Boys

by Ella Hickson

  Ella Hickson

  BOYS

  Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Original Production

  Dedication

  Characters

  Act One

  Act Two

  Act Three

  About the Author

  Copyright and Performing Rights Information

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Rob Icke for his hard work and his unfaltering faith, right from the first draft to the first night, it wouldn’t have happened without him. I would like to thank the cast and crew for their ideas, commitment and conviction, it has been a pleasure. My thanks go to Lindsey Alvis and all at Headlong, HighTide, Nuffield and Peter Wilson for their generous support. I am indebted to Jess Cooper, Simon Stephens and all at the Lyric Hammersmith for their continued help and advice.

  I would like to thank the inhabitants of Stafford Street, Edinburgh, and 320 Basement, London, for their friendship and for great times spent around the kitchen table.

  My thanks to Tim for letting me talk it through, for taking the time to give good advice and for adding to the argument that we don’t have to do it alone. Milk.

  E.H.

  London, 2012

  ‘No man is an iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde...’

  John Donne

  Meditation 17: Devotions upon Emergent Occasions

  ‘The crisis of modern society is precisely that the youth no longer feel heroic in the plan for action that their culture has set up. They don’t believe it empirically true to the problems of their lives and times.

  Ernest Becker

  The Denial of Death

  Boys was first performed at the HighTide Festival, Halesworth, Suffolk, on 3 May 2012, before transferring to the Nuffield Theatre, Southampton, and Soho Theatre, London. The cast was as follows:

  MACK

  Samuel Edward Cook

  BENNY

  Danny Kirrane

  CAM

  Lorn Macdonald

  TIMP

  Tom Mothersdale

  LAURA

  Alison O’Donnell

  SOPHIE

  Eve Ponsonby

  Director

  Robert Icke

  Set and Costume Designer

  Chloe Lamford

  Lighting Designer

  Michael Nabarro

  Sound Designer

  Tom Mills

  For the brilliant young men and women of Stafford Street and 320 Basement

  Characters

  BENNY

  MACK

  TIMP

  CAM

  LAURA

  SOPHIE

  A forward slash ( / ) in the text indicates interrupted speech.

  Square brackets [ ] indicate unspoken speech.

  This text went to press before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

  ACT ONE

  Scene One

  The kitchen of a five-man student flat, Edinburgh.

  An unusually hot summer.

  Rubbish bags pile up in the corners.

  There are five chairs; one of these chairs is never touched unless indicated.

  The kitchen is thick with the usual debris: tobacco packets, Rizlas, wine bottles and beer cans, dirty washing lies around, ashtrays are overflowing, pizza boxes and kebab boxes are scattered, plates and pots pile up in the sink.

  On top of this – this morning – there are remnants of a party the night before: helium balloons populate the ceiling, there are streamers and party hats about, a fake pirate’s sword is stuck into the middle of the table, a ‘Barclay’s’ sign is propped up on the side ‘We’ll loan you the best years of your life’.

  CAM sleeps curled beneath the table. He is wearing dinosaur pyjamas and still has a pirate hat on from the night before.

  BENNY enters in his dressing gown; he winces against the morning sun, he doesn’t see CAM. BENNY collects a bowl, some milk and a spoon. He goes to his cupboard and takes out a packet of Coco Pops, pours himself a bowl – a toy lands in his bowl. BENNY is delighted, he unwraps the toy as if he was a kid – he holds up a tiny toy soldier and then thinks to tell his best friend. An acute sadness falls. BENNY places the little soldier out in front of him on the table and stares at it. He puts the toy in his dressing-gown pocket. BENNY approaches another cupboard – pulls the bin over to it and braces himself. He breathes in deeply – and begins to unpack the cupboard into the bin: jams, mouldy bread, noodle packets, tins of baked beans – he reaches a packet of Coco Pops and looks at it. He takes the soldier from his pocket – puts it into the box of Coco Pops and puts the box on the table. He returns to the cupboard.

