Shook E-Book

Samuel Bailey

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

Seitenzahl: 88

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

'He'll look different. My little boy. When I get out. Like… to the picture I've got in my head. Be like meeting him all over again. A whole new start.' Instead of GCSEs, Cain, Riyad and Jonjo got sentences. Locked up in a young offender institution, they trade sweets, chat shit, kill time – and await fatherhood. Grace's job is to turn these teenagers into parents, ready to take charge of their futures. But can they grow up quickly enough to escape the system? Winner of the 2019 Papatango New Writing Prize, Samuel Bailey's Shook is a tender and honest play examining the young men society shuts away. It was premiered by Papatango at Southwark Playhouse, London, in October 2019, followed by a UK tour. Samuel Bailey was the winner of the Times Breakthrough Award at the South Bank Sky Arts Awards 2021.

Leseprobe

Samuel Bailey

SHOOK

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Characters

Shook

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Shook was the winner of the 2019 Papatango New Writing Prize. It was first produced by Papatango Theatre Company on a national tour in 2019 and first performed at the Southwark Playhouse, London, on 1 November 2019, with the following cast:

JONJO

Josef Davies

CAIN

Josh Finan

GRACE

Andrea Hall

RIYAD

Ivan Oyik

Director

George Turvey

Set and Costume Designer

Jasmine Swan

Lighting Designer

Johanna Town

Music and Sound Designer

Richard Hammarton

Producer

Chris Foxon

Fight Director

Tim Klotz

Assistant Director

Lisa Diveney

Assistant Lighting Designer

Jack Wills

Production Manager

Marco Savo

Stage Manager

Jo Alexander

Technical Assistant Stage Manager

Tommaso Gobbi

Costume Supervisor

Megan Rarity

To my Dad,

for the inspiration

Acknowledgements

Thank you to: Stella McCabe, Molly McCarthy, Nick Frankfort and everyone at MGC for being the first to believe in the play; Kate Byers, for reading every one of my first drafts; Anthony Horowitz, for his generosity and guidance; Joe Langdon, for his insight and advice; Steven Atkinson, for his helpful words when I got stuck; Rebecca Durbin, for her constant words of encouragement; Akiya Henry, Theo Ogundipe, Sharlene Whyte, Danny Kirrane and Anton Cross for their invaluable input; Josh Finan, Josef Davies, Ivan Oyik and Andrea Hall for being everything I had in my head and a little bit more; the Peggy Ramsay Foundation for helping me pay my rent; everyone at NHB and Southwark Playhouse for all their hard work; Kate Prentice and everyone at 42 for taking a punt on me; and Mum, for everything.

Special thanks to George Turvey and Chris Foxon for making it happen, what you do every year is unbelievable; and Jesse Jones, my theatre big brother, for showing me the way.

And the lads back home, who think theatre is rubbish, but are, in some form, in every play I’ve ever written.

S.B.

Characters

CAIN, sixteen

JONJO, seventeen

RIYAD, sixteen

GRACE, late thirties

Setting

A young offenders institute classroom. Bare, unloved.

A whiteboard.

Notes

( , ) denotes a withholding of speech, an expression of something without words.

( – ) at the end of a sentence indicates the next line cutting in.

(…) indicates a trailing-off of thought or, in Jonjo’s case, a fluency interruption.

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

ONE

CAIN and JONJO – both in green tracksuits. JONJO has white, prison-issue daps on. CAIN his own trainers and a plastic rosary hung about his neck.

CAIN, a wiry bundle of energy, loiters at the door, peering through the small window.

JONJO, big and wounded, sits passively on a chair, waiting.

CAIN. And you don’t go in there, right? Nowhere round pool table. Not unless you want Saleem and his lot to slap you about and you don’t want that, fucking believe me so just you steer clear altogether.

On twos you, yeah? Who do I know up there? You met Ryan Buckley? He’s alright, la. Just don’t say nothing to him about his eye, cus he’s sensitive as fuck about it and he will smash yer head in.

What did you do to get in here, anyway?

JONJO. ,

CAIN. They moved me down from Glen Parva when it closed down. I was gonna get out but then this fucking prick Isan, Greek or summat he was, starts telling everyone he saw me crying after visits, telling every fucker he can that he saw me crying, which is bang out of order, there’s some things you just don’t joke about, so I boiled me kettle and stuck a load of sugar in it but this screw caught me with it just before I could chuck it in his face.

The fucking prick.

CAIN goes back to the window, craning to see down the hall.

He bangs on the door to get attention.

I haven’t got all fucking day, like. Who’s that? Zahid, you nonce. Zahid, Zahid. Zahid, in here.

You know they’re doing carpentry? Fuck. I wish I was doing carpentry. Apparently, I can’t be trusted around tools. That’s what they said. It was one fucking screwdriver, lad. And they never even found it so how did they even know it was me who nicked it? They never. Could have been anyone but it’s always me that gets picked on.

You don’t think I was crying, do yer? I wasn’t. And if I was it’s only cus my sister had been and my nephew, right, her kid, who I’ve not actually ever met to be fair but that’s beside the point, got diagnosed with this really rare type of brain thingy… whatever. So if I was, which I wasn’t, then it was cus of that which is fucking fair enough if you ask –

The door partially opens, catching their attention.

