the phone finally woke me it was dark everywhere and the first thing my senses made contact with was inside me: fear.

### Scene Four:

WE HEAR A PHONE RINGING INCESSANTLY AND A SERIES OF GROANS.

LEWIS:

All right, all right. I'm coming! (WE HEAR HIM STUMBLING ABOUT.) Where's the bloody light switch? (WE HEAR A LIGHT SWITCHED ON. HE HANDSET IS LIFTED.) Hello?

BRIAN BREWER:

Lewis?

LEWIS:

(COUGHING) Dad?

**BRIAN** :

Were you asleep? (BEAT) What time is it there?

LEWIS:

About three.

**BRIAN** :

Oh, sorry.

LEWIS:

In the afternoon, Dad. (BEAT) I was cleaning the kitchen.

**BRIAN** :

(FORCED HUMOUR) Sleeping off your beer, more like.

**LEWIS:** (TERSELY)

It is the weekend.

(PAUSE)

LEWIS:

I bet you've had a few.

**BRIAN** :

Well, it's a holiday, isn't it? (BEAT) And anyway your mother has hives. I can numb my discomfort even if I can't do anything about hers.

LEWIS:

Great.

OVER THE PHONE WE HEAR TWO PEOPLE LAUGHING LOUDLY AS THEY CRASH THROUGH A DOOR. LOUD MUSIC IS HEARD UNTIL THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT AGAIN.

**BRIAN** :

Sorry. We're at this party.

LEWIS:

Special invitation only for middle-aged hypocrites?

BRIAN:

I've never said don't drink at all, Lewis. (SIGHS) Listen, I didn't phone to start an argument.

LEWIS:

Just checking up on me, then?

**BRIAN** :

No. Not really. (BEAT) I've been doing a lot of thinking out here. Especially at night. It's the heat. And your mother's skin keeps her tossing and turning. Honestly, it's like trying to sleep with a hyperactive tumble drier. (LAUGHS NERVOUSLY) So - anyway - I've been thinking.

LEWIS:

(DISMISSIVELY) And?

**BRIAN** :

(AWKWARDLY) Listen. Son. Let me get straight to the point.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Like he'd been rehearsing a speech and was afraid he might fluff his lines.

**BRIAN** :

You're nineteen now. I remember what I was like when I was nineteen. Drinking was the least of it. (CLEARS HIS THROAT) What I'm trying to say is, I don't think I've been entirely fair with you. How can you learn to be trustworthy if I won't show you some trust now and then? Isn't that what you keep telling me?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I swear I could hear something rustling in the background. Had the silly sod actually written his speech down? This was all very out of character for the old man. We barely exchanged more than a couple of sentences at a time face to face. I used to think we didn't get on together because we were so different. It took the enforced introspection of prison life to make me realise it was because we were too similar. That and another phone call.

**BRIAN** :

Can you see the mantelpiece? (BEAT) Well, there's a little jug on there that your Gran brought back from Bognor Regis one time. Hideous thing. The jug, not your Gran. See it?

WE HEAR THE CACAPHONY OF A SEASIDE PIER WITH A MERRI-GO-ROUND SWOOSHING FASTER AND FASTER.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I closed my eyes because the room was starting swimming lessons and I didn't have armbands. I already knew what was coming, you see. I knew what he kept in that jar. How else could I have driven his car yesterday?

**BRIAN** :

I know you've been itching to get your hands on that motor of mine. And we need to get on a bit better, don't we, son? Anyway, if you look inside...

LEWIS:

(BITTERLY) You said I wasn't mature enough to drive your car.

**BRIAN** :

I know. But you passed your test first time, and you've knuckled down to a steady job. You'll be thinking about moving out in the blink of an eye. Then it will be too late.

LEWIS:

How much have you had?

_(INTERNAL)_ Because suddenly I didn't want him to tell me where the key was. Even though I already knew. I didn't want him using his permission as a stick to beat me with when he found out what had happened. Because I knew - even then - that he'd throw everything in my face he could. Every slight, failing and misdemeanour of the past nineteen years would be resurrected and directed my way. This 'honest chat' forgotten. And he'd use his own part in the disaster against me too. (SARCASTICALLY) 'Lou only has two parents, your Honour,' he'd sigh. 'If you're looking for whose fault it is, that kind of narrows it down.' A martyr's revenge.

**BRIAN** :

I'm not drunk, Lewis. I'm trying to put things right between us, that's all.

LEWIS:

It was a serious question, Dad. If you wanted to put things right why did you go without me?

**BRIAN** :

What? It was you that kicked up a fuss about this holiday!

LEWIS:

Exactly. (SHOUTING) Because we don't get on, do we! Being here on my own is the best holiday I could ask for!

**BRIAN** :

(SOFTLY) Lewis. Calm down, all right? I told you, I didn't phone to start an argument. I'm really trying here, OK?

LEWIS:

(SHOUTING) It's too late, Dad!

_(INTERNAL)_ And for a second there I almost told him why.

**BRIAN** :

I can't believe that. I _won't_ believe that. Now you pick out that key and have a test drive. I've put you on the insurance.

LEWIS:

You're joking! Listen, stuff your blasted car! You can't buy me over like that.

BRIAN:

What?

LEWIS:

Listen. Why don't you have some more of whatever you've got drunk on out there until you forget this conversation ever happened. It's what I'll be doing!

(BEAT)

**BRIAN** :

Lewis, what's gotten into you? What's wrong?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I came close to telling him again. I was furious because he really sounded sincere. If he hadn't treated me like a seven-year-old after I left school, another seven-year-old might still have had a fighting chance of growing up too.

**BRIAN** :

(PLEADINGLY) I'm not trying to buy anything. What I want can't be bought. That's what I've realised.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ No, but it could still be lost.

Give my love to Mum.

WE HEAR THE PHONE CRASH DOWN AND LEWIS BREAKS INTO TEARS.

### Scene Five:

A BUSY WAREHOUSE. MONDAY MORNING.

WE HEAR A FORKLIFT TRUCK WHIRRING BACK AND FORTH, SOMEONE WHISTLING, A RADIO PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND.

ALAN:

You're quiet this morning.

LEWIS:

I didn't think you'd be talking to me at all after what happened.

ALAN:

Well, I'll be honest, mate. You're going to have to work hard to live that little performance down.

LEWIS:

I bet Micky was lapping it up.

ALAN:

'Course he was.

LEWIS:

I swear, if he as much as...

ALAN:

What the hell was all that about? (BEAT) Certainly not about your dead aunt.

LEWIS:

(CONFUSED) My aunt?

ALAN:

Yer... I told the boys in the dressing room that your aunt had died in a car accident and how she was like a mother to you. Hence the meltdown.

LEWIS:

I hate both my aunts. But, yer, thanks.

THE TANOI CUTS IN. A FEMALE VOICE ASKS A MR. TEAL TO REPORT TO THE OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.

ALAN:

So? Are you going to tell me what's going on?

LEWIS:

My aunt died in a car crash. She was like a mother to me.

ALAN:

We've been mates for a long time, Lou. From junior school, remember?

LEWIS:

Easy, Al. You'll start me off again.

ALAN:

Well at least there's less of an audience this time. Talk to me.

LEWIS:

I can't.

ALAN:

What would you say if I told you I knew already?

WE HEAR THE REQUEST FOR MR. TEAL TO GO TO THE OFFICE REPEATED.

LEWIS:

(SUSPICIOUSLY) I don't believe you. Because if you did know you wouldn't be standing here talking to me.

ALAN:

No? Why not? Do you really think you're so clever you can keep your little (EMPHASIS) _'accidents'_ secret?

LEWIS:

(HOLLOWLY) What?

ALAN:

Relax. These things happen. You can't fall apart just because of one little misdemeanour like that.

LEWIS:

Misdemeanour? It was a bit more than that, Al.

ALAN:

(SPEAKING CONFIDENTIALLY) I know what happened. It's unlucky, but like I said: these things happen. Boys will be boys, as my aunt used to say.

LEWIS:

(DESPAIRINGLY) I just can't go on like this. I can't eat. When I sleep I start reliving the moment in a dream; then I wake up sweating. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder.

ALAN:

You worried about the parents? Worried about 'Daddy' finding out who did it and giving you a good hiding?

LEWIS:

Wouldn't you want to kill me if you were that father? Sometimes I think that would be the easy way out.

ALAN:

But why the big guilt trip, Lou? You did it. You regret it. Now move on. Just put it down to experience and remember to wear a condom next time.

THE TANOI SYSTEM BLASTS OUT IN A STRONG MALE VOICE: 'TEAL, WILL YOU GET UP HERE NOW!'

LEWIS:

(CONFUSED) Wear a...What the hell are you talking about?

ALAN:

(ALSO CONFUSED) The abortion. Shannon's abortion.

LEWIS:

(ANGRILY) What! Is that what you think this is about? I dumped Shannon when I heard she was pregnant because I wasn't the father, you idiot!

ALAN:

Steady on, Lou...

LEWIS:

What the hell do I care what she did with her unborn brat? Call yourself a friend? You don't know the first thing about me. If you did you've have spat in my face by now - or worse... (STARTING TO WEEP) What am I going to do? I can't talk to anyone. I can't do anything to put this right. Ever. So what the hell am I going to do, Al?

(SCREAMING) What the hell am I going to do?

WE HEAR THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS RUNNING AWAY.

ALAN:

Lewis! Lewis! Come back! We can sort this out. Whatever it is can't be that bad. Lewis!

### Scene Six:

A BUSY RAILWAY STATION.

WE HEAR TRAINS, AN ECOING VOICE ANNOUNCING ARRIVALS AND DEPARTURES.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ What did I have planned? I can't remember. Jump on a train to Edinburgh? Jump under one to oblivion? Both ideas seemed equally appealing, equally impractical. Whatever I did next it couldn't involve people I knew. Because sooner or later the police would ask the right person the right question and someone would remember that my father had a red sports car. I could never go home again, see my mates again, do my job again. I didn't want to go to prison - not then. It wasn't fair. I hadn't done what I did on purpose. It was an accident. A stupid, luckless accident. And for God's sake, what were his parents thinking letting him stand by a busy road without holding his hand? It was as much their fault as mine, surely? But no one was going to lock them up. I needed time to think, to plan.

LEWIS:

Coffee, please. White, one sugar.

_(INTERNAL)_ Abroad was a non-starter. No passport on me. I had twenty pounds in cash plus plastic, but the latter would leave a trail of clues like digital breadcrumbs. I thought about a new name, growing a beard, swapping clothes with a tramp, joining a cult.

WE HEAR A DOOR OPEN AND SOMEONE WALK IN OFF THE PLATFORM, THE FAMILIAR NOISES OF WHICH ARE BRIEFLY HEARD.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Every time someone walked in I felt they were looking at me. But I was too shaken up to realise they were only responding to my own intense stare. I felt hot, suddenly, and sick. The smell of fresh coffee was overwhelming. I pushed it away.

THE BACKGROUND CONVERSATIONS BECOME STEADILY LOUDER. WHEN THE DOOR OPENS IT BANGS HEAVILY AND THE SOUNDS OUTSIDE ARE AMPLIFIED. SOMEONE DROPS A TRAY AND IT CLATTERS LIKE TROPICAL THUNDER.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I saw a picture on the wall and was convinced it was a wanted poster for yours truly, only to discover it was an advert for student rail cards. I was so hot I could hardly breathe. My heart raced like a speeding intercity express. The floor started to tip towards me, but if I passed out it would only draw attention to me. The police might be called because I had been acting suspiciously. They'd recognise me straight away. But then so might anyone. Had my picture been on the local news yet? Was my mug shot plastered all over the front page of the town gazette? And if not now, then soon. Buy a ticket, my fears screamed at me. Get some cash out and disappear. The further away the better. Anywhere that people couldn't recognise me.

WE HEAR A MESSAGE RELAID OVER THE SPEAKER INSIDE THE CAFÉ ITSELF.

ANNOUNCER:

In the interests of safety, we would like to remind passengers to keep their belongings with them at all times. Unaccompanied items will be removed immediately and may be destroyed.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ The further away the better. Yes. But then abroad had to be reconsidered. If I could get to the continent before the alert went out I would stand a good chance of escape. If they couldn't catch me by then, they wouldn't catch me ever, I reasoned. I wasn't the Great Train Robber or an ex-pop star turned kiddy fiddler. I'd just been in an accident in bad weather conditions. It could have happened to anyone. Alan was right there. But the parents, the law, the wider public would want a scapegoat. And that was not going to be me. Oh no! Blame the toss pot pen pusher who decided to put a crossing in such a bloody silly spot in the first place. Let him do time locked up with real criminals, not me.

ANNOUNCER:

In the interests of safety, we would like to remind passengers to keep their belongings with them at all times...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ All this worry was playing havoc with my nerves, because for a moment there it almost sounded like my father's voice. There was sweat running coldly down the back of my neck. Eyes bored into me from every which way. I had to get home, get my passport. Home was the last place they'd expect me to go to.

**ANNOUCER/BRIAN** :

...the unaccountably cowardly will be removed immediately and may be destroyed.

LEWIS:

(LOUDLY BUT HOARSELY) What? What!

WE HEAR TALK INSIDE THE CAFÉ CEASE ABRUPTLY, LEAVING SILENCE.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I had to get out of there. Before I gave myself away completely.

**ANNOUNCER/BRIAN** :

You see, you just can't be trusted, son.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ So I ran. I leapt from my seat and I ran. With tears in my eyes and piss in my pants, I ran... to the only place I could. Home.

WE HEAR A HIGH-SPEED FREIGHT TRAIN ROAR THROUGH THE STATION.

### Scene Seven:

WE HEAR A NEWSREADER RECAP THE NATIONAL HEADLINES, FOLLOWED BY THE THEME TUNE FOR THE LOCAL NEWS.

TV ANNOUNCER:

(DRUM BEAT) Tonight. Police still searching for the hit and run driver who killed a seven-year-old boy in the centre of Colchester on Saturday lunchtime make a fresh appeal for witnesses. And we talk to David and Michelle Horne, parents of the child killed...

MICHELLE HORNE:

(SNIVELLING) Nothing can bring back our little Tim (BREAK FOR SEVERAL SOBS) But if the killer is brought to justice we might at least find a little...

WE HEAR THE TELEVISION SNAPPED OFF ABRUPTLY.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ There I sat. Drinking tea and dunking the occasional biscuit into it like my dad would do whilst watching the news. On the coffee table in front of me sat a rucksack stuffed to bursting point, my wallet and a passport I'd only used once. Within the hour I'd be on the train for Harwich, bound for the continent. The news implied that the police still did not know who they were looking for. Which should have reassured me. But seeing the boy's parents like that, the mother slightly rocking as she spoke, like a zoo animal gone mad, and the father staring down at the floor, unshaven, a broken man. Well... (BEAT)...it made me feel a bit of a bastard. Those two people would never buy the child I'd killed another hot chocolate and cake. No one would.

CHILD'S VOICE:

Mummy? Daddy? Where are you? It's so dark. I can't see. Where are you? I'm hungry.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ They'd never see him at another sports day or hear him rush excitedly through the house on Christmas morning. They'd never hear him laugh or cry or say 'I love you'. They'd never hear his voice break or watch him clean out the fridge in the space of a weekend or warn him about the dangers of drugs. And it was all down to me. I put my tea on the table and buried my face in my hands.

CHILD'S VOICE:

I'm tired. (YAWNING) So very, very tired...

WE HEAR LEWIS' MUFFLED SOBBING TO FADE.

### Scene Eight:

HEAVY BREATHING AND SOMEONE SCRAMBLING ABOUT FURTIVELY. WE HEAR A DOORBELL RING ONCE, THEN A LOUD DECISIVE KNOCK ON THE FRONT DOOR.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ (TENSE WHISPER) Was it them? Had they found me?

POLICEMAN:

(DEMANDING VOICE FADING IN AND OUT LIKE A BADLY TUNED RADIO) Have you seen..? Have you heard..? Do you own..? Where were you last Saturday lunchtime?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I'd switched the lights out quickly, but they must have known I was in the house, crouching behind the curtains like a frightened child. Two of the them at least. Suspicions aroused, they'd be back. As soon as their footsteps receded down the path I'd grab my bag, make my move...