  BENNY stands.

  BENNY takes a balloon – pulls it down and then lets it float back up to the ceiling.

  BENNY climbs up on top of the fridge and looks out across the kitchen.

  TIMP – impish and toned, tattooed, pierced and sporting a Mohican – wears a pair of tight pink boxers with ‘Spank’ written across the arse. He has an eyepatch over one eye. He walks stealthily over to the kettle and begins making two cups of tea, two pieces of toast.

  BENNY. Morning... Captain.

  TIMP startles slightly, turns and notices BENNY on top of the fridge.

  TIMP. Oh ’ello.

  BENNY. What happened in here then?

  TIMP. What do you mean?

  BENNY. The balloons.

  TIMP. Party.

  BENNY. Oh really. (Beat.) Laura here?

  TIMP. No – why?

  BENNY. Who’s the other cup for?

  TIMP. Oh – this? Cam.

  BENNY. He up?

  TIMP. Yeah – rehearsing. What you doing up on the / (Notices that the cupboard has been opened and is half-cleared out.)

  BENNY. I thought I’d /

  TIMP. Should have fucking been here last night, Benny-boy!

  BENNY. Funny being up here at this height.

  TIMP. Pirate party for the new intake!

  BENNY. It’s end of term.

  TIMP. Prospective students, looking around, open day – fresher than freshers.

  BENNY. Feels like you can control everything.

  TIMP. Fresh meat, Benny!

  BENNY puts his hands out as if he is conducting the kitchen.

  BENNY. I’m magic, see; I’m making your tea turn into steam.

  TIMP. Well, stop it – I’ll come and tell ya all about it, one sec.

  BENNY keeps his hands out, trying to move the objects of the room about.

  As TIMP goes out the door slams behind him. The noise wakes up CAM who bangs his head on the bottom of the table. BENNY is startled, thinking he has done it.

  CAM. Whathafuareyouwhyisthe.

  BENNY. Cam?

  CAM crawls out from under the table, looks woozily around the place.

  CAM. Oh fuck.

  BENNY. Aren’t you rehearsing?

  CAM. Fuck off. What time is it?

  BENNY. Elevenish.

  CAM. Oh fuck.

  TIMP re-enters holding just one cup of tea and sees CAM – a beat whilst TIMP creates his story.

  TIMP. There you bloody are.

  TIMP hands CAM the cup of tea.

  CAM (befuddled). Cheers.

  BENNY. Where’s yours?

  TIMP. What?

  BENNY. Tea?

  CAM. You want this?

  TIMP. Drank it.

  BENNY. But you were –

  CAM. Don’t fancy it; too hot.

  CAM h
ands BENNY the tea.

  Why you on the /

  BENNY (takes the tea). Thanks.

  CAM. Anyone got any idea what I did with my /

  TIMP. You seen the kiddiewink this morning?

  CAM. What?

  TIMP. The old ankle-biter.

  CAM. No.

  CAM sees that the cupboard is open and that it has been half unpacked, he stops in his tracks.

  Oh.

  CAM stops and looks at the cupboard.

  BENNY. I thought I’d /

  TIMP. I regret to inform you, Benny-boy, that you may have missed what was almost certainly the best party of the year last night.

  BENNY. Again. What time is the concert, Cam?

  CAM. Later.

  TIMP. You’re right – now I think about it all the very great parties happen when you are very not being there and it is deeply suspicious.

  BENNY. You alright?

  TIMP. Yeah.

  CAM pulls his violin out from under a pile of rubbish – a smiley face has been drawn on it in squirty cream.

  CAM. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  TIMP. Oh dear.

  CAM. Most important concert of my life and I’m going to smell like a fucking yogurt.

  BENNY. What is wrong with you?

  TIMP. Why nothing, kind sir, could I interest you in a beverage?

  CAM. Are you...? Oh – yeah – right.

  BENNY. What?

  CAM. I was meant to remind you that you put your E in your aspirin bottle last night.

  TIMP. Did I?

