Crocodiles

Lee Mattinson

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2016
• eBook ISBN: 9781780017389
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Crocodiles brings to life a dystopian, modern-fairytale town where fact and fiction weave as tightly and snag as easily as granny's knitting.

In a sleepy seaside town, Cornelia Glass is busy spinning yarn. Witches are burnt in the town centre. Crocodiles lurk in the shallows. Boys who go to the big city are skinned alive by roving tramps.

Cornelia's oldest son, Rudolph, is being forced to give up his Punch and Judy show. Matilda, his wife, is secretly writing her first romantic novel. Their daughter, Lucy, can tell the future. But when Cornelia's younger son, Vincent, returns from his glitzy television job in the big city, the stories that once held the Glass family together are in danger of smashing them to smithereens.

Lee Mattinson's Crocodiles was runner-up for the 2011 Verity Bargate Award, and premiered at the Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester, in October 2014.

Scene One

A derelict seaside town somewhere in the North of England.

Lights up on the front room of a once-lavish guesthouse.

Downstage left is a bay window, upstage left a dining table and washing machine, downstage right is a sofa and fridge, upstage centre the door to the main entrance hall.

The curtains are vile, the carpet stained, the chandelier cobwebbed.

The wall upstage right has been haphazardly demolished to reveal a kitchen, cooker and sink, set back from the main space. The breach in the wall has been integrated into everyday life despite the mess of rubble, peeling wallpaper, light switches spiralling out from the wall. A serving hatch remains.

CORNELIA is sat on the sofa, knitting.

Enter MATILDA from the kitchen carrying a plate of French Fancies, a bowl of Skips, across the next section creating a buffet on the dining table.

CORNELIA. Make sure to pop the brown Fondant Fancies to the front, they’re always the last to go.

MATILDA. They’re French Fancies.

CORNELIA. I couldn’t give a shit if they’re turning Japanese en route, just whack them at the front.

MATILDA. Will I put some cherryade out?

CORNELIA. Christ, no, crack open that cream soda we keep in the garage for good and, if there’s four or more Moomin napkins knocking about from our Lucy’s christening, dot a few of them about, too.

MATILDA. I don’t think there is.

CORNELIA. Well, have a look, anyhow.

MATILDA. They’re in the loft.

CORNELIA. The exercise’ll do you good.

MATILDA. I’ll just finish this.

CORNELIA (mocking). ‘I’ll just finish this’ –

Enter RUDOLPH.

You’ll never fathom what’s happened, Rudolph, never in a month of Sundays.

RUDOLPH. Is the immersion on?

CORNELIA. Vincent’s come home. He’s come back to us.

RUDOLPH. Vincent?

CORNELIA. The one and the only, Rudolph.

RUDOLPH. What’s he said?

CORNELIA. Not much, just landed half an hour back. He’s up there now splashing his pits, said the ferry over was ninety-nine per cent foreigners.

RUDOLPH. It’s about time he showed his face.

CORNELIA. He’s saying he’s only staying a few days. But I’m sure, once we get our claws in, we can lengthen it to a whole week of wonder.

RUDOLPH. Because he’s nowhere else to go?

CORNELIA. Because this is his rightful home. He’ll tell us when he’s good and ready.

MATILDA. Has he definitely been fired?

CORNELIA. That new presenter’s not a patch on him.

RUDOLPH. He might want to tell us –

CORNELIA (snaps). I won’t have you forcing the issue, Rudolph.

I mean it. Do not make me sit you on that naughty step. And that goes for you, too, Matilda.

MATILDA. I won’t. I promise.

CORNELIA. Rudolph?

RUDOLPH. Promise.

MATILDA. He’s lovely.

CORNELIA. She’d never even met him.

‘Who’s this?’ he says. We were in kinks, weren’t we, Matilda? I had to have a sit-down, she almost bloody fainted.

MATILDA. You can tell he’s not from round here.

RUDOLPH. He is from round here.

CORNELIA. What your wife’s trying to say, is there’s a touch of class to him.

RUDOLPH points at the buffet.

RUDOLPH. This isn’t for him?

CORNELIA. Smelt like a small regional branch of the Body Shop, didn’t he, Matilda?

MATILDA. White Musk.

CORNELIA. White Musk, Rudolph. My nose’ll never be as lucky again.

Look at him, Matilda. Shell shocked and rightly so. I was the same, cat with my tongue and heart in my mouth.

MATILDA (to RUDOLPH...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Original Production
• Dedication
• Characters
• Crocodiles
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information