Idrissa You’re working class, aren’t you?
Adrian I beg your pardon?
Idrissa (working it out) Your sentences. Sometimes too formal, other times, little grammatical slips . . . yeah – ghetto kid done well but out to prove that he’s not going to ‘sell out’, so studies post-traumatic slave syndrome or some other hocus pocus to explain away why so many of his peers just damn right fail. But it doesn’t really give him comfort, does it? Doesn’t really help, does it, Adrian, because it can’t explain away why you have succeeded and the others have simply become prison fodder? Yes, the guilt of actually feeling more comfortable around the thinking white classes than those you grew up with haunts you, doesn’t it, young Adrian? Are you afraid that a little white man lurks beneath that deep chocolate skin? Yes, that’s your story, isn’t it? You’re really a little coconut parading as radical black intellectual.
Adrian I think it was the American writer Elbert Hubbard that said, ‘If you can’t answer a man’s arguments, all is not lost – you can still call him vile names.’
Idrissa I didn’t call you anything.
Adrian Nor did you answer my question.
Idrissa I think you’ll find I did, young man. Your assumptions are presumptuous. And apart from being dangerous, assumptions are always, always insulting. Never insult me again, do you hear?
Enter Lola. She has two bags in her hands.
Idrissa Hey, Lola, have you met our new upstart, I mean intern, Adrian McKay?
They look at each other for a beat before Adrian, almost reluctantly, stretches out his hand.
Adrian Pleased to meet you.
Still staring at him, Lola leaves him hanging for a moment too long. Eventually she refers to her hands being full so not being able to return the handshake.
Lola Indeed. (To Idrissa.) Is he in there?
Idrissa No, he stormed out in a sulk, I think.
She can’t take her eyes off Adrian.
Lola Fine. Fine.
She shuffles for a moment and then heads out of the office. Idrissa is puzzled for a beat, then shrugs his shoulders.
Idrissa She doesn’t take to you, does she? Oh well, that makes two of us!
Adrian does not respond at all.
Lights. We hear the vocal ‘woooo-oooops’ before the kicking, driving rhythm of Aswad’s ‘African Children’.
Scene Three
Later that night. Kwaku walks into the office. He looks around and sees several packed boxes. Lola is packing up.
Kwaku Don’t be silly, Lola.
She doesn’t answer. He moves towards her.
Lola, stop it . . . We need to talk.
Lola Don’t touch me.
Kwaku Look, I’m not at my best right now, but I need you to speak to your father.
Knowing what that means, Lola stops what she’s doing and looks at Kwaku incredulously.
Lola (exclaims in Nigerian) Ah ah! You have to be kidding me.
Kwaku I’m in trouble, Lola, we’re in trouble. Is our child I’m trying to protect, you know . . . I so shame, I can’t even tell Michael . . .
Lola (deep roaring anger) Don’t you dare! Think I don’t know what you’re doing? I see straight through you . . . You bring your bastard child into our work space and then blame our child for stealing money . . .
Kwaku My signature was faked. How else could the money go out? Who else could do that?
Lola Half of Kingsland bloody High Street.
Kwaku Half of Kingsland does not have access to Michael’s or Issi’s counter-signature.
Lola Oh what, so Michael’s in on it as well now?
Kwaku I don’t know! You can’t trust anybody these days. And Junior could easily have got Michael to sign them by presenting some fake invoices or something.
Lola stares at him and carries on packing.
Kwaku All I need is enough to cover the wages for three months. I’d have pulled it back by then, I know I would have. I’m adapting, Lola, that’s what you always tell me I need to do . . . I’m listening to them . . . Back in the day I would have knocked that fucking Idrissa in he face . . . I can’t afford to go down now, not in the year of the abolition – if we let them off the hook now, reparations will be dead.
Lola Didn’t you read today’s paper? Are you dreaming? Hayden’s said such discussions do not contribute to the integration agenda.
Kwaku When he tells me to my face I’ll believe it, OK? This is politricks, baby.
Lola I’m not asking my father for anything, Kwaku. You want money, ask him yourself . . .
