The Authorised Kate Bane
Page 7
Beat.
KATE. What eight-year-old turns down extra potatoes if they’re yummy? You fed it to me.
IKE. You ate it.
KATE exits.
Pause.
ALBIN is left standing with IKE and NESSA.
IKE pours himself a glass of whisky and stands with his back to ALBIN and NESSA whilst he drinks it.
NESSA. I don’t think your game worked very well, Albin.
ALBIN. It’s not a game.
NESSA. Apparently not.
ALBIN. She was trying to explain.
NESSA. I suppose you don’t have all this?
ALBIN. What?
NESSA. You’ve suffered – I mean, losing your parents at that age – you really suffered; so you’re bound to have something interesting to say. That’s a story I’d be convinced by.
ALBIN stares at her, speechless.
Maybe Kate should bump us off – or have something ghastly happen to us… I’m going to make some more croissants, do join me if you fancy.
NESSA smiles at ALBIN. It’s strangely kind – completely honest – refreshing almost.
ALBIN nods a little.
IKE pours another whisky and hands it to ALBIN.
IKE. I’d be delighted, delighted if you joined the family; I didn’t get the chance to say – you have my blessing.
ALBIN takes the whisky.
ALBIN. Thanks.
IKE. Will be good to have another man about the place; some more skin in the game.
ALBIN nods at IKE, who collapses, exhausted, into an armchair.
ALBIN knocks back the whisky – nods.
You should go and –
ALBIN. Yep, yeah. (Beat.) Ike?
IKE. Yes?
ALBIN. Would you like me to call you Iain?
IKE. No.
ALBIN. Right. Okay.
ALBIN exits.
Six
KELSO
KATE’s bedroom.
KATE sits on the bed.
ALBIN enters a little hesitantly.
ALBIN. Hi.
KATE. Hey.
Beat.
ALBIN. I’ve started the car; the windscreen is just defrosting then we can /
KATE. / Leave. (Pause.) You can come in; you don’t have to stand at the door.
ALBIN stays in the doorway.
ALBIN. Staying outside your projectile range.
KATE. I just spat at my dad.
ALBIN. Yes – yes you did.
KATE. I just spat at my dad and then stormed off to my bedroom. I’m thirty years old – I was on the brink, in there somewhere I was genuinely on the verge of going – (Puts her tongue inside her bottom lip and going ‘uuuuhhh’.)
ALBIN. You should have pulled a chinny on him.
KATE. What?
ALBIN. You know, rubbing your chin – the beard thing.
KATE. Oh, yeah. (Whilst doing the chinny.) Sure – sure, Al – yeah – sure?
ALBIN. Uf – don’t, makes me want to punch you.
They laugh a moment.
Come on, let’s go home.
KATE. I can’t.
Beat.
ALBIN. What?
KATE. I need to not just – leave. You said to try and make them understand.
ALBIN. Didn’t work.
KATE. No.
ALBIN. Let’s go. It’s started snowing again, if we don’t get a move on we’ll /
KATE. / Less than twenty-four hours and he’s gone from ‘let’s play happy families’ – to ‘no thanks, too much bother, let’s bail.’
ALBIN. That’s not what I said.
KATE. Remind me not to get on sinking ships with you, Al.
ALBIN. Kate – this isn’t bailing, this is a sensible attempt at salvage; this is damage limitation.
KATE. It’s running away.
ALBIN. I don’t want to be part of this!
KATE. You think I do? I feel uncomfortable and threatened and –
ALBIN. Well then let’s fucking go!
KATE. It’s my family – I need to resolve /
ALBIN. / What? What are you going to resolve? What are you going to find? You think that fucking show – was catharsis? You think we’re all going to stretch this out and shake hands? Your mum just told me I was lucky that my parents died, that I should write a fucking book about it. You just spat at your dad – I think we should take a breather before we reconvene.
KATE. You’re overreacting.
ALBIN. I want to go home!
KATE. Well go then.
Pause – ALBIN paces the room.
ALBIN doesn’t leave.
Leaving – means I’m not alright with where I’m from and – that’s just like Dad – that’s history repeating and the whole thing happens all over again.
ALBIN. This isn’t some mythology – it’s not causal – it’s not a story – it’s three people shouting at each other, Kate.
KATE. No.
ALBIN. It’s us, Kate – it’s not them – we’re a new thing, we’re a team – you and me, a little unit, we front it together, we make our own roots.