REAL TIME HYSTERICAL GIGGLE.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Looking back, I can see I was really cracking up. The stress, the guilt, the nightmares, not eating... The odds were stacked against me like dented bumpers.

WE HEAR THE SHRILL SOUND OF THE PHONE RINGING.

LEWIS:

Who the hell..? For God's sake shut up!

WE HEAR LEWIS SCRAMBLING ACROSS THE DARKENED LOUNGE AND SNATCHING UP THE HANDSET TO CUT OFF THE RINGING.

LEWIS:

(VOICE HUSHED AND STRAINED) Who is it? Alan? Listen, can I call you back later?

**BRIAN** :

(BELLOWING DOWN THE PHONE) Lewis? Lewis, can you hear me?

LEWIS:

Dad? Shhhh!

WE HEAR LEWIS SCRAMBLING ABOUT, KNOCKING THINGS OVER AS HE GOES.

**BRIAN** :

What's all that banging and crashing I can hear?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I wanted to slam the phone down. I swear to God. And what would it matter? I was a fugitive. He'd never see me again and when he knew the truth he probably wouldn't want to anyway. This was my chance to disown him before he disowned me. But something kept my hand clutching the telephone. Not love or loyalty. Not guilt or gutlessness. The truth was his voice was slightly slurred. He'd been drinking again. And Dad only drank when he was out of his depth; like someone who thought if he swallowed all the water he was drowning in he'd somehow survive. Something had happened out there. I was convinced of it. Something that had made him drink and then phone me up to let me know he'd been drinking. I wish I could say I felt sorry for him, but the truth was I liked the idea of making him squirm on the end of my line.

**BRIAN** :

Lewis? Lewis! Are you still there?

LEWIS:

Yes. (BEAT) I'm still here.

_(INTERNAL)_ But not for much longer.

**BRIAN** :

So? What's going on?

LEWIS:

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

**BRIAN** :

(FORCED BRAVADO) Try me, smart arse.

(THEN WITH MOCK SERIOUSNESS) It's my house. Remember? My house, my rules.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Typical father. Even with their backs against the wall they just can't help pulling rank.

LEWIS:

You first.

**BRIAN** :

Me? There's nothing wrong with me. It's you I'm worried about.

LEWIS:

I'll tell you everything. Every last grisly detail. But only if you tell me why you suddenly think I'm your best buddy.

_(INTERNAL)_ Suddenly Harwich International was the last thing on my mind.

**BRIAN** :

I don't like ultimatums. Or mind readers. Or... (STRUGGLING) amateur psychiatrists. Or... (SLURRED) smart arses.

LEWIS:

Then I guess we'll always be strangers... (SARCASTICALLY) _Daddy_.

_(INTERNAL)_ I knew he'd be tempted, you see. But I wasn't worried. Dad was always the sort of bloke who could never bring himself to admit he'd made mistakes. I was being deliberately cruel. Asking him to trust me with his burden, tantalising him with the dry land of reconciliation. But it was too late in our relationship for any of that bullshit. And we both knew it. Or so I assumed. What I didn't know was that we were both on a collision course with consequence. But our brakes were off and the road was equally wet in both directions...

Sorry, Dad, I have to go. Maybe you should talk to Mum...

_(INTERNAL)_ And that's when everything changed. Because he caught me off guard. Surprised me into an openness I'd not thought myself capable of. Lured me over the guard rail of my arrogant sense of indifference. He started to weep.

WE HEAR BRIAN BREWER WEEPING PITIFULLY DOWN THE PHONE.

LEWIS:

(HOARSELY) Dad?

**BRIAN** :

O.K. O.K. (SNIVELLING) You win.

LEWIS:

Listen, Dad. You don't have to explain...

**BRIAN** :

But I do. She's your mother, after all. You've a right to know.

WE HEAR BRIAN LAPSE INTO A FRESH OUTBURST OF WEEPING.

LEWIS:

Know? Know what? Is Mum all right?

_(INTERNAL)_ I'd never heard of anyone dying from hives before.

**BRIAN** :

She's fine. For now. Ignorance is bliss. Isn't that what they say? (BLOWS HIS NOSE).

LEWIS:

What's happened, Dad? Are you ill? Is it work? Money... Shit, Dad, you're not gambling?

**BRIAN** :

(SNIVELLING) Lewis. I've done something a lot more stupid than that.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ What was it Alan had said?

ALAN:

(ECHOED) You did it. You regret it. Now move on.

**BRIAN** :

Something only another man would understand.

ALAN:

(ECHOED) Just put it down to experience and remember to wear a condom next time.

LEWIS:

Oh.

BRIAN:

Yup.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ He was spot on. Because as a man I knew instantly what he was talking about. I was truly, uncomfortably shocked. Not in the same way that a boy would be walking in on his parents' intimacy. I could have dealt with that. But that there was someone else involved in the underwear staining department took the wind from my sails. My first question might have been, 'Who the hell would want to?'

(ALMOST WHISPERING) And you're telling me?

**BRIAN** :

I can't live with this guilt. (MORE CRYING.)

LEWIS:

So you thought you'd share it with your nineteen-year-old son?

_(INTERNAL)_ But secretly inside I was glad. Because suddenly, potentially, I did have someone to open up to. That it was the last person on earth I'd have predicted would be an irony to appreciate much later at Her Majesty's pleasure.

WE HEAR BRIAN COMPOSING HIMSELF WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY. FINALLY HE SUCKS IN TWO HUGE BREATHS, MUTTERING TO HIMSELF.

**BRIAN** :

It's over now. It was just the once. It doesn't matter who, so don't ask.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I thought of Shannon going with someone else behind my back, the still unidentified father of her child. Secretly I'd been glad she'd had to undergo the ordeal of an abortion. The cheating little slut. So what did that make Dad, then?

(ALARMED) My God, Dad. You're not telling me she's...

BRIAN:

No! I took precautions. I'm not daft.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Ouch! That stung.

**BRIAN** :

Listen. I was drunk. It was at that do we went to in September. You remember, at the Sailing Club?

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Mum had gone home early because she was struggling with the flu.

Sure. I remember.

**BRIAN** :

It didn't mean anything. (BLOWS HIS NOSE AGAIN.)

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ It might now, you silly old sod.

BRIAN:

It was just... physical.

LEWIS:

Sex usually is.

_(INTERNAL)_ But how could I forgive Dad when I'd condemned Shannon?

**BRIAN** :

This must be quite a shock for you, son.

LEWIS:

You have no idea...

BRIAN:

No, no! You don't have to say anything. I just needed to tell you. (BEAT) Get it off my chest, you know. Share it with someone else I cared about. Someone that matters. Before I tell your mum. Does that make sense?

LEWIS:

Yes.

_(INTERNAL)_ This was to be his confession rehearsal.

BRIAN:

I knew I could trust you.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ And that was why he'd suddenly changed his mind about the car, I realised.

**BRIAN** :

You hate me, don't you?

LEWIS:

I'm angry.

BRIAN:

For betraying your mother.

LEWIS:

I'm very angry.

BRIAN:

For being a dirty old man.

LEWIS:

Oh, no. Tell me she isn't my age!

BRIAN:

What? No. For Christ's sake. No!

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ If only my own little mishap had a worse case scenario. But what could be worse than killing a seven-year-old?

Dad, there's something I need to tell you, too.

_(INTERNAL)_ But he wasn't listening.

**BRIAN** :

(TAKING A DEEP BREATH) I'm going to have to live with this for the rest of my life. Every time I look into your mother's eyes...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Every time I hear a car breaking...

**BRIAN** :

Every wedding anniversary...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Every time I see a child running along the pavement not holding an adult's hand...

**BRIAN** :

Every Christmas...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Every time I pass a park or a school...

**BRIAN** :

I can't live a lie, son. That's what I've phoned to tell you. (CLEARS HIS THROAT) I've left your mother.

LEWIS:

(INCREDULOUSLY) What? Why? How did she find out?

**BRIAN** :

(SIGHING) No, no, no! You don't understand. I could get away with this so easily.

LEWIS:

Then why?

**BRIAN** :

But I'd know, Lewis! I'd know. That's why. It's called integrity. If I've taught you anything in life worth remembering, it's that.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ Commit the crime, do the time. She might forgive him one day. Or maybe not. But it was a chance he had to take, the only chance of one day forgiving himself.

WE HEAR THE DOOR BELL RING.

LEWIS:

(UNDER HIS BREATH) Shit. They're back.

_(INTERNAL)_ I could have carried on pretending, hiding, running away; incognito, clever disguises, false identities. But the old man was right. _I'd_ know. And I'd know for the rest of my life. That was the power of integrity; and its power for redemption.

BRIAN:

Who's there?

LEWIS:

(MAKING A SOUND BETWEEN A GROAN AND A CRY) They've come for me, Dad!

BRIAN:

Who? Who's come for you?

LEWIS:

It's like I said, there's something I need to tell you, too.

BRIAN:

I heard about your Shannon. I'm sorry...

LEWIS:

No, it's not that. It's something worse. Much worse... (BEAT) Oh, Dad!

WE HEAR THE PHONE DROPPED AND LEWIS STAGGER TOWARDS THE FRONT DOOR.

**BRIAN** :

(VOICE TRAILING AWAY) It's all right, son. I'm right here...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I was scared. More scared than I'd ever been before or since. Because I realised that all my life I'd been running away. Always blaming others, making excuses, faking any real commitment. But not today. Today I was picking up the shit with both hands and feeling it squelch through my clenched fingers. And, after all, however long the judge gave me, no one was going to shorten the sentences of Tim or his parents.

WE HEAR LEWIS UNLOCKING AND OPENING THE FRONT DOOR.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ But it wasn't the police, after all. And if there's a God in heaven He really must work in mysterious ways. Dad must have caught the first flight home he could find. His suitcase stood at his feet. The mobile phone he'd just been speaking to me with still clutched in his left hand.

IT STARTS TO RAIN.

BRIAN:

Lewis...

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ I looked at the tears rolling down his face that mirrored my own and knew that the trial would drag Mum and Dad back together. He'd confess and she'd forgive him for my sake. A different sort of integrity. Who could have predicted that?

WE HEAR THE RAIN SPLASHING LOUDLY ON BRIAN'S COAT.

LEWIS:

Dad...

_(INTERNAL)_ He reached out his hand, and in the distance I could hear a police car's siren approaching.

**BRIAN** :

It's all right, Lewis. Whatever it is you've done we'll face it together.

LEWIS:

_(INTERNAL)_ And I've never felt freer since.

## THE SKIN TEST

### SETTING:

An Essex pub on election night. Current era. Evening.

### MAIN ROLES

PAUL FEN (53)

DEBBIE LAWSON (39)

RICHARD STRUTT (age 62)

ZIA ANDALO (19)

CARTER GREEN (18)

JAMES WALL (20)

JEREMY DRIVER (48)

NIGEL SHIRLEY (24)

### MINOR ROLES

POLICEMAN (early forties)

## SCENE ONE:

WE HEAR GLASSES CLINKED DOWN ON TO A SHELF IN A PUB. IN THE BACKGROUND WE ALSO HEAR MUSIC FROM A JUKEBOX AND GENERAL CHATTER.

RICHARD:

Well, I guarantee we'll not have an election night like this again!

DEBBIE:

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

PAUL:

Asking for trouble, if you ask me.

RICHARD:

Yes, well, only people with too much time on their hands could pull off such an outrageous prank, in my opinion. What did they hope to achieve? The whole thing was a provocative publicity stunt in the worst possible taste. Doubtless they'll be on their way back to whatever university they 'attend', drunk on self-congratulatory high spirits.

WE HEAR A GLASS SLAMMED DOWN ON THE BAR FOR EMPHASIS.

DEBBIE:

I can imagine that. Cheap lager, songs adapted from football chants...

RICHARD:

...endlessly slapping each other on the backs as they relive every hurled insult and angry shove. They'll be writing accounts for their student rag portraying themselves as heroes of the New Left.

DEBBIE:

I wouldn't be surprised if a video turns up on YouTube.

PAUL:

It turned my stomach. Police didn't do much, though, did they?

DEBBIE:

In fairness, Richard, it was practically all over by the time he arrived.

RICHARD:

Their behaviour merited an arrest. Causing an affray, perhaps? There wouldn't have been much celebrating in the back of a squad car. That would teach them a lesson.

PAUL:

Could have turned very nasty, though.

DEBBIE:

Actually, Richard, I thought you played the role of peacekeeper very effectively. It was like watching the U.N. in action.

RICHARD:

Ha! I thought you said I was effective?

DEBBIE:

Brave of you to get between them like that, though.

RICHARD:

I was merely doing my civic duty until the police arrived. My father fought in Korea, don't forget.

DEBBIE:

Credit has to go to the targets of this so-called protest, too. I can't see how they're supposed be a threat to anyone's liberty.

RICHARD:

Great self-control, if you ask me. Dignified and calm. You could see those students wanted to provoke a fight. I thought the candidates showed remarkable restraint.

DEBBIE:

Oh, yes. You could see they were angry at all the abuse being thrown their way.

RICHARD:

Everyone has the right to voice an opinion. It's what we fought a war over.

PAUL:

Several wars.

RICHARD:

Precisely. I sincerely resent being told who I should and should not listen to. We're responsible members of the community, not hapless children ignorant of what goes on in the world. The way they were begging for mercy like that, as if he were about to be executed - it was sickening. What a way to convey your views; appealing to your audience's base emotions instead of engaging their intellects. I wasn't born yesterday.

DEBBIE:

Not if you fought in Korea.

RICHARD:

If you ask me, some of that new party's views are not unreasonable. There's certainly no harm in hearing them out.

PAUL:

It's a free country, after all.

RICHARD:

In which people have the right to express their points of view...

DEBBIE:

So long as they don't promote discord and...

PAUL:

Intolerance.

RICHARD:

And that's exactly what these young idealists don't understand.

DEBBIE:

Well, it sounds like democracy is healthy enough in our neck of the woods.

RICHARD:

No thanks to our chums in the 'Red Brigade'.

WE HEAR DRINKS BEING CONSUMED.

PAUL:

Mind you.

RICHARD:

What?

PAUL:

You have to admit those students did look the part, didn't they?

DEBBIE:

Shaved heads and bad skin. Very convincing.

RICHARD:

And how did they get so thin?

PAUL:

They must have starved themselves for weeks.

DEBBIE:

Perhaps they're anorexic?

RICHARD:

Drug addicts, more likely. They're all hooked on something, these students.

DEBBIE:

Except studying! They're probably lighting up as we speak!

PAUL:

Or injecting each other.

DEBBIE:

Hey! Aren't we awful!

FROM OUTSIDE WE HEAR RAIN DRIVING HARSHLY AGAINST THE WINDOW PAINS.

PAUL:

Listen to that!

RICHARD:

They said it was coming on the five o'clock news.

DEBBIE:

I'm going nowhere until that gale lets up.

RICHARD:

If it lets up. I've known storms like this to last all night.

WE HEAR THE DOOR LATCH RATTLE AND WIND GUST AS SOMEONE STRUGGLES TO GET INSIDE. RAIN SPLATTERS THE FLOOR AND LEAVES FLAP THROUGH THE AIR.

PAUL:

Well, I'll be...

RICHARD:

I don't believe it...

DEBBIE:

They cannot be serious!

## SCENE TWO:

WE HEAR TWO PEOPLE STUMBLE OVER THE THRESHOLD, GASPING FOR BREATH. WE HEAR COATS UNZIPPING AND THEN SHAKEN FREE.

RICHARD:

They've got some front showing your faces here!

THE WIND AND RAIN ARE STILL BLOWING INSIDE THROUGH THE OPEN DOORWAY. THE MUSIC AND BACKGROUND CHATTER HAVE MEANWHILE CEASED.

PAUL:

Well, shut the door, then, will you?

