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The sound of a heart beating fast. Heavy breathing.
HOLLOWAY cycles onto the stage.
HOLLOWAY. Heart race
keep pace
got only one decision, which is about more than the precision of the land, avoiding collisions with other bikes, like, need to understand thereās no team so win or lose you need to choose what you gonna do. Choice is: Them. Or You.
The CHORUS enters as TEENAGE BMX RIDERS on bikes. They stop and watch HOLLOWAY.
CHORUS. They say she always ride alone a hooded silhouette āgainst the sky no lie?
No family, no friends, loner at the start and at the ends freak barely speak about it, just ride around town with that frown pedalling like the Grim Reaper, digging her past, her future, deeper and deeper.
The RIDERS take their place alongside HOLLOWAY at the start of a race. The screen reads: ā2008 BMX SOUTH-WEST REGIONALS, JUNIOR DIVISIONā.
The beep of the race starting ā a timer on the screen begins to roll forward. While the CHORUS are in the race, they act to carry HOLLOWAY ā a piece of choreography focusing on HOLLOWAY on her bike. While the choreography will be interpretive of her on her bike ā the screen behind comes alive with the race. Throughout, the race freezes, HOLLOWAY mid-flight, allowing the CHORUS to speak.
They say her blood is cold
like the metal bed where she was born
Say beneath her skin is poisonous bones
So the story goes for Holloway Jones.
Race continues. Two of the RIDERS fall off their bikesā¦
Race pauses again.
Say she came out kickinā
Say she came out with fury in her eyes
Perhaps one of the fallen RIDERS removes her helmet and becomes MUM giving birth.
Say she came out screaminā, chanting death cries.
What you expect from prison baby.
Born to Mama like she
behind bars
so even we see
she can only go so far
Perhaps another becomes the NURSE.
Even nurse say, she say this out aloud:
āBaby born in prison, die in prison
Might go out, but eventually they all come back around.ā
Holloway Prison spit you onto the ground, into this world,
but then it get hungry and swallow you back down.
Race continuesā¦ then pauses again.
Keep pace
her mama, warm and smitten, holdinā kickinā baby close to
her face,
but too drugged-up, junked-up, to make a sound choice
her sounding voice goes:
Prison baby. Holloway baby. Holloway Jones.
HOLLOWAY. Gate down, bike up down forward
forward, forward
bunny-hop, avoid the berm
no looking back, behind, whatās past,
no apologies, no second guessing, no second chances.
Forward, a jump, a bump, a push, a corner, the lot, make a choice,
ride the whoop
forward. Thatās all you got.
CHORUS. Her mama donāt need to be missinā
her for long, cos soon Holloway Jones be joining in the Holloway Prison song.
ANNOUNCER (off). And in first itās: Holloway Jones!
She crosses the finish line. Takes off her helmet. Pants, out of breath. She has a medal round her neck. The mild sound of a crowd fades.
HOLLOWAY. Better luck next time, yeah?
RIDER. How old are you anyway?
HOLLOWAY. Old enough to be your mama.
RIDER. What?
HOLLOWAY. Dunno, always wanted to say that.
RIDER. It true your mum banged up?
HOLLOWAY. Who told you that?
RIDER. What they say.
HOLLOWAY. What who say?
RIDER. Makes sense.
HOLLOWAY. I won fair.
RIDER. I meant your kit. And you being here. You one of them charity cases? You know ākeep āem out of trouble, donate a bikeā schemes or something.
RIDERS laugh.
Holloway baby look like she gonna cry.
ANOTHER RIDER. I would too with that kit. Whoās your sponsor? Tesco?
RIDER. Run home, little girl. Run home to Mummy. Oh thatās right. She havinā some orange-suit love.
HOLLOWAY gives her a death stare.
Wot?
HOLLOWAY jumps on the RIDERās back, trying to wrestle her down.
COACH enters, pulls HOLLOWAY off, kicking.
COACH. What you doing?
HOLLOWAY. She said, she saidā¦
COACH. No one likes a telltale, Holloway.
RIDER. You need to control your Girl Scout.
RIDERS clear off.
COACH. Holloway.
HOLLOWAY. Donāt āHollowayā me, coach. I just won you a regional medal.
COACH. Think you won you a medal.
HOLLOWAY. Yeah, you see me out there. I was flying.
COACH. I saw you. Jeremy Lake saw you out there too. Said keep this up, heāll come see you again in a year or two, have a shot at the Olympic Development Programme.
HOLLOWAY. You just saying that.
COACH. Why would I make that up?
HOLLOWAY. An adult thing to say. Dangle over me so you can do your adult voodoo stuff, get me to do what you want.
COACH. Well itās not working, going by what I just walked in on.
HOLLOWAY. She justā¦
COACH. How is it even in the middle of Surrey, after you win, you still find your way into trouble?
HOLLOWAY. I donāt find trouble. Trouble find me.
COACH. A twelve-year-old shouldnāt be picking on fourteenyear-olds.
HOLLOWAY. That girl fourteen? Puberty hit late for some, huh.
COACH. You got anger, you put it into that bike. You got sadness you put it into that bike. Thatās where you channel it, Holloway.
HOLLOWAY. I know, I know. But I did good, right? I did good, right?
COACH laughs.
Come on, say it.
COACH. This aināt a film, and Iām trying to talk serious here about your temper.
HOLLOWAY. Go on say it. Like in those old films. I did good, right?
COACH. You did good, kid. You did real good.
HOLLOWAY laughs.
HOLLOWAY. Never gets old.
COACH. Come on. Grab your bike. Gotta get you back to London.
HOLLOWAY looks up ā the screen starts to show the race weāve just seen in reverse. HOLLOWAYās lifted up by the CHORUS, riding again.
CHORUS (RIDERS). Start rewinding, reminding yourself of the moment, the broken flow, where you failed, where your shoddy body impaled itself on the dirt below, where you went wrong.
HOLLOWAY. Where you went right. Cos thereās no look...
