Rock / Paper / Scissors E-Book

Chris Bush

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

'Three options, as I see it – they'll kill it off entirely, you'll let it die of natural causes, I'm going to make it live again.' When the owner of a Sheffield scissor manufacturer dies, the future of the factory site falls into uncertainty. Can it be reborn as a fashionable music venue, converted into luxury apartments, or somehow reinvigorated so the old business can survive? There's more than just money or bricks and mortar at stake. It's about knowing where you fit in the world – knowing that somewhere there's still a place for you. Fresh, funny and heartfelt, Rock / Paper / Scissors are three intricately interwoven plays by Chris Bush about family, heritage and legacy. They were first performed simultaneously with the same cast moving between three theatres in Sheffield – the Crucible, the Lyceum and the Studio – as part of Sheffield Theatres' fiftieth birthday celebrations in 2022. While the three plays can be enjoyed separately, they also offer a uniquely rewarding opportunity for any company looking to take on the challenge of staging them together.

Leseprobe

Chris Bush

ROCK PAPER SCISSORS

Three Plays

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Original Production Details

Characters

Rock

Paper

Scissors

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

For Rob.

Happy 50th.

Introduction

Chris Bush

This is a very silly idea.

We first started dreaming up these shows in February 2021. Directors Rob Hastie and Anthony Lau, designer Ben Stones and myself were making The Band Plays On at the Crucible and going slightly insane through the pressures creating work during a global pandemic, trying to imagine a brighter future while struggling to navigate the strange new realities of the day to day. The fiftieth anniversary of the Crucible was coming up in November, and who knew how we were going to mark it, or even if the theatre would be open at all by then? While I went home to work on rewrites and do deep dives into lesser known Sheffield Britpop acts, the directors were putting together funding applications and drawing up bold new seasons with a combination of blind hope and bloody-mindedness that all theatre professionals know only too well.

One morning, Rob met me outside my digs to walk with me to the theatre. He had an idea. What if we threw caution to the wind and thought big – even bigger than usual? What if we tried to do something never attempted before – something that could more or less only be done here, within a complex of three world-class stages all only a few metres from each other? What if we took over every inch of Sheffield Theatres with three brand-new standalone shows with a shared cast, playing simultaneously in the Crucible, Lyceum, and Crucible Studio? Alan Ayckbourn’s House and Garden had done the same thing with two plays, but no one had ever tried it with three (arguably for good reason). The concept was absurd. Would we even be open in a year’s time? What was the story? How do you even begin to plan something like this? I had no idea. Of course I said yes immediately.

We started kicking ideas around straight away. What was the hook, beside the sheer audacity of attempting it? What if each show had a distinct genre – one farce, one murder mystery, one musical, all linked by the same set of characters? What if we showed the same character at different points in their life? A christening, a wedding, a funeral (Birth, Marriage and Death as your three titles)? Time travel was definitely discussed at one point. Then for a while we settled on the idea of two weddings, one in the Crucible, one in the Lyceum, and the caterers in the studio (working titles of Bride, Groom and Cake). What if two childhood sweethearts were now getting married on the same day to different people, next door to each other, and hilarity ensued? This concept evolved into one real wedding in the Crucible, and a local am-dram production of a wedding-themed musical in the Lyceum, with all the potential for mistaken identities that might entail. I even came up with the fake show-within-a-show, Wits ’n’ Weddings, a 1980s mega-flop based on the works of Philip Larkin with a book by a young Richard Curtis… alas, it was not to be.

As fun as some of these ideas were, I was never quite sure why we wanted to tell any of these stories, beyond the technical challenge they presented. We all agreed some kind of ‘farce engine’ felt useful, but then a lot of the comedy in farce comes from the audience knowing more than the characters onstage – this is difficult when any given audience might only be getting a third of the overall story at any given time, and these shows needed to be entirely self-contained, as well as forming part of a greater whole. We were all enjoying ourselves, but I felt like I needed to go back to the dramaturgical drawing board.

What makes good drama?

All drama fundamentally revolves around conflict. All stories are about a hero (protagonist) who wants something (a goal) but there’s something or someone (an obstacle) in their way. Sometimes that obstacle is physical, or psychological, or elemental, but often it takes the form of an antagonist – a villain – a character whose dramatic function is to stop our hero from getting what they want. This might be because the antagonist despises the hero, and wishes them to suffer, but equally it could just be because they have goals of their own, and those goals are incompatible. The crucial takeaway is this: we are all protagonists in our own stories, but we could very easily be antagonists in someone else’s, whether we’re trying to be or not.