WE HEAR THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT AND THE WEATHER SOUNDS DIMINISH.

DEBBIE:

How long have you been wandering around out there? You're both soaked.

RICHARD:

You should have scarpered with your mates.

CARTER:

You mean they're not here?

RICHARD:

Not very well organised, are you?

CARTER:

We lost our bearings in the dark. James said to meet here.

RICHARD:

How careless. So, what's Plan B?

CARTER:

This is Plan B. Meet at the pub.

RICHARD:

I'd have thought you would have realised this was unfriendly territory after your earlier stunt...

ZIA:

It wasn't a stunt. We were making a point.

RICHARD:

Which was what, exactly? As far as we're concerned, your little stunt was totally out of order. Honestly! Using what happened to those poor people during the war to score political points. Their memory deserves our respect. Demands it, no less.

ZIA:

We're glad you think so.

RICHARD:

Really, haven't you offended this community enough already?

ZIA:

What happened back then must never be allowed...

RICHARD:

It won't. This part of the world has been civilized for a very long time, I'll have you know.

CARTER:

So was Italy in the Nineteen Twenties, and Germany in the Thirties.

RICHARD:

You can hardly compare the New Union of Modern Britains with those regimes. Where are the military uniforms? The mass rallies and strong-arm tactics? If anyone looked guilty of trying to coerce the electorate it was you. I'm surprised anyone exposed to your callous, ham-fisted attempt at emotional manipulation has the stomach to vote at all!

ZIA:

Don't you think that would be better than voting for the wrong side?

RICHARD:

Sides? Sides! This isn't a P.E. lesson, child!

DEBBIE:

Can't you understand how upset you've made the people here?

ZIA:

We didn't come to make friends.

RICHARD:

That's just as well!

ZIA:

We came to open people's eyes to what this New Union of Modern Britains really stands for.

PAUL:

By dressing up in striped pajamas?

RICHARD:

I didn't see anything in their leaflets about labour camps, ethnic cleansing or race laws. True, they're right of centre. But the fact is this isn't Italy in the Twenties or Germany in the Thirties, and the only 'point' you've made is that people your age are misguided and misinformed.

DEBBIE:

I'm just glad we don't have anyone living here from the Jewish community.

ZIA:

Why? What's wrong with the Jews?

RICHARD:

There you go again! Jumping to conclusions. You've either spent too little time in the library or too much time smoking.

CARTER:

(ANGRILY) Now look who's jumping to conclusions!

PAUL:

Come on, now. I'll not have trouble made in my pub.

DEBBIE:

The point we're trying to make is that we don't feel comfortable having you in the midst of our community. Not after what you've done.

CARTER:

They're chucking us out, Z?

ZIA:

Leave it, Carter. It seems we're being politically cleansed.

CARTER:

Well, at least we're dressed for the occasion.

RICHARD:

Take some advice from your elders and betters. Go home and grow up.

CARTER:

Landlord?

PAUL:

We really think it would be better if...

WE HEAR SOMEONE SNEEZE HEAVILY TWICE.

DEBBIE:

Here. That doesn't sound too good.

ZIA:

Actually I don't feel too good.

DEBBIE:

Listen, maybe we could lend them some dry clothes. I mean, they'll catch a death in those pajamas.

RICHARD:

They can't get any wetter than they already are. Literally or otherwise.

DEBBIE:

But there are no buses now and they're stranded by the sounds of it. (BEAT) Richard, please?

RICHARD:

I have made my position perfectly clear. I don't think I'm being unreasonable. Under the circumstances.

DEBBIE:

Paul, might you have something they could wear from upstairs? Two wrongs don't make a right. I feel mean-spirited just thinking about it. They're not much older than kids.

PAUL:

Well... Maybe I could find something. (BEAT) Richard?

RICHARD:

For the sake of Debbie's conscience... I suppose so. Yes.

DEBBIE:

All right, then. Wait there you two. You can borrow some dry clothes at least.

ZIA:

Thanks.

CARTER:

You sure about this, grandad?

RICHARD:

Now look here...

DEBBIE:

Listen, the sooner you get dried off, the sooner you can be off home. I think it's for the best. I'll phone my husband to give you a lift to the railway station in Great Wigley.

RICHARD:

Perhaps you can catch a lift in a passing cattle truck!

CARTER:

What!

ZIA:

Actually, forget it. We don't need your charity.

WE HEAR FOOTFALLS MARCHING AWAY TO THE EXIT. WE HEAR ZIA SNEEZE AGAIN.

CARTER:

Zia, wait. We'll catch pneumonia. It's only a few clothes.

RICHARD:

He's a gentleman, at least.

ZIA:

But it's not, though, is it? It's the principle.

RICHARD:

I think she wants to catch pneumonia on principle!

CARTER:

Zia! Zia, wait! James said to meet us here. Remember? He wouldn't just leave us.

ZIA:

We can wait outside somewhere. They're just patronising us, Carter. They don't really want to help...

DEBBIE:

Well, of all the ungrateful...

WE HEAR THE DOOR OPENING AND THE WEATHER INVADING ONCE AGAIN.

PAUL:

There goes the door again. We might as well stay outside with them.

WE HEAR THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT ABRUPTLY.

RICHARD:

It looks like she's seen sense, everyone. Hurrah!

PAUL:

Or a ghost.

ZIA:

Um. Actually... On second thoughts, we'd be very grateful to accept your kind offer. Wouldn't we, Carter?

CARTER:

We would? But you just said...

ZIA:

I think I might have a temperature.

RICHARD:

You're the landlord, Paul. It's your call.

PAUL:

Oh? Right. Yes, and I really don't want any trouble. But Debbie's right, we can't just toss them out into the storm.

RICHARD:

(MUTTERED) Can't we?

DEBBIE:

Paul?

PAUL:

Come upstairs, both of you. I'll see what I can find.

WE HEAR PAUL AND THE TWO STUDENTS LEAVE THE BAR AND CLIMB THE STAIRS.

DEBBIE:

You still think we're being soft, don't you?

RICHARD:

They're lucky to get the time of day from us. I don't like troublemakers any more than Paul does. But showing kindness to the callous is like polishing a pebble before you throw it back into the sea.

DEBBIE:

At least my conscience will be clear. Listen to it out there. It's almost like throwing them into the sea. They'll have to wait here for it die down a bit, too.

RICHARD:

Yes, well, the sea will soon spit those pebbles back out somewhere else, I'm sure. They've outstayed their welcome along this stretch of coast.

DEBBIE:

Still, they did look a sight, soaked through like that in those silly pajamas. They've been beaten up, cursed by all and sundry, drenched in a storm and now they're barred from the only public place still open for miles. It couldn't have turned out worse if they'd planned it.

RICHARD:

Young buffoons. Once they're gone we can all forget this and get back to normal. My farm won't manage itself. They'll be all hell to sort out tomorrow.

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS ON THE STAIRS AND A DOOR SQUEAKING OPEN.

PAUL:

I left them upstairs with the barmaid, Mandy. They're having a quick shower first and then they're off. I thought you'd approve.

DEBBIE:

Thanks, Paul. Did you find any clothes that fitted?

PAUL:

Yes...But they might not look too fashionable walking back onto campus.

RICHARD:

They must look better than they did a moment ago, surely?

PAUL:

Only just.

DEBBIE:

Oh, Paul, I do hope you didn't give them something deliberately ghastly to wear!

WE HEAR RICHARD BEGIN TO SNIGGER.

RICHARD:

Well judging by the look on Paul's face...

DEBBIE:

Oh, you did, too! That's cruel, Paul. I thought better of you, really I did!

RICHARD:

There's hope for you yet, old man.

PAUL:

Beggars can't be choosers. Anyway, they promised to give the clothes to charity afterwards. That's where those clothes were bound for eventually anyway.

WE HEAR MORE FOOTSTEPS MOVING DOWNSTAIRS.

DEBBIE:

Shhh. Here they come.

WE HEAR THE DOOR OPENING AS THE STUDENTS RE-ENTER.

RICHARD:

That was quick. What are you looking around so nervously like that, miss?

ZIA:

We don't want to outstay our welcome.

CARTER:

There's no danger of that.

RICHARD:

We agree on something at last.

ZIA:

Thanks for the clothes. We'll be on our way. Good night.

DEBBIE:

Honestly, Paul, there must have been something better you could have given them?

PAUL:

They changed out of striped pajamas, Debbie. How could anything look worse?

WE THE DOOR LATCH RATTLE AND THE SOUND OF TWO MEN RUSHING INSIDE. THEY SHAKE OUT THEIR COATS, BREATHING HEAVILY.

PAUL:

(MUTTERED) Oh, God. No!

DEBBIE:

(AT A WHISPER) Quick, both of you. Sit down over there. Keep your faces and your voices down. If you have any sympathies for this community's feelings you'll slip out quietly when you get the chance. Wait in the church porch for my husband. Understand?

WE HEAR THE LABOURED BREATHING AND FOOTFALLS MOVING ACROSS THE ROOM.

JEREMY:

Good evening, everyone. (CHUCKLING) Or at least it is now I've shut that door again!

LOCALS:

Evening.

JEREMY:

I am, as I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Jeremy Driver. And this is my colleague, Mr. Shirley.

NIGEL:

Call me Nigel.

JEREMY:

We thought we'd pop in for some light refreshment. It's been quite a day, all told.

RICHARD:

Indeed it has.

JEREMY:

Our day started at seven-thirty sharp, and we'll not be done this side of midnight, I'm sure. Still, hard work is an antidote to many of modern life's ills, I'm sure you'll agree.

RICHARD:

I was up with the larks myself.

JEREMY:

Ah-ha! You're an agricultural man! Good to hear that! It was one of the main reasons our party targeted this particular constituency. We realised there is much common ground between us. No pun intended.

DEBBIE:

You're not local, then, Mr. Driver?

JEREMY:

Nigel here hails from Thurrock. But I own a cottage over at Great Wigley. Bought it about six months ago. Very traditional. Bags of character. I intend spending a lot more time up here from now on. Working, getting to understand local concerns and needs. Britain's rural voice has been unheard for too long. I'm sure you'll agree?

RICHARD:

Your assumptions about farming are correct. Richard Strutt's the name. The farm's been in our family since Cromwell's time.

JEREMY:

Now there's a strong English character, if ever there was one, might I say. Very single-minded. (BEAT) And the lovely lady?

DEBBIE:

It's Debbie. Debbie Lawson.

JEREMY:

Charmed, Ms. Lawson. And you must be the landlord of this fine establishment?

PAUL:

Yes. Paul Fen. The name may be flat, but the beer never is.

JEREMY:

Ha-ha. Yes. Very good!

DEBBIE:

You two gentlemen look soaked through. Don't they, Paul?

IN THE BACKGROUND WE HEAR ZIA SNEEZE TWICE.

PAUL:

Yes, they do...So, perhaps I could welcome you to our village with a drink on the house. The Three Horseshoes has been closed these past three years, so who knows you might become a regular.

JEREMY:

I do hope so, Paul. And I except your kind offer. But I'll have just a half, if you don't mind. Have to keep a clear head for the rest of the night's work.

PAUL:

And your colleague?

NIGEL:

I'll have a pint. Cheers.

WE HEAR THE DRINKS BEING DISPENSED AND THEN SOMEONE GULPING DOWN A FEW MOUTHFULS.

JEREMY:

No wonder the Three Horseshoes went under if they had to compete with this fine brew.

RICHARD:

Well, actually it had more to do with the 'credit crunch' a few years back.

JEREMY:

Indeed. And who suffered the most in that calamity? The ordinary man in the street. People like yourself, Richard, whose families have lived and worked in this country for generations.

WE HEAR ANOTHER SNEEZE, FOLLOWED BY PROLONGED NOSE BLOWING.

DEBBIE:

(AWKWARDLY) Really, Mr. Driver. Anyone would think you were starting on the old politics again. Don't you get tired of it?

WE HEAR RICHARD COUGHING AWKWARDLY.

JEREMY:

The old politics, as you call it, is something that flows through my veins, Debbie. And please, do call me Jeremy.

PAUL:

You must switch off sometimes, though?

JEREMY:

On the contrary, Paul, I live and breathe politics. Everyone needs a purpose in life. Mine is to get this country and its people back on their feet again. I'll switch off as soon as the job's done.

WE HEAR CARTER BLOWING HIS NOSE ELABORATELY AND AT LENGTH.

RICHARD:

Speaking of which. How do you think you've done? If you don't mind my asking.

JEREMY:

Not at all. I'm glad you asked. Actually, we've done rather better than expected, by all accounts. Nigel here has been busy with an exit poll, haven't you, Nigel?

NIGEL:

Exit poll, that's right. (BEAT) There's a chance we'll come second. Runners up, so to speak.

JEREMY:

Very good, Nigel.

DEBBIE:

Really? The media had you as rank outsiders.

RICHARD:

Their words, not ours.

NIGEL:

The media is biased in this country. It's all run by...

JEREMY:

The old guard! You know how the political establishment works. The traditional red versus blue outlook. Most of the papers seem to portray the election as a version of the Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race! But we feel democracy is about progressive change for the better. And for that, you sometimes need a fresh approach to long-standing problems. A new voice, a clean brush. I'm sure you'll agree.

RICHARD:

Funnily enough, we were talking about democracy just before you walked in. We're we, Paul?

PAUL:

(STRAINED) Yes. That's right.

JEREMY:

A toast, then.

NIGEL:

Toast?

JEREMY:

To democracy!

ALL:

Democracy!

WE HEAR THE CHINK OF GLASS ON GLASS.

JEREMY:

It's a shame, though, that not everyone shares our sentiments about a free and democratic society. I'm sure you know what I am alluding to.

PAUL:

We were talking about that, too.

NIGEL:

We didn't find that too friendly, to be honest. Unwelcoming is what it was. Right, boss?

JEREMY:

Nicely put, Nigel. Very succinct.

RICHARD:

Oh, but they weren't local people. No, no. They were outsiders. Bent on causing trouble and no mistake.

JEREMY:

Outsiders, you say?

DEBBIE:

Students, we think. From a university.

NIGEL:

Nothing better to do with their time, obviously.

RICHARD:

My sentiments exactly, young man. Well said.

JEREMY:

But you don't know from which university specifically?

DEBBIE:

No, why should we?

PAUL:

Does it matter?

NIGEL:

We'd like to give them a good...

JEREMY:

(LOUDLY)...piece of our minds. It's that kind of underhand provocation that we in the New Union of Modern Britains hope to eradicate from British politics for good one day. One man, one view, one vote. That's our slogan.

DEBBIE:

Or woman.

NIGEL:

What?

JEREMY:

Oh, yes, indeed, my dear. I meant to say one person. But my point is that dirty tricks campaigns undermine the population's confidence in the integrity of the parliamentary system. Elections should be won on a level playing field.

RICHARD:

Couldn't agree with you more. Let your policies do the talking.

JEREMY:

And what were they thinking? Any civilized human being would deplore the treatment of the Jews during the last war.

DEBBIE:

Or Slavs.

PAUL:

Or Gypsies.

RICHARD:

Or...

NIGEL:

Queers.

JEREMY:

Yes. (CLEARS HIS THROAT) Of course, what happened back then is as relevant to present day Europe as anything going on in Brussels or Strasbourg. It virtually destroyed a generation of Europe's ethnic minorities. We're a centre right party and proud of it. But we're a democratic centre right party striving for power within the boundaries of international law. Has anyone in our party ever said otherwise?

DEBBIE:

Well, no...

JEREMY:

Exactly.

RICHARD:

I'm not too keen on travelers, mind.

DEBBIE:

Richard!

JEREMY:

Being a farmer, you mean?

RICHARD:

They leave such a mess behind. The precautions I have to take to keep them off my land in the first place. It's almost a full-time job in itself.

NIGEL:

You can get mines attached to tripwires now. I saw it on the Discovery Channel.

JEREMY:

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel! That sense of humour of yours! People might take you seriously if I wasn't here to set the record straight.

RICHARD:

Seen anything like it before, though? The demonstration, I mean.

