The Hills of California (NHB Modern Plays) E-Book

Jez Butterworth

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 125

Beschreibung

Blackpool, 1976. The driest summer in two hundred years. The beaches are packed. The hotels are heaving. In the sweltering backstreets, far from the choc ices and donkey rides, the Webb Sisters are returning to their mother's run-down guest house, as she lies dying upstairs. Jez Butterworth's play The Hills of California was first performed at the Harold Pinter Theatre in London's West End in 2024, directed by Sam Mendes, and produced by Sonia Friedman Productions and Neal Street.

Leseprobe

Jez Butterworth

THE HILLS OF CALIFORNIA

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Original Production Details

Dedication

Epigraph

The Hills of California

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

The Hills of California was produced by Sonia Friedman Productions and Neal Street Productions and premiered at the Harold Pinter Theatre, London, on 27 January 2024. The cast (in order of appearance) was as follows:

JILLIAN

Helena Wilson

PENNY / BIDDY

Natasha Magigi

MR POTTS / JOE FOGG

Richard Lumsden

RUBY

Ophelia Lovibond

PATTY

Lucy Moran

TONY

Alfie Jackson

GLORIA

Leanne Best

BILL / MR HALLIWELL

Shaun Dooley

DENNIS / JACK LARKIN

Bryan Dick

VERONICA / JOAN

Laura Donnelly

YOUNG GLORIA

Nancy Allsop

YOUNG JILL

Nicola Turner

YOUNG RUBY

Sophia Ally

YOUNG JOAN

Lara McDonnell

MR SMITH

Will Barratt

MRS SMITH

Georgina Hellier

LUTHER ST JOHN DR

Corey Johnson

ROSE

Stevie Raine

Director

Sam Mendes

Designer

Rob Howell

Lighting Designer

Natasha Chivers

Composer, Sound Designer & Arranger

Nick Powell

Choreographer

Ellen Kane

Musical Supervisor & Arranger

Candida Caldicot

Casting Director

Amy Ball CDG

Young Persons’ Casting Director

Verity Naughton CDG

For Belinda Stewart-Wilson

‘Child with a child pretending Weary of lies you are sending home So you sign all the papers in the family name You’re sad and you’re sorry, but you’re not ashamed Little Green, have a happy ending’

Characters

JILLIAN, thirties PENNY, a nurse, forties MR POTTS, a piano tuner, fifties RUBY, thirties PATTY, thirteen TONY, fourteen GLORIA, thirties BILL, forties DENNIS, forties YOUNG GLORIA, fourteen VERONICA, late thirties YOUNG JILL, twelve YOUNG RUBY, thirteen YOUNG JOAN, fifteen JOE FOGG, a lodger, fifties BIDDY, a maid, fifties MR SMITH, a guest, forty MRS SMITH, a guest, thirty MR HALLIWELL, a lodger, forty JACK LARKIN, a performer, thirties–forties LUTHER ST JOHN, a show-business manager, forties JOAN, late thirties

Setting

A guest house, on the outskirts of Blackpool, an English seaside resort on the Irish Sea, in the late spring of 1955, and the summer of 1976.

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

ACT ONE

Seagulls. An ice-cream van playing ‘I’m Popeye the Sailor Man’. A piano being tuned.

The public parlour of a Victorian guest house, on the edge of Blackpool, August 1976.

A few years into disuse. Separate Formica tables. A serving hatch. A tiki bar festooned in postcards, foreign currency, old crates, soda siphons. A KP Nuts calendar for 1973. A Lucky Lady one-armed bandit. An old jukebox.

Stairs up, to the floors above. A doorway to the back kitchen. (It is from here, unseen, that the piano is being tuned.)

Enter JILLIAN, from upstairs, carrying an old wicker crib, filled with junk – an old ukulele, photograph albums. Sheet music. A pair of children’s tap shoes.

She drops it on a floor. Sifts through. Lights a cigarette. Three puffs. Suddenly –

Someone is coming down the stairs.

JILLIAN. Mother?

She stubs it out. Sprays air freshener. Switches off the fan. Sits at the table and listens. Beat.

Enter PENNY, a nurse.

PENNY. She’s sleeping.

JILLIAN. Is she on her left or her right side?

PENNY. Her back.

JILLIAN. Her feet are purple.

PENNY. It’s normal.

JILLIAN. Normal?

