WATTMORE. Did you go into the college?
GRIFFIN. Now Wattmore –
WATTMORE. Did you go into Corpus Christi?
GRIFFIN. I may have. I’m welcome to. The college is open to visitors between nine and dusk weekdays twelve-thirty to three Saturdays and Sundays –
WATTMORE. Did you go in the garden?
Pause.
GRIFFIN. No. I didn’t go in the garden. I’m not stupid Wattmore. Grant me some noodles.
Pause.
Bumped into Old Ben though. On his bike, riding over the backs. Says the frost took most of those rose bushes. And the old quince tree’s died. He’s off to King’s College in the spring; they’re moving the Master’s orchard or something. An orchard might be nice. In the spring. By the way I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right.
WATTMORE. What?
GRIFFIN. I think we should take a lodger.
WATTMORE. What? I never said we should take a lodger.
GRIFFIN. Yes you did.
WATTMORE. When.
GRIFFIN. The other day.
WATTMORE. What other day?
GRIFFIN. A month or two ago. A few months back. I think it’s a good idea.
WATTMORE. But –
GRIFFIN. I do. So I put an advert in the Bugle.
WATTMORE. Hang on. What? Don’t we discuss this? No way. Don’t we discuss this? No bloody way. Where would we put them?
GRIFFIN. In there.
WATTMORE. I sleep in there.
GRIFFIN. Cushions then. A line of cushions. Over there.
WATTMORE. A line of cushions. Did you put that in the Bugle? ‘For rent, a line of cushions.’
WATTMORE winces.
GRIFFIN. What would you miss? All this quality time on your own? You’re sat here in your podgers morning noon and night, three weeks now, you don’t wash, you let the stove go out. I’m out there looking for work. Searching the marsh in the pissing rain for rabbits. This isn’t Summer Holiday, Wattmore. We need to tighten our belts. It’s a New Year, and we’ve got no coal. (Pause.) Did you get your dole money?
WATTMORE nods.
Good. You owe me three pounds twenty.
WATTMORE. Why?
GRIFFIN. It’s twenty-five pence a word for Bugle Classifieds. If we go Dutch, and double Dutch on the chips is three pound twenty. Call it three pound for cash. (Puts his hand out.)
WATTMORE. I haven’t got it.
GRIFFIN. What?
WATTMORE. I haven’t got it.
GRIFFIN. I thought you said you got it.
WATTMORE. I did.
GRIFFIN. Well where is it?
WATTMORE. I haven’t got it. I gave it to someone.
GRIFFIN. Who?
WATTMORE. Why should I tell you?
GRIFFIN. Who did you give it to?
WATTMORE. I gave it to Dougal.
GRIFFIN. Dougal who? Dougal who? Dougal? You gave – Dougal? You gave it to Dougal?
WATTMORE. There.
GRIFFIN. I don’t know what to say.
Beat.
Why did you give it to Dougal?
WATTMORE. He’s a good man.
GRIFFIN. Jess. He’s a mongol. His mother’s a mongol.
WATTMORE. He’s not. She’s not.
GRIFFIN. Jess. I don’t know everything, but Dougal and his entire breed are mongols. They’re mongol children. All the Duggans are half-breeds. It’s public knowledge. I was at school with four of them. They hiked them out of your class. They stuck them in a hut down the end of the field gave them padded desks.
WATTMORE. Not Dougal.
GRIFFIN. Jess... Dougal... Jess. Okay. Dougal Duggan smeared shit all over the walls of the school changing rooms.
WATTMORE. He’s changed.
GRIFFIN. He’s not changed. He’s gone in there and smeared shit all over the shop. Jess... right. For instance... Dougal’s mum. Dougal’s mum came up the school and hacked her tit open. Her own tit. They’re all of them circus freaks. They want to be in the circus.
WATTMORE. He’s a good man.
GRIFFIN. I’m out chasing rabbits, you’re giving your dole away to mongols.
WATTMORE. He’s got me work.
GRIFFIN. What work?
WATTMORE. I’m not telling you. He said I’m a flagship. Yes. And I could work in his office.
GRIFFIN. What office?
WATTMORE. He’s getting an office. He’s rented a unit. In the business park. I’m working there.
GRIFFIN. Doing what?
WATTMORE. Number crunching.
Beat.
GRIFFIN. Number crunching.
WATTMORE. Yes.
Beat.
He’s got the internet. He’s building a website.
