Boys

Ella Hickson

• Editorial: Nick Hern Books
• Año: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781780011646
• Categoría: Literature
• Categoría: Drama

Four boys face the tricky transition to adulthood in Ella Hickson's riot of a play. Premiered at High Tide Festival 2012, then Nuffield Theatre, Southampton, and Soho Theatre, London.

The Class of 2011 are about to graduate and Benny, Mack, Timp and Cam are due out of their flat. Stepping into a world that doesn't want them, these boys start to wonder whether there's any point in getting any older. How will they find the fight to make it as adults?

Before all that they're going to have one hell of a party. It's hot and there'll be girls. Predict a riot.

'Marvellous... a play that both powerfully captures the mood of a generation and addresses permanent truths with exhilarating flair' Independent

'Will leave you with laughter lines' Time Out

'Heartfelt directness of writing that taps into a generation torn between action and inertia' Guardian

ACT ONE

Scene One

The kitchen of a five-man student flat, Edinburgh.

An unusually hot summer.

Rubbish bags pile up in the corners.

There are five chairs; one of these chairs is never touched unless indicated.

The kitchen is thick with the usual debris: tobacco packets, Rizlas, wine bottles and beer cans, dirty washing lies around, ashtrays are overflowing, pizza boxes and kebab boxes are scattered, plates and pots pile up in the sink.

On top of this – this morning – there are remnants of a party the night before: helium balloons populate the ceiling, there are streamers and party hats about, a fake pirate’s sword is stuck into the middle of the table, a ‘Barclay’s’ sign is propped up on the side ‘We’ll loan you the best years of your life’.

CAM sleeps curled beneath the table. He is wearing dinosaur pyjamas and still has a pirate hat on from the night before.

BENNY enters in his dressing gown; he winces against the morning sun, he doesn’t see CAM. BENNY collects a bowl, some milk and a spoon. He goes to his cupboard and takes out a packet of Coco Pops, pours himself a bowl – a toy lands in his bowl. BENNY is delighted, he unwraps the toy as if he was a kid – he holds up a tiny toy soldier and then thinks to tell his best friend. An acute sadness falls. BENNY places the little soldier out in front of him on the table and stares at it. He puts the toy in his dressing-gown pocket. BENNY approaches another cupboard – pulls the bin over to it and braces himself. He breathes in deeply – and begins to unpack the cupboard into the bin: jams, mouldy bread, noodle packets, tins of baked beans – he reaches a packet of Coco Pops and looks at it. He takes the soldier from his pocket – puts it into the box of Coco Pops and puts the box on the table. He returns to the cupboard.

BENNY stands.

BENNY takes a balloon – pulls it down and then lets it float back up to the ceiling.

BENNY climbs up on top of the fridge and looks out across the kitchen.

TIMP – impish and toned, tattooed, pierced and sporting a Mohican – wears a pair of tight pink boxers with ‘Spank’ written across the arse. He has an eyepatch over one eye. He walks stealthily over to the kettle and begins making two cups of tea, two pieces of toast.

BENNY. Morning... Captain.

TIMP startles slightly, turns and notices BENNY on top of the fridge.

TIMP. Oh ’ello.

BENNY. What happened in here then?

TIMP. What do you mean?

BENNY. The balloons.

TIMP. Party.

BENNY. Oh really. (Beat.) Laura here?

TIMP. No – why?

BENNY. Who’s the other cup for?

TIMP. Oh – this? Cam.

BENNY. He up?

TIMP. Yeah – rehearsing. What you doing up on the / (Notices that the cupboard has been opened and is half-cleared out.)

BENNY. I thought I’d /

TIMP. Should have fucking been here last night, Benny-boy!

BENNY. Funny being up here at this height.

TIMP. Pirate party for the new intake!

BENNY. It’s end of term.

TIMP. Prospective students, looking around, open day – fresher than freshers.

BENNY. Feels like you can control everything.

TIMP. Fresh meat, Benny!

BENNY puts his hands out as if he is conducting the kitchen.

BENNY. I’m magic, see; I’m making your tea turn into steam.

TIMP. Well, stop it – I’ll come and tell ya all about it, one sec.

BENNY keeps his hands out, trying to move the objects of the room about.

As TIMP goes out the door slams behind him. The noise wakes up CAM who bangs his head on the bottom of the table. BENNY is startled, thinking he has done it.

CAM. Whathafuareyouwhyisthe.

BENNY. Cam?

CAM crawls out from under the table, looks woozily around the place.

CAM. Oh fuck.

BENNY. Aren’t you rehearsing?

CAM. Fuck off. What time is it?

BENNY. Elevenish.

CAM. Oh fuck.

TIMP re-enters holding just one cup of tea and sees CAM – a beat whilst TIMP creates his story.

TIMP. There you bloody are.

TIMP hands CAM the cup of tea.

CAM (befuddled). Cheers.

BENNY. Where’s yours?

TIMP. What?

BENNY. Tea?

CAM. You want this?

TIMP. Drank it.

BENNY. But you were –

CAM. Don’t fancy it; too hot.

CAM hands BENNY the tea.

Why you on the /

BENNY (takes the tea). Thanks.

CAM. Anyone got any idea what I did with my /

TIMP. You seen the kiddiewink this morning?

CAM. What?

TIMP. The old ankle-biter.

CAM. No.

CAM sees that the cupboard is open and that it has been half unpacked, he stops in his tracks.

Oh.

CAM stops and looks at the cupboard.

BENNY. I thought I’d /

TIMP. I regret to inform you, Benny-boy, that you may have missed what was almost certainly the best party of the year last night.

BENNY. Again. What time is the concert, Cam?

CAM. Later.

TIMP. You’re right – now I think about it all the very great parties happen when you are very not being there and it is deeply suspicious.

BENNY. You alright?

TIMP. Yeah.

CAM pulls his violin out from under a pile of rubbish – a smiley face has been drawn on it in squirty cream.

CAM. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

TIMP. Oh dear.

CAM. Most important concert of my life and I’m going to smell like a fucking yogurt.

BENNY. What is wrong with you?

TIMP. Why nothing, kind sir, could I interest you in a beverage?

CAM. Are you...? Oh – yeah – right.

BENNY. What?

CAM. I was meant to remind you that you put your E in your aspirin bottle last night.

TIMP. Did I?

CAM. One of the girl’s rape alarms went off; you thought it was the police – you put all your drugs into your painkillers.

TIMP. Oh fuck – I’m high.

BENNY. You didn’t notice?

TIMP. Yep – yep – now I come to think of it – yep that is what this feeling is.

TIMP clips CAM round the ear.

CAM. Ow.

TIMP. Course I fucking know I’m high, you mutant ninja retard; couldn’t be arsed with a hangover – that’s all – besides I’m highly entertaining when I’m highly high. (Searches around on the table and picks up two more tablets.) Anyone else?

CAM goes to take one.

BENNY. Cam?

CAM. What?

BENNY. You’re playing violin in front of three thousand people and a fuck-ton of TV cameras in about five hours.

...