Caterpillar E-Book

Alison Carr

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: NHB Modern Plays
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 76

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

'I expect the plummet, I brace, but no. The wind is now a breeze is now a whisper and I've stopped; suspended in the sky…' Greasy fish'n'chips, sticks of rock and a pot-bellied Spider-Man throwing himself off the pier; the annual 'Birdman' competition is in full flight. It's the busiest weekend of the year in this faded seaside town, but Bayview B&B is somehow closed for business. A finalist in the Theatre503 Playwriting Award, Alison Carr's play Caterpillar is a darkly funny, searing and tender drama about those moments when we find ourselves teetering on the edge. Caterpillar was first performed at Theatre503, London, in September 2018 before transferring to the Stephen Joseph Theatre, Scarborough, produced by Small Truth Theatre in association with Theatre503 and Michelle Barnette Productions.

Leseprobe

Alison Carr

CATERPILLAR

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production

Dedication

Characters

Caterpillar

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Caterpillar had its world premiere at Theatre503 in London on 3 September 2018 ahead of its transfer to the Stephen Joseph Theatre in Scarborough, produced by Small Truth Theatre in association with Theatre503 and Michelle Barnette Production. The cast was as follows:

CLAIRE

Judith Amsenga

MAEVE

Tricia Kelly

SIMON

Alan Mahon

Director

Yasmeen Arden

Producer

Michelle Barnette

Executive Producer

Jamie Arden

Set and Costume Designer

Holly Pigott

Lighting Designer

Ben Jacobs

Sound Designer

Jac Cooper

Stage Manager

Abi Toghill

To Ma and Pa Carr

Characters

CLAIRE, mid-thirties

MAEVE, sixties, Claire’s mother

SIMON, early twenties, a guest

JAMIE, Claire’s husband (voice only)

CALLUM, four, Claire’s son (voice only)

Setting

Present day.

A seaside town, a weekend in July.

This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

Scene One

In the sky.

CLAIRE. I launch myself off the pier. The wind fills my ears and my fingertips brush a cloud as I soar past. It’s soft, as fluffy as the ones your dad painted on your bedroom wall for when we brought you home and are still there.

I’m propelling forward, still forward, have I made the jackpot distance? I’m probably not even close, but then –

A gust whips your birthday balloons out of my hand. I watch them skitter away, brightly coloured dots in the blue. I brace myself for the plummet, but no.

The wind is now a breeze is now a whisper and I’ve stopped; suspended in the sky. The light glistening off the water is blinding.

I slowly stretch myself out as long as I can go. I feel my spine crick and uncurl, my shoulders loosen. I hold my head up high for the first time in…

I point my toes. I hold my fingers like a dancer. Like I think a dancer might. I’m not really sure.

My body hangs here. My mind is quiet. I breathe the clean crisp air, in and out, deep and long. I picture my lungs filling to bursting. I picture you.

I don’t know how long this will last. It’s already gone on longer than I dreamed. The drop is coming. But I’ve done it. It’s done. I jumped.

Scene Two

The front room of a seaside guesthouse. The decor is chintzy, nautical, seaside-y.

Exit off to the hallway, stairs, kitchen, bedrooms, etc.

Saturday. Very early morning.

A lamp is on.

CLAIRE lies on the settee, asleep. Or maybe passed out.

A couple of empty bottles of wine and one glass are on thecoffee table.

There’s a soft knocking on the front door.

Nothing moves.

The knocking gets louder, more insistent.

CLAIRE stirs. Groans.

The doorbell rings. It’s obnoxiously loud.

CLAIRE wakes with a jolt. She’s not sure where she is for a moment.

The doorbell rings again.

CLAIRE. Stop it.

But it rings again. She staggers to the door but doesn’t open it.

Stop.

SIMON (outside). Hello?

CLAIRE. Stop ringing the bell.

SIMON (outside). Sorry.

CLAIRE. Who is it?

SIMON (outside). Simon.

CLAIRE. Who?

SIMON (outside). Simon Logan. I’m booked in for the weekend.

CLAIRE. No you’re not.

What time is it?

SIMON (outside). I’m not sure. After one. Have I got the wrong place?

Bay View B&B, 8 Marine Walk –

CLAIRE. All reservations have been cancelled.

SIMON (outside). Not mine.

CLAIRE. Yes yours. Everyone’s. I sent an email.

SIMON (outside). I didn’t get one.

CLAIRE. Yeah, I definitely emailed you. I remember. (She doesn’t.)

SIMON (outside). Are you Maeve? The only email I’ve had from you is this one confirming my booking.

He pushes an email printout through the letterbox.

It’s all paid for. Two nights.

CLAIRE takes the printout and skims it.

CLAIRE. Shit.

SIMON (outside). What?

CLAIRE. Look, I’m sorry, but we’re not taking guests at the moment. Circumstances beyond our control.

Anyway, see, this says check-in between 2 and 8 p.m.

SIMON (outside). Yes.

CLAIRE. You’re well outside that. Goodnight then.

SIMON (outside). Please. Please I’ve come a really long way.

CLAIRE.…

SIMON (outside). I’ll pay more. I’ll pay a late fee. Whatever you want.

Are you still there? Hello?

CLAIRE is silent, hoping he’ll go. All is quiet.