GRIFFIN. Oh very flash. Very... For your information, Wattmore, even the mobile library’s got the internet. Yes. In fact I was surfing the world web this very afternoon before you have kittens. And you who’s never touched it. The internet. I am impressed. Oh yes. Has he paid you?
WATTMORE. He’ll be paying me...
GRIFFIN. What for?
WATTMORE. Lots of things.
GRIFFIN. What like?
WATTMORE. Doing his tapes.
Beat.
GRIFFIN. Bollocks.
WATTMORE. I am.
GRIFFIN. Bollocks.
WATTMORE whips off the housecoat revealing the ghetto blaster underneath.
Beat.
Fine. Okay Jess. For example... Just to say, he... Dougal asked me to do the tapes. Six weeks ago. At The Plough. At the Australian Night. Corks all round his hat. What happened? Eh? What happened? Nothing happened.
WATTMORE. Well it has now. It’s happened.
Beat.
GRIFFIN. It sounds like quite a package.
WATTMORE. It is.
GRIFFIN. You must be very proud.
WATTMORE. I am.
Car lights go past on the road outside. WATTMORE freezes. GRIFFIN stands. The noise subsides.
GRIFFIN. Be one of them birdwatchers. See. They’re going out on the marsh. See?
You jumpy clot.
Silence. WATTMORE starts to cry. GRIFFIN sits watching him cry.
WATTMORE. Forgive me Prince.
GRIFFIN. Eat your chips. You haven’t touched them.
Beat.
Shall I get you a rabbit? Do a stew. I’ll go back out there. I’ll catch one no trouble.
WATTMORE. Jesu Light and Saviour, prince over time, heed the prayer of the bastard sinners. Light the way lamb, project to us the true path of several. Send a Guardian and light braziers... and mark the path through Disturbance. Display the dark path to everlasting Peace. Purge the reek of sin. Purge the reek of sin.
Silence.
I didn’t do it Griffin. I didn’t do it.
Silence.
GRIFFIN. Ssshhhh.
His breath mixes with the wind.
Blackout. Music.
The local radio returns: a night heron has been spotted in the area. It has never been seen in the British Isles, and birdwatchers are coming from across Europe to try to spot the rare creature. No one knows why it has come.
Two
The cabin, at dusk. The lanterns are lit. WATTMORE and GRIFFIN stand in the middle of the room in silence. From the back bedroom appears a woman. She is BOLLA FOGG. She stands there.
BOLLA. The mattress is damp.
GRIFFIN. Is it?
BOLLA. It’s mildewy.
GRIFFIN. Needs turning I expect. Probably just needs... you know. A turn.
She closes the door.
WATTMORE. I told you to turn the mattress.
GRIFFIN. Leave it.
WATTMORE. I said. I said turn the mattress. I told you to turn it.
GRIFFIN. Jess –
WATTMORE. I told you to turn it.
GRIFFIN. I did fucking turn it.
The door reopens. BOLLA looks at them both.
BOLLA. It’s cold.
GRIFFIN. Right. There’s a little two-bar under the bed. Ge
t both bars on it’s roasting. Give the plug a good shake though.
She is staring at the enormous iconostasis on the wall.
Oh that.
Beat.
Where to start really? It’s called uh...
WATTMORE. Iconostasis.
GRIFFIN. That’s it. They’re icons. Saints. What it is see, an iconostasis depicts the Lord and the Saints at the final judgement. And that’s pretty much what’s going on up there. It’s Russian.
WATTMORE. Byzantine.
GRIFFIN. Byzantine. From the Kremlin. Jess blew it up. Not the Kremlin, the picture. He found it in the mobile library took it over Ely to Rymans, and blew it up. Few years back it was, now. You get used to it.
Beat.
BOLLA. Russian?
GRIFFIN. Byzantine. But we like it, don’t we?
Silence. She goes back into the room.
WATTMORE. She thinks we’re queer.
GRIFFIN. She does not.
WATTMORE. She does. She thinks we’re homos.
GRIFFIN. She’s temporary. She’s a cash cow.
WATTMORE. What d’you ask for?
GRIFFIN. Guess.
WATTMORE. Twenty-five.
GRIFFIN. Forty. She’s a mug. Here look.
He mimes milking a cow.
WATTMORE. She’s in our room.
GRIFFIN. For the time being.
WATTMORE. The bog’s through there.
GRIFFIN. I know where the bog is Wattmore. I have thought about this. It’s short term, but for the immediate, it’s going to have to be like last March.
WATTMORE. Oh for pity’s sake.
GRIFFIN. What? You were the one blocked the bog. You were the one got the plunger stuck down there. I had to squat in the rain all of March. Did I complain?