PENNY. When they haven’t been up and about.

Beat.

JILLIAN. Are you sure?

PENNY. Sure what?

JILLIAN. That she’s asleep.

PENNY. Dr Groves gave her half a grain of morphine. She’s very peaceful.

JILLIAN. Well that’s something.

The piano.

I’m Jill by the way.

PENNY. Penny.

JILLIAN. Where’s Alice?

PENNY. Scarborough. For the weekend. Her anniversary.

JILLIAN. Right. Well, I’ll show you around.

PENNY. There’s no need.

JILLIAN. Nonsense.

PENNY. Honest. I’ve got my bearings.

JILLIAN. Nonsense.

PENNY. Really it’s fine.

JILLIAN. Let me show you.

PENNY. You showed me yesterday.

Beat.

Sit down.

JILLIAN. I’m fine.

She sits. PENNY takes out a blood-pressure monitor.

PENNY. I’m just going to check your blood pressure. You pop it on your arm. Like so.

She sits. PENNY puts it on JILLIAN’s arm. She pumps it up.

Now just relax.

She begins to take JILLIAN’s blood pressure.

This house. It’s called ‘Seaview’.

JILLIAN (distracted  ). Hmm?

PENNY. The Seaview Hotel.

JILLIAN. Aye.

PENNY. It’s just… I’ve looked out of every window, and you can’t.

Beat.

You can’t see the sea. Even on the top floor. You can see the car park. The bingo. If you lean right out you can see the Tower –

JILLIAN. I believe they call it poetic licence.

Beat.

Anyway, it’s not the Seaview Hotel. It was the Seaview Guest House. Then the Seaview Luxury Guest House. Then the Seaview Luxury Guest House and Spa. Then the Seaview Luxury Guest House. The Seaview Guest House… Now it’s just Seaview.

PENNY. Sounds like this house has been on quite a journey.

The piano is tuned.

JILLIAN. May I ask a question? My sister Joan. The one in America.

PENNY. California.

JILLIAN. Exactly. (Stops.) Wait. How –

PENNY. You told me. Yesterday.

Beat.

JILLIAN. Right. Well. She’s stuck. In California. Her aeroplane was cancelled. Or postponed. Anyroad, she won’t arrive till tomorrow at the earliest.

PENNY. Oh yes…

JILLIAN. Joan’s Mum’s favourite. Not favourite.

Beat.

Mum always used to say, ‘Gloria’s Gran… You’re your dad, Ruby’s Ruby. But Joan is me.’ I just need advice. Not advice. Your opinion. You’ve been here before.

PENNY. If you’re asking me what you’re asking me, the answer is I don’t know.

JILLIAN. Understood.

PENNY. It could be today. Could be tomorrow.

JILLIAN. Understood.

PENNY. How long’s a piece of string?

JILLIAN. It’s just Joan has to be here. It’s imperative.

PENNY. All I know –

JILLIAN. You don’t understand. I promised Mum. I promised her Joan would be here.

PENNY. All I can tell you… It’s in God’s hands now.

JILLIAN. Understood.

PENNY. But I’ll say this. I’ve seen miracles before.

She reads the pressure dial. Removes the stethoscope.

Your blood pressure is high. Do you smoke?

JILLIAN. Me? No.

PENNY. Have you ever smoked?

JILLIAN. Never. Filthy habit. Mother won’t abide it.

PENNY. Are you on any medication?

JILLIAN. Ventolin for my asthma. Betnovate for my eczema. Pepto-Bismol.

PENNY. Personal question. Are you on the pill?

JILLIAN. No.

PENNY. Are you pregnant?

JILLIAN. No fear.

PENNY. Planning to get pregnant?

Silence. JILLIAN begins to sob.

I’m sorry.

‘I’m Popeye the Sailor Man’. The piano. Children’s voices, and JILLIAN’s attempt to control her sobs.

Guess what they said this morning? I’m having my cuppa, they said this is the longest drought since 1864.

JILLIAN. Oh aye.

PENNY. It feels long, doesn’t it? July went on forever. March was brisk. April. May was dandelions. Ladybirds. Then it went June. July… July. July. July…

Beat.

August. Land cracked. Hosepipes. Five inches in the tub. My next-door neighbour’s brother-in-law was caught in the dead of night watering his hollyhocks. They carted him away. He hasn’t been seen since.

Beat.

Here.