‘Main Character Syndrome’ is a contemporary term for a timeless condition. It describes someone who believes that they are the centre of the universe, and anyone else is of little or no significance. It’s a twenty-first-century form of solipsism, and something we can all be guilty of. Three standalone plays with a shared company – three distinct viewpoints on a common event – is the theatrical antidote to this. Each play would have its own protagonist(s), but said protagonist might become a primary or secondary antagonist when they step off one stage and onto another. It doesn’t mean any of these people are monsters, they just want different things. Theatre, at its best, is a machine for generating empathy – it can transport us to strange and unfamiliar worlds and populate them with characters we’ll come to care deeply for, and learn to understand, despite the fact that they might appear to be nothing like us. This simultaneous-trilogy structure offers a unique opportunity for further experiments in empathy: we can watch villains become heroes and vice versa when we watch the same events from a different angle. Our sympathies may shift entirely depending on what order we watch the shows in. A traditional ‘hero’s journey’ three-act saga can often get a bit black-and-white in terms of its morality, in part due to the necessary primacy it places on the hero’s perspective – here we can gently remind an audience, through the theatrical form, that life is messy and complicated and we rarely have the full picture.

However, I still didn’t know what the plays were about. I wanted to write about intergenerational conflict, and how each generation might have a legitimate reason to feel uniquely hard done by. The next trilogy concept was Work, Rest and Play – a young generation of school-leavers facing an uncertain future, their parents representing the squeezed middle, and their grandparents in retirement. Was this a family saga of three spaces within the same house? The granny annex, the grown-up dinner party downstairs, the teenagers getting high in the garage? What event would throw them all into crisis? ‘No one wants to see a play called Work,’ said Rob Hastie. And a play called Play felt a little sub-Beckett. Fair enough. Keep thinking. What about a properly Sheffield trilogy, using local placenames as generational markers? Intake (the youth), Halfway (middle-aged), and Endcliffe (for the OAPs)? Was that a bit niche?

Furthermore, I felt like we’d explored intergenerational family dynamics in the domestic realm quite thoroughly in Standing at the Sky’s Edge, so maybe this should move into the world of work. At this fiftieth anniversary moment of reflection, it was a chance to think about what cities are for, what civic/public spaces are for, who owns our heritage, who owns our future? Where have we come from and how does that inform where we’re going?

For all this intellectualising, we also just brainstormed a lot of three-part lists. What words went together and did any of them mean anything? How about…

Hop, Skip, Jump

Stop, Look, Listen

Ready, Set, Go

Red, Yellow, Green

Faith, Hope, Charity*

Snap, Crackle, Pop**

Then, on 3 September 2021, with time rapidly running out and a season announcement due very soon, Rob and I had the following exchange over WhatsApp (edited only for clarity).

Chris Bush, 17:29

‘I feel like Rock, Paper, Scissors could be a good name for something (and hints at three competing forces of equal strength) but I don’t know what they mean by themselves.’

Chris Bush, 17:30

Rob Hastie, 17.31

‘Oo that’s quite fun’

Chris Bush, 17:37

‘Could be something in whatever they’re competing over – an inherited building, for instance – could it stay testament to industrial heritage (scissors), become a cool music venue (rock), or just bland but commercially lucrative office space (paper)?

Rob Hastie, 17:44

‘Oh that’s VERY good’

Chris Bush, 17:46

‘I wonder if then (another rethink) do we want our stages to all be different parts of the same building/complex – the factory floor, the old manager’s office, the break room or something? And lean into that idea of everyone milling around the same space in real time?’

And that was that. Of course this was still only the sketchiest of ideas, but in just over fifteen minutes something had crystalised. It now felt like we had the bones of a story (or multiple stories) worth telling. Something that spoke to intergenerational conflict, about heritage, about legacy, about autonomy, and how much any of us are in control of our destiny at any given time. What has been done here, and how does that inform what we should do next? How can we work together when no one really has enough? No heroes, no villains, just a group of people trying to survive in difficult circumstances. An exercise in empathy – which is, after all, the best reason to make theatre in the first place.

I’m incredibly thankful to have been such a big part of Sheffield Theatres’ fiftieth anniversary season. They have the best people, the best stages, the best ideas, and I owe them everything. Particular thanks to Rob Hastie for his flawless leadership under impossible circumstances, to Anthony and Elin, and all our fearless cast, crew and creatives for signing up to such a patently absurd idea. To my agents, Matt and Alex, to all at Nick Hern Books, to my family, for raising me in the best city in the world, I’m very, very grateful. What an adventure.