Kwaku You know he hates my guts. Never got over you marrying a bloody West Indian . . .
Lola He hates your guts because he saw you for the opportunist bastard that you are . . .
Kwaku (trying to be soft) Ask him for me, na?
Lola I warned you not to bring your bastard child in here.
Kwaku (momentary flip) The boy has a name, OK . . .
Lola Call one of your many friends.
Kwaku I have . . . They’re not calling back . . .
Lola There’s a surprise. After trying to have an affair with Eric’s wife behind his back . . . and smashing up Thomas’s party and half his house in a drunken display . . . You need help, Kwaku . . .
Kwaku Exactly . . .
Lola No, therapy kind of . . .
Kwaku (flares) There you go again! I don’t need them stupidness dere. Therapy is for idle white people. What I need is money!
Lola I warned you, K, bring that boy into our sanctum and my heart will turn to ice . . .
Kwaku He is my son, he needed a job, I gave him one, OK? . . . I know you don’t want to hear this but (filled with pride) he’s brilliant, Lola, so bright, I can’t tell you . . .
Lola You haven’t told Junior about him, have you?
Kwaku . . . No.
Lola (points straight at him) You make our son feel less than he is, and I will ram a knife through the centre of your heart and slowly drag it to the edges. Do you hear me? . . .
Kwaku Fine. I’ve got a few other people to contact anyway. I mean, I’m having a meeting tonight with –
Lola Good luck. Anything to do with work, get Michael to call me on my mobile. I was going to move out, but, as you know, it’s my house.
Kwaku As you never fail to remind me.
Lola So I’m just going to go away, and when I’m back, Kwaku, make sure you have a good solicitor.
She picks up her box and exits. Kwaku throws himself into one of the chairs. After a few beats he gets up, looks to the heavens, thinking. He picks up the phone and dials.
Kwaku (friendly at first) . . . Hayden? At last! Kwaku . . . What’s wrong wid you, man? You’re treating me like a coot, you know . . . What, you’s a big man now, you can’t call me back? . . . Look, all that integration thing you talking is bullshit, right? You know that, and I . . . Come onnn . . . This is our only chance to honour the ances . . . Don’t make me look like a fool, Hayden . . . Remember who you came to to put the idea out – to put the idea of you out there? . . . I’m not raising my voice . . . I have to read in the fucking Evening Standard that my reparation report funding might be cut? . . . I have to hear from one of my staff what you’re considering and what you’re not? Why, I got to hear from . . .
Hayden has put down the phone.
Kwaku Hayden, Hayden . . .
He calls again. Goes through to answerphone. He slams down the phone and puts his head on the desk.
Soby – sixty-eight, a fast-talking man in plain dark suit, white shirt and tie – knocks on the door and walks in. Kwaku jumps up.
Soby (referring to his telephone call) I hate them too . . .
Kwaku What, answerphones or politicians?
Soby Oh, I could never hate the answerphone. Not in my business – got to be able to reach me at all times. Anyway. How are you?
Kwaku Fine. Thank you for coming to see me, sir . . .
Soby I think you is big and ugly enough to call me by me name.
&n
bsp; Kwaku Thank you, Soby.
He indicates Soby to sit. Kwaku holds up the rum bottle. Soby waves it off.
Soby You go ahead.
Kwaku does.
Soby Now first things first. I went to the graveyard today on business, and you mean you father’s grave still don’t have no stone.
Kwaku We’re waiting for the ground to . . .
Soby The ground ready and waiting. You shaming youself and your fadder – most time a gravestone is the only monument, only proof that you pass through this place – fix it up, you hear me?
Kwaku I will.
He swigs down the drink.
Soby So, you broke?
Kwaku Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly. May I talk straight? You know me, I’m a man for the community, of the community. I didn’t take my education and run go work in the city, I didn’t run stand for political office – I stayed here and served us. Well, it’s time for the next phase. I’m looking for a group of men to help me. To help the community, in fact.
Soby You’ve said community three times, you’re making me nervous.
Kwaku Soby. The white man have me by me balls.
