The Herd E-Book

Rory Kinnear

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

Seitenzahl: 93

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

A witty and heartfelt look at a family falling apart – and pulling together – when life doesn't turn out quite the way they imagined. Joint Winner of the Critics' Circle Most Promising Playwright Award, 2013. It's Andy Griffith's twenty-first birthday. Not that he's counting. But his mother Carol is. Counting the minutes until he arrives, counting the unexpected guests, counting the times that something like this has happened before. Rory Kinnear's first play, The Herd was first performed at the Bush Theatre, London, in September 2013.

Leseprobe

Rory Kinnear

THE HERD

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Characters and Note on Text

The Herd

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

The Herd was first performed on 13 September 2013 at the Bush Theatre, London, with the following cast:

CAROL

Amanda Root

CLAIRE

Louise Brealey

PATRICIA

Anna Calder-Marshall

BRIAN

Kenneth Cranham

IAN

Adrian Rawlins

MARK

Adrian Bower

Director

Howard Davies

Designer

Helen Goddard

Lighting Designer

Rick Fisher

Sound Designer

Mike Walker

Characters

CAROL, mid-fifties, Andy’s mother

CLAIRE, thirty-three, Andy’s sister

PATRICIA, late seventies, Andy’s grandmother

BRIAN, late seventies, Andy’s grandfather

IAN, late fifties, Andy’s father

MARK, late thirties, Claire’s boyfriend

The play is set in the downstairs kitchen and living room of a suburban house.

Note on Text

A forward slash (/) indicates an overlap in speech.

Dialogue in square brackets [] is unspoken.

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

The front room of a suburban house. An adjoining kitchen and living/dining room. Stairs leading to an unseen second floor. A corridor to a bathroom. A downstairs bedroom off the living room. The room is cursorily decorated for a birthday party. CAROL, mid-fifties but young, is on her home phone, perched on a living-room armchair, busily wrapping some presents.

CAROL. And is he in the bus?… He is?… And you’re in the bus with him?… How?… How are you in the bus with him?… They mended it today, did they?… Mended, fixed… Right, but yesterday Jackie said it was still broken… Evening… Right, so not mended then. So if the cordless phone isn’t working how are you talking to me in the bus?… Right. So if you’re not, is Andy?… Murat, you promised me he would be ready to leave by eleven thirty… No it’s not, it’s twelve… It is… Murat, it’s twelve o’clock and you are still faffing about… Faffing, I can’t [think of another word]… Wasting time… Have you got his jacket on at least?… His jacket, Murat, you must know what ‘jacket’ is, his coat?… Yes? And are his drugs all there?… All of them, are you sure?… The Colomycin?… Because last time you forgot it…

CLAIRE, thirty-three, lets herself in the front door.

CLAIRE. People over the road, their car lights are… oops, sorry…

CAROL (mouthing to CLAIRE). Two minutes. (On phone.) Are they there in front of you?… Yes? Can you slowly read out the names of all the drugs in his bag?… (To CLAIRE.) Pitta breads, in the freezer.

CLAIRE. Car lights? Shall I say something?

CAROL (ignoring her).…Yes, well, he’s already late, isn’t he? Okay. So… What?… Sorry, can you spell it?… Fee? Is that V?… Yes?… V… E… N… Right, Ventolin… Yes, Ventolin… Yes, that is how you say it. Next one… Oh God, Murat, that sounds like nothing on earth…

CLAIRE (having placed the pitta breads on the kitchen sideboard). I’m going to pop round and let them know.