June 2022

Rock / Paper / Scissors were first performed at Sheffield Theatres (in the Crucible, Lyceum and Studio Theatres respectively) on 16 June 2022 (with Paper on 18 June). The cast was as follows (in alphabetical order):

SUSIE

Denise Black

MEL

Natalie Casey

LEO

Andrew Macbean

MOLLY

Daisy May

BILLY

Alistair Natkiel

FAYE

Samantha Power

OMAR

Guy Rhys

ZARA

Lucie Shorthouse

AVA

Dumile Sibanda

MASON

Jabez Sykes

LIV

Maia Tamrakar

TRENT

Joe Usher

COCO

Chanel Waddock

XANDER

Leo Wan

For Rock

Director

Anthony Lau

Designer

Ben Stones

Lighting Designer

Richard Howell

Sound Designer

Annie May Fletcher

Assistant Director

Alexandra Whiteley

Production Manager

Steph Balmforth

Stage Manager

Kate Schofield

Deputy Stage Manager

Linnea Grønning

Assistant Stage Manager

Blue Merrick

For Paper

Director

Robert Hastie

Designer

Janet Bird

Lighting Designer

Johanna Town

Sound Designer

Sam Glossop

Assistant Director

Callum Berridge

Production Manager

Luke Child

Stage Manager

Sarah Gentle

Deputy Stage Manager

Sarah Greenwood

Assistant Stage Manager

Sarah Longson

For Scissors

Director

Elin Schofield

Designer

Natasha Jenkins

Lighting Designer

Jai Morjaria

Sound Designer

Tingying Dong

Assistant Director

Grace Cordell

Production Manager

Hamish Ellis

Stage Manager

Ros Chappelle

Deputy Stage Manager

Jasmine Davies

Assistant Stage Manager

Alizee Butel

Composer

Richard Taylor

Movement Director

Tom Herron

Vocal and Dialect Coach

Anita Gilbert

Company Manager

Andrew Wilcox

Casting Director

Christopher Worrall

Casting Consultant

Stuart Burt CDG

Assistant Sound Designer

José Guillermo Puello

Musicians

Guitar

Tom Woodhouse

Drums

Natasha Rose Allen

Bass

Philipe Alexandre Clegg

Characters

SUSIE, sixties, female. Sister of the recently deceased Eddie

LEO, sixties, male. One of her oldest friends

XANDER, twenties/thirties, male. A corporate design consultant

ZARA, mid-twenties, female. A PhD student. Daughter of:

OMAR, forties/fifties, male. The current factory manager

BILLY, thirties/forties, male. A music photographer

MASON, late teens, male. An apprentice

AVA, late teens, female. An apprentice

LIV, late teens, female. An apprentice

TRENT, late teens, male. An apprentice

FAYE, early forties, female. Eddie’s adopted daughter

MEL, early forties, female. Faye’s partner

COCO, early/mid-twenties, female. One half of a pop act

MOLLY, early/mid-twenties, female. The other half

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

ROCK

ACT ONE

The former main factory floor of an old scissor factory. Back in its heyday, hundreds of workers would have had stations here. Now operations are run on a much smaller scale with a skeleton staff, and this space isn’t used at all, mostly because it’s draughty, high-ceilinged and too expensive to heat. Grimy brick walls, large windows that haven’t been cleaned in decades. Anything useful has been moved or sold. Anything left has gone to rust. Somehow it’s still magnificent.

SUSIE and LEO enter. They take it all in.

SUSIE. It’s really something, isn’t it?

LEO. The light, it’s –

SUSIE. I know.

LEO. Phenomenal.

SUSIE. Did I ever take you round here, back in the day?

LEO. I don’t think so.

SUSIE. I used to sneak boys in when no one was looking and have my way with them in the storage rooms.

LEO. Now I would’ve remembered that.

SUSIE. You missed out.

LEO. Absolutely. (Beat.) It’s those windows. Don’t ever let them clean those windows. That’s what’s doing it.

SUSIE. Hmm?

LEO. The light. Places would kill for that depth of grime.

SUSIE. You think?

LEO. There’s an art director somewhere right now going round a, um, some warehouse somewhere in London, or New York, or San Francisco, with a little, a tin full of gravy browning – that’s what they’d use – an old bean can and a shaving brush, dabbing at his windows, trying to recreate this exact quality of light. But you can’t, because that right there is history.

SUSIE. Well I’m glad you like it.

LEO. It must have been magnificent, back in the day. When did your father buy it?

SUSIE. Seventy… Seventy-one, it was – fifty years ago last winter. On its last legs even then, so he got it for a song – paid cash – never even had a mortgage. Handed it over to Eddie to see what he could make of it. And as you can tell, that was a roaring success.

LEO. For everything there is a season.

SUSIE. Oh don’t you start.