It slams back again. The sound of a commotion filters through from the other side.

CAIN rushes to watch.

That’s it, mate. Fucking have him. Go on, do him. John. Johnny. John. John. Ah, yer prick.

Broken up. See any of that? Always gets broken up in about two seconds. Was you even watching? Got to fight differently in here, la. Get in and do as much damage as you can, quick as possible, right? Biting, punching, kicking, fucking whatever. Like a whirlwind. I must have had fifty fights at Parva, at least. They were gonna star me up but then it closed down anyway and I got sent here.

He was never gonna win that. Johnny’s all fucking show, man. I’d knock him out. You’d probably have him.

CAIN pulls out a bag of sweets from his pocket.

Mind you. He has done four years so he must have done something pretty fucking mad, like.

CAIN offers a sweet to JONJO.

JONJO shakes his head.

Suit yourself. You get any baccy in here? I’m dying for a ciggy, man.

They pay you for these, you know. Coming to these classes. Fifty pence. Only reason I’m here. If this bird doesn’t show then whatever, like. I’m gonna get some Wine Gums. Or Black Jacks. There’s always loads of Black Jacks cus most people don’t like ’em, but I fucking love ’em.

It’s gonna be a breeze, mate. New teacher, I heard. Bet you I can make her cry. Not like full-on cry but you know when their eyes get like all watery. Bet I can do that. At Parva I made four teachers quit, they had to get the top lad down to teach classes.

This your first time? I’ve been loads. Basically at home here. They should fucking name the wing after me. The Cain Walters Wing. Got a nice ring to it, eh?

CAIN clicks his fingers in front of JONJO.

Throws a sweet at him, it bounces off his head.

Yer gonna have to say something to someone… sometime. I don’t care if you don’t wanna talk to me, whatever, but some lads might think you’re ignoring ’em and smash you up anyway.

You thick or something? Don’t matter to me but seems if you’re a mong you probably shouldn’t be here. They’ve got a whole special unit for window-lickers and that.

At Parva there was this one kid, what was he called, don’t matter, he got a tattoo right here on his head, cus he thought it’d make him look hard but honestly it just made him look a right twat, and they ended up just using it as a target when they smacked him really –

JONJO. I m-miss my dog.

CAIN. Fuck me, it speaks. I was beginning to think maybe you was foreign or summat. What did you say? Your dog? What type of dog you got?

JONJO. ,

CAIN. I had a dog. A Staffy. Found him in someone’s shed fucking chained to the lawnmower. So, me and my mate Danny went home and got the bolt cutters, cut the chain off and set fire to the cunt’s shed for a laugh. And as payback for him being a top dickhead and chaining the dog up in there. Took the dog home. Called him Thor. You know? Like off Marvel. Have you not seen Thor: Ragnarok? Mate. It’s sick. You must have seen Infinity War. Fuck. Have you seen Endgame?

Kept him for three years, then he got like this lump in his neck and I couldn’t afford the operation so the vet had to put him down. Little fucker.

Who’s your PO? I got Herring. He’s a fucking prick. I hate him.

RIYAD, coiled like a spring, enters.

CAIN moves away instinctively – giving him space.

RIYAD. What’s your star sign?

CAIN. What?

RIYAD. Your star sign, blud. Aries and Capri-Sun and what not. All that shit.

CAIN. I dunno. Why?

RIYAD. When’s your birthday?

CAIN. Twenty-fifth October.

RIYAD. October… October…

CAIN. Why? What does that make me?

RIYAD. I’m thinking.

CAIN. Dragon. I’m a dragon.

RIYAD. Nah, that’s the fucking Chinese one. I don’t even know, yano. Fuck’s sake. They won’t let me on a computer.

JONJO. S-scorpio.

RIYAD. Scorpio! Yeah, that’s it – who the fuck is this?

CAIN. Dunno. He ain’t said his name.

RIYAD. Have you asked him?

CAIN. Don’t talk. Well, not really. He said summat about his dog a minute ago but he’s been dead quiet. He’s new.

RIYAD. What’s a Scorpio, then? How’d you know it’s October?

JONJO shrugs.

CAIN. Why’d you care, anyway?

RIYAD. I got a letter from my girl. She’s fucking… talking about how she’s a water sign and I’m Sagittarius and how our alignment is off or some bullshit. How Jamal’s a Taurus, and they’ve been getting on good lately and they’ve got some mad Venus compatibility coming up.

CAIN. Right…

RIYAD. Know what I’m saying?

CAIN. I don’t even know what a fucking Sagittarius is.

RIYAD. It’s a star sign. I dunno, do I? It’s like this weird… horse thing. Like, this bredder with horse legs, innit. I dunno. Some Harry Potter shit.

She says Cancer and Sagittarius should never be a match in love. Bonds aren’t strong. And she needs time to think. She needs to think, bruv.

CAIN. Nothing good comes of that.

RIYAD. They won’t let me use a computer or nothing cus I’m still on basic, innit.

She’s talking about the moon passing through Jupiter and shit. What’s Jupiter gotta do with me being with my girl, innit?

Fucking Jamal, he even thinks about going near my girl, I’ll fucking wet him up, blud, swear down. I ain’t got a visit from her for two weeks, still.

I always treated her good.

CAIN. When they move you off D-wing?