CAROL (ignoring her).…Listen, Murat, can I speak to Jackie? It’s probably going to be quicker… No, Jack-IE, jack-ET was earlier but well remembered… yes, and will you please, please, please get Andy into the bus now… Thank you… Yes, Jackie, thank you… The lovely Jackie… (To CLAIRE, absentmindedly.) Did you find them?… (Sees the pitta breads.) Can you… (Notices she’s not in the room and calls out to her.) Claire, can you pop the pitta breads in the microwave to defrost please? And make a salad dressing? I’ve got to speak to the lovely Jackie… without vomiting… Claire?… Claire, are you there?… Are you in the toilet?… (To phone.) No sorry, Jackie, not you… Yes, I just want to make sure he’s got all his drugs for the weekend… I know, I just wanted to make absolutely sure, after last time… No, I’m not blaming anyone… Sure, but to be sure… Great, can you read out all the drugs there in Andy’s bag? Thank you… Ventolin, yes, Colomycin, Atrovent, yes…

CLAIRE re-enters.

CLAIRE. There’s no answer.

CAROL. What?

CLAIRE. There’s no answer over the road.

CAROL (on phone). Sorry, Jackie, just… (To CLAIRE.) What’s over the road?…

CLAIRE. The new couple. Are they away?

CAROL. I don’t think so… (On phone.) Sorry, my daughter’s… (To CLAIRE.) Hang on… (On phone.) Sorry, yes, I’m ready… Undivided… Great… great… great… (To CLAIRE.) Defrost… (On phone.) Great, all of them?… and the Nutrison?… how many bottles?… Lovely… fine, okay, wonderful. And Murat’s getting him in the bus now, is he?… Great… yes, hope so… Just his grandparents and his sister, and some friends of mine… I’m sure it will be… about an hour and a bit then… I’m sure it will be, bye then. (Hangs up.)

If she says it once more, I swear. ‘How lovely.’ What is lovely, Jackie, what actually is lovely? Like a fucking parrot.

CLAIRE. The people over the road. Their car lights are on.

CAROL. What?

CLAIRE. I’ll pop over later, see if they need any help.

CAROL. Oh God, you don’t have to worry about them. Wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.

CLAIRE. It’s alright, I’ll just pop over…

CAROL. Honestly, they’re ghastly.

CLAIRE. Wouldn’t you appreciate…?

CAROL. Oh, don’t take the moral high ground, for God’s sake. I’ve jump leads in the boot if they need them. Did you make the dressing?

CLAIRE. You didn’t ask.

CAROL. I did.

CLAIRE. When?

CAROL. Earlier.

CLAIRE. You didn’t.

CAROL. Yes I did, Claire.

Oh, no, you weren’t in the toilet.

CLAIRE. What?

CAROL. Can you?

CLAIRE. What?

CAROL. Make a dressing?

CLAIRE. Yes. Can you calm down?

CAROL. Claire… make it a request or a command, don’t make it a question when it’s quite obvious that’s the last thing on my mind. I’ve got your grandfather and your brother…

CLAIRE. Fine. You. Are Going. To Calm. Down.

CLAIRE begins to make the dressing as CAROL moves to the kitchen and decants an orange-juice carton into a jug.

CAROL. Actually shaking. How does she do it?

CLAIRE. Who?

CAROL. Who do you think?

CLAIRE. Don’t obsess. It won’t help if you…

CAROL. How can I not obsess? If someone made you feel like a piece of shit every time you spoke to them, what would you do?

CLAIRE. Not speak to them.

CAROL. Yes, Claire. I don’t have that luxury.

It’s not actually that she makes me feel like a piece of shit because I honestly think she makes everyone feel like a piece of shit. Her little sneer would make Nelson Mandela feel like a piece of shit. I don’t mind being made to feel like a piece of shit. I’m good at it. What gets me, what I really can’t stand is the ‘Mrs Griffith’. She has never called me Carol…

CLAIRE. I know.

CAROL.…not once. I have screamed at her, I’ve cried on her, I’ve been in a room with her studiously ignoring Andy’s erection…

CLAIRE. Mum!

CAROL.…but she has never dared to call me Carol. ‘Mrs Griffith… how lovely, Mrs Griffith… I think you’ll find you’re wrong, Mrs…’ each one’s like a papercut on the eye.

CLAIRE. You could always change it?

CAROL. It’s not the Griffith that bothers me.

CLAIRE. No?