  CAM. One of the girl’s rape alarms went off; you thought it was the police – you put all your drugs into your painkillers.

  TIMP. Oh fuck – I’m high.

  BENNY. You didn’t notice?

  TIMP. Yep – yep – now I come to think of it – yep that is what this feeling is.

  TIMP clips CAM round the ear.

  CAM. Ow.

  TIMP. Course I fucking know I’m high, you mutant ninja retard; couldn’t be arsed with a hangover – that’s all – besides I’m highly entertaining when I’m highly high. (Searches around on the table and picks up two more tablets.) Anyone else?

  CAM goes to take one.

  BENNY. Cam?

  CAM. What?

  BENNY. You’re playing violin in front of three thousand people and a fuck-ton of TV cameras in about five hours.

  CAM thinks about it for a minute.

  TIMP. Oh, come on – that’s a TV show I’d watch.

  BENNY. Cam? That’s your whole career – don’t be a dick. What are you doing?

  CAM. I’m dead tired of being nervous.

  TIMP. Sort you right out, that will.

  BENNY. Timp – shut up!

  TIMP. Come on – it’ll calm him down.

  CAM. I really want to.

  TIMP. I want a party pal.

  CAM. Haven’t you got to go to work?

  TIMP. You can come – you can practise – we’ll have you instead of the radio. Doesn’t that sound lovely?

  BENNY. Timp?

  TIMP. What? Why are you crawling inside your own arse?

  BENNY. He’s on the front page of the newspaper – he’s meant to make fucking history this evening – not dribble on himself with a full fucking orchestra behind him.

  CAM. Imagine – not caring, aw just for a second – just imagine...

  BENNY. I can’t watch this.

  BENNY turns to go.

  CAM puts the pill in his pocket.

  TIMP. You fucking mentalist – you joker – I can’t believe you just did that!

  BENNY turns back and goes ape-shit.

  BENNY. What? What the fuck – tell me you didn’t just – spit it out – spit it out –

  BENNY launches himself at CAM and starts trying to get his fingers in his mouth before attempting an approximation of the Heimlich on him. CAM pretends to choke it up once – twice – but then it is clear the noises are those of sexual gratification – BENNY is confused – CAM and TIMP start rolling about with laughter.

  TIMP. We’re having you on, you fucking spanner!

  BENNY stands angry and red.

  CAM. That was nice though – will you do it again?

  TIMP. Aren’t you lovely when you’re angry – you’re like a very troubled tomato.

  BENNY. You’re such a pair of – fucking – (Growls.)

  TIMP. Ooo – look there’s another one – Benny-boy? Lighten you up?

  BENNY. Not before me cornflakes thanks.

  TIMP. Well – in for a penny – in for a pound! (Sinks the second pill.) Benny, you’re being a bit of a grumpy fucking frowner. Is it not a time of celebration? Did you not get your hexam results?

  BENNY. Yes.

  CAM. How d’you do?

  BENNY. First.

  CAM. Nice one, man.

  TIMP. We shall have bubbles!! Bubbles for breakfast.

  TIMP goes to the fridge and cracks open a beer and hands it to BENNY.

  BENNY. Cheers.

  CAM. Cheers!

  BENNY. You done any practice?

  CAM. Not much.

  BENNY. Shouldn’t you /

  TIMP. Will you two stop fucking bleating – tell him about last night, Cam!

  TIMP has put on some pretty serious dubstep.

  BENNY. Timp, man?

  TIMP. Oh come on!

  TIMP puts on ‘Keep Young and Beautiful’. He starts grooving around the place a little.

  You want to hear what happened last night then?

  BENNY. Will you stop blinking like that you’re making me feel ill.

  TIMP. First, a toast.

  BENNY. What are we toasting?

  TIMP. You. I fucking love ya, ya grumpy brainy faggot!

  CAM. Aye-aye.

  BENNY. Cheers.