LEO. I thought it was a lovely service.

SUSIE. Some of us don’t believe in seasons. Some of us never go out of style.

LEO (beginning to take something out of his pocket). I found something that made me think of you, actually. It was –

SUSIE (cutting him off). But you can see the potential?

LEO. I can see daylight through the roof.

SUSIE. Excellent for ventilation. I like it. It’s raw. If it were up to me, I’d just push everything to the corners and wheel some speakers in, but it does need to be comfortable – and warm. We should look at insulation – conservation – ways to keep the heat in.

LEO. Everything okay?

SUSIE. Yes, fine. Silly. ‘Conservation’ – it’s nothing. It’s thermodynamics. One of those very clever conversations Dad and Eddie would have that I was never a part of. Anyway.

LEO. Uh-huh.

SUSIE. Anyway, you just need bodies, don’t you? Enough bodies will always generate enough heat. Much greener. It just goes on and on. We can open everything up in stages, but bodies in the space – that’s the priority. We can have practice rooms, recording studios – imagine if we set up our own little indie label here!

LEO. But one thing at a time?

SUSIE. Yes, yes. But we need a flag in the sand. The stage up at this end, I thought, and the bar over there. Cloakroom, toilets, a little green room up on the mezzanine, or a VIP space for entertaining. VIP toilets. It’s where you want to spend the money, believe me. With shagpile seats so it’s harder to snort coke off them.

LEO. You’ve really thought of everything.

SUSIE. I’ve been planning this for fifty years.

LEO. Really?

SUSIE. This is my moment. There’s more office space across the yard. That’s where we’d put the studio, I think, in the end. And the yard itself – it’s all ours – it only needs a few picnic tables, some space heaters, or, or just blankets, why not? Little outdoor bar, makeshift stage, food trucks – all independent. Maybe that’s step one. We don’t start inside at all, a little outdoor festival over the summer.

LEO. This summer?

SUSIE. Take advantage before the weather changes.

LEO. But this summer?

SUSIE (ignoring this). And I want… you know that man who does the cutlery sculptures? Forks and spoons and… kinetic – they move about. I want to commission something like that, but with scissors.

LEO. Uh-huh.

SUSIE. As a centrepiece – a celebration of what we did here. Put it over the gates – the first thing you see as you walk in. High enough that it won’t put someone’s eye out. Running with scissors. What do you think? ‘Running With Scissors’ as the name of something? A club night? Something for the lesbians?

LEO. Susie –

SUSIE. What?

LEO. Do you think perhaps you want to slow down?

SUSIE. Absolutely not.

LEO. Okay, but –

SUSIE. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Johnny – there is only one way to live, one way to love, and one way to play rock and roll, and that’s fast, imprecise and with enthusiasm.

LEO (ignoring this). Who else do you have on board?

SUSIE. You don’t think I can do it by myself?

LEO. I didn’t say that.

SUSIE. Everyone’s going to want a piece of it, believe me.

LEO. It just sounds like a lot of work.

SUSIE. Good. Work is good. Work keeps you young. This is a legacy project, y’know? My legacy. My family’s legacy – the city’s legacy, right here.

LEO. What do you need?

SUSIE. Money.

LEO. Right.

SUSIE. Lots of it.

LEO. Okay.

SUSIE. You still know some rich people, don’t you?

LEO. One or two.

SUSIE. All my rich friends are now either dead or responsible, which is worse than dead. And both sets have children who disapprove of me.

LEO. Have you had a survey done yet? Any engineers in?

SUSIE. These places were built to last. Good bones. Any damage is just cosmetic.

LEO. And you know that for a fact?

SUSIE. Just like me.

LEO. Susie –

SUSIE. All it needs is a fresh lick of paint.

LEO. And permissions – licensing?

SUSIE. The thing is, Leo – the thing you seem to be forgetting – is that once I get my teeth stuck into something, nobody is able to say no to me – not once I’m determined. You tell me ‘no’ and I just hear ‘try harder’.

LEO. Yes, that is one of your more irritating qualities.

SUSIE. So I can count on your support?

LEO. Some people slow down, you know, when they start to reach the twilight of their years.

SUSIE. Reach the what now?

LEO. Some people take up cross-stitch, or flower arranging, or golf.

SUSIE. Yes – start with those suckers.

LEO. Susie –

SUSIE. Some people are boring fuckers, Leo, I don’t know what to tell you. Here – let me paint you a picture.

SUSIE fishes out a portable Bluetooth speaker from a bag, switches it on and puts it down somewhere.

LEO. You don’t need to sell me on –

SUSIE. Shut up and listen. You’re going to love it.