Then SIMON kicks the door, making CLAIRE jump.

CLAIRE. Oi, watch it.

SIMON (outside). Sorry, I thought you’d… Sorry.

Fuck.

He bangs the door again.

Sorry.

You know when you want so much for everything to be perfect, but then it manages to be the exact opposite of perfect.

CLAIRE. I do, yeah.

SIMON (outside). Yeah. Of course it’s all gone to shit.Everything I do always does.

I’m sorry. I’ll go. I’m sorry.

CLAIRE opens the door.

SIMON stands on the doorstep. He carries an overnight bag.

Really?

Thank you. Thank you, I am so sorry about all this.

CLAIRE. Hang on.

That late fee.

SIMON. How much?

CLAIRE. Fifty quid. A tenner an hour.

SIMON pays her. She pockets it.

ID. You could be anyone.

SIMON. Driver’s licence okay?

CLAIRE. Fine.

He retrieves his driver’s licence.

SIMON. It’s not a very good photo.

CLAIRE. No.

SIMON. My friends say it makes me look like a serial killer.

I’m not, though.

CLAIRE. What?

SIMON. A serial killer.

CLAIRE. No. A serial killer would make more effort to look less like a serial killer.

SIMON. I hadn’t thought of it like that.

CLAIRE pockets the licence.

Erm, I –

CLAIRE. Insurance. Stop you robbing us blind. I’ll give it back when you go.

SIMON comes in.

They stand awkwardly. Eventually –

SIMON. It’s a lovely house.

CLAIRE. You haven’t seen any of it.

SIMON. No.

This bit’s nice, though. If this is any indication…

Are you alright?

CLAIRE. What?

SIMON. You’re bleeding –

He gestures to her T-shirt, it has blood on the hem.

CLAIRE. Shit.

SIMON. Are you okay?

CLAIRE. Fine. It’s just some splatter from the last guest who woke me up at 1 a.m.

SIMON laughs nervously. CLAIRE remains straight-faced.

SIMON. I’m so sorry. Again. I was coming out of the services and this bloke ploughed right into the side of me. He was eating a pasty, didn’t see me. No one was hurt but I had to do everything properly, you know. Ring one-oh-one. Get his details, take photos.

CLAIRE. I hope you took a photo of his pasty.

SIMON. I did, yeah. The van’s rented and I want my deposit back.

I tried to make the time up but I had to pull over in the next services I was shaking so much. Then the traffic –

CLAIRE. Well you’re here now, so you can have the Starfish Room. It’s not set up… I mean, it’s a bedroom with a bed, but there’s no mint on your pillow or anything like that, with your booking being cancelled.

SIMON. Why’s it called ‘Starfish’?

CLAIRE. Dunno. Cos we’re at the seaside.

Up the stairs to the first landing, on the left. It’s open and you can lock it from the inside, but Maeve’ll have to sort you out with keys tomorrow. All that stuff is her domain.

SIMON. Are you not – ?

CLAIRE. I’m her daughter.

SIMON. Oh.

CLAIRE. The bathroom’s on the same landing opposite. There’s towels in the airing cupboard.

SIMON. Thanks.

CLAIRE. Anything else you want?

SIMON. I don’t think so, no.

CLAIRE. Great.

Last thing, don’t come upstairs.

SIMON. Sorry?

CLAIRE. Your room’s fine, bathroom, you can come down to the kitchen if you must for a drink, but if I hear you coming up those stairs to the top landing, to my room or Mum’s –

SIMON. I wouldn’t.

CLAIRE. Good. Don’t. I was a teenager in this house, I know all the creaks on that staircase, every squeak that landing makes. Any peep out of you, I’ve got pepper spray off the internet. It’s probably illegal and burning your face off will really fuck up her score on Trip Advisor.

SIMON. You’re kidding again.

CLAIRE. No.

SIMON. Okay.

CLAIRE (deadly serious). No.

Sleep well, then.

SIMON. Night.

CLAIRE. Night.

Exit SIMON to the hallway.

CLAIRE returns to the settee.

She drinks the final dregs of wine.

Scene Three

The guesthouse.

Later the same morning.

MAEVE is in her dressing gown, eating breakfast. Her left arm is tucked into her side – it is very weakened from a stroke.

Enter SIMON. He wears jeans and a zipped-up hoodie.

SIMON. Oh.

Hello.

MAEVE. Here he is.

SIMON. Morning. I didn’t think anyone was up.

Maeve, is it?

MAEVE. The one and only.

SIMON. Simon.

MAEVE. You’re up with the larks.

SIMON. Lots to do. Up and at ’em.

MAEVE. I like it.

Sleep well?

SIMON. Yes, thank you.

You?

MAEVE. Great.

SIMON. I didn’t wake you, then?

MAEVE. When?

SIMON. Last night. Well, this morning really.

MAEVE. I sleep the sleep of the dead, love. Didn’t hear a peep.

SIMON. Good.

MAEVE. Why, what were you doing that was so noisy? And why wasn’t I invited?

SIMON. Oh. I was late, my van –

MAEVE. I know. Claire accosted me coming out the bathroom on her way to bed, rambled some tale at me. You turning up regardless –

SIMON. I never got her email.

MAEVE. Course you didn’t. Honestly, she had one job.