The Funeral Director

Iman Qureshi

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2018
• Print ISBN: 9781848427969
• eBook ISBN: 9781788501248
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

'I just thought it would be a secret I'd have to die with. And now – I think it'll be what kills me.'

Life as the director of a Muslim funeral parlour isn't always easy, but Ayesha has things pretty sorted. She and Zeyd share everything: a marriage, a business, a future.

Until Tom walks in to organise his boyfriend's funeral. A snap moral decision, informed by the values of Ayesha's community and faith, has profound consequences.

Forced to confront a secret she has hidden even from herself, Ayesha must decide who she is – no matter the cost.

Iman Qureshi's play The Funeral Director is an incisive and heartfelt story of sexuality, gender and religion in twenty-first-century Britain. It won the 2018 Papatango New Writing Prize and premiered at Southwark Playhouse, London, in 2018.

ACT ONE

Scene One

A Muslim funeral directors’ in a small but racially fraught and divided town in the Midlands – present day.

There’s a front room where clients are met, and a back room, where bodies are washed, prepared and viewed before burial.

The directors’ serves Muslim clients for Islamic funerals, so there are passages from the Quran displayed on the walls, notably – ‘TO HIM WE ALL BELONG AND TO HIM WE ALL RETURN.’ However, an effort has been made to make the front room look comforting, with a sofa, rugs and fresh flowers, a kettle, teapot and mugs, and some biscuits laid out. It is a bizarre but not unnatural mix of twee English living room meets small community mosque.

The back room is by contrast white and sterile. There is a shower stall along with a few gurneys and coffins.

AYESHA is alone, preparing a baby’s body in the back room, singing to herself – a song by Mehdi Hasan – ‘Duniya Kisi Ke Pyaar Mein’.

ZEYD enters with some paperwork.

ZEYD. That’s old-school.

AYESHA. I’m an old soul.

ZEYD. News to me.

AYESHA. Was Mum’s favourite. She’d sing it to me when I was little.

ZEYD. You should sing more. I like it.

Pause – ZEYD continues working.

AYESHA. Did you order the kafans?

ZEYD. Not yet.

AYESHA. We’re almost out.

ZEYD. I know.

AYESHA (holding a tiny one up – it’s a shroud which wraps the dead bodies). This is the last one.

ZEYD. No it isn’t.

AYESHA. It’s the last one in this size.

ZEYD. Well, inshallah we won’t get any more babies today.

AYESHA. You better hope we get someone in – this month has been slow.

ZEYD (blows his hands for warmth). You think this bloody cold would be killing people off left right and centre.

AYESHA. You could put on the heating.

ZEYD. Alright, big spender.

AYESHA. It’ll kill me if you’re not careful.

They go back to work.

ZEYD. What do you think she would have been? If she grew up.

AYESHA. I don’t know.

ZEYD. I think she would have been a politician.

AYESHA. Doesn’t matter now.

ZEYD. She’s got this little frown, look? Like she’s concentrating. She’d be intelligent. Principled.

AYESHA. Nah, she just grumpy.

ZEYD. She’d be an ambassador for Muslims. Like that Malala. Only not so annoying.

AYESHA. No. She’d be a grumpy waitress. With a grumpy face.

ZEYD. Sure you’re not talking about your own face?

Beat.

What’s with you today?

AYESHA. Nothing.

Beat.

Babies. She’s just a baby.

ZEYD. I told you I could handle this one.

AYESHA. So can I.

ZEYD. It was her time.

AYESHA. Why? Who says? It isn’t fair.

ZEYD. We can’t question Allah. How he chooses to challenge us. You don’t know, maybe this was for the best.

AYESHA. How? How is this for the best?

ZEYD. Maybe she would have grown up to be – Evil. A really bad politician. Like a brown Theresa May.

AYESHA. She had her whole life ahead of her.

ZEYD. This is the life Allah planned for her. Anyway, what life? You want her to be a grumpy waitress.

AYESHA. I guess.

ZEYD. See? Our all knowing Allah has just saved the world from poor service. Some time in the future, someone, somewhere will order a plate of chips. And you know what they’ll get?

AYESHA. What?

ZEYD. A plate of chips. And you know why? Because this baby wasn’t there to fuck it up.

AYESHA smiles but then quickly returns to her pensive state and they work in silence.

Sure you’ll be okay on your own if I go to Hamza’s stag?

AYESHA. I’ll be fine.

ZEYD. Sure? You seem a bit…

AYESHA. I’m fine. Really.

ZEYD. Because I can always…

AYESHA. No. You have a good time. Lads lads lads.

ZEYD. Worried?

AYESHA. About you? Please.

ZEYD. Never know, I might be a catch in Budapest.

AYESHA. Sure.

ZEYD. A dark and handsome prince amongst all those pasty goray.

AYESHA. I’ll put an advert in the Hungarian Times. One of them what-you-call-its?

ZEYD. Like for-sale ads?

AYESHA. No stupid.

Wracks her brain.

Lonely hearts!

ZEYD (suddenly hurt that she isn’t more jealous). You could pretend to care a little.

AYESHA. Come on, I trust you. Why would I be worried?

Beat.

So what should we get them?

ZEYD. As a wedding gift?

AYESHA. Yeah.

ZEYD. We just got money for our wedding.

AYESHA. So boring.

ZEYD. It’s traditional. I thought you were old-school.

AYESHA. Shut up. Come on we should get them something useful. Like. A kettle.

Beat – realising this is shit.

Like, a really nice kettle.

Beat.

Like one of them ones where you can set the temperature.

Beat.

Okay fine. Money. We just – can’t spare much, that’s all. You know that.

ZEYD. Don’t worry, he’ll understand.

AYESHA goes back to singing and tidying up. ZEYD glances down at the baby.

I want one.

AYESHA. A kettle?

ZEYD. A baby.

AYESHA.…

ZEYD. Don’t you?

AYESHA. What if it… [dies.]

ZEYD. Inshallah, she won’t.

AYESHA. She?

ZEYD. Always wanted a girl.

AYESHA. Well what if she becomes a grumpy waitress and then dies?

ZEYD. Not all girls have to be waitresses. I thought you were a feminist. Besides, we won’t let that happen.

AYESHA. You can’t promise that.

ZEYD. I can. Most babies don’t die. Most babies live. Ours would live. And...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Original Production
• Acknowledgements
• Dedication
• Characters
• Note on Costume
• Setting
• Time
• Music
• Note on Text
• The Funeral Director
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information