PENNY hands her –

JILLIAN. What’s this?

PENNY. It’s a leaflet.

JILLIAN (reading). ‘The Process of Bereavement.’

PENNY. Don’t read it now, but you might want to pop it somewhere safe.

JILLIAN looks at the lea flet for a long time. Then at PENNY.

JILLIAN. I’ll pop it somewhere safe.

The piano bursts into a brief passage of a sonata. Stops on a flat note.

PENNY. Hello. We’re making progress…! Do you play?

JILLIAN. Me? No fear. Mum used to. But not for ages.

PENNY. Then who plays?

Beat.

JILLIAN. Joan. Joan plays.

Silence.

PENNY. I didn’t tell you this.

JILLIAN. Sorry?

PENNY. Moreover, if anyone asks I will flat deny it.

JILLIAN. Sorry, what –

PENNY. You’re right. I have been here before. At this stage. And at this point. This juncture. There’s things they can do.

JILLIAN. Who?

PENNY. Dr Groves. Or failing that, Dr Onions.

Beat.

When the time comes. If you feel she has suffered enough. If you call him. Then Dr Groves, or failing that, Dr Onions. Dr Onions calls Dr Rose. And Dr Rose comes.

Beat.

JILLIAN. Do you mean.

PENNY. Dr Onions calls Dr Rose.

Beat.

JILLIAN. So. Dr Groves.

PENNY. Or Dr Onions.

JILLIAN. Calls Dr Rose.

PENNY. Dr Rose comes over. Ups the morphine dose. And your mother drifts off peacefully to heaven.

Beat.

JILLIAN. I see.

Beat.

Or… Dr Groves or Dr Onions calls Dr Rose. Dr Rose comes over. Ups the dose. And my mother drifts peacefully to hell.

Beat.

I’m just saying. If you buy all that. If you do then it stands to reason some people. Not just Adolf Hitler and Kendo Nagasaki. Normal folk. Folk from Blackpool who’ve raised four girls alone. If they didn’t find time to go to church and worship God, the same God what torpedoed their husband’s destroyer. Then – (Stops.) My point is. Any minute now, Mum could be travelling from ninety-one Penny Avenue, Blackpool F-Y-five-one-D-U, from a life of misery and suffering, to actual hell. In which case, if it’s all the same I won’t join Dr Groves and Dr Onions burning in a fiery pit for all eternity.

PENNY stands.

Wait. What are you doing? Where are you going?

PENNY. Home. My shift is finished.

JILLIAN. But –

PENNY. I’ll be back this evening to give her her salts.

PENNY writes down something on her pad.

JILLIAN. What’s that?

PENNY. A telephone number. Dr Groves. And failing that… (Tears it off.) Dr Onions.

She hands it to her.

Discuss it with your sisters. And in the meantime. Get some rest.

Pause.

I’m a mother too, Miss Webb. Six boys. And I’ll let you into a secret. Mothers don’t have favourites. We love you all the same.

Exit PENNY.

JILLIAN puts the number in the lea flet, folds the lea flet, puts it in her pocket. She takes her cigarettes out. She lights a cigarette. The piano tuning stops. Footsteps. She puts the cigarette straight out.

Enter MR POTTS, the piano tuner.

POTTS. Well. It’s hopeless. If I’ve said it once, a piano must be played. Blackpool. Morecombe. Fleetwood. It’s the sea air. Wood is porous. Salt. Damp. Neglect. Plus time. And here we are. Noisy pedals. Sticky keys. Your Chappell can stand it. But your Broadwood, Challen, Stack and Walmer? Your Broadwood is like a horse. Neglect it, it gets jumpy. Take me. A hundred lunges per day. Physical jerks. Keeps the sap up. The cable tight. Turn your back for a couple of winters? What have you got? Aches. Pains. Squeaks. Buzzes. Worn felt. Mouse droppings.

JILLIAN. Will it play?

POTTS. What? Oh it’ll play. If they’ve had a drink. But you left it too long. By the way, how’s your mother? The nurse says she’s dying.

JILLIAN (flat). Did she.