WATTMORE. Yes.
GRIFFIN. Well it’s the same as that... That was bloody ten days, pulling on the plunger. It was like the sword in the fucking stone.
WATTMORE. Did she give you a deposit? She’ll break something.
GRIFFIN. She will not.
WATTMORE. She’s bloody huge. She’ll break the bog. I don’t like it. I’m going in there.
GRIFFIN. She’s got a car.
WATTMORE (stops). Where?
GRIFFIN. Outside. A Golf. 1990. Hot hatch... four new tyres. Electric windows. What are we talking? Five, six, seven hundred at least.
WATTMORE. Griffin.
GRIFFIN. It’s purple mind.
WATTMORE. Griffin –
GRIFFIN. And she’ll have thrashed the suspension.
WATTMORE. Griffin!
GRIFFIN. What?
WATTMORE. It’s hers.
GRIFFIN. Of course it’s hers. Of course it’s hers. Of course it is. Exactly. Yes. Is it? Is it hers? Get her relaxed, few drinks, game of cards. Hearts. Brag. Beggar My Neighbour...
WATTMORE. Griffin!
Re-enter BOLLA.
BOLLA. I’ll take it.
GRIFFIN. Lovely. We can fix that lock for you. And turn the mattress...
She shakes GRIFFIN’s hand.
BOLLA. Bolla. Bolla Fogg. (To WATTMORE.) Bolla Fogg.
GRIFFIN. He’s Jess Wattmore. I’m Griffin.
BOLLA. Jess.
She shakes his hand.
Big hands.
Beat.
WATTMORE. Yes.
BOLLA. That bog’s a bit rocky.
WATTMORE (to GRIFFIN). What did I say?
BOLLA. Do they always do that?
WATTMORE. Who?
BOLLA. The birds.
GRIFFIN. No. It’s unusual. It’s the marsh. The marsh calls them. They’ve been coming a thousand years. Crows mostly.
WATTMORE. It’s Tern. Tern and black-backs.
GRIFFIN. It’s the marsh that brings them.
BOLLA. Well it is a pretty view.
GRIFFIN. Yeah. Not for much longer mind.
BOLLA. What’s happening?
GRIFFIN. The sea’s coming. It’s rising up. Ten years time this’ll all be underwater. Past Ely, ten miles flatland that way west.
WATTMORE. They don’t know.
GRIFFIN. We’d be treading water right now.
WATTMORE. They don’t know. Nobody knows.
GRIFFIN. Exactly. Nobody knows. So. Bolla. I’m just making a peppermint tea.
WATTMORE. Bloody hell –
GRIFFIN. What? Or coffee. Or tea. Normal tea. What do you like?
BOLLA. Tea. Normal tea.
GRIFFIN. Splendid. A Normal Cup Of Tea.
BOLLA. You’re black and blue.
WATTMORE. What?
BOLLA. You’ve got bust ribs. I can tell.
GRIFFIN. He’s got two broke and six bruised.
WATTMORE. He wasn’t there.
GRIFFIN. There was a doctor’s report. He’s got three chipped teeth, a twisted knee, a broken toe and a kick right up the arse.
BOLLA. Who duffed you up?
GRIFFIN. Gypsies.
WATTMORE. We don’t know.
GRIFFIN. It was gypsies.
BOLLA. They mug you?
WATTMORE. No.
BOLLA. ’N’ what did they want?
GRIFFIN. Who knows what gypsies want? Murderous bastards. I bet if you could read the mind of your average gypsy, you’d never leave the house.
BOLLA. I’ve had ribs. They’re cruel. There’s nothing you can do except wait.
WATTMORE. How’d you get yours?
BOLLA. Ribs? As a girl. And as a woman.
WATTMORE. Can I ask where are you from?
BOLLA. I’ve been in London.
WATTMORE. Oh really? Whereabouts?
BOLLA. I’ve been away.
WATTMORE. Away?
BOLLA. I’ve been in prison. Ta.
GRIFFIN hands BOLLA a cup.
WATTMORE. Griffin?
GRIFFIN. ... and a normal tea for Jess here... yes?
WATTMORE. Can I speak to you please?
GRIFFIN. What about?
BOLLA. Didn’t you tell him? Didn’t he tell you? I’ll go right now if it bothers you. I don’t blame you. I’m very up front myself.
GRIFFIN rolls up his sleeve.
GRIFFIN. Here look. Look. See this. Look. See?
BOLLA. What’s that?