SUSIE finds the right track on her phone. Music starts to play out of the speaker. It’s a live recording, rough and ready, of some old-school rock and roll, the kind of thing that might’ve come out of the Cavern Club in the sixties. As she talks, some magic happens. The sound travels out of the little speaker and starts to gradually fill the whole space. It could be that the music itself changes – from rock and roll to psychodelia to punk and beyond. She’s filling the space with her personal history. It becomes almost shamanic – a call to arms, an invocation.

Do you remember this? We’re both too young, but this is the world we were born into. Listen. They can’t play for shit. The charm is that they can’t play for shit. Fast, imprecise and with enthusiasm. Words to live by. Popular music – and I mean this – popular music only becomes culturally significant once any old idiot can play it. It only happens after the war. Because take swing music – big band – the sort of thing our parents would listen to. What do you need for that? You need a big band. You need trained musicians, and a raised stage, or an orchestra pit, you need a dance hall, you need all that jazz. But rock and roll doesn’t need anything. It needs youth and energy and imperfection. And the punks took all that and ran with it. Punk perfected imperfection. Three chords is plenty. Anything above five is masturbation. Of course we’re not going to clean the windows. This place should feel raw. And we won’t play this – but the spirit of it… Too much music nowadays is made on computers. I want this to be a place where everything happens live. Because it was alive once – it was on life support by the time my father bought it, but there was a time… Alive, with industry. Alive with life. With calloused hands, with metal on metal, with hammers and tongs that echoed up and out of the valley. Alive with sweat and steel and bodies generating their own heat. Can’t we have all that again? Dance with me, Leo. I’m sorry I never brought you here back in the day, but we can make up for it now. Are you embarrassed? Everyone’s embarrassed by me nowadays – they used to be outraged, but now they’re just embarrassed. If you won’t dance just close your eyes and listen. No, keep them open and look up at that light. Imagine this building alive again – imagine feeling alive again. The stage goes up at that end, the bar over there. Dance floor, booths along that wall. Bodies against bodies against bodies, now all that’s allowed, now we’ve had a chance to remember what we were missing. Come on. You need this as much as I do. Your reluctance to dance has been noted, but I haven’t given up on you yet. I’ve still got my teeth in you too.

At this point, SUSIE notices XANDER (and ideally we notice him for the first time too), stood quietly to one side, watching them. He’s well-groomed and wears a slightly shiny suit. The soundscape drops out, and SUSIE turns off the Bluetooth speaker. She refuses to be embarrassed by this.

Can I help you?

XANDER. Mrs Spenser?

SUSIE. Miss.

XANDER. I’m sorry?

SUSIE. Miss Spenser.

XANDER. Oh, I’m sorry.

SUSIE. Doctor Spenser, actually. But as it was honorary it feels like an affectation.

XANDER. Whatever you –

SUSIE. Susie. You must be the man.

XANDER. Uh…

SUSIE. From the agency?

XANDER. That’s right.

SUSIE (to LEO). You see – it’s all coming together. Billy’s who I was telling you about on the drive over. He’s going to help us sell, sell, sell. (To XANDER.) It was Billy?

XANDER. Xander.

SUSIE. Oh. I wasn’t very close.

XANDER. Don’t worry about it.

SUSIE. Are you sure you’re not called Billy?

XANDER. Fairly sure.

SUSIE. Shame. I think it’d suit you. If we get along, maybe I’ll have you re-baptised. (To LEO.) I did that once, in Nepal. Actually it was California, but the decor was Nepalese. Beautiful.

LEO (to XANDER). Don’t mind her.

SUSIE. No, don’t mind me. Nobody minds me. (Beat.) Xanthus, you said?

XANDER. Xander.

SUSIE. Short for Alexander?

XANDER. That’s right.

SUSIE. But not Alex?

XANDER. No.

SUSIE. Or Al?

XANDER. I –

SUSIE. Or maybe just Der?

LEO. Don’t bully him.

SUSIE. Xander. Fascinating. Good for you. (Beat.) Xander, I’d like you to meet Leo. He’s very taken by the dirty windows.

LEO. A pleasure.

XANDER. Yes, the quality of light in here –

SUSIE. Yes, we’re all hugely excited by the light. You see we’re of the generation who were raised several dozen feet underneath the South Yorkshire Coalfield, so the possibility of natural daylight remains extremely thrilling.

XANDER. I –

SUSIE. Hashtag-sarcasm, if that wasn’t clear. (Aside, to LEO.) I find you have to verbalise your subtext for the under-thirties. (Back to XANDER.) You’re much younger than I was expecting.

XANDER. Right.

SUSIE. Now you say it back.