CAROL. No! Of course… What bothers me is I know that if she called me Carol she’d have to recognise me as a human being. And she can’t do that because then she’d have to treat me like one. She’d have to return my calls and understand when I’m worried and maybe even sometimes smile in the right places and little by little she’d be forced to realise that the reason that once upon a time I had been given a name was that I was a Real Person.

Ever called me Carol she’d fall to pieces. Throw her arms around me and beg for forgiveness. So no, she is resolute. No Carols for her…

No wonder she makes them have a multi-faith Christmas service.

CLAIRE. I’m not sure they call it Christmas in a multi-faith service.

CAROL. Pedant.

CLAIRE. Racist.

Do you want me to lay the table?

CAROL. I’ll do it.

CAROL begins to lay the table for four people.

CLAIRE. Is he on his way?

CAROL. So they say.

CLAIRE. How was he in the end?

CAROL. Still a bit wheezy.

CLAIRE. Did the doctor come out?

CAROL. No, they said they didn’t want to call the doctor out because he’d come out for Louis the night before.

CLAIRE. So?

CAROL. So… they didn’t want to, they actually said this, they felt if it wasn’t serious they didn’t want to inconvenience him.

CLAIRE. By asking him to see a patient?

CAROL. Yes, they must find it awfully boring, doctors. Seeing all these ill people, when they could be doing something fun. Like paragliding.

CLAIRE. What’s Louis got to do with Andy anyway?

CAROL. Well quite. But there you are, it was a boat I didn’t feel like rocking.

CLAIRE. That’s awful. They can’t just make one client’s health…

CAROL. Oh God, Claire.

CLAIRE. What?

CAROL. Don’t call Andy a client.

CLAIRE. Seriously, Mum.

CAROL. Well, seriously, this primary carer didn’t want a client’s birthday to be ruined.

CLAIRE. They don’t think like that.

CAROL. They do.

CLAIRE. That’s ridiculous. They wouldn’t put a kid’s health at risk just because they found a parent annoying. Imagine if we did that at school.

CAROL. Think of the class sizes.

CLAIRE. I’m trying it from now on, don’t worry.

They don’t actually though, do they?

CAROL. I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m sure it would give them great pleasure. To punish him because of me.

Anyway, they said he was a lot better this morning, which was annoying.

CLAIRE. Why?

CAROL. To hear their satisfaction.

CLAIRE. Dangerous, Mother.

CAROL. I joke, of course.

Will you get me down four wine glasses?

CLAIRE does so.

CLAIRE. Didn’t you say some people were coming?

CAROL. Sorry?

CLAIRE. On the phone.

CAROL. What?

CLAIRE. Are they coming later?

CAROL. What are you talking about?

CLAIRE. On the phone. You said some friends were coming.

CAROL. What? Oh God, yes.

CLAIRE. What?

CAROL. Yes, not entirely true.

CLAIRE. What do you mean?

CAROL. I lied I’m afraid.

CLAIRE. You lied?

CAROL. High ground…

CLAIRE. Why?

CAROL. Claire, that woman can patronise people to death. If she knew only his grandparents and sister were coming for his twenty-first birthday, her drone of pity might very nearly have killed me. I’d more than likely have had a pity-induced stroke. You’d have found me on the floor, eyes lolling, wonky mouth, saying over and over ‘but I don’t mind’.

CLAIRE. So no one else is actually coming?

CAROL. No, darling. Put me on the pyre and strike the match: I am a liar.

CLAIRE. Oh.

CLAIRE hands CAROL the glasses.

CAROL. Don’t give me the disapproving face.

CLAIRE. It’s not a face. It’s a…

CAROL. What?

CLAIRE. I just thought.

CAROL. What?

CLAIRE. It might have been nice.

CAROL. Come on, your grandmother’s still coming, how much fun can you want?

CLAIRE. No, not that… just…

CAROL. What?

CLAIRE. Well, is it alright if… well, would there be room for anyone else?

CAROL. Er, I suppose so, who is it?

CLAIRE. I don’t think you know them.

CAROL. Them? I’ve only the one lasagne.