Chicken Shop E-Book

Anna Jordan

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

A dark and twisted coming-of-age story by the Bruntwood Prize-winning author of Yen. Hendrix is growing up. Or at least he's trying to. He's sick of his mother and her constant preaching on the virtues of an organic lifestyle. And he's sick of her girlfriend, a twentysomething stunner who winds him up relentlessly. But most of all he's sick of the bullies at school, who think if his mum is gay then he must be too. In a desperate attempt to prove his masculinity, Hendrix enters a very adult world - but gets more than he bargained for. He meets Luminita, a young girl enslaved in an unbearable life, and their secret friendship grows in snatched moments in a room above a chicken shop. Anna Jordan's play Chicken Shop premiered at the Park Theatre, London, in September 2014.

Leseprobe

Anna Jordan

CHICKEN SHOP

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Characters

Chicken Shop

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Chicken Shop was first performed at Park Theatre, London, on 2 September 2014. The cast was as follows:

HILARY

Angela Bull

HENDRIX

Jesse Rutherford

KATIE

Millie Reeves

LEKO

John Last

LUMINITA

Lucy Roslyn

Director

Jemma Gross

Designer

Florence Hazard

Lighting Designer

Sherry Coenen

Production Manager

Christopher Silvester

Assistant Director

Charlotte Marigot

Producer

Epsilon Productions

www.epsilonproductions.co.uk

Characters

HENDRIX, sixteen, British

HILARY, forty-three, British

KATIE, twenty-seven, Australian

LUMINITA, twenty-four, Moldovan

LEKO, thirty-eight, Albanian

Settings

Hilary’s living room: a dining table. A small two-seater sofa. Coffee table. Earthy. Understated. Full of plants and ethnic knick-knacks and with an absence of technology. Two doorways, stage left leading to the front door, kitchen and bathroom, stage right leading off to the bedrooms.

Luminita’s room: a low, single bed covered with a threadbare flowery bedspread, a tall window next to it. Luminita’s things under the bed. The heavy curtains are always closed. To the left of the bed, an old wooden school chair. A waste-paper bin.

Hendrix’s bedroom: a single bed. A small modest telly. Posters. A couple of artistic prints on the wall but also general teenage mess. A bit of a shitpit.

Note on Text

A forward slash (/) indicates overlapping speech.

A dash (–) at the end of a line means the next line interrupts.

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

ACT ONE

Scene One

HENDRIX, awkward, kind-hearted, earnest, sits at the breakfast table dressed in school uniform. He has a seriously floppy haircut. He is reading FHM magazine, and it is open to some very big-titted ladies. He has cereal spoon midway to mouth and is fixated. He hears his mother coming and quickly stuffs FHM in his bag. HILARY, grounded, earthy, a little worn but idealistic, walks through stage-right door, brushing her hair, her bottom half-dressed, but wearing a large greying bra.

HILARY. Morning!

HENDRIX (almost under his breath). Jesus Christ!

She passes straight through to the other door. He tentatively lifts FHM back out of his bag. KATIE, sparky, stunning, hyper-sexual, enters stage left wearing the smallest of towels and another towel covering her hair. He hides FHM immediately again. She flicks his ear, playfully, hard.

Ow!

She is gone. He glances back at the other door, goes to take FHM but then gives up. He takes a bite of the cereal, grimaces. He picks up the packet.

‘Organic Peace Muesli’. ‘Peace Muesli’. Fuck.

HILARY enters with an open shirt on and goes straight to a mirror on the fourth wall to do her minimal make-up. Throughout the scene she gets ready to go out.

HILARY. What are you ‘fucking’ about?

HENDRIX. Nothing. It’s just do you think we could try something nice for breakfast? Something that doesn’t look like it’s been swept out of a rabbit’s cage?

HILARY. There’s porridge or Amaranth Flakes if you don’t want that –

HENDRIX (reading). ‘Sugar-free, wheat-free, gluten-free, GMO-free’ –

HILARY. Just have some toast then – !