Soby What’s new?
Kwaku . . . No, not me balls, he have me by me cerebral cortex. You know what that is? (Speeds through.) The largest part of the brain, the part responsible for thinking, memory, problem-solving. I started this think-tank, Soby, because I wanted to . . . take the baton and move forward, show them . . . that dem just can’t run roughshod over we, tell we how to think . . . what to say, and cos dem is we paymaster. We have to just do it.
Soby . . . Piper and all that, uh huh?
Kwaku I want the tune to be different, Soby. The road I’m having to travel, I can’t take it – our community can’t take it – so I’m asking mans that have made their fortunes, to help me.
Soby Ahhh! So you do want me money?
Kwaku I want your support. Now what we do here is . . .
Soby (leans back) I understand what you do here, but the truth of the matter is – well, I have a problem.
Beat.
Kwaku Carry on.
Soby This name-changing thing you did, I know is a long time ago, but I didn’t like it – it still today don’t sit right with me, you know.
Kwaku I see. Well, I thank you for your honesty.
Soby It embarrasses me – in fact, it embarrasses all of us when you West Indians go and change your name to some African something. You’re not African – they use to tell us that much when we first came to this country. We’re the slave children. The ones dem throw away. And what do our children do? Throw demsselfs at them.
Kwaku That may have been the case back then, but now –
Soby (cutting in) What are you saying? We must forget history? Let me talk straight – I want to support something . . .
worthwhile, but how do I know that I, that my grandchildren, would be served by you and your ‘thinking ting’?
Kwaku That’s easy. Right now our big thing is to press hard for reparation for –
Soby My point exactly. For who, Kwaku – or can I call you Derek?
Beat. Kwaku takes the bottle to pour himself another drink.
Kwaku May I?
Soby nods.
Soby Who is there for us?
Kwaku And when you say ‘us’, you mean . . . ?
Soby We West Indians. You know how many times I would go downstairs into the room we keep the bodies and I would just bawl, ‘Oh God, what we did do?’ You know how many young West Indian children I did look at? Have to bury before they taste the sweetness of life! Hey, I shouldn’t complain, death is me business, but lord, who is dere for we? . . . We stupid you know. The Indian man come – when he start to catch hell him start to call himself black, prime position for when the grant money was flowing, and we was like ‘cool’. I even remember a time even de Irish and Greek man use to call demself ‘political black’. What de hell dat mean, eh? And we was like ‘cool’! Now dem all gone and leave we, all of dem, left us wid black. Me na want dat now, I’s a West Indian. We love other people too much, Derek. We love everybody but us. I want someone who can put out ideas that can change that, that can sow our seeds, who’s carrying our baton forward – ploughing our seeds, Derek? Show me someone who’s willing to do dat and I would support it with all I have.
Kwaku (unsure, nervous) Well, that’s what we’re here for. Turning intellectual seeds into influence . . . I should just say at this point, this company historically –
Soby History has not always served us well. Speaking of the company, your partner – what is his name, Michael, that’s right – has he decided whether he’s going to accept?
Kwaku Accept what?
Soby (leans back in seat) See what I’m saying? No matter how long you know them –
Kwaku (don’t mess) Michael is my best friend.
Soby But he didn’t tell you that he was interviewed to be candidate for that safe seat in Enfield.
Kwaku Of course he di . . . For who?
Soby The Tories, of course.
Kwaku Yes, yes, yes, sorry, I forgot he did mention it . . .
Soby Of course he did. You mean Val mentioned it?
Kwaku Mind if I have another?
Soby Boy, you really can hold dat thing like an old West Indian. That’s the third I’ve seen you put away and you standing strong.
Kwaku I’m me father’s child, you know. Ever the West Indian.
Soby Word on the street is since he gone, you’re no longer the man you were . . .
Kwaku Nonsense. Idle street gossip.
Soby I hope so. So look, I have a little idea I’d like to run past you? See if it’s something you could, I don’t know . . . give legs, as they say . . .
Kwaku Of course, throw your idea at me.