JEREMY:

No, this is the first time it's gone this far.

NIGEL:

We'll be ready for 'em next time.

JEREMY:

By asking for police protection, of course. There must be a law against this kind of thing.

RICHARD:

Or if there isn't there should be.

JEREMY:

Dressing up as concentration camp survivors must break several laws, I'd have thought.

RICHARD:

Not to mention the laws of decency.

JEREMY:

I mean you couldn't get away with dressing up in an SS uniform.

RICHARD:

Not in public, anyway.

JEREMY:

Sounds like we weren't the only two offended by what happened, Nigel. You see, common ground. But what about you, Paul. What do you think?

PAUL:

Well... Actually, I wasn't there. Not for long, anyway.

RICHARD:

Yes, you scuttled off as soon as things turned nasty, I seem to remember.

PAUL:

I had to open up.

RICHARD:

Mandy was here.

JEREMY:

But you must have an opinion on the subject. This happened in your community, after all. It must concern you.

PAUL:

Of course, but they're gone now. There was no trouble, and that's the main thing. They got egg on their faces and the election went on without interference.

JEREMY:

You're obviously a man who values the status quo.

RICHARD:

I must apologise for my friend, Jeremy. He has a rather nasty habit of sitting on the fence over most issues.

PAUL:

I hardly think....

JEREMY:

But come, come, my good man. If you don't have an opinion on this what do you have one on?

PAUL:

I'm just glad nobody got hurt, that's all. It was a stupid prank. But I doubt they'll try it again.

JEREMY:

You see, Nigel, Britain is a nation of lionhearts. When we get angry about crime or the economy or the education our children receive, we stand up and roar. That's what the New Union of Modern Britains is all about. Making being British something to shout about.

PAUL:

All right, then. I was... disgusted by what those students did tonight. I totally...deplore it.

RICHARD:

(UNDER HIS BREATH) Rousing stuff.

JEREMY:

And that is exactly why this party is doing so well in constituencies like this all over the country. By giving the downtrodden man...

DEBBIE:

Or...

JEREMY:

Or woman... The opportunity to say and do the right thing.

NIGEL:

People need to be told...

JEREMY:

That their future will be safe in our hands.

DEBBIE:

Wow. You weren't joking about living and breathing politics!

JEREMY:

I do hope I wasn't ranting.

RICHARD:

No, you were very articulate. I couldn't agree more.

DEBBIE:

You certainly know how to sell your point of view.

JEREMY:

Which is what you need to succeed in politics. That's what the professional politicians have lost sight of, with their soundbites and their spins. People want sincerity and integrity. I'm sure you'll agree?

WE HEAR THE WIND SUDDENLY SPATTER THE WINDOWS WITH RAIN.

PAUL:

I doubt anyone else will be voting now.

RICHARD:

It will be another low turnout, then.

DEBBIE:

They get lower every time.

JEREMY:

Political stagnation always breads apathy amongst the electorate.

NIGEL:

A malaise, you called it.

WE HEAR SOMEONE TUTTING IN THE BACKGROUND.

JEREMY:

That's right, Nigel. Britain is suffering from a malaise...

ZIA:

That's ironic. Considering that's a French word.

NIGEL:

Is it?

JEREMY:

Very amusing, young lady. And who might you be?

ZIA:

The name's Zia.

NIGEL:

What kind of a name's that? French?

JEREMY:

Now, now, Nigel. Visitors to our shores have all kinds of unfamiliar names. I'm sure many of our commonplace names today originated as far afield as Rome.

ZIA:

I'm not a visitor. I live here.

PAUL:

Not in our village...

JEREMY:

And why shouldn't you live here? Britain is a wonderful country. So many opportunities for young people like yourself.

NIGEL:

(MUTTERED) So many benefits...

ZIA:

I'm sorry, 'officer'. Do you need to see my papers?

PAUL:

Oh, honestly. These young people...

JEREMY:

Are our future, Paul. We should welcome their views. It's a free country.

NIGEL:

If you know which forms to fill in.

JEREMY:

And what about your friend? Does he have an opinion on the state of our once great nation?

PAUL:

(LOUDLY) No!

NIGEL:

You what?

PAUL:

He...He doesn't speak very good English.

NIGEL:

How do you know?

PAUL:

He told me. Earlier.

NIGEL:

How? Sign language?

PAUL:

No. He...He wrote it down.

NIGEL:

In what language?

JEREMY:

He writes good English but can't speak it? Most people suffer the opposite dilemma when approaching a new language. How intriguing.

NIGEL:

I'll tell you what I think, barman. I think you're full of....

JEREMY:

Nervous energy, my good man. Your hands are flapping about like a seagull's wings. We're just enjoying a lively and healthy debate. Nothing more. Isn't that right, Nigel? There's nothing to get so worked up about.

PAUL:

I... I just don't want any trouble.

JEREMY:

Well, I can appreciate that. A landlord must maintain a relaxed environment for all his clientele. You don't want any mischief-makers spoiling everyone's evening out. It's...

NIGEL:

Not British.

RICHARD:

I'm afraid Paul here sometimes has trouble with his nerves...

NIGEL:

Why?

RICHARD:

Well, I suppose it's just his natural disposition...

NIGEL:

No. Not the barman. Her friend. Why can't he speak good English if he lives here, too?

ZIA:

He's an asylum seeker. He's got a wife and sixteen kids. They all want to live here, in fact. Not to mention their aunts, uncles, nephews, grandparents...

CARTER:

Zia!

JEREMY:

How intriguing. Not only can he write in the English language, he can also comprehend the spoken word.

NIGEL:

Two out of three ain't bad, as the saying goes.

JEREMY:

Immigration is a sensitive issue, Nigel. There are always two sides to every story.

ZIA:

And two faces for every politician.

DEBBIE:

That's enough!

JEREMY:

Yes. I am finding your misplaced hostility towards me both baffling and uncomfortable. Have we met before, perhaps?

ZIA:

You could say that.

PAUL:

Right. I've had enough of you two for one evening. Out you go!

JEREMY:

Sounds like your indiscretions have a history, young lady.

RICHARD:

Well, actually, Mr. Driver, now that you mention it...

PAUL:

They were just messing about earlier, that's all. Nothing serious. You know, drinking. Being too loud. Talking out of turn.

NIGEL:

Don't you mean signing out of turn?

PAUL:

I warned them. I told them: this is your last chance.

JEREMY:

And now you're asserting your authority. Again. Very commendable.

PAUL:

Yes. Absolutely!

JEREMY:

Putting your foot down? Marking your territory?

PAUL:

Yes. That's right. I'm putting my foot down. Now get out, the pair of you. And take your warped ideas with you.

ZIA:

Gladly. I can't breathe for the stench of dishonesty in here.

JEREMY:

Not a very flattering description of your hosts.

ZIA:

Not them. You.

JEREMY:

I was talking about all of us, actually.

ZIA:

What? I'm not one of you.

NIGEL:

Doesn't that make you a visitor, after all?

JEREMY:

It's all right, Nigel. Let me explain, my dear. (BEAT) You see, in many ways we are as much your hosts as the landlord and the other regulars in this pub.

ZIA:

What are you on about?

RICHARD:

I must admit. Even I'm confused.

JEREMY:

Richard, my dear fellow. What did I tell you about the exit poll? Do you imagine it's just a freak aberration of local political trends? A one off, as they say? A protest vote? Something quirky to ponder in tomorrow's editorials over a boiled egg and toast? No, no , no. Our party is here to stay. We'll have seats on your council after this, seats in Europe very soon and one day even seats in Westminster.

NIGEL:

I'll drink to that. Barman, another pint, if you will?

JEREMY:

So you see, my dear, this constituency is as much my constituency as it is these other good people living here. Because unlike you, as I said earlier, I live here. Permanently.

ZIA:

I'm sure country people know all about magpies.

NIGEL:

They know all about cuckoos, too.

JEREMY:

Now then, Nigel. Let's not allow ourselves to get drawn into confrontation. It's what she wants.

RICHARD:

Listen. I've had enough of this, too. The landlord's right. You've outstayed your welcome.

ZIA:

Come on, Carter. We've done what we came to do.

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS HEADING TOWARDS THE EXIT.

JEREMY:

Wait. Haven't you forgotten something?

ZIA:

There's nothing more I want to say to you. Thank you.

WE HEAR A PAIR OF BOOTS RUNNING AFTER THEM.

NIGEL:

Answer the man's question.

ZIA:

I thought you wanted us out, landlord. Who runs this pub, you or them?

PAUL:

I... I...I just don't want any trouble.

JEREMY:

Me neither, Paul. I merely wish to save our visitors here from a wasted journey back to retrieve those items which they have so carelessly let slip from their minds.

ZIA:

I don't know what you're talking about. Landlord, let us out, please.

JEREMY:

Nigel knows what I'm talking about. Don't you, Nigel?

NIGEL:

Too right.

ZIA:

Just let us go.

JEREMY:

Oh, but I'm only trying to help you, my dear. It's not a night to be wandering about in on unnecessary errands. Now what it is that you've forgotten?

ZIA:

Nothing. I've haven't forgotten anything.

DEBBIE:

Let them go. There's been enough drama tonight in this community. They're just a couple of immature students...

ZIA:

What!

RICHARD:

Dropouts, probably.

JEREMY:

Students? Not political dissidents seeking asylum? Now it's my turn to feel confused.

NIGEL:

Maybe the barmaid is still ironing them, boss.

ZIA:

We're leaving! Goodbye!

WE HEAR A STRUGGLE.

NIGEL:

Only when we say so.

JEREMY:

But then that leads us to another important question. Who bothers ironing pajamas?

WE HEAR THE SCUFFLE INTENSIFY, WITH MUCH GRUNTING AND CURSING.

CARTER:

Leave her alone, you pig!

PAUL:

For God's sake. Someone do something!

CARTER:

Fascist bullyboys!

NIGEL:

My, my! How your English has improved. I'd love to meet your tutor.

CARTER:

At least I went to school, you moron. Ah... My arm!

JEREMY:

Just hold him till the police get here, Nigel. (BEAT) Landlord, if you could call 999?

PAUL:

Look, I don't think...

RICHARD:

Oh, for crying out loud, man. Just call the police. You can see who started this. Again!

PAUL:

But it was an accident.

JEREMY:

Oh? Which part, precisely?

PAUL:

All of it. It shouldn't have happened. It was just a misunderstanding in the heat of the moment.

RICHARD:

What are you talking about? This is the second time tonight they've brought disharmony to this community. This is the heat of the moment, right here, right now.

JEREMY:

If it were my pub's reputation at stake I know what I'd be doing right now.

PAUL:

Can't you just throw them out, then, once and for all?

RICHARD:

So they can hatch up yet another hairbrained scheme? For Christ's sake, Paul, can't you see these thugs are not just misguided, they're dangerous?

THE STRUGGLING SUBSIDES AND WE HEAR LABOURED BREATHING.

DEBBIE:

Are you all right, Zia?

ZIA:

I think I hit my head there, somewhere.

DEBBIE:

Damn. You might have concussion. Shall I call you an ambulance?

ZIA:

No, really. I'm fine. Thank you.

CARTER:

I just hope you can see what you're dealing with now.

RICHARD:

Oh, we saw that outside the polling station. Thank you very much.

WE HEAR THE FRONT DOOR OPEN SUDDENLY AND SOMEONE STUMBLES INSIDE AMIDST THE WIND AND RAIN. THE NEW ARRIVAL SLAMS THE DOOR SHUT AGAIN, GASPING.

PAUL:

Oh, God help us.

THE GASPING STOPS ABRUPTLY.

NIGEL:

Well, what do you know? It's another Holocaust impersonator!

ZIA/CARTER:

James!

## SCENE THREE

WE HEAR THE NEWCOMER WALKING NONCHALENTLY ACROSS THE FLOOR.

JEREMY:

Well, well, well! Our worlds collide once more.

JAMES:

You!

NIGEL:

You!

DEBBIE:

Well, that's the introductions out of the way.

ZIA:

They were about to show the locals their true colours, James.

JAMES:

Predominantly yellow, I assume?

JEREMY:

And yours principally red.

JAMES:

This goes beyond politics, Oswald. We didn't come to jump on any party-political gravy train. Just to derail yours.

RICHARD:

I knew it! Anarchists.

JEREMY:

Oh, absolutely, my good man. If truth be told these young firebrands would favour us all wearing grey from head to foot, riding bicycles and calling each other comrade.

CARTER:

We're against totalitarianism in all forms. Right, James?

JAMES:

Extremes don't work. History proves it.

RICHARD:

And that would be the edition of history edited in Moscow presumably?

JEREMY:

So you're an undergraduate in history, then?

JAMES:

Yes, as a matter of fact. Second year.

NIGEL:

Maybe somebody should make you history...

JEREMY:

Don't let them draw you into criminality, Nigel. That's exactly what they want.

ZIA:

I think it's what he wants, too. Isn't that right, 'Nige'?

CARTER: They're just thugs and common criminals. Isn't that right, James?

ZIA:

Intent on dragging us all back into the Stone Age.

NIGEL:

Oh, I want to send you somewhere, all right...

JAMES:

Can't you all see what would happen if we were outside, without any witnesses?

NIGEL:

I can draw a picture, if you like.

JEREMY:

Nigel! Please. Remember our little talk.

NIGEL:

My father died fighting the commies!

JAMES:

Died fighting for the aristocracy, more like.

NIGEL:

My father was a hero. He died a hero's death, stabbed by some gutless pinko trade unionist.

ZIA:

What? I bet he was a football hooligan who got separated from his firm one Saturday lunchtime and found himself being trampled to death in some rain-soaked blind alleyway. Isn't that what happened, 'Nige'? (LAUGHING) Died with his shit running down his legs.

JAMES:

Shit for brains, more like.

RICHARD:

I've heard enough!

PAUL:

I want you all out of my pub.

RICHARD:

Oh do be quiet, Paul! I'll handle this.

JEREMY:

Can't you see their true colours, my good people? They are agent provocateurs of the vilest kind. Anarchists, as you so rightly called them, Richard, who wish only to spread chaos and turmoil where there should be order and harmony. If anyone is being exposed it is them, not us.

CARTER:

So what are you waiting for, Black Shirt?

JEREMY:

Really, Mr. Carter, you're quite the hero when the odds are stacked in your favour.

PAUL:

Why won't anyone listen to me? I want you out of my pub!

JAMES:

These people can see straight through your 'Modern Britains' bullshit. You should leave now with your tails between your legs. This particular battle for hearts and minds was lost the minute you opened your big mouth. Look at these people. See how sickened you've made them.

RICHARD:

Well, actually...

JAMES:

They know as well as we do that we'd be dead meat in a dark alley if you had your way. But then you'd know all about that scenario, wouldn't you, orphan boy?

RICHARD:

Now, hold on...

WE HEAR NIGEL HOWL WITH OUTRAGE AS ANOTHER, MORE VIOLENT, FIGHT ERUPTS.

PAUL:

Stop this! Get out! Get out!

JAMES:

Now we'll see who's the fittest to survive!

CARTER:

Hold him, James. That's it!

WE HEAR THE SOUND OF SEVERAL PUNCHES HITTING HOME AND NIGEL HAVING THE WIND TAKEN FROM HIS LUNGS.

JEREMY:

For God's sake, Richard, do something! They're killing him. I'm calling the police!

WE HEAR JEREMY'S MOBILE BLEEP THREE TIMES THEN THE ROAR OF A SHOTGUN BLAST. THE FIGHT TERMINATES ABRUPTLY LEAVING ONLY THE SOUND OF CEILING PLASTER PATTERING DOWN ONTO THE FLOOR.

PAUL:

I want you people to start listening to me! Right now!

## SCENE FOUR

WE HEAR THE COMBATANTS WIPING THEMSELVES FREE OF PLASTER DUST.

RICHARD:

Where the hell did he get that!

DEBBIE:

Paul?

PAUL:

Stay where you are. All of you. Where I can see you.

CARTER:

I think we should do as he says. Right, James?

DEBBIE:

Paul?