HENDRIX. – Taste-free… Fun-free!

HILARY. We have intolerances in this house, okay?

HENDRIX. I’m not intolerant. I’d say I’m pretty bloody tolerant.

HILARY. Katie can’t handle the gluten. She’s bordering on coeliac.

HENDRIX. Bordering on maniac.

HILARY. Hey!

Beat.

HENDRIX. Mother, I’m a growing… man. I need sustenance.

HILARY. Exactly!

HENDRIX. What I mean is what about a bit of bacon or sausage once in a while?

HILARY. Very funny.

Beat. HILARY looks over at HENDRIX, perturbed.

Do you eat meat when you’re away from home? (Beat.) Actually, don’t answer that I don’t want to know.

Beat. HENDRIX goes back to looking at the packet.

Jesus, when’s this weather going to break? I’m sweltering.

HENDRIX. Why do you have to bring all this stuff back from the shop? Eugh. ‘Dried prune powder’ –

HILARY (spins round). Okay, Hendrix! You go to the supermarket and get whatever sugar-coated Kellogg’s crap you fancy but you can bloody well pay for it yourself! And you’ll be sorry. When your glycaemic index goes through the roof.

HENDRIX. Oh yeah I’ll be fucking devastated, Mother!

HILARY. ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKS, HENDRIX!

Silence. She goes back to her make-up.

HENDRIX. God. What’s wrong with you?

HILARY. I’m bleeding.

He puts down his spoon heavily.

HENDRIX. Jesus Christ!

HILARY. What?

HENDRIX. Do you have to say that, Mum? Can’t you just –

HILARY. What? Use one of those ridiculous euphemisms? ‘It’s my time of the month’, or ‘I’ve got the painters in’.

HENDRIX. No you could / just say –

HILARY. Or ‘I’m on the blob’– ?

HENDRIX. NO! You could just say ‘I’ve got my period’. Like a normal person. Like a normal fucking person, Mother.

HILARY. ENOUGH with the FUCKS, Hendrix!

Pause. HENDRIX butters himself a piece of toast.

HENDRIX. So if I pay for the Kellogg’s myself I can have it, right?

HILARY. If that’s really what you want.

Beat.

HENDRIX. So if I pay for a PlayStation 4 can I have that?

HILARY. Oh not again! No!

HENDRIX. Why not? Same diff!

HILARY. You call yourself a feminist. Right?

HENDRIX. Yeah.

HILARY. Then do you really want to play a video game where you can pick up a prostitute, rape her, kill her and take your money back?

HENDRIX. That’s just one game!

HILARY. It’s violent, it’s misogynistic –

HENDRIX. Yeah but, Mum –

HILARY. And I’m not discussing it any more.

HENDRIX. Anyway, is it really rape if –

HILARY. DO NOT EVEN GO THERE, HENDRIX!

HENDRIX. Hey, no, I’m not saying it’s right I just… Oh forget it.

Pause. HENDRIX sulks.

What about the laptop then?

HILARY. We’ve got a laptop.

HENDRIX. My own laptop!

HILARY. Hendrix, play fair. I got you the TV, didn’t I?

HENDRIX. Yep. (So she can’t hear.) And it’s a piece of shit.

HILARY. Do you know children spend an average of six hours a day hooked into some kind of screen? It zaps your soul. Warps it. I don’t want that for you. I want you to / buck the trend.

HENDRIX. Buck the trend. Yeah. I get it, Mum.

HILARY. And apart from anything we can’t afford it.

HENDRIX. I was thinking maybe I could get one… instead of going to Barcelona.

HILARY. But you have to go. It’s part of your A level.

HENDRIX. Not really. I can do all the coursework for it while they’re away. On my laptop.

HILARY. Why don’t you want to go?

Beat.

HENDRIX. I don’t really get along with the boys in my history group.

HILARY. Why?

HENDRIX. I don’t know, do I? They’re just stupid.