KATE. Two people aren’t enough.
ALBIN. What?
KATE. Families need history, context – it’s what makes them strong.
ALBIN (pointing downstairs). Hey, kids – let’s go and see Granny and Grandpa they can tell us about all the old stories; the one where Granny tells Grandpa that he fucked hard and the one where Mummy spat at Grandpa – and the one where Grandma tried to seduce Daddy in the middle of the night.
KATE. What?
ALBIN. Last night – your mother came on to me. Now – please – can we go home?
Beat.
KATE. She always does that.
ALBIN. What?
KATE. She does that to all my boyfriends.
ALBIN. That’s meant to make me feel better?
KATE. It’s just a thing she does, she doesn’t mean it.
ALBIN. She meant it.
KATE. No she didn’t.
ALBIN. Trust me – she meant it.
KATE. You are resistible, you know.
ALBIN. This isn’t fucking arrogance; this is horror – I’m fucking scarred.
KATE. You didn’t give in, did you?
ALBIN. No! Fuck’s sake –
KATE. Well then.
ALBIN. ‘Well then’? Says the girl that won’t have sex in her parents’ house because she’s their ‘little girl’?
KATE. It just a thing Mum does.
ALBIN. This is fucked up – this family is fucked up!
KATE. They’re my family – they’re my parents and I love them. You are in their home and you have no right, absolutely no right to judge them. They brought me up well – they made me who I am and if you love me then you should respect them.
ALBIN (flabbergasted). The hypocrisy is –
KATE. They are my parents!
ALBIN. I don’t want this. I can’t handle this /
KATE. / You wanted in when you thought it was easy, invite Mum – have a few parmesan puffs – ask them to be your parents too – eh?
ALBIN. What?
KATE. I heard you talking to them; it’s why you got Mum here. You wanted to –
ALBIN. Don’t, don’t do that – I only get to do that once – do not do that like that. Don’t.
Pause.
KATE. I’m sorry.
Pause.
ALBIN is seething.
ALBIN. You’re using my proposal as fucking leverage and I haven’t even made it yet – you stole it, you fucking stole it and made it a weapon – you cow.
KATE. I’m really sorry – that was –
ALBIN. It’s the kind of thing your mother would do. Yeah – fucking have that, Goldilocks.
KATE. Al?
ALBIN. I’m angry – I’m really fucking angry you just did that.
KATE. Okay – I know – but talking about it any more is just going to take more chunks out of it so –
KATE goes to touch ALBIN.
ALBIN pulls away.
&nbs
p; ALBIN. Exactly. Let it recover, leave it alone. (Beat.) Let’s go home.
Pause.
KATE. I need to know what they did wrong.
ALBIN. What difference does it make – to now, to us?
KATE. I need to know which bit to cut out of me so that we can be happy.
ALBIN. You aren’t them.
Beat.
KATE. Do you really believe it’s possible – for it to last… for ever?
ALBIN. Yes, yes I do.
KATE. I’ve never seen it work; not aunts or uncles or grandparents, not one set of my friends’ parents are still together – you watch fifty people get in a car and the car crashes every time – you don’t get in the fucking car. That’s not cynicism; it’s logic.
ALBIN. Good metaphor.
KATE. I’m sorry – I – I didn’t mean /
ALBIN. / It isn’t evidence that makes you sure.
Pause – ALBIN looks at KATE.
Beat.
ALBIN exits.
KATE. Al? (Beat.) Al?
KATE is left alone.
KATE stares at the room as if it might produce some sort of answer.
She suddenly stands and moves a chair to fetch a box down from the top shelf of one of the cupboards.
The box is full of photographs, trinkets, old birthday cards and five or six notebooks, bursting with ticket stubs and the scrawling writing of a teenage girl.
KATE starts flicking furiously through the diaries in search of some piece of evidence, some sentence that will confirm things for her – KATE stops at a page and reads.
Seven
LONDON
It’s late in the evening – KATE is exhausted – she finishes the scene – she puts the pen down.
KATE looks around the office – she is alone.
ALBIN has not returned from work.
KATE checks her watch.
KATE (shouts down the stairs). Al? Al?
No response.
KATE turns from the door.
MEMORY
KATE is twelve with a suitcase in her hand – she’s leaving the house to holiday with NESSA.
IKE stands at the door.
IKE. Are you off, then? Ready to go, eh? Have a good time with your mother. No, no, I’ll be fine on my own; don’t be silly. Have fun. I love you… very much.