WE HEAR PAUL'S RAPID BREATHING AND MOANING.

Paul, it's me, Debbie. Your friend, remember?

PAUL:

No one ever listens to me. Never! Well you're listening now, aren't you?

DEBBIE:

Paul, listen. It's all right...

PAUL:

No, it's not. Never has. Never will be!

NIGEL:

Happen a lot, this, does it?

WE HEAR NIGEL SPITTING BLOOD FROM HIS MOUTH SEVERAL TIMES.

PAUL:

You there.

NIGEL:

Don't point that...

PAUL:

Quiet. You started all this.

NIGEL:

Really? I'm not the one wearing pajamas.

RICHARD:

Listen, Nigel, I really think it best if you let me handle this.

PAUL:

Oh, sure. King Richard takes control. Well, not this time. It's my pub and we play by my rules. I want everyone outside. (SHOUTING) We're closing. Mandy! Show them the door.

DEBBIE:

Mandy's gone. The public bar's empty already. There's just us here now.

PAUL:

Good. That's good. Now it's your turn. Out!

RICHARD:

All right, Paul. We'll go. If that's what you want.

PAUL:

Stop trying to take control! Making it sound like it's your idea and not mine.

RICHARD:

All right, Paul. Whatever you say.

PAUL:

Stop patronising me! I know what you think of me and why.

RICHARD:

I'm your friend, Paul. I only want...

PAUL:

You love putting me down in front of everybody. You always have. I'm the village idiot that everyone feels sorry for. Poor Paul living on his own. Poor Paul having to take tablets for his nerves. Poor Paul, only ever staying out of the red because of the generosity of his friends. You keep me afloat because you love seeing me struggle in the water, because it makes you feel successful by comparison, doesn't it? All of you! Well, I'm sick of it. You've looked down your noses at me for the last time.

RICHARD:

(UNDER HIS BREATH) He's really lost it this time.

DEBBIE:

Come on, Paul. We know that's not you talking.

RICHARD:

Yes, that's hardly fair.

DEBBIE:

We're your friends.

PAUL:

Friends? Friends don't laugh at you behind your back.

RICHARD:

Oh, for crying out loud! The truth is you can't accept the fact you've got mental problems, and that the local community has tolerated your darker moments without complaint. I mean, remember the last time this sort of thing happened...

PAUL:

That fire was accidental! No one liked that village sign anyway.

RICHARD:

They liked it better when you weren't dancing around it naked waving a petrol can.

PAUL:

There you go again. You just can't help yourself, can you? Even now you still have to have one last dig. Now I told you all to get out of my pub!

RICHARD:

Oh, for God's sake, man. You're not going to shoot anyone.

PAUL:

Are you sure about that? (SHOUTING) Are you?

WE HEAR THE GUN BEING COCKED AND A COLLECTIVE INTAKE OF BREATH.

ZIA:

God in Heaven!

DEBBIE:

Paul! For pity's sake be careful. It might go off by accident!

PAUL:

It will go off because I want it to! You're my only real friend, Debbie. But even you can't treat me seriously. Why can't anyone take me seriously!

DEBBIE:

All right! All right! We're going.

(PAUSE)

OK everyone. Let's just quietly leave Paul to calm down. He'll be all right. Won't you, Paul?

WE HEAR THE GUN UNCOCKED AND SEVERAL SIGHS OF RELIEF.

PAUL:

Just go!

NIGEL:

Them first.

RICHARD:

What?

NIGEL:

I'm not going anywhere before they do. If there was one thing my Dad taught me it was never back down in a fight.

ZIA:

Was that what got him killed?

NIGEL:

It's what might get you killed one day, you filthy immigrant.

JAMES:

You sound tough threatening a woman.

JEREMY:

I think what Nigel is trying to say...

NIGEL:

What Nigel means is you're going to look pretty stupid trying to wipe your arse with both your arms in plaster.

CARTER:

Charming. I didn't know Thurrock had a zoo.

NIGEL:

Sure it does. There's a tower block full of monkeys from Africa.

ZIA:

Here we go! Your true colours at last.

JEREMY:

Nigel, control yourself. Please. Remember, we're in the right here. We don't need to stoop to their level.

NIGEL:

Why should I control myself? It's my country.

JEREMY:

For the good of the Party, my boy. Don't you remember our little chat?

NIGEL:

What? After your fancy lawyer got me off a stretch inside, you mean? I'd have been proud doing time for what I believe in rather than help build that community centre for coons and faggots. I'm sick of all this poncing about.

JEREMY:

I'm sorry everyone, but Nigel's a little overwrought. I'm sure he doesn't realise what he's saying.

NIGEL:

Is that right?

JEREMY:

Yes, Nigel. For the good of the Party. I'm sure you agree.

NIGEL:

'For the good of the party.' What's the point of this damned party anyway if we have to sell our souls down the river to get anywhere? If there was one thing my Dad taught me it was that action talks louder than words.

JAMES:

That makes two things. He was quite the sage.

ZIA:

Someone wrote a book once about how two plus two makes five. It would be right up your street... or should I say alleyway.

CARTER:

If he could read. Eh, James?

NIGEL:

You what?

PAUL:

Hello there! You're doing it again. Ignoring me...

JAMES:

He could always watch the film version instead.

PAUL:

...dismissing me! For God's sake. What do I have to do for people to see me as an equal? Kill someone?

ZIA:

Starring Richard Burton and John Hurt, wasn't it?

PAUL:

This gun is loaded, remember!

JAMES:

Hang on. Leave before you do? Over my dead body!

WE HEAR THE GUN COCKED AGAIN.

RICHARD:

Will you put that thing down, Paul! You're making a fool of yourself. I'm finding this whole exhibition quite embarrassing.

JAMES:

He's right, pal. This is about history not histrionics.

DEBBIE:

Put it down, Paul. Please.

PAUL:

All my life, the same. Always in the background. I wasn't born I was painted. Painted on to the background scenery whilst the real drama was played out in front of me.

RICHARD:

Now you really are being histrionic.

DEBBIE:

Paul? Please!

NIGEL:

Yer, it's not just the farmer's shotgun that makes you look ridiculous.

DEBBIE:

Paul...

JAMES:

Might come in handy against vermin, though. Hey, skinhead?

PAUL:

Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!

WE HEAR PAUL SOBBING LOUDLY.

RICHARD:

Damn it. He's going to let that thing off again. I know it!

JEREMY:

Yes, I rather fear...

DEBBIE:

Oh, for God's sake, put the gun down, you idiot!

A HUSH DESCENDS OVER THE SCENE.

PAUL:

D-Debbie? Debbie?

(PAUSE)

W-What did you call me?

DEBBIE:

Well, for crying out loud. You are going to hurt someone with that!

PAUL:

But you called me... an idiot.

DEBBIE:

Well, you are sometimes! I'm sorry, Paul, but real friends tell you what you need to hear not just what you want to hear. You're an idiot for waving that thing in everyone's face. OK? You're an idiot for not taking other people's advice about improving this place. And you're an idiot forever dreaming there could ever be anything between us beyond friendship.

PAUL:

What? I never once...

DEBBIE:

Oh, come off it, Paul. I'm not a fool. Even if I wasn't married, you're not my type. Simple as that. I'm sorry, but there it is.

PAUL:

You're not serious? Tell me you don't mean any of this?

DEBBIE:

It's true. And I'm sorry, Paul. Truly I am. But I'm never going fall in love with you. I only love you as a friend.

RICHARD:

The whole village knows. Everyone knows. I've seen the way you look at her. We all have.

NIGEL:

(LAUGHING) Sounds like the only person around here who doesn't know about this steamy love affair is you, pal.

PAUL:

But it wasn't like that. It was never meant to be anything like that. It was true friendship, nothing more. Those long talks we had. I trusted you. You listened for hours without muttering a word of complaint. That was all I needed. I never wanted to be like those other men. Oh yes, I know about them. All of them. I was close to you even if you weren't close to me. No, it was friendship I wanted. Turns out I couldn't even get that right, could I?

WE HEAR SOMETHING SWINGING IN THE AIR AND THE SOUND OF SOMETHING BEING FORCED INTO SOMEONE'S MOUTH.

ZIA:

Jesus, he's going to shoot himself!

JAMES:

Good God, man. No!

WE HEAR PAUL CRYING THROUGH HIS MOUTHFUL OF SHOTGUN BARREL WHILST OUTSIDE THE WIND REACHES A CRESCENDO.

DEBBIE:

Paul? Please. This has to stop here. You're frightening everyone.

WE HEAR PAUL GASP FOR AIR AS HE REMOVES THE BARREL FROM HIS MOUTH.

PAUL:

But I'm afraid, Debbie.

DEBBIE:

Yes... I know you are.

RICHARD:

Mind you don't knock the stock against the bar!

NIGEL:

I doubt your insurance will pay up. And who's your next-of-kin, anyway?

PAUL:

I'm so afraid.

DEBBIE:

Shhh. I know.

WE HEAR DEBBIE'S HEELS SLOWLY APPROACHING THE BAR.

DEBBIE:

You knew about the affairs, knew I'd lied to you, and still said nothing?

PAUL:

Yes.

DEBBIE:

Then I'm the idiot.

RICHARD:

Be careful, Debbie. Don't get too close.

DEBBIE:

It's all right. Hssh now. Paul's going to put the gun down now. Aren't you, Paul? He's going to put the gun down on the bar and then we are going upstairs for a nice cup of tea and one of our famous fireside chats. Isn't that right, Paul?

WE HEAR PAUL GROANING WITH EFFORT.

ZIA:

Oh, God in heaven, he's trying to reach the trigger with his foot!

NIGEL:

Should have sawn the end off, mate.

SUDDENLY WE HEAR THE GUN RATTLE ONTO THE BAR TOP AND PAUL ERUPTS INTO HOWLING TEARS.

DEBBIE:

Come with me, Paul. Hssh. Let's relax upstairs.

WE HEAR DEBBIE AND PAUL EXIT BY THE REAR DOOR AND CLIMB THE STAIRS. PAUL IS MEWLING LIKE AN ANIMAL.

JEREMY:

Phew! Thank heavens for that.

RICHARD:

Honestly, you think you know someone...

WE HEAR NIGEL MAKE A SUDDEN LUNGE ACROSS THE ROOM AND GRAB THE SHOTGUN FROM THE BAR TOP.

NIGEL:

Now then. That's evened things up a bit.

JEREMY:

Nigel, what are you doing? Have you lost control of your senses? Think what the reaction will be if the press gets hold of this!

NIGEL:

It doesn't matter. None of it matters. And do you know why?

RICHARD:

Please, young man. You can surely tell us without the need of a weapon.

NIGEL:

Ah, but that's the point. I can't. Not with the media in the hands of the enemy. No one shouts down a shotgun.

JEREMY:

Tell them it's joke, Nigel. It's his warped sense of humour everyone. Plus the drink...

NIGEL:

There's a joke here all right. This Party of yours is a joke. Trying to take control of this country via the ballot box is a joke. You're a joke, Mr. Driver.

JEREMY:

Oh, no. I think he's having a breakdown, too...

NIGEL:

Thinking we could win with votes in a country run by do-gooders and Jews. Do you think the jungle has a ballot box?

ZIA:

I knew it!

JAMES:

Textbook fascism.

CARTER:

Go easy, you two. He is armed.

NIGEL:

That's right, faggot. And unlike laughing boy upstairs I've actually had occasion to use one of these.

JEREMY:

What? You assured me you were just the getaway driver!

NIGEL:

I told everyone I was the getaway driver. It doesn't mean I was, though, does it?

JEREMY:

But this could have been our launch pad, Nigel. We could have been noticed, been taken seriously at last. A legitimate new force in politics.

RICHARD:

I'm sure they'll notice this.

NIGEL:

Oh, save it for the your poncy leaflets, Driver. The only force that's going to change the state of this country is an age-old one, brute strength.

JEREMY:

But the exit poll...

NIGEL:

Was a lie. We did nothing. Everyone sucked up to the same old pinko gasbags and toffs. You were using me. I knew that all along. Well the tables have turned somewhat, wouldn't you agree?

JAMES:

So what's Plan B, Nigel? From here to Downing Street on the back of a shotgun cartridge?

NIGEL:

I am seriously sick of hearing your voice.

ZIA:

Actually, Nigel. I've got a plan.

NIGEL:

You what?

WE HEAR SOMETHING REMOVED FROM A COAT POCKET AND SEVERAL BEEPS BEFORE THE FAINT SOUND OF VOICES GROWS AS ZIA INCREASES THE VOLUME ON HER MOBILE PHONE.

ZIA:

Listen. You'll like this bit. So will the police.

NIGEL:

(RECORDING) "...I told everyone I was the getaway driver. It doesn't mean I was, though, does it?"

You sneaky little bitch! Give that here.

ZIA:

Not likely.

NIGEL:

I'll kill before I let them send me down!

ZIA:

Then you'll go down for longer, won't you? And I'll die a martyr.

JAMES:

Zia, I don't think you're in a position to...

ZIA:

Because I'm a woman? I know this is not a good time to bring this up, James, but if there is one thing I hate nearly as much as racism it's sexism. So you can go to Glastonbury with someone else, all right?

JAMES:

What? Zia, I...I...

WE HEAR LOUD BANGING AT THE FRONT DOOR.

POLICEMAN:

This is an armed police response unit. Come out with your hands up. We have the building surrounded.

NIGEL:

You set this up, you Arab bitch.

ZIA:

I'm from North London not North Africa, you ignorant bastard. But yes, you have been set up. You see, Richard and Debbie, I recognised his face during the fracas outside the polling station. Last time I saw you, Mr. Shirley, you were planting your size nine into a nineteen-year old's face: My nineteen-year-old sister's face, to be precise. She was in hospital for a week. Even now she can only eat soft food. I wasn't going to let that one go.

RICHARD:

Is that why you came here? To this pub. Because you hoped he'd come in? I don't believe it.

ZIA:

I never forget a face.

NIGEL:

So you can still remember what your sister's used to look like, then?

CARTER:

There's a lot of blue lights out there now. Looks like we are surrounded.

POLICEMAN:

I repeat, this is an armed police response unit. Put down your weapon and come out with your hands up.

JAMES:

Make the right choice, Corporal Adolf. You might not get a second chance.

ZIA:

Hey, look, everyone. There, in the middle of his forehead.

NIGEL:

What? Look at what? What is it?

JAMES:

Zia?

ZIA:

You must know what that is, James. Look at it! A little red dot.

NIGEL:

What are you talking about?

JAMES:

Ah-ha! Of course. It's an infrared laser sighting beam. A single red dot right between the eyes.

CARTER:

The type that's attached to a high-powered rifle.

ZIA STARTS GIGGLING.

ZIA:

He looks like a Hindu!

NIGEL:

You're lying! There's nothing there!

WE HEAR NIGEL RUSHING AROUND THE BAR, BREATHING HARD.

ZIA:

It's on the back of your head now, idiot.

WE HEAR NIGEL RUSH FORWARDS AND COCK THE SHOTGUN.

NIGEL:

Liars! You're trying to trick me. I'm taking you all hostage and getting out of here on my terms. (SHOUTING) I'm in control! Understand, coppers? Me!

JAMES:

It's amazing how they never let their aim waver from its target. Even for a split second.

ZIA:

They must have a second marksman somewhere.

CARTER:

Or several, I don't doubt.

ZIA:

They could pick him off even if he was laying behind the bar.

NIGEL:

You there. Richard. You'll tell me the truth, won't you? You're not one of them. I can tell. You're decent. Proud to be British. We understand each other, right? You wouldn't lie to one of your own, would you? It wouldn't be cricket. Isn't that right? (HIGH PITCHED) So tell me, is there really a red dot in the middle of my forehead or not?

RICHARD:

Well, I...

WE HEAR MORE POUNDING ON THE FRONT DOOR.

RICHARD:

Yes, Nigel. I'm afraid they're telling the truth. You need to put down you're weapon and surrender. It's over.

