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BEFORE
When the audience have taken their seats, the stage is plunged into darkness.
Quiet for a few moments.
Eventually we hear the sound of digging. And an old man’s muttering. Unintelligible. It’s coming from above us. It sounds as if someone is walking on the floor above the ceiling of the theatre.
The sound of a shovel hitting metal. Clanging against it.
The sound of a car pulling up.
More muttering.
From above:
MIA (from far away). Dad what are you… come on Dad you should be inside.
DAD (off). something. something here.
MIA. What are you doing out – come on
DAD (off). something under the flowers.
MIA. There’s – what’s… what’s that?
Sound of a foot on the metal roof.
DAD (off). careful there. got to be careful. important. big match coming. ball throw too high for wind last time. yes. hanging left. concentration is the… yes too much. too much going on to… yes. Mia? Mia?
Sound of two feet walking along the roof.
Sound of someone gripping the handle.
Metal scratching against metal as the door opens.
Blast of light and sound for a moment.
Then it settles down to blackness.
MIA enters shining her phone-torch.
She’s wearing her tennis whites.
(Off.) cave. little cave in the garden. hiding in the garden. under the flowers.
safe from the angry angry angry… what was it? in my head? no. yes.
smelly down there.
angry what was it?
bombs. falling from the sky. like fruit.
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SATURDAY
Scene One
CATH and CALLUM are sat sorting through the clutter. The door is closed. They use torches to look through the clutter. It’s incredibly hot. They occasionally fan themselves/wipe their foreheads.
Sound of a fly buzzing around. They’re looking around for it.
It stops.
Pause.
CALLUM. Uh.
I dunno.
Twenty-nine years.
Three months
And like a week and a half? Ish?
Nine…?
yeah, nine days.
Do you know like your exact…?
CATH. Yeah!
CALLUM. Seriously? You know the exact time you were born.
CATH. Mmhmm. So I am – it’s what – twelve thirty-three now. So I am thirty-two years, four months, twelve days, twenty-one hours and forty-seven minutes old.
CALLUM. WHAT? STOP IT.
CATH. Give or take the seconds.
CALLUM. How do you / know that?
CATH. They don’t put seconds on birth certificates.
CALLUM. That’s freaky. And also like very impressive mental maths.
CATH. But I guess, if you were gonna put seconds on the clock, do you go from when you’re crowning or when you’re like fully outta / there?
CALLUM. Are you advocating for like a vaginal photo finish?
CATH. That is what I am advocating for, Callum, yes.
CALLUM. What were you again?
CATH. Uh… thirty-two years, four months, twelve days, twenty-one hours and forty-eight minutes old.
CALLUM. Give or take the seconds.
CATH. / Mmhmm.
The fly buzzes again. They look up.
CALLUM. That’s gonna get me.
Beat. The buzzing comes in and out for the rest of the scene.
Seven names for bugs?
CATH. Haven’t we done bugs before?
CALLUM. I’ll check the list.
CALLUM gets out his phone.
CATH. Nah I don’t feel like playing.
He puts his phone away.
Pause. They sort.
CALLUM. This place makes me itchy.
Like it actually makes me itchy.
Beat.
Like I keep fucking scratching.
Why d’your family even have an air-raid shelter anyway? This far in the country.
CATH. Apparently they were just super-paranoid and my great-granddad was convinced the Germans were like targeting him specifically – (In a voice:) HITLER’S AFTER MY DAIRY FAAAAAARM!
The word ‘farm’ echoes around the space.
CATH looks around in awe.
CALLUM shivers.
If I had a house I think I’d just fill the whole thing with this kinda stuff.
CALLUM. Yeah? Old broken crap from thirty years ago?
CATH. And I’d never go outside.
CALLUM. People bought all this stuff.
Like people actually bought and ohhhhhwned all this stuff.
Imagine b...