POTTS. Aye, so she said. Up there, at death’s door. Chances are she won’t last the night. If you ask me it’s the weather. Wireless says there’s twenty-one-point-nought-seven per cent more deaths than 1975. Up in town it’s all ‘Kiss-Me-Quick Mine’s a Choc-Ice’. Out here in the backstreets, carnage. Folk melting in their front rooms. There’s an OAP home over Kirkham, they’ve left one poor sod in a conservatory, his blood boiled. Honest to God, his face melted. Ambulance. Morgue. Cemetery. Do Not Pass Go Do Not Collect Two Hundred Pound. That said, the nurse told me your mother has stomach cancer. In that case the drought’s less of a factor. Because – let’s face it – at the end of the day – cancer’s cancer, in’t it? Come rain or shine.

JILLIAN. Thank you for coming, Mr Potts. How will I pay you?

POTTS. You what?

JILLIAN. How shall I –

POTTS (interrupting). Cash, cheque or postal order. No rush. You know I remember her. From back in the day.

JILLIAN. Who?

POTTS. Your mother. Veronica Webb. She stuck out. On Pleasure Beach. Tramway. Woolworths. That black mane.

JILLIAN. It were chestnut.

POTTS. I danced with her once in the Ballroom. Christmas, 1953. She wore a crimson and cream polka-dot halterneck, stilettos, and red lipstick.

JILLIAN. Sounds like Mum.

POTTS. After on the Mile I tried to steal a quick peck. She kicked me clean in the cods.

JILLIAN. Aye. It were Mum.

POTTS. I can see her now. Bank Holiday. Top of Tower, pencil skirt, fishnets, holding hands with a sailor. Cripes, she was a looker. Those pins. I’d try not to stare.

JILLIAN. Well they’re purple now.

POTTS. Tell me, Miss Webb. Your father. Was he a sailor?

JILLIAN. No, Mr Potts. He was the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B.

POTTS. That’s the spirit! I was looking at you just now. ‘She’s pulling my leg. Can she really be the daughter of that goddess?’ But then hey Preston, there we are. That same cheeky mouth. Miss Cheeky Chops. Can I call you Miss Cheeky Chops?

JILLIAN. No.

Enter RUBY.

POTTS (turning). Hello. What have we here?

RUBY. Who’s this? Who are you?

JILLIAN. This is Mr Potts. Mr Potts, this is my sister Ruby.

POTTS. Now this looks more like her. The lips. The hips. (Behind his hand.) The thrup’ny bits! Now we’re getting warmer!

RUBY. Are you the twerp’s been making a din all morning?

POTTS. And we’re off! Miss Cheeky Chops the Second! Don’t mind me. I like a woman with a tongue!

RUBY. What the fuck is he on about?

JILLIAN. Ruby –

RUBY. Mr –

POTTS. Potts.

RUBY. Mr Potts. Tell me. Have you completed your task?

POTTS. I’ve made the best of a bad job.

RUBY. Excellent –

POTTS. As I was saying to your sister, your Broadwood is like a horse –

RUBY (interrupting). That’s splendid. Do me a favour would you? Give the door a good slam on the way out.

Beat.

POTTS. So. Cash, cheque or postal order. No rush. But it’s too late. Salt. Damp. Neglect. Plus time. If I’ve said it once, a piano must be played.

Exit MR POTTS.

RUBY heads behind the bar, passing the jukebox.

RUBY. What’s that?

JILLIAN. What’s it look like?

RUBY. Where’d that spring from? It wasn’t there before.

JILLIAN. Yes it was.

RUBY. How long’s it been there?

JILLIAN. Since about 1960.

RUBY. What’s it doing there?

JILLIAN. Nowt. It’s been broke for years.

RUBY. I turn my back for one minute. When’s this from? 1942?

She picks up a half-full bottle of gin.

JILLIAN. It’s gin. Gin lasts for ever.

RUBY. Thank Christ something does.

JILLIAN watches her pour. RUBY senses it.

What?

JILLIAN. What? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.

RUBY. You know, Jillian, I really don’t remember you being this puritanical.

JILLIAN. Is Dennis awake?

RUBY. Search me. He didn’t make it home last night.

JILLIAN. What?

RUBY. It’s a long story.

JILLIAN. What happened?

RUBY. We were in The Galleon. Dennis had a row with the barman. A Welshman.

JILLIAN. Rhys.

RUBY. One minute they’re singing songs, Dennis going on about his auntie in Wrexham, the next they’re having a row. Dennis called…

JILLIAN.…Rhys.

RUBY. Rhys… Dennis called Rhys a Welsh cunt. Rhys threw us out. Then we