XANDER (choosing to move past this). Yeah, um, the light is… Light’s always going to be your secret weapon somewhere like this – it’s transformative. I’d treat it like a church, or a cathedral.

SUSIE. Yes – yes, I like that. A holy space. For secular worship.

LEO. Like, um, like the Union Chapel.

SUSIE. Magnificent. I knew I liked you, Billy.

XANDER. Xander.

SUSIE. For now. Carry on.

XANDER. Right. So, uh, so I’d want to show off as much of the original character as you can – even the imperfections – especially the imperfections –

SUSIE nudges LEO approvingly.

And you’re right – it does all start with the windows – with light. So many church conversions butcher the windows – they block them in, cover them up, slice them in two. But you could consider false walls, light wells, mezzanines –

LEO. You seem like a very knowledgeable young man.

XANDER. Thank you.

LEO. And how long have you been in photography?

XANDER. Photography?

LEO. Yes. (To SUSIE.) Isn’t he here for photographs?

SUSIE. Yes.

XANDER. No.

SUSIE. No? (Beat.) Oh – you know what? That must be Billy.

LEO. So who’s this?

SUSIE. It’s a good question. (To XANDER.) Who are you?

XANDER. I’m Xander.

SUSIE (to LEO). He’s Xander. I spoke to an agency, they put me in touch with Billy –

XANDER. You’re expecting a photographer today?

SUSIE. Yes. Get something we can show investors – get a buzz going.

XANDER. Oh.

LEO. Not your department?

XANDER. No.

SUSIE. Are you work experience, or – ?

XANDER. No, I’m –

SUSIE. Well look, I’m sure he’s on his way. In the meantime why don’t we just have a poke around?

XANDER. Uh. Yes, that’s… I’m sure… Do we have access to the whole site?

SUSIE. Absolutely.

XANDER. Okay.

SUSIE. In a manner of speaking.

XANDER. I’m sorry?

SUSIE. We’re just going to tread lightly, try not to get under anyone’s feet.

LEO. Whose feet?

SUSIE. They know we’re here. Up to a point. They know that at some point I might be here.

LEO. Who’s they?

XANDER. Is this still a working facility?

SUSIE. It’s… Barely. Technically –

LEO. You told me they’d gone bust.

SUSIE. Gone bust, going bust, it’s the same difference. (To XANDER.) Yes, it’s conceivable there are still one or two – a skeleton crew of… But it really doesn’t matter. They don’t use this part of the factory, anyway.

XANDER. Maybe I should clear this with the office.

SUSIE. It’s fine. I’m his sister! I’m family.

XANDER. You’re his sister?

SUSIE. That’s right.

XANDER. I thought you were the daughter.

SUSIE. Oh Xander, you old flatterer.

XANDER. It’s just I have down –

SUSIE. No, I’m the daughter of… Yes, my father, Thomas Spenser – (To LEO.) I’m sorry, I’m repeating myself – (Now back to XANDER.) He bought the site originally. My brother Eddie ran it for fifty years. He passed away a short while ago and now here we are.

XANDER. And you are the owner? You are now in possession of – ?

SUSIE. What are you getting at?

XANDER. I just have a note on your file –

SUSIE. I hired a photographer, not the Spanish Inquisition.

XANDER. I’d just like to clarify –

SUSIE. Yes! Alright, yes. There has been some confusion surrounding… We still haven’t found a will. My brother was colossally disorganised. It doesn’t mean anything. Of course it all passes to me. I’m the only Spenser left standing.

XANDER. I see.

SUSIE. No, no, I don’t think you do see. This is ours. That isn’t in question. This building has been ours for the past fifty years –

LEO. He’s only doing his job.

SUSIE. What do you know about his job? What even is his job? Who is he? (To XANDER.) Look at that suit – you look like an estate agent.

XANDER. Is it possible that we’re actively trespassing?

SUSIE. Don’t be so dramatic. I grew up here – how can I trespass? Wet blankets, both of you. Billy’s on his way, and the band will be here soon, and then we can start getting somewhere.

XANDER. The band?

SUSIE. Yes, the band! I’ve arranged for a band – that’s why we need a photographer! Very young, very hot – they’re going to bring this place alive! I would volunteer myself, but I’m a fossil now, I’m not going to get any pulses racing. (Beat.) Feel free to jump in and contradict me any time you like.

LEO. Susie –

SUSIE (to XANDER). I did, for the record, back in the day – Leo can testify – but I know how this industry works. So I found this girl – beautiful. Voice is beautiful. And she has a friend – a sister? This double-act – very now, very contemporary. Gorgeous.

XANDER. I think I’m a few steps behind.

LEO. You and me both.

