![]()
Scene One
February 1989. Early evening. Boggart’s Clough: a large parkland in Manchester. CHRISTIE and LUKE, both sixteen, are struggling to assemble a small two-man tent in their usual spot; a little patch by the lake, tucked away amongst overgrown bushes and shrubbery. LUKE is wearing a Lacoste knitted hat and a Berghaus jacket, CHRISTIE a black and red lumberjack’s coat that is too big for him and a deerstalker hat. Their rucksacks are on the floor.
LUKE. You stupid?
CHRISTIE. What?
LUKE. It doesn’t go like that . . . you feed it through the top, yer mong.
CHRISTIE. How many times have I done this?
LUKE. Exactly. Should know how to fuckin’ do it by now . . . take yer gloves off’d be a start.
CHRISTIE. Fuck off.
CHRISTIE pulls one glove off and throws it on the floor.
I’ll get frostbite.
LUKE. It’s nearly March, yer big puff.
CHRISTIE. So, it’s freezin’ . . . I can’t concentrate.
LUKE. Stop fuckin’ daydreamin’, be up in a minute if you paid attention.
CHRISTIE. I’m losing consciousness through hypothermia . . . not fuckin’ daydreamin’.
LUKE. Yes yer are. Julie Bridges’ legs wrapped round yer –
CHRISTIE. Shurrup.
LUKE. Through the fuckin’ top . . . wake up, Christie, fuck’s sake.
CHRISTIE. Do it yer fuckin’ yerself then.
CHRISTIE throws the pole down and sits down, head in hands.
LUKE. Fuck’s up wi’ you?
CHRISTIE. Nothin’.
LUKE carries on with the tent.
She didn’t say anythin’?
LUKE. No.
CHRISTIE. Nowt?
LUKE. I’m tellin’ yer –
CHRISTIE. As if.
LUKE. She never –
CHRISTIE. Not a word?
LUKE. Nope. Pegs . . . get up will yer.
CHRISTIE reaches for the bag of tent pegs from the floor, takes a handful, then passes the rest over to LUKE. They place the flysheet over and start securing it with the pegs.
CHRISTIE. Just blanked yer?
LUKE. Yep.
CHRISTIE. What like . . . expression did she have?
LUKE. What d’yer mean?
CHRISTIE. On her face. Did she y’know . . . smirk or anything?
LUKE. I dunno, she was walkin’ away. I couldn’t see.
CHRISTIE. Did you just let her go?
LUKE. Course I fuckin’ did. What did you want me to do, get her in a headlock?
CHRISTIE. She just carried on walkin’ –
LUKE. Like she hadn’t heard me.
CHRISTIE. She might be deaf.
LUKE. I’ve seen her talkin’ to people . . . like normal.
CHRISTIE. She might lip-read.
LUKE. She might, yeah. Next time I see her, I’ll let me airgun off right by her ear. If she doesn’t jump then we can try somethin’ else. Write on a bit of card.
CHRISTIE. It’s not funny.
LUKE. You know she’s not fuckin’ deaf.
CHRISTIE. I wasn’t serious.
LUKE. She might a’ thought I was windin’ her up. I don’t know her. Never fuckin’ spoke to her before. Only seen her ’round. Felt a bit of a dickhead actually, mate. But I did it. Fer you. Didn’t I? Sorry it didn’t come off like you wanted . . . happens sometimes. You’ll get used to it.
The tent is up, they both stand back to look at it.
Couldn’t swing a fuckin’ midget in that, could yer?
Pause.
CHRISTIE. I’m not arsed anyway.
LUKE. Course you’re not.
CHRISTIE. I’m not.
LUKE. S’alright. You’re allowed.
CHRISTIE. I just . . . I don’t believe yer.
LUKE. Yer what?
CHRISTIE. I don’t believe yer but I’m not arsed.
LUKE. She didn’t fuckin’ say nothin’ . . . why would I lie?
CHRISTIE. Protectin’ me feelin’s.
LUKE. Wha’ the fuck would I w...