IKE waves KATE off – he smiles – he’s pleased.
MEMORY
KATE is twelve with a suitcase in her hand – she’s leaving the house to holiday with NESSA.
IKE stands at the door.
IKE. Are you off, then? Ready to go, eh? Have a good time with your mother. No, no, I’ll be fine on my own; don’t be silly. Have fun. I love you… very much.
IKE waves KATE off – he’s desperately trying to hold back tears.
MEMORY
IKE. Have fun. I love you… very much.
IKE waves KATE off – he smiles – he’s pleased.
IKE. Have fun. I love you… very much.
IKE waves KATE off – he’s desperately trying to hold back tears.
IKE. Have fun. I love you… very much.
IKE waves KATE off – he smiles – he’s pleased.
IKE. Have fun. I love you… very much.
IKE waves KATE off – he’s desperately trying to hold back tears.
KELSO
KATE turns on IKE.
KATE. Nothing has moved in this room, Dad.
IKE stops in the doorway.
Nothing has moved. It’s all in exactly the same position, all the photos and these stupid plate things are all in exactly the same place, it’s like a museum or a crime scene or a fucking –
KATE picks up a small glass trinket, contained within it are her milk teeth.
IKE. Be careful.
KATE. Why are you still here? Why don’t you move – go somewhere new and paint the walls white, I’d help you move, we’d help you paint the walls – if you moved.
IKE. Don’t break that.
KATE. Mum was fine – Mum survived – unscarred – she’s free and happy and she made herself happy. She’s seen so much and travelled – she’s got a life and – and – she’s done things – she got up and – she forgot about it. She fucking survived!
IKE. I said – be careful!
KATE. You could have got up and – and – you could have recovered, you could have made yourself happy.
IKE steps away – to leave.
You didn’t have to be the victim – it didn’t have to destroy you. Dad? Dad?
IKE doesn’t move.
KATE throws the small glass jar and it smashes on the ground.
KATE looks at the mess on the floor.
IKE stays in the doorway – back turned.
MEMORY
NESSA (interested in her daughter). Darling! Darling! Look at you – turn around – look at you. Let me take your bags. How was the flight? Was it long? We are going to have such a glorious time, just you wait – India is the land of adventure. We will wear saris and go on trips and eat the most exotic foods – are you excited? Are you excited? Are you ready? I have to finish talking to a friend for just two minutes – so wait here – and then we’re off – just two minutes – okay, you wait here – and then we’re off! (Pause.) Yes, darling?
MEMORY
NESSA (distracted). Are you ready? I have to finish talking to a friend for just two minutes – so wait here – and then we’re off – just two minutes – okay, you wait here – and then we’re off! Yes, darling?
LONDON
KATE stands at looks at her mother, replaying the memory – unsure of the interpretation.
MEMORY
NESSA (interested). Yes, darling?
NESSA (distracted). Yes, darling?
NESSA (interested). Yes, darling?
NESSA (distracted). Yes, darling?
KELSO
NESSA enters in a kimono – breezy from the bath – rubbing oils into her hands.
KATE. When were you happiest?
Pause – NESSA thinks a moment.
NESSA. When I was in Nepal, in Kathmandu – there is an amazing food market called Asan Tole – in the mornings I would wake up at sunrise, when the city was just coming to life and the air felt fresh – I’d take my book and walk to this little café on the corner of the market run by my friend Sunita. She worked there alone in the mornings – before her father arrived, lazy sod never turned up before ten – and she would serve me vegetable-and-potato soup –
KATE. For breakfast?
NESSA. Mm-hm – and the most delicious milk tea you have ever tasted. And Sunita and I would sit on stools with our feet up and watch the market unpack – and talk and talk.
KATE. What about?
NESSA. Everything, how we felt, what we thought – nothing was off-limits. The kind of talking that you do with only very good girlfriends – the kind that makes you feel… full.
KATE. Yeah.
NESSA. And there was this one little man called Bibek who ran the stall opposite and he was so in love with Sunita – and every morning as he unpacked his nuts –
KATE. Blimey.
NESSA hits KATE on the shoulder affectionately.
NESSA. He was a nut seller. He would stick his bum out and pull his sleeves up over his biceps and sing these funny songs about ‘the pretty girl in the café’ and think we didn’t notice. It used to crack us up… we laughed until we pee’d.