SUSIE. Well who needs either of you? I’ll just wait here for Billy. We talked it all through – We’re going to sell people a vision. We shoot the girls in the space, the old and the new, the beauty and the brickwork, proud heritage and a bold new future.

XANDER. I might just step out and make a call.

SUSIE. Okay.

XANDER. Just to –

SUSIE. If you must.

XANDER. Check in with…

SUSIE. Yes, yes, off you go. Do what you’ve got to do.

XANDER. I’ll be right back.

XANDER goes.

SUSIE (to LEO). Alex is a perfectly acceptable abbreviation of Alexander.

LEO. What is all this?

SUSIE. I’m trying to get some pictures taken, that’s all. I didn’t realise I’d need permission from the Queen.

LEO. And you’re sure he’s not the man you spoke to?

SUSIE. Of course he isn’t.

LEO. Okay.

SUSIE. Of course I… I want David Bailey, not some prepubescent compliance manager.

LEO. Then I’m sure it’ll get cleared up.

SUSIE. I have arranged – I have organised – a band, a very fashionable band, and a photographer, and I have a fully realised vision for… Stop looking at me like that!

LEO. Like what?

SUSIE. Like you’re wondering if I’ve finally lost it. I know who I spoke to.

LEO. You found a band?

SUSIE. Why shouldn’t I have found a band? They’re students, I think. Very arty. Describe themselves new-new-wave. You like that?

LEO. Is that what you do now? Spend your evenings hanging out in student bars?

SUSIE. So what if I do?

LEO. Reliving a misspent youth?

SUSIE. I found them online. We’ve been corresponding.

LEO. You haven’t sent them any money, have you?

SUSIE. Right – I’m going to show you the emails. (She starts fiddling with her phone.) Coco, her name is. Astonishing girl. Beautiful. She reminds me of me.

LEO. Okay.

SUSIE. You believe me, don’t you? You don’t think I’m making this up?

LEO. I think… With love, I think that Susie Spenser has a great track record in willing things into existence, but perhaps –

SUSIE. This isn’t some whim. I’ve planned this to the letter.

LEO. I’m just saying is it possible you’ve been a little optimistic in – ?

ZARA enters. She’s casually dressed and has a backpack with her. She spots LEO and SUSIE and stops.

ZARA. Oh. Hello.

SUSIE laughs in delight.

Um…

SUSIE. Welcome! Welcome, welcome, welcome.

ZARA. Hi.

SUSIE. I’m Susie, this is my very old friend Leo.

LEO. Nice to meet you.

SUSIE. Don’t talk with your mouth full, Leo. (To ZARA.) I’m sorry, Leo is just finishing up eating his words.

ZARA. Hi. Right. Sorry, I didn’t think anybody –

SUSIE. Don’t worry, you’re not late. We’re actually still waiting on the photographer.

ZARA. Photographer?

SUSIE. Yes, there’s been a little confusion, but we’re getting to the bottom of it now. Please – put your bags down, make yourself at home. I’m Susie. Did I say that?

ZARA (with a flash of realisation). Oh! Oh, are you the newspaper people?

LEO. Newspaper?

ZARA. For the article – the feature?

SUSIE. Yes.

LEO. Really?

SUSIE. In a manner of speaking. For the publicity images, yes?

ZARA. Right. Brilliant. My dad didn’t really tell me much about it.

SUSIE. Your father?

ZARA. Yeah, he’s the one who set it all up.

LEO. Is he your manager?

ZARA. He’s the manager, yeah.

SUSIE. Got it. I’ve been speaking with Coco.

ZARA. Who?

SUSIE. Coco – don’t I have that right? We’ve been having some difficulty with names today. The other one. Your sister? Friend? Girlfriend? I didn’t want to presume.

ZARA. Um. I’m Zara –

SUSIE. Zara! It’s a pleasure.

XANDER returns.

XANDER. Mrs Spenser – ?

SUSIE (to ZARA). Hold that thought. (To XANDER.) Miss Spenser, as we’ve established.

XANDER. Yes, Miss Spenser, sorry for –

SUSIE. Or how about Doctor Spenser after all? Perhaps it’d help if you skipped straight to the honorific.

XANDER. I’ve just spoken with –

SUSIE. Xander, Zara – Zara, Xander. Xander is… Well no one’s quite sure what Xander’s here for. Zara – Zara is who I was telling you about – well she’s a piece of the puzzle, anyway. Zara is here to have her photograph taken, and generally be brilliant and look gorgeous and help us turn this place around. (To ZARA.) Sound good to you?

ZARA. Uh…

SUSIE. Problem?

ZARA. You want me in the photos?