HILARY. What about Melvin?

HENDRIX. Melvin?

HILARY. That’s the boy that played tennis with you and Meg, isn’t it? Isn’t he in your group?

HENDRIX. God no, Mother. He’s not even in my year. We just see each other in breaks sometimes.

HILARY. Oh.

HENDRIX. It’s a lot of money. I could get a laptop for less than you’re paying for the trip. Please, Mum?

HILARY. I don’t want you to miss out on cultural opportunities. And anyway, we’re paying in weekly instalments.

HENDRIX. I just don’t think I can be bothered. Spending a whole four days with them.

HILARY. Come on, Hen. Dalí Museum? La Fábrica? You’re not going to miss out on all that because of a few immature boys, are you?

HENDRIX. No, I suppose.

HILARY. Good.

Beat. She does a big yawn.

HENDRIX. Tired?

HILARY. Yes I had a bit of a bad night.

HENDRIX. Didn’t sound too bad from my room.

KATIE breezes in wearing a little shorts and T-shirt pyjamas set.

KATIE. Morning, peeps!

HENDRIX is about to bite into a bit of toast but KATIE snatches it out of his hand.

HENDRIX. Mother, did you see that?

KATIE. Oh chillax, Hen, it’s only a slice of toast.

KATIE sits on the dining-room table and eats.

HILARY. What are your plans today, darling?

KATIE. Not sure yet.

HILARY. Paint?

KATIE. Maybe. Maybe paint.

HENDRIX. The hall could do with a couple of coats.

KATIE. Hilarious, Hendrix.

HILARY. Button it! Good for you, Kate. Back on the horse.

KATIE. Yeah. I might start a new one. (Has a big stretch.) Yep, rip a fresh bit of canvas.

HILARY. You should finish the old woman. It could be the centrepiece of the collection.

KATIE. Nuh.

HILARY. You should try and finish at least one, Kate.

KATIE (snapping a little). Hils, don’t challenge me please. (Beat.) You know I’ve been blocked.

HILARY. Okay. Sorry.

KATIE. It’s okay. I might have a big sort-out. Tidy up.

HILARY. Now there’s an idea. Creativity breeds in a tidy space.

KATIE. Yup. Might spring-clean the studio.

HENDRIX. Spare room.

HILARY. Hendrix.

HENDRIX. Well, it is! You never let Meg call it her workshop when she had her motorbike stuff in there.

KATIE does a little ‘humph’ at the mention of Meg. HILARY clocks this.

In fact you never stopped moaning about it. Now it’s full of half-finished pictures of naked Aborigine women and suddenly it’s ‘her studio’.

HILARY. Don’t be uncharitable.

HENDRIX. You wouldn’t let me have a drum kit in there last year when I asked.

KATIE. You should count yourself lucky. Most teenage boys would kill to have a spare room full of half-naked women!

HENDRIX. Yeah but not with the sort of tits that you paint!

HILARY. Hendrix – !

HENDRIX. They’re like spaniels’ ears!

HILARY. Stop! Hendrix, Katie is a very talented artist in the middle of putting together a very important collection. We should feel privileged to be around her while she’s doing that, and give her the space she needs. Okay? Champ?

HENDRIX (sigh). Okay.

Beat.

KATIE. Thanks, Hen. You’re welcome any time you know. Come in and watch me work?

HENDRIX. I thought you always worked in the nude?

KATIE. Oh, yeah. Maybe not then.

HILARY (to HENDRIX). Shouldn’t you be gone by now?

HENDRIX. No. I’ve got ages.

KATIE. Ooh ooh ooh I know what I was going to do today!

HILARY. What, love?

KATIE. I’m going to get a job!

HENDRIX. Doing what?

KATIE. Not sure yet, I’ve just decided I am going to get one.

HILARY. But what about your painting, darling?

KATIE. Oh just part-time. I think interacting with other humans might kickstart me. And I want to contribute to the house.

HILARY. Well, that would be welcome. What sort of thing?