WE HEAR THE GUN CLATTER TO THE FLOOR AND EVERYONE LET OUT SIGHS OF RELIEF THAT IT DOESN'T GO OFF. WE HEAR NIGEL WALKING TOWARDS THE FRONT DOOR AND LIFT THE LATCH.

NIGEL:

Don't shoot! I'm coming out. I'm unarmed. It wasn't me... I was set up...Do you hear? Set up!

POLICEMAN:

Hands behind your back.

NIGEL:

I can't see where I'm going. Ah! That light is shining straight into my eyes...

POLICEMAN:

Right, on the ground. Legs apart. Hands where I can see them. No sudden movements or we'll shoot.

WE HEAR NIGEL ROUGHLY DRAGGED DOWN ONTO THE GRAVEL AND A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS SECURED TO HIS WRISTS.

## SCENE FIVE

WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS ON THE STAIRS AND DEBBIE RE-ENTERS THE BAR.

DEBBIE:

What happened?

POLICEMAN:

I've just apprehended a dangerous criminal, my dear.

RICHARD:

It's not often he gets to say that in this neck of the woods.

POLICEMAN:

Aye, it's been quite a night.

JAMES:

I'm just relieved that thug fell for Zia's trick. For a second there I didn't think he was going to believe all that laser dot nonsense.

RICHARD:

Yes, nice one, young lady. It could have ended in tragedy otherwise. (BEAT) Debbie, how is Paul?

DEBBIE:

Still asleep, I hope.

RICHARD:

You think it's safe to leave him alone up there?

DEBBIE:

If he was going to harm himself he would have done it years ago.

WE HEAR HER BEGIN TO CRY.

RICHARD:

It's not your fault. None of it is any of our faults.

POLICEMAN:

You think you can positively identify that young chap as the perpetrator in a case of assault, I understand?

ZIA:

Yes... but how did you know?

POLICEMAN:

I bumped into your friend in his van. He told me all about it and when I saw everyone running out of the pub I decided to investigate. I didn't want to wait any longer for a real Armed Response Team to arrive, so I faked it. Must have really spooked him. I'll just see he's all right in the car then I'll need your names and addresses. Standard procedure. Mind you, there is one question I'd like answered by you young people.

(PAUSE)

Why the pajamas?

CARTER:

It's a long story, constable.

POLICEMAN:

Can't be as long as the time that van of yours has been driving around without road tax. I had to book your driver, I'm afraid. The law's the law! I'll be back in a jiffy.

RICHARD:

What a long evening. Can't we call it a night?

DEBBIE:

Yes. I'm exhausted.

JAMES:

And what about you, Mr. Driver? What have you got to say about this evening's events? Proud of yourself, are you?

JEREMY:

As a representative of the New Union of Modern Britains, I categorically deny that that man's views form any part of our philosophy or beliefs. Our members don't end up in handcuffs. He'll be ejected from the party forthwith.

CARTER:

Oh, do spare us the spin.

ZIA:

I think you've just been voted out, Mr. Driver. Don't you?

JEREMY:

Richard, if I could just...

RICHARD:

(COLDLY) Goodbye, Mr. Driver.

WE HEAR JEREMY WALK SLOWLY TOWARDS THE EXIT.

JEREMY:

Britain hasn't heard the last of us! In the political jungle the strong always survive!

WE HEAR THE DOOR SOFTLY OPEN AND CLOSE BEHIND HIM.

CARTER:

Good riddance.

JAMES:

We must be off, too. It's a long haul back to the Capital.

ZIA:

Will the landlord be all right?

DEBBIE:

Everything's out in the open now. I hope we can still be friends. I wouldn't say this to his face, but I'm all he's got. He needs me.

ZIA:

And what about you, Debbie? Will you be all right?

DEBBIE:

Of course I will. Thanks.

ZIA:

Goodbye, then. Come on you two. Let's give that policeman our details and be off. The tax disc is in the glove compartment, fortunately.

WE HEAR THE THREE STUDENTS LEAVE.

RICHARD:

I do hope that ends it. I've had enough surprises today to last me the rest of the year.

DEBBIE:

That storm has died away completely. I think I might fall straight into bed.

RICHARD:

(WHISPERED) You could fall into mine, if you like.

DEBBIE:

Not tonight, Richard. I'm not being funny with you, but I'd rather stay here and keep an eye on Paul. I hope you understand.

RICHARD:

How ironic.

DEBBIE:

And listen. Perhaps we should cool it for a while, Richard. Paul knows about us and he might not be the only one.

RICHARD:

Oh...

WE HEAR DEBBIE WALK SLOWLY TOWARDS THE DOOR. THEN SUDDENLY WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS POUNDING DOWN THE STAIRS AND THE REAR DOOR BURSTS OPEN.

RICHARD:

Now what?

DEBBIE:

Paul, what is it?

PAUL:

(PANTING) What time is it?

RICHARD:

It's nine twenty-five. Why?

PAUL:

I didn't vote. I was going to nip out again before all this happened.

DEBBIE:

Didn't you vote earlier, at the community centre?

PAUL:

No! What with all the disturbance I decided to go back later instead when things had calmed down. But then they didn't and I... I'm sorry.

RICHARD:

Wait... Good heavens, I haven't voted either! It clean went out of my head. Debbie?

DEBBIE:

Well actually when I saw those students protesting outside the community centre I was merely going for an evening stroll. I wasn't going to vote at all. I've become rather disillusioned with politics, to be frank. Can't see what difference it will make either way.

RICHARD:

Can't you see it now?

DEBBIE:

Yes. I suppose I can.

RICHARD:

And what if Nigel got it wrong? What if people did vote for that lot after all?

PAUL:

What if they win by a couple of votes...?

DEBBIE:

If we run...

RICHARD:

(SHOUTING) Come on!

WE HEAR THE THREE CHARGE OUTSIDE AND RUN OFF DOWN THE ROAD.

## MUSSULMEN

### SETTING:

Modern day. Midlands.

### MAIN CAST:

BIG BROTHER: (24)

LITTLE BROTHER (19)

AMANDA (22)

CHANTEL (21)

INTERROGATER #1 (33)

INTERROGATER #2 (42)

### MINOR CHARACTERS:

STRANGER IN KITCHEN

FOOTBALLER

MAN AT NIGHTCLUB

RADIO NEWSREADER

AIRPORT ANNOUNCER

## SCENE ONE:

BEDROOM BELONGING TO BIG BROTHER.

WE HEAR BIRDSONG AND TRAFFIC. SOMEONE YAWNS AND STRETCHES. IN THE BACKGROUND WE HEAR SOMEONE IN MUSLIM PRAYER.

BIG BROTHER:

So she wants to travel, does she? She wants to see the world? Before it's 'too late'. Does she know something I don't? Is an asteroid hurtling towards the Earth as we speak? Are tectonic plates grinding antagonistically beneath the ocean floors? Has Bob Geldoff got through an interview without using the word 'crap'? And what about me? Not once did she entertain the idea that I might like to see the world. I love a good holiday as much as anyone. The beach, the bars, the blue-lighted dance floor... The only blue lights you get around here is when the police break up a fight.

WE HEAR THE CURTAINS BEING OPENED AND ANOTHER STRETCHING YAWN.

BIG BROTHER:

What the hell is he staring at? Oh, heck! I'm starkers! Pervert!

SOUND OF CURTAINS BEING PULLED HASTILY CLOSED AGAIN.

**BIG BROTHER** :

No, it's not about her 'seeing' anything. It's about seeing the back of me. Well, maybe I'm smarter than she imagines. Maybe I'll find a way to make her change her mind. Now I'm starting to sound like a Sixties' ballad.

WE HEAR THE SOUND OF PRAYING CEASE ABRUPTLY AND FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING. THERE IS A KNOCK AND THE DOOR CREEKS OPEN.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Who are you shouting at?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Peeping Tom, that's who.

LITTLE BROTHER:

With X-ray vision?

**BIG BROTHER** :

The curtains were open at the time, dummy. Anyway, shouldn't you still be praying?

LITTLE BROTHER:

So what happened last night? I heard you swearing at three in the morning.

WE HEAR BIG BROTHER GRUNTING AND STRAINING.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Damn. These jeans have shrunk.

LITTLE BROTHER:

And you've been trying to get into them all night?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Well, it makes a change from trying to get into someone else's.

WE HEAR A LOUDER GRUNT, THEN A CURSE.

Oh, sod it. I give up.

WE HEAR THE JEANS FLAP THROUGH THE AIR AND HIT A WALL.

LITTLE BROTHER:

You know what I think of your lifestyle. This will all backfire on you in the afterlife.

**BIG BROTHER** :

A backfire in the afterlife? So all the dodgy second-hand car dealers in the Midlands _do_ get to heaven. I wonder if they let in dead traffic wardens, too?

LITTLE BROTHER:

If anyone else heard you talking this way...

**BIG BROTHER** :

Yes, but I can say it to you because you know I don't mean it.

LITTLE BROTHER:

It's got to be girl trouble. Am I right?

**BIG BROTHER** :

No, just self-righteous.

LITTLE BROTHER:

But seriously.

**BIG BROTHER** :

It's a lucky guess, that's all.

LITTLE BROTHER:

I knew it. (BEAT) Your hurt is self-inflicted, brother. Do the right thing. Settle down with a good Muslim girl. Like Dad wants.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Yes, but it's not him that has to wake up next to her, is it? Have you seen some of the brides the elder generation cough up for us? Ranjith's, for instance.

LITTLE BROTHER:

I've seen worse.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Where? The cinema on Halloween? No wonder Dad loves those old Boris Karloff movies. I can't marry someone that's going to have more facial hair than me by the age of forty. I want a wife not a pet. No wonder we invented the hijab.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Oh, don't start on that again!

**BIG BROTHER** :

It's just that if God had wanted women to cover their faces he'd have given them beards too. Like Ranjith's wife, for instance.

LITTLE BROTHER:

That he gave men beards shows us clearly why women _should_ cover their faces. Although you're right about one thing: Ranjith's wife certainly isn't leaving anything to chance.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I want a wife that hides her face for modesty not health and safety reasons. You see, I do have standards.

LITTLE BROTHER:

So what happened?

WE HEAR THE SOUND OF BIG BROTHER COLLAPSING BACK ON TO HIS BED.

**BIG BROTHER** :

She's dumped me, little brother.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Amanda? Shame. She seemed quite nice - for an infidel.

**BIG BROTHER** :

She corrupted my immortal soul, Bro. Twice on the first night, if I remember correctly.

LITTLE BROTHER:

You know what Dad would say if he knew?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Always wear a condom?

LITTLE BROTHER:

I'm trying to help you.

**BIG BROTHER** :

No. You're trying to save me. It's not the same thing.

LITTLE BROTHER:

But it is. That's the point.

WE HEAR BIG BROTHER GET OFF THE BED SUDDENLY.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Well, if the Almighty has finished with you perhaps you could help by putting the kettle on. I have an almighty headache.

WE HEAR THE DOOR RE-OPENING AS LITTLE BROTHER PREPARES TO LEAVE.

LITTLE BROTHER:

I'll pray for you, brother.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Pray for sugar. I want two.

LITTLE BROTHER'S FOOTSTEPS RATTLE DOWN THE STAIRS. BIG BROTHER OPENS THE CURTAINS AGAIN.

**BIG BROTHER** :

No. I can't just let her... What? Not that pervert again. What the hell is he...? Oh, shit! Jeans!

WE HEAR THE CURTAINS YANKED CLOSED.

## SCENE 2:

THE KITCHEN.

THE KETTLE BOILS AND WE HEAR LITTLE BROTHER MAKE TWO MUGS OF TEA. A RADIO PLAYS BANGRA MUSIC. BIG BROTHER BEGINS SIPPING HIS TEA.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Cheers, mate. Ah! That's better. Thank God for colonialism. Have you any idea how difficult it would be to find tea here if it wasn't for the British Empire?

LITTLE BROTHER:

Yes, but then we wouldn't be here if wasn't for the British Empire. We'd be drinking our own tea grown in our own country.

**BIG BROTHER** :

This is my country, little brother! (SLURPS) Ghandi would have made a great hippie, you know. Actually, Ghandi was the first hippie.

LITTLE BROTHER:

You really have no respect for anything, do you?

**BIG BROTHER** :

You've got me all wrong, bro. It's just a defence mechanism. Deep down I'm a martyr to spirituality.

LITTLE BROTHER:

(SIGHS) So, I suppose you are going to phone her?

**BIG BROTHER** :

I wouldn't give her the satisfaction!

LITTLE BROTHER:

You liked this one a lot, though, didn't you?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Hmm... Maybe. But she wants to travel.

LITTLE BROTHER:

And you don't?

**BIG BROTHER** :

I don't want to lose this job. Good pay, status and they have moisturiser in the Gents.

LITTLE BROTHER:

It's a cosmetics factory.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Men's toiletries and scents! It's still a good job.

LITTLE BROTHER:

And you want to keep it more than you want to keep Amanda? Smells off to me.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Hang on. Shouldn't you be saying 'I told you so' and talking down to me disdainfully? Anyway, it's not that simple. I never got to discuss it with her. It was like I was never part of her plans from the beginning.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Ah, now I see.

**BIG BROTHER** :

What?

LITTLE BROTHER:

It was her idea and now you're too proud to accept the invitation? She's probably waiting for her mobile to go off right now, you fool. Tell me the truth, Big Brother, was it actually Amanda that said it was over or your pride?

**BIG BROTHER** :

You know for someone who's never even had a girlfriend, you know an awful lot about relationships suddenly. So much for not making an omelette without breaking eggs.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Yes, but any fool can read a cook book.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Now I know why you spend so much time deep in contemplation and prayer. Deep, bro. _Deep_...

## SCENE 3:

FLASHBACK TO A BUSY BAR WITH PUMPING MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND AND THE CHATTER/LAUGHTER OF A HAPPY CROWD.

AMANDA:

It's not you. It's me.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I don't get it. We get on, don't we? I thought you liked me?

AMANDA:

It's not about liking you...

BIG BROTHER:

So, you don't?

AMANDA:

...It's about being young and free and adventurous. There's so much out there and so little time. The possibilities are limitless, but time isn't. (BEAT) I can't be tied down.

**BIG BROTHER** :

And so you're dumping me to be free-spirited, right?

AMANDA:

It's not about us. It's about getting out there before it's too late.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You feel suffocated.

AMANDA:

What?

**BIG BROTHER** :

You feel suffocated, restricted, held back...

AMANDA:

Why do you always assume the whole world revolves around you?

**BIG BROTHER** :

You see! It _is_ about me. Well let me save you the trouble of letting me down gently.

SOUND OF A BAR STOOL SCRAPING BACK AND SOMEONE SHOUTING "OI, WATCH IT MATE!" AS BIG BROTHER STORMS OUT.

(SHOUTED) I've got my pride!

AMANDA:

No, wait! Wait! Come back! I'm only going for six months, you idiot!

## SCENE 4:

BACK IN THE KITCHEN.

WE HEAR BIG BROTHER POURING HIMSELF ANOTHER MUG OF TEA.

LITTLE BROTHER:

So you jumped before you could be pushed. Bolted before you could be stabled. Horsed before you could be carted...

WE HEAR BIG BROTHER SLAM HIS MUG DOWN ON THE TABLE.

**BIG BROTHER** :

So what do I do now? Hey? Beg her to let me tag along like some sort of pack horse? And besides, what's with all the equine analogies? We're not Afghans.

LITTLE BROTHER:

You won't have to tag anything. She's likes you, too. You want my advice? Pick up the phone and suggest taking her home.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You mean Pakistan?

LITTLE BROTHER:

Exactly.

BIG BROTHER:

Actually, wasn't that where horse riding originated?

LITTLE BROTHER:

No. That was Kazakhstan. But the point is she'll be seeing the world and finding her roots. It'll show you up as someone who can appreciate the modern world and the traditions of the old one.

**BIG BROTHER** :

There you go again. Trying to save me. She's never going to be my Jamima Khan. She can't even spell mosque.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Think about it, bro. You've always wanted to trace your roots. She wants to travel to exotic locations. And Dad would love me for persuading you to go. And with Amanda hanging off your arm... no risk of an arranged marriage in the Mummy's Tomb. Everything is tickity-boo, as Dad would say.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Lend me your mobile.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Why?