SUSIE. Well of course we do, darling.

ZARA. Right. It’s just… I’m not sure I’m necessarily the right person.

SUSIE (to LEO). There’s always the shy one. Just wait until Coco gets here.

ZARA. I am really happy to help out. I didn’t know you’d be doing photos at all, actually. I thought it was more of an interview thing.

SUSIE. Oh.

ZARA. Yeah, you know, just talking about what we do, and –

SUSIE. Oh, absolutely. Yes, absolutely. We’ll do a Q&A, make sure we cover all of that, but we need the visuals to sell it. A picture’s worth a thousand words, after all. (Beat.) Is that what you think you’ll be wearing?

ZARA. Is this not good?

SUSIE. No, it’s charming.

ZARA. I don’t have anything else with me. I really wasn’t… I could try to nip home. Most of my nice stuff is still at uni.

SUSIE. Ah, right, of course.

ZARA. Is that a problem?

XANDER tries to get a word in.

XANDER. Miss Spenser – ?

SUSIE (ignoring him, still to ZARA). No, no, no. It’s perfect. Wonderful. Very real. Not entirely what I was expecting, but –

ZARA. Did you want the uniforms? The overalls?

SUSIE. Is that what they are?

ZARA. Yeah. The thing is I don’t really wear them though. Because I’m not an official –

SUSIE. Then this is gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.

XANDER interjects.

XANDER. Doctor Spenser. Can I clarify something?

SUSIE. Oh, you’re still here. (To the others.) He’s still here.

XANDER. You’re Susan Spenser?

SUSIE. It’s Susie, and I don’t do autographs.

XANDER. Yes – I spoke to the office, and I don’t think you’re the person I’m here to see.

SUSIE. Excellent. Why are you still here then?

XANDER. I’m meant to be talking to the daughter.

SUSIE. Yes, I explained –

ZARA (to XANDER). Oh. Sorry – hi – I’m the daughter.

LEO. You are?

ZARA. Are you not all together?

LEO. Whose daughter?

XANDER (to ZARA). You’re the daughter? (To SUSIE.) And you’re the sister?

LEO (to SUSIE). I thought she – (Meaning ZARA.) was the sister?

SUSIE. The friend or the sister. Or the girlfriend.

XANDER (to ZARA). You’re Faye?

SUSIE. No, she’s Coco.

ZARA. No, I’m Zara.

SUSIE. That’s right. Coco is the sister.

LEO. Or the friend. Or the girlfriend?

SUSIE (to XANDER). Did you say Faye?

XANDER. Yes.

ZARA. Who is it you’re looking for exactly?

XANDER. The owner’s daughter.

ZARA. Right. Yes. That’s me.

SUSIE. What?

XANDER (to ZARA). I’m very sorry for your loss.

ZARA. What?

OMAR enters.

OMAR. What’s going on in here?

LEO (to SUSIE). Is this him?

SUSIE. Billy?

OMAR (to ZARA). Who are all these people?

ZARA. You’re here! They’re from the paper.

SUSIE. Just to clarify, that isn’t strictly –

LEO. Did you promise them press?

SUSIE. No, I never said –

OMAR. The paper?

ZARA. You know – the feature in The Star – you said you’d been trying –

OMAR. Oh!

LEO. The Star?

ZARA. This is my dad.

SUSIE. Oh! You’re the manager!

OMAR. That’s right.

SUSIE. Right, right! Finally! (To XANDER.) Not the owner, the manager. (Back to OMAR.) And is the other one on her way?

OMAR. The other one?

SUSIE. The sister.

LEO. Or the friend. Or the girlfriend.

SUSIE. The bandmate.

OMAR. I don’t follow.

XANDER. You’re her father?

OMAR. Yes.

XANDER. I thought the father was dead.

OMAR. Excuse me?

XANDER (to ZARA). You said you were the daughter.

ZARA. Yes – his – (Meaning OMAR.) daughter!

LEO. Is anyone else getting dizzy?

SUSIE. No, now listen – you’re confusing things. It’s all very simple. We’re going to take Zara’s picture – Zara and Coco, as soon as she arrives. Billy is the photographer –

OMAR (referring to XANDER). Is this Billy?

LEO. That’s an easy mistake to make.

SUSIE. Billy’s whereabouts remain a work-in-progress.

XANDER (offering his hand to OMAR). Xander MacIntyre, Claybourne-Harris.

SUSIE. Now who needs that many names?

XANDER. It’s not… I’m from Claybourne-Harris. We’re –

OMAR (shaking XANDER’s hand). Omar Sarbani.

SUSIE. Yes! Now that is familiar.

OMAR. And who’s Coco?