Soby Something I’d be willing to back all the way.
Lights. The drums kick into Aswad’s ‘Natural Progression’.
Scene Four
Everyone is in the office except for Kwaku, Idrissa and of course Lola. All are working away at their desks silently. Junior’s mobile rings. He jumps up.
Junior Hello? . . . Yeah, yeah, Roger, good to hear from you . . . Could you give me a sec . . . Just getting out of a taxi . . . Keep the change, mate.
He fakes the car-closing noise. The others look up as he leaves the office.
Adrian What’s that about?
Issi Never know with Junior, if it isn’t one guaranteed-to-make-you-a-million-in-a-week scheme, it’s another. Hustler number one.
Michael What product is he on to now?
Issi Last week it was property, some internet business thing, I think. Who knows?
Val, today dressed in a white gown and his boots, enters from the toilet.
Val Oooh something don’t smell holy in that toilet, you know?
Michael Probably what you just dropped! Any man who doesn’t eat cooked food but can drink hot chocolate all day, that’s a belly that’s always going to be dicky.
Val Don’t watch my belly, I’m going to live till I’m a hundred and twenty like the man dem in Tibet and you’re going to die very soon – like he man dem in England.
Michael We’re all in England.
Val Only in the mind, Michael, only in the mind.
Issi turns to Adrian.
Issi So you studied under Dr Joy Leary? How was it?
Adrian Apart from missing my mum, I loved it.
Issi Ahh a mummy’s boy? You single, mummy’s boy?
Adrian Umm . . .
Issi Must mean no. Don’t worry, you’re a bit young for me, but you are bound to know other bright men, hopefully older than yourself?
Michael . . . She’s about to ask you to set her up with a blind date. Just say no.
Issi Michael! OK, now I want you to think of three men who are solvent, intelligent – but when I say intelligent I don’t just mean have qualifications, I mean those who think outside of the box – and then choose the one you think I’d be most attracted
to, and set us up on a blind date. Simple . . .
Val kisses his teeth.
Issi Oh yes, he’s got to be currently unattached and pref – though I know it’s hard post-thirty for any race – without children.
Adrian (playing along) Black – white?
Issi Preferably of African descent, but I wouldn’t say no if it were the Crown Prince of Denmark, say.
Val (exclaims) Gal, you too loose.
Issi . . . Be quiet, you.
Enter Idrissa on his mobile.
Issi Now if Idrissa didn’t work here, wasn’t gay, and didn’t love his mother so much, he’d be perfect.
Idrissa What you say about my mother?
Issi Which is why we’re doing the next best thing – moving in together.
Idrissa (into phone) Hello, yes, account number – 32167.
Issi So now you know the brief, I’ll expect the names by, say, four o clock today?
Michael (surprised) You and Idrissa are going to move in together?
Issi (deliberately provocative) Yeah. Love the idea of watching gay men have sex. You are going to let me watch, aren’t you, Idrissa?
Val (kissing teeth) Backside!
Idrissa Have your own threesomes, you dirty girl . . . (Into the phone.) No no, not you, madam . . . Idrissa Adebayo – yes, I was just told I have insufficient funds in my account – that’s a damn right lie. I get paid on the third of the month, today is the seventh . . .
Enter Kwaku with a bounce in his step.
Idrissa If there was a problem with my pay I would . . .
Kwaku Oh, Idrissa . . . Idrissa . . .
Idrissa One moment, I’m just cursing out my bank . . .
Kwaku I know you are. Put down the phone . . . Put down the phone, I can help.
Idrissa Madam, I’ll call you back.
Kwaku Guys, I just wanna say, we’re bankrupt . . . only kidding! There was a little mistake but it’s been dealt with. (Points to Michael.) While I’m on that point I just want to say, ladies and gentlemen, there is a man that I trust implicitly. He has saved my life more times than I care mention and I love you, Michael. Just wanted to say that.
Michael looks nervous. Where’s this heading? Idrissa raises his eyes to the heavens – and cuts the call.
Kwaku This is the first day of a new day. (To himself.) Does that makes sense?
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