BIG BROTHER:

I'm out of credit.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Here you go. Send her a text. You don't want to appear desperate.

BIG BROTHER:

You know for someone so spiritually enlightened you can be a devious little sod at times.

THE BANGRA MUSIC ON THE RADIO IS RAISED TO END THE SCENE.

## SCENE 5:

A CAFÉ.

WE HEAR MURMURED CONVERSATION, CUPS CHINKING AGAINST SAUCERS AND SOMEONE SHOUTING FOOD ORDERS TO KITCHEN STAFF. A MOBILE PHONE'S TEXT ALERT IS HEARD IN THE FOREGROUND.

CHANTEL:

Quick. That might be from him!

AMANDA:

It had better be!

WE HEAR HER USING HER PHONE THROUGH A SERIES OF BLEEPS.

The conceited knob.

CHANTEL:

Well?

AMANDA:

Interesting...

CHANTEL:

Mandy, give over. What does it say?

AMANDA:

He says, 'YOU R RIGHT. SEE WORLD B4 IT BURNS. AFTER ALL WE'RE A LONG TIME DEAD, BABE.'

WE HEAR THE PING OF A MESSAGE ARRIVING.

Hold on, there's more. He says... wow!

CHANTEL:

What? What!

AMANDA:

'LET ME TAKE YOU 2 PAKISTAN.'

CHANTEL:

Pakistan? That's more Asian than Ilford!

AMANDA:

(GIGGLING) Who's 'sari' now? Wait up. Let me reply.

CHANTEL:

No, let _me_ reply. He won't know the difference.

AMANDA:

Oh, I think he probably would, and this is not the time to play hard to get.

CHANTEL:

Just don't let him think you're desperate...

## SCENE 6:

BACK IN THE BROTHERS' KITCHEN.

WE HEAR THE PING OF AN ARRIVING TEXT MESSAGE.

LITTLE BROTHER:

Come on, what's her reply?

**BIG BROTHER** :

She says, 'MEET @ MIDDAY. USUAL PLACE. NEED 2 PLAN. DON'T BE LATE.'

LITTLE BROTHER:

See, I told you. I told you! Tickety-boo.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Little bro, I appreciate your support. Honestly. But I don't get this. Shouldn't you be arranging a stoning or at least renouncing our brotherhood. Why are you helping me and her get back together?

LITTLE BROTHER:

Because I really don't want to save you. You must find your own path to righteousness.

**BIG BROTHER** :

So you won't condemn me?

LITTLE BROTHER:

The Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon Him, has said, God shows mercy to he who is merciful.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You'll make a good Muslim out of me yet. Thanks, bro.

LITTLE BROTHER:

It's God's love, not mine.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Sure. I'd better get going.

## SCENE 7:

PUBLIC PARK.

WE HEAR BIRDS SINGING AND CHILDREN PLAYING.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Chantal? It's always you and that bloody Chantal!

AMANDA:

I thought you liked her?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Not enough to go on holiday with. I wanted this to be a special journey for us, babe.

AMANDA:

You shouldn't have stormed off like that, then, should you! Anyway, I've asked her now so I have to go through with it.

**BIG BROTHER** :

But it was me who had the idea for Pakistan in the first place! And anyway, she's always tried to split us up. Stirring and spreading rumours.

AMANDA:

Why would she do that? Not everyone's as obsessed with you the way you are, you know. Besides, we're not even going to Pakistan now.

**BIG BROTHER** :

So where the hell...

AMANDA:

Chile.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Are you?

AMANDA:

No, the country Chile. That's where we're going.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Why Chile?

AMANDA:

We couldn't agree where to go so I closed my eyes and opened an atlas at random.

**BIG BROTHER** :

And that gave you your choice?

AMANDA:

Not the first time, no. That was a relief map of the moon. But that's not the point. I asked Chantal to come and I have to go through with it. She'll have a separate bedroom. She's bringing her boyfriend. You know, Michael. You like Michael.

**BIG BROTHER** :

So you're going on holiday to Chile with Chantal _and_ Michael. For how long?

AMANDA:

We were going to spend a month in Santiago and then gradually explore the continent till the money ran dry. Michael speaks Spanish – well, a bit, anyway...

**BIG BROTHER** :

I mean, how long ago did you plan all this?

A FOOTBALL LANDS NEARBY AND A VOICE SHOUTS, "KICK IT BACK, GEEZER." WE HEAR BIG BROTHER BOOT THE BALL WITH A GRUNT. THERE IS A SPLASH AND THE VOICE CALLS BACK, "HEY, YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!"

**BIG BROTHER** :

Oh, go play water polo instead, then, you tit!

(BEAT)

You never had any intention of going to Pakistan with me, did you? You were going to string me along until you could think up an excuse to explore South America.

AMANDA:

Don't be ridiculous!

WE HEAR VOICES COAXING SOMEONE TO RETRIEVE THE BALL AND THE SOUND OF DUCKS QUACKING. SOMEONE ELSE SHOUTS, "NO, NOT TOO FAR!", FOLLOWED BY A CRY, A LOUD SPLASH AND DUCKS TAKE FLIGHT IN ALARM.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Idiot!

AMANDA:

What?

**BIG BROTHER** :

No, not you. I meant Tom Daley over there. Listen, Mandy...

WE HEAR SQUEALCHING FOOTFALLS APPROACH.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Oh, heck. He's coming over. Let me handle this, Mand.

AMANDA:

(HUSHED) Be my guest.

BIG BROTHER:

Here listen, mate, that was completely accidental. I'm really sorry...

FOOTBALLER:

No you're not. But you will be.

THERE IS THE SOUND OF PUSHING AND SHOVING. A CROWD QUICKLY BEGINS A CHORUS OF "FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT".

**BIG BROTHER** :

I don't want it to end like this!

FOOTBALLER:

Oh, I'm only just getting warmed up, pal!

AMANDA:

(VOICE RECEEDING INTO THE BACKGROUND) Just forget it! You're a ruddy hooligan!

**BIG BROTHER** :

Wait up Amanda... (SHOUTED) Will you get off me!

WE HEAR A PUNCH LAND AND SOMEONE FALLS TO THE FLOOR.

(BREATHLESSLY) Mandy! Mandy!

## SCENE 8:

BIG BROTHER'S KITCHEN.

WE HEAR THE SOUNDS OF SOMEONE ATTENDING TO THEIR INJURIES OVER A SINK. A CUPBOARD DOOR BANGS SHUT, A BOTTLE TOP IS UNSCREWED AND THE TAP RUNS FAST. IN THE BACKGROUND A RADIO PLAYS CHART MUSIC.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Ouch! What a way to spend a day off.

WE HEAR THE TAP TURNED OFF AND A FLANNEL BEING SQUEEZED OUT.

Ouch! And for what? Silly cow was stringing me along the whole time, just as I thought. I bet you any amount that she finds a new bloke before she leaves. Just to make up the numbers. And then off they'll go without a thought for yours truly. Four Get Silly in Chile. But they'll be all right because Michael speaks the language. I wonder how you say gastro-intestinal disorder in Spanish? He'll just have to mime or wave a bog roll in someone's face. Ouch! If only I could make her see the mistake she's making. Blokes like me don't grow on trees. Especially in the Andes. I'll adopt the first llama that spits in her face. After all I've done for her. After all I've given her.

WE HEAR THE TAP RUNNING AGAIN BRIEFLY.

Impulsivity, that's what it is. The impulsivity of youth, as Dad would say. If only she had time to stop and think, she'd realise her mistake. Perhaps I could slip a suspicious polythene bag of flour into her hand luggage; make her miss the flight. That's all it would take. Mind you, most couriers take drugs out of South America rather than back in. Still...

NEWSREADER:

This is the one o'clock news. Police are continuing to interview suspects detained during dawn raids across the country yesterday. Human rights groups have roundly criticised the arrests as an over-reaction to recent terrorist threats. However, in a statement released by the Home Office at noon, the Home Secretary reiterated his commitment to stopping terrorism in the free world 'using all available resources and legislation'...

**BIG BROTHER** :

Well the news is the usual bundle of laughs.

WE HEAR BIG BROTHER GET UP AND BEGIN FIDDLING WITH THE RADIO, THE SOUND OF WHICH IS DISTORTED AS IT WHINES IN AND OUT OF FREQUENCY.

**BIG BROTHER** :

What is wrong with this radio? Oh, sod it!

WE HEAR THE RADIO SMASHING ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR.

Ah. Damn it... (BEAT) Hang on a minute.

SOUND OF BROKEN RADIO PARTS BEING PICKED UP AND EXAMINED.

**BIG BROTHER** :

(HUSHED) Hmm. Colourful wires, transistors, springs? All I need now is a battery and some play-dough and tickety-boo. Or rather, tickety- _boom_. I'd love to see how she gets rid of it at the airport. I'll leave the back off so she can see the 'plastic explosive' (LAUGHS). Tape an old mobile phone to the top with a lot of wires running about. She won't know the difference. She'll probably panic and run outside, miss her flight. (LAUGHING LOUDER) Yes! That'll teach her!

## SCENE 9:

A BUSY AIRPORT.

WE HEAR LOUD SPEAKER ANNOUNCEMENTS, CHATTERING VOICES, SCREAMING CHILDREN, ETC.

CHANTEL:

I hope Mike isn't going to be much longer. They'll be boarding soon.

AMANDA:

What is it with blokes and toilets?

CHANTEL:

They don't even wear makeup.

AMANDA:

Please don't mention making up.

CHANTEL:

No word from you know who, then?

AMANDA:

I've not heard a whimper since that bust up in the park.

CHANTEL:

Three weeks is a long time in sexual politics.

AMANDA:

It's over. I know that much. There was one consolation, though. Quite sweet, really.

CHANTEL:

What?

AMANDA:

He left me a going away present.

WE HEAR SOMETHING WRAPPED IN PAPER BEING PULLED FROM A BAG.

CHANTEL:

You haven't opened it yet.

AMANDA:

He insisted I open it here.

CHANTEL:

Well, if it's a guidebook, we've got three already.

AMANDA:

Sweet, really. Pity he was too proud to come with us. I really liked him. You know I still remember his chat up line the first time we met: 'I want to dance with you...'

CHANTEL/AMANDA:

'...And I won't tech-no for an answer.'

WE HEAR THE AIRPORT ANNOUNCER CALLING FOR PASSENGERS OF FLIGHT #CA 135 TO SANTIAGO TO BOARD.

CHANTEL:

That's us! And here comes Mike. (GIGGLING) He looks flushed.

AMANDA:

Right, then. Here we go!

CHANTEL:

What about your going away pressie?

AMANDA:

I'll open it on the plane.

CHANTEL:

Bye, bye, miserable Monday mornings. Hello amazing adventurous Aztecs!

AMANDA:

Aztecs?

WE HEAR THEIR RUNNING FEET AND LAUGHTER.

AMANDA:

You really do need to read one of those guidebooks, girlfriend!

## SCENE 10:

BIG BROTHER'S KITCHEN.

WE HEAR A DOOR GROANING OPEN, FEET CRUNCHING OVER BROKEN GLASS.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Ta! What a bloody mess.

WE HEAR A CHAIR PULLED UP AND SCRAPED BACK OVER TO THE TABLE.

We've been burgled.

STRANGER:

Not exactly.

WE HEAR A STARTLED BIG BROTHER JUMP AND STUMBLE BACKWARDS.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Who the hell are you? What were you doing upstairs?

STRANGER:

Same thing I was doing downstairs earlier. Looking for clues.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Get out! Or... Or I'll call the police.

STRANGER:

They've been and gone, son. It was them that helped break the door in.

**BIG BROTHER** :

And you expect me to believe that?

STRANGER:

Do I sound like I care?

WE HEAR A SCRAPING SOUND AND A GRUNT OF EFFORT

**BIG BROTHER** :

I'm warning you!

STRANGER:

Put the chair down, son. I don't want to hurt you.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Who are you? What do you want?

STRANGER:

Come with me. We need to ask you some questions.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I'm not going anywhere...

THE BACK DOOR BANGS OPEN AND POUNDING FEET STAMPEDE INTO THE KITCHEN. THE CHAIR CRASHES TO THE FLOOR. THERE IS A STRUGGLE, SWEARING, SOMETHING BEING SPRAYED AND THEN THE SOUND OF CHOKING/RETCHING.

STRANGER:

Funnily enough, your brother said exactly the same thing.

## SCENE 11:

A STONY SILENT ROOM WITH A FAINT ECHO.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Listen, I enjoy a prank as much as the next man, but this is not funny.

A CHAIR CREEKS AND SOMEONE CLEARS THEIR THROAT, THEN SIGHS.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Take this blindfold off. I want a lawyer!

INTERROGATOR 1:

No need.

INTERROGATOR 2:

You can leave any time you want.

INTER. #1:

You're not under arrest.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I'll go to the Press over this. This is abduction!

INTER. #2:

Prove it.

**BIG BROTHER** :

This is outrageous! What the hell is this all about?

INTER. #1:

It's about quarter to three in the afternoon by my watch.

INTER. #2:

But don't worry. You're not missing anything. It's just started raining.

BIG BROTHER STANDS ABRUPTLY, SENDING HIS CHAIR CRASHING BACKWARDS ONTO THE FLOOR.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I demand to see a lawyer!

INTER. #1:

I'll let you sit yourself down if you do it in the next five seconds.

INTER. #2:

I'd do as he says if I were you. He's not paid to be polite. He must like you. I've seen what he does to people he doesn't like. Quit while you're ahead.

WE HEAR THE CHAIR RIGHTED AND BIG BROTHER SITTING BACK ON IT.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You said I could leave.

INTER. #1:

(SIGHING) I was being ironic. Get off that chair again and I'll pepper spray you in the eyes.

**BIG BROTHER** :

But I'm wearing a blindfold. (BEAT) It's OK. I'm being ironic.

INTER. #1:

All right, then... I'll attach electrodes to your nipples.

**BIG BROTHER** :

(PLEADING) I'll definitely need a lawyer, then.

INTER. #2:

Let's start with your brother, shall we?

**BIG BROTHER** :

You mean he gets to see a lawyer first? Fair enough.

INTER. #2:

Are you aware that he is involved with an Islamic Extremist Group?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Little Bro? Give over.

INTER. #1:

Your brother is being held on suspicion of plotting to plant a bomb on an international air flight. We have him and the would-be bomber in custody.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I'm saying nothing without a lawyer present.

WE HEAR SOMETHING PLACED ON A TABLE, WHICH IS WOUND UP AND A LOUD TICKING BEGINS.

**BIG BROTHER** :

What the hell is that for?

INTER. #1:

That, my friend, is the sound of my patience running out. Now answer the question.

INTER. #2:

You don't need a lawyer. Just answer the questions and you can talk yourself out of this.

**BIG BROTHER** :

My brother couldn't terrorise next door's cat.

INTER. #1:

You need to drop the comedy routine. It's not working.

INTER. #2:

Your brother put hundreds of people's lives weren't at risk. Try again.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You've got it all wrong. He's not the type.

INTER. #2:

He's a Muslim, isn't he?

**BIG BROTHER** :

That's disgusting. My M.P. will hear about this!

INTER. #1:

Your M.P. uses rent boys.

INTER. #2:

And we can prove it.

INTER. #1:

Try Again!

INTER. #2:

Your brother has been in recent contact with the would- be bomber. On intercepted texts they discussed the possibility of visiting Pakistan for training prior to a suicide mission.

**BIG BROTHER** :

What?

INTER. #2:

But the text must have contained a secret code because they aborted at the last minute. We're currently liaising with our counterparts in Chile to establish why they were going there instead.

THE SOUND OF THE TIMER GROWS STEADILY LOUDER. WE HEAR SOMEONE CRACKING THEIR KNUCKLES.

INTER. #1:

Or the whole thing was an elaborate diversion all along. Which judging by the state of the so-called bomb we strongly suspect to be the case.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Bomb?