GRIFFIN. Look. Feltham. 1976. Borstal remand for boys. Six months. Hard, hard time. I was sixteen.
BOLLA. What is it?
GRIFFIN. It’s my dog. Was.
BOLLA. I was gonna say Kirk Douglas. It looks like Kirk Douglas out of Spartacus.
GRIFFIN. No. It’s a Labrador. Was a Labrador.
BOLLA. He dead?
GRIFFIN. She. Pippa. 1978.
BOLLA. I’m sorry.
GRIFFIN. Thanks. That says Pippa but it’s smudged with the years.
BOLLA. They don’t live long. Dogs.
GRIFFIN. Oh. It’s a different life.
BOLLA. What was you in for?
GRIFFIN. Guess. Go on. Guess. I bet you can’t.
WATTMORE. Dog-fucking.
Beat.
BOLLA. I like that. What was you in for. Wham. Right in. I like you. I like you a lot. Dog-fucking.
She laughs.
GRIFFIN. So. Bolla. I see you’re a Golf woman.
BOLLA. Sorry?
GRIFFIN. Your car. Hot hatch. What colour is that? Magenta? Cerise?
BOLLA. Purple.
GRIFFIN. Nice. Respray?
BOLLA. Recut.
GRIFFIN. Wise. The same effect for a fraction of the price.
BOLLA. Can I say something?
GRIFFIN. What?
BOLLA. This has got sugar in it.
GRIFFIN. Course it’s got sugar in it. It’s tea.
BOLLA. I don’t have a sweet tooth Griffin.
GRIFFIN. You’re sweet enough already Bolla.
BOLLA. Can I say something else? That bollocks won’t work on me.
GRIFFIN. Right.
BOLLA. No offence. I’m not being funny. I can be sweet. I take your point. But you can’t butter me up. No one can.
&
nbsp; Beat.
I’m sorry. I really like you both. I’m just nervous. I get a rash when I’m nervous. I’ve got it now.
GRIFFIN. No you haven’t.
BOLLA. I have. My neck goes all red and I get pins and needles in my hands. I’ve got it right now. If the hands go the neck goes.
GRIFFIN. The neck’s fine.
BOLLA. I’m sorry. It’s because I really like you and I think we could be friends. That’s why I’ve the stingers. I’m very pleased to be here see. I’m just nervous. I’m a good friend to people.
GRIFFIN. I’m sure you are.
BOLLA. Also, if we become close friends, I promise you, I’ll do anything. Anything. And if we become best friends, well that’s when I’ll die for you. I’ll drink this.
GRIFFIN. Right. Well it’s uh... it’s good to chew the fat.
Beat.
BOLLA. I’m going to my room now. I’ve put both bars on and now I’m going to have a lie-down. I’m sorry about your dog, even though it was a long time ago. I like you. I like you a lot. And I like that. (Iconostasis.) It looks extremely grand.
She goes out. She comes back.
I’m turning over a new leaf.
Silence. She goes to her room. Silence.
GRIFFIN. Nice lady.
Beat.
What?
WATTMORE. I’m only going to say this once.
GRIFFIN. Jess, she’s forty pounds a week.
WATTMORE. She’s a villain. She’s a jailbird.
GRIFFIN. She’s turning over a new leaf.
WATTMORE. We don’t know her.
GRIFFIN. Of course we don’t know her. She’s just got here.
WATTMORE. Don’t play cards with her.
GRIFFIN. What? Why not? Did I say I was going to play cards with her? Why not? Oh I see. I see...
WATTMORE. She could be anyone. She could be –
GRIFFIN. Could be a what? Go on.
WATTMORE. We don’t know her.
GRIFFIN. Go on say it. Say it. What? Say it. She could be a what? Go on say it.
WATTMORE. We don’t know what she is...
GRIFFIN. Go on. Say it. She could be a demon. Isn’t? Isn’t it?
Car lights track aross the room. WATTMORE freezes. They listen. The engine goes away. Silence. WATTMORE sits down.
Be the winkle man. Coming back from the marsh. Two-stroke, see? Jumpy clot.
Silence.
So that’s that. At least we can get coal now. Maybe another lamp. Brighten up the long nights. So did you read it?
WATTMORE. Did I read what? Oh.
GRIFFIN. What did you reckon?
WATTMORE. I don’t know.
GRIFFIN. What do you mean?
WATTMORE. Look I said I have no idea, okay. I don’t know poetry. I don’t know any poetry.
GRIFFIN takes a piece of paper out of his pocket.
Jez Butterworth Plays Page 10