  TIMP. World of work, Benny-boy, just you wait till you start – it’s like lighting a match – sort of exciting for a minute then you realise you can’t un-strike it – so there’s nothing else to do but get up at dawn every fucking day and wait till it’s burnt! Ha!

  TIMP lets out a wild laugh right up in BENNY’s face – BENNY smiles.

  Just saying, buddy – beginning of the fucking end!

  BENNY. Thanks, Timp. Thanks.

  TIMP. Here is to a beautiful bloody rainbow.

  They put their cans up.

  BENNY. Contract’s up at the end of the week we should think about clearing up, getting out. Maybe tomorrow we should /

  TIMP. Tomorrow, tomorrow – I’ll love yaaaa... don’t go and summon the fucking evil ‘Leprechaun of Dawn’, Benny-boy!

  BENNY. Leprechaun of Dawn?

  TIMP. Tomorrow says you are giving in to the God of morning, saying it’s okay for him to come and shit his horrible daylight all over us, tearing us apart. No one says tomorrow. Them’s the rules or the Leprechaun of Dawn will arrive and stick his pointy teeth into your horrible little wrinkly bollocks and nibble them off.

  BENNY. Right. Glad I cleared that up.

  CAM. To tonight!

  BENNY. What’s tonight?

  CAM. My concert is done, you guys have your results – and Timp... doesn’t need an excuse – we thought we’d have a party; a sort of end-of-an-era thing.

  BENNY. To tonight.

  The three boys raise their cans and drink.

  TIMP. Gluggedyglug. Now, yesterday – however, is a different matter altogether.

  BENNY. Can you try and be less –

  TIMP. Less what?

  BENNY. Just. Less.

  TIMP jumps up onto the table and starts to pretend to be walking down the street, a little like a Victorian gentleman, tucking his thumbs into his boxer shorts as if they were trousers.

  TIMP. No. So – young Cameron and I are in George Square having a gentlemanly peruse of the prospective students of the gentler gender, wondering if they might like a more mature hand to guide them through this troubled time of change – were we not, Cameron?

  CAM. We were.

  BENNY. You two tour guides for st
udents?

  TIMP. Yes indeedio.

  BENNY. Neither of you went to the fucking university.

  CAM. We know the basics.

  BENNY. How?

  TIMP. We’ve seen you go to lectures.

  BENNY. Fucking hell.

  TIMP. I snaffled myself a garment –

  CAM. He nicked a T-shirt from the university shop.

  TIMP. Split the tour guide in two – cocks to the right, tits to the left – I’ll take the left.

  CAM. Ta very much.

  TIMP. And we set off on our merry way. Four hours later and Cameron arrives home –

  CAM. Having spent all fucking afternoon fielding questions about the rugby team and Greyfriars fucking Bobby /

  TIMP. Miserable little mutt.

  CAM. One of the pricks said ‘Do you hactually know anyone who’s hactually Scottish?’

  TIMP. But when he arrived home much to his delight the flat was overfloweth – with young tail. Was it not, Cameron?

  CAM. Aye it was.

  TIMP. And were you not eternally grateful?

  CAM. I had half a pint and went to sleep because I’ve got a very important concert.

  TIMP. As if you did. Now we arrive at the rub.

  BENNY. I’m not sure I want to know about your rub, Timp.

  CAM. Listen, eh – this is so fucking cool, right – so /

  TIMP. Wait, wait – the youth are so hasty. We’ll get to it. So, she’s called Margaret /

  CAM. Megan.

  TIMP. Was it not Mégane – like the car?

  CAM. Like a Renault Mégane?

  TIMP. No, you’re right – it was Megan. I think – anyway – she’s hot, right? Impressive honkers – long hair, big eyes – lovely looking; she’s Australian or something –

  CAM. Austrian.

  TIMP. She’s Austrian.

  BENNY. Right. Is this /

  CAM. And she’s quite funny – actually, you know, a laugh – but a bit loud.

  TIMP. And she’s so fucking excited by the prospect of us – she’s all over Cam, right /