THE TICKING IS CUT OFF ABRUPTLY BY A SHRILL RINGING BELL.

INTER. #1:

Snap.

**BIG BROTHER** :

W-What?

INTER. #1

There goes my temper!

WE HEAR A SUDDEN LUNGE AND A SQUEAL FROM BIG BROTHER AS HE STARTS TO CHOKE INDICATING THAT HE IS BEING STRANGLED.

INTER. #2:

That's what they call the Texas Throat Hold. Two fingers behind the windpipe. The more you struggle the tighter the grip; the tighter the grip, the more you struggle. A minute from now you'll have effectively garrotted yourself. Crude but effective. A bit like my colleague really. No offence.

INTER. #1:

None taken.

THE INTERROGATOR GRUNTS AS HE LETS GO AND BIG BROTHER STRUGGLES DESPERATELY FOR BREATH. HE COUGHS HOARSELY AND MAKES GAGGING NOISES. MEANWHILE THE TIMER HAS BEEN RESET AND IS TICKING AGAIN.

INTER. #2:

You see we find it hard to believe that both your brother and the bomber could be involved in terrorism to this degree without you noticing something.

INTER. #1:

In other words, we suspect you were in on it too.

**BIG BROTHER** :

B-Because I'm a Muslim?

INTER. #2:

Your girlfriend's not a Muslim, is she?

INTER. #1:

Though she sleeps with one. Sometimes.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Amanda...

INTER. #2:

You see the bomb we found in your girlfriend's hand luggage was obviously a dummy, a decoy designed to throw us off guard while the real bomb got planted elsewhere.

INTER. #1:

And that's what we need to know.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Amanda?

INTER. #2:

Because it's still out there somewhere in the hands of some other nutcase.

INTER. #1

And you are going to tell us where, sooner rather than later.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Please. There's been a mistake. Amanda isn't caught up in this. She's an innocent victim.

INTER. #2:

Like her fellow travellers?

**BIG BROTHER** :

This is all a terrible...

INTER. #2:

(SHOUTED) Then who's behind this, hey? I want names, addresses, contact numbers!

**BIG BROTHER** :

You can't do this. It's torture. I'll take this to the High Court! I have rights!

INTER. #2:

So do airline passengers.

INTER. #1:

And as for your father...

**BIG BROTHER** :

Dad? What do you mean?

INTER. #2:

What do you think he means? He's a prime suspect. He practically lives at that mosque. Very outspoken, we hear.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You've bugged the mosque? That's sacrilege!

INTER. #1:

Not keen on Americans, we hear.

INTER. #2:

Not keen on Western Civilisation full stop.

**BIG BROTHER** :

He wouldn't hurt anyone. It's just his opinions. He's a traditionalist!

INTER. #1:

That's what they all say.

**BIG BROTHER** :

No!

INTER. #2:

Did you know, the heads of most suicide bombers survive intact?

INTER. #1:

It's very educational, this job.

INTER. #2:

They get blown clean off, you see.

INTER. #1:

Except on planes.

INTER. #2:

Imagine that. Us giving you his head after his failed bomb attack.

**BIG BROTHER** :

No! You can't!

INTER. #2:

Oh, yes we can. Twenty-eight days, forty-two days. One Hundred Years of Solitude - who's counting? Trust me, little man. We can do whatever we want and we've got all the time in the world to do it in. Shami Chakrabarti is not about to burst in wielding a light sabre any time soon.

INTER. #1:

Now we need names - names and addresses!

THE TICKING STOPS, ONCE MORE REPLACED BY AN ALARM CLOCK RINGING.

INTER. #1:

Very bad for the environment, I hear.

**BIG BROTHER** :

W-What?

INTER. #1:

Plastic bags!

WE HEAR THE SOUND OF A PLASTIC BAG BEING FORCED OVER SOMEONE'S HEAD. BIG BROTHER'S BREATHING IS SUDDENLY CUT OFF AND HIS STRUGGLES FADE INTO THE BACKGROUND.

## SCENE 12:

A QUIET COUNTRY PUB. WE HEAR BIRDSONG, BEES BUZZING, PEOPLE LAUGHING AND TALKING. A CAR CRUNCHES ACROSS GRAVEL AND FOOTSTEPS APPROACH.

CHANTEL:

Mineral water, sparkling. Slice of lemon.

WE HEAR THE BARMAN PREPARING THE DRINK.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Come on. Let's sit down. There's things need sorting out.

WE HEAR CHAIRS SCRAPING, GLASSES RESTED ON A TABLE TOP.

CHANTEL:

You mean psychiatrically? I'm afraid I'm not qualified. Say what you have to. What do you want?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Does Mandy know you're here?

CHANTEL:

Of course. She's my best friend, isn't she?

**BIG BROTHER** :

How... How is she?

CHANTEL:

She's only been out a few days. Very quiet. Won't talk about what happened at all.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Official Secrets Act probably.

CHANTEL:

You know what I think of you, don't you?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Does it involve sinister music and a black cloak?

MORE FOOTSTEPS CRUNCHING GRAVEL. A DOG BARKS. THE FOOTSTEPS CEASE MOMENTARILY, THEN WE HEAR THE DOG WIMPERING AND THE FOOTSTEPS CONTINUE INTO THE PUB. A MUFFLED VOICE ORDERS A DRINK.

CHANTEL:

She hates you for what you did. You and that fundamentalist brother of yours deserve to rot in hell together. If she'd told them who really gave her that fake bomb that's where you would be, too.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Hell isn't a place, Chantal. It's a state of mind.

CHANTEL:

You conceited little knob. Mandy has been traumatised and your brother's most likely on his way to Gauntanamo.

**BIG BROTHER** :

I doubt that. Gauntanamo's been closed down. The kitchen failed health and safety.

CHANTEL:

...And all because of your self-centred petty jealousy. Have you any idea how much suffering you've caused?

**BIG BROTHER** :

They weren't exactly easy on me! You of all people should understand that, Chantal, being a Muslim.

CHANTEL:

I don't...

BIG BROTHER:

Yes, you do. You go to the mosque every chance you get these days. Right?

CHANTEL:

(FLUSTERED) So why have you dragged me out here? Not to discuss theology?

**BIG BROTHER** :

To make amends. (CLEARS HIS THROAT) I've been reading The Koran again lately.

CHANTEL:

I hope it's a different version to the one that fanatical brother of yours owns.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Are you a true believer now, Chantal? If that's not a too obviously theological question.

CHANTEL:

You're what's unbelievable. After all that's happened to those close to you, you're still thinking only about yourself!

**BIG BROTHER** :

You've always wanted us apart, though, haven't you? Right from the very beginning. Because deep down, underneath the fashionable shoes and gold gym membership you hate what life in the West has turned you into. You miss the traditions of home and resent any British Asian who embraces the alternative, just like you resent Amanda. That is why you're so possessive of her, isn't it? She's your token Anglo-Saxon friend, the personification of everything you love to hate. A Post-it Note on your peshwahi naan. (BEAT) You know, I used to accuse my brother of trying to save my soul. But you want to save Amanda's, don't you?

CHANTEL:

Well, there's no hope for you; no matter how many times you read the holy book.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Maybe. But it's you that's the extremist. Not the kind they suspect, but an extremist all the same.

CHANTEL:

What are you talking about? You sound like one of these goons who interrogated me. Oh...What the...

WE HEAR A GLASS TUMBLE AND SMASH.

CHANTEL:

I, I don't...feel... too good.

**BIG BROTHER** :

You just don't get it, do you? How the hell do you think we're sitting here like this? I convinced them that your modern westernised lifestyle was just an elaborate cover for the cell you belong to. It was the only way I could save myself and my father, get Mandy off the hook, too; and stand a chance of getting her back, of course.

CHANTEL:

Convinced... Convinced who? Oh.. dear... I feel really queasy.

**BIG BROTHER** :

That's because the barman put something in your drink. Not that he is a barman...usually. Because if I can't have Mandy, then neither can you. Maybe given time she might even come to forgive me. I know I would.

WE HEAR BIG BROTHER STAND UP ABRUPTLY. WE HEAR CHANTEL GROANING.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Let me help you outside, sister in arms. Get some air.

**BIG BROTHER** :

My brother will be doing a lot of praying where he is. So I'll pray for you, Chantal...

CHANTEL:

W-What? Hey?

A LARGE VAN DRAWS UP AND A SLIDING DOOR RATTLES OPEN. THERE IS A GROAN AND A THUD BEFORE THE VEHICLE ACCELERATES AWAY. WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS MAKING THEIR WAY BACK IN THE BAR.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Are we done now?

INTER. #2:

You're sure there was no one else involved?

**BIG BROTHER** :

Yes. Just Chantal and my brother. But she was the ringleader. If there's others, she'll know. It was Chantal that made the bomb, planted it in Mandy's bag \- everything. The poor boy didn't know what he was getting into. He's just...naive. Believe me. I'm telling the truth. You can check on CCTV or something, can't you?

INTER. #2:

Maybe. But I'm an interrogator. If I left it all to Surveillance I'd be out of a job.

PAUSE AS BIG BROTHER LETS OUT A SHUDDERING SIGH.

INTER. #2:

Relax! You can consider yourself well and truly interrogated. I'll bet wearing a nylon tee-shirt will bring back bad memories, though!

**BIG BROTHER** :

What about my father? That was part of the deal, remember?

INTER. #2:

I just can't picture him in any sort of tee-shirt. But seriously... he's just a traditionalist. Like you said.

**BIG BROTHER** :

He really doesn't like Americans, though.

INTER. #2:

Neither do I. But that doesn't me or him a fanatic.

**BIG BROTHER** :

So what does all this make me?

INTER. #2:

Lucky. (BEAT) I'd be careful who you speak to from now on, though.

WE HEAR THE INTERROGATOR GETTING UP.

INTER. #2:

Remember, we'll be watching you from now on. Just to reassure ourselves we made the right call.

**BIG BROTHER** :

And Mandy?

INTER. #2:

Not a prime suspect. She can't even spell mosque.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Please, where can I find her?

INTER. #2:

You can't. Not for a bit. We've taken her back in for... further questioning.

**BIG BROTHER** :

But you promised!

INTER. #2:

It's a matter of national security, I'm afraid. No point in interviewing her friend without interviewing her too. But don't fret. It's just procedure. She'll walk again in a day or two.

**BIG BROTHER** :

What? You bastard!

INTER. #2:

No, no, no. I mean she'll walk _free_ again.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Allah be praised...

INTER. #2:

Easy there! (BEAT) But seriously, the worst she can expect is harsh language, sensory deprivation and use of a lavatory without paper.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Amanda knew nothing, I swear. It was Chantel answering my brother's texts. Whilst Mandy was in the loo, maybe?

INTER. #2:

Maybe. But like I said, it's procedure.

WE HEAR THE INTERROGATOR ZIPPING UP HIS JACKET.

**BIG BROTHER** :

What will happen to my little brother?

INTER. #2:

Nothing he doesn't deserve, letting himself get involved with someone like that. He was asking for trouble and now he's got it. That text of his was pretty damning, you know, and pretending it was from you. All that 'see the world before it burns, long time dead,' etc. Chills the blood - even mine. Do you and him not get on? Or maybe he fancied her, hey!

**BIG BROTHER** :

Please don't joke... Will I ever see him again?

INTER. #2:

Of course. Though whether you'll still recognise him...

**BIG BROTHER** :

I swear in the name of Allah that if you so much as...

INTER. #2:

(LAUGHING) Oh, I do hope you're not going to become a threat to _national security_. No? Good. Then we're done here.

FOOTSTEPS BEGIN WALKING AWAY.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Wait. (SOBBING) There's one last question I have to ask you.

THE FOOTSTEPS STOP.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Why here? It's over an hour's drive from home.

INTER. #2:

You obviously don't read very much.

**BIG BROTHER** :

Sorry?

THE FOOTSTEPS RETURN A FEW PACES.

INTER. #2:

George Orwell's 1984. A pub of the same name: The Chestnut Tree. It's the place where Winston Smith realises his soul belongs to the state.

WE HEAR COINS TOSSED ONTO THE TABLE.

Here. Buy yourself some Victory Gin on the house. No one loves irony like an interrogator. Trust me.

THE FOOTSTEPS WALK AWAY AGAIN.

INTER. #2:

Isn't Western Civilisation great?

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### About the Author

Gary Kittle is the author of six eBooks, three of which are thrillers. He was twice shortlisted for the Essex Book Festival Short Story Competition and his play 'Walking Through Wire' was staged (and filmed) in London in 2014. Many of his shorter screenplays have been filmed by Film Colchester and DT Film Productions. 'Data Protection', written by Gary for Dan Allen Films, was shortlisted for the Sci-fi London 48 Hour Film Competition. He has won the 1000 Word Challenge with 'The Uncertainty Principle', and twice been shortlisted also, finishing runner up with 'Kismet'. He was also runner-up in the Storgy Halloween Short Story Competition with 'The Gag Reflex'. His latest book, 'Trapdoors' is a collection of stage plays, and he plans to publish a collection of radio plays, entitled 'Tripwires' and new science fiction novella in the Spring of 2019.

Gary lives and writes in Wivenhoe, Essex, and would love to hear from readers, either via his website at gkittle.com, social media or in the form of a review.

## NEW THRILLER OUT NOW!

Geoff didn't want to kill his wife.

Instead he did something far worse.

### Geoffrey Madeley has a problem. His wife, Claire has a secret hidden on her mobile phone, and the more she tries to hide it from him, the more he thinks he knows what it is. When his worst fears are confirmed, Geoff decides he won't let someone take the love of his life away from him without a fight.

### But all is not as it appears.

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### Determined to react decisively, Geoff strikes first; only to find that he has acted upon a catastrophic miscalculation. With the disastrous consequences of his actions circling ever closer to Claire's blameless heart, Geoff must find a way to cover up what he has done and keep the police manhunt at arm's length.

### At any cost.

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And Available to Buy Now from Popular On-line Retailers.

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### Other Books by Gary Kittle:

BULLY FOR YOU

NINE LIVES

IF LOOKS COULD KILL

DUMB ANGEL

GLASS ALIBI

TRAPDOORS

**

***

When Chris Haynes is mugged twice by the same attacker, a nightmare begins. What does the mugger want? What does Chris feel so guilty about as a single parent? What relationship does Bradley's friend, Gordon have to the mugger? And what's hidden under the Haynes' summer house? As the stakes run higher, someone stands to lose everything – maybe even their life.

***

***

Nine Lives is my first collection of short stories, written over a decade. Some are tragedies, but there are also satisfying resolutions and moments of humour. Characters include an ex-RAF crewman who took part in the Dresden fire bombing, a conscientious objector forced onto the parade ground, a cross-dresser meeting his estranged father, Hans Asperger and a young Norman Wisdom. For readers who enjoy variety as well as surprises.

***

***

For Don Wallis, Mary is the ideal wife. She does what she's told, when she's told, no matter how extreme the demand. So it's a good thing for them both that Mary isn't human: she's an android sex toy designed to look and sound like Don's missing wife. But the real Mrs Wallis isn't dead, and she still has issues with Don that can only been settled face to face...

This collection contains nine film screenplays.

***

***

_This collection of claustrophobic stage dramas begins with 'Chalk for Cheese', a play about guilt, loss and reconciliation between a father and son, with a distinctly peculiar resolution. 'Stitching the Cherry' is a three-act family drama, again centered on the unfinished business of guilt and loss, this time between two rival siblings. The third play, 'Walking Through Wire' is the only one to be staged to date (2014), and tackles the subject of homosexuality, both in Germany's Belsen-Bergen concentration camp, and in Great Britain with code-breaker Alan Turing, during the Second World War. 'This is a sharply acted, stripped-back play that lays bare some difficult questions about the barbarism of human nature,' said_ _the Camden Review._

***

### Connect with Gary Kittle

I really appreciate you reading my book! Here are my social media coordinates:

Visit Gary's website: https://www.gkittle.com/

Friend Gary on Facebook

Twitter: @gary_kittle
