In the Moss Page 3

  (A light flashes across the stage again.)

  We’re all a bit fucking fed up with it now. Y’know?

  (A large smash is heard, slightly further away than last time. They freeze.)

  nav: Give me that!

  (He rips the jacket off her.)

  janet: Jesus! Ow!

  nav: You should keep your voice down. Stop messing around.

  janet: Afraid of everyone outside, are we?

  nav: No. I just think under the circumstances—

  janet: Oh! I’m sorry. Sh! We should all be quiet and just let this ‘blow over’.

  nav: We may be being watched. Policeman goes into a nurse’s flat and…

  janet: Sounds like a joke – a bad dad joke! What’s the punchline?

  (A smash is heard.)

  nav: That’s enough.

  (He ducks low. He drags her down with him.)

  janet: Not the drink we had planned, is it?

  nav: You planned! And shut up.

  janet: Where are our manners now?

  nav: Shut up! (A bubble of rage seethes inside him.) You care too much.

  janet: Is that a thing where you’re from?

  nav: No. It’s a Manc thing.

  (She laughs. He covers her mouth with his hand, then moves to the door to check outside.)

  janet: Why was Ryan so special to you? What were you going to tell me before?

  nav: Nothing. He was in cookery school is all. Second year. Anyway. You cared too.

  (Pause. janet looks hard at nav.)

  janet: Yeah, but I’ve got maternal instinct as an excuse to fall back on. But you?

  nav: Human beings like picking sides. We can’t help ourselves. It comes all too naturally.

  janet: Do you think someone some day will thank us? For all of this?

  nav: I dunno. If I wanted eggs thrown at me, I’d have stayed in Pap’s shop.

  janet: Munchies and shoplifters. Maybe not.

  nav: Not that I can’t now.

  both (quoting parents): You’ve been given an opportunity by this country to make a difference. You better take it.

  nav (impersonating his father): I didn’t bring you over here for you to become waster boy hanging out on the streets. We came here from Uganda.

  janet: My dad was from Jamaica. Sometimes I remember him looking at me as if I was a free prize in his cereal.

  nav: Don’t ask me if I miss it.

  janet: What, Uganda?

  nav: It was over ten years ago now. This is where I am now. And I’m going to take care of it.

  (His radio crackles and makes him jump. janet lights up and smokes. He goes to the door to check again. He turns the main lights off and shadows leap and morph around them. An ambulance goes past. An ECG machine thumps, low and slow.)

  It’s not gonna be like this for ever.

  janet: I don’t know if I want to be around to see what happens next.

  nav: What’s left will be ours.

  janet: I know I’m not the easiest to be stuck with, but can we try to be—

  (The radio crackles again, louder, sounding throughout the room like a deathly cough.)

  radio voiceover: Station under strain. It’s not over. Gupta. Urgent need…

  (nav grabs it and rushes to the door. He leans against it again. He switches back to the police station radio out of desperation. He checks quickly, efficiently.)

  janet: Is that dead?!

  (nav does not answer.)

  Is that radio dead?!

  (He returns to her. He smacks the radio hard to try and jolt it.)

  We’re alone, aren’t we?

  nav: I think we need to be calm.

  janet: Don’t you tell me to be calm!

  nav: I didn’t mean for this to happen!

  janet: Oh, we never bloody do, do we?!

  nav: Shut it. I need to think! Let me think!

  janet: Are you even a real policeman?

  nav: I don’t see you coming up with any ideas, you stupid girl!

  (janet turns him around firmly.)

  janet: Whose blood was it on your uniform? Why can’t you say?

  nav: Will. You. Stop.

  (Pause.)

  janet: OK. Fine. You do not get to tell me what to do! Whose blood was it?

  (He goes towards her with force, but stops himself and throws the radio across the space. There is a bright light outside and a crash. janet doesn’t move. nav retreats out of shame to the corner. He crosses his arms. Silence. They look over at each other intermittently, missing each other’s gaze. Sirens go past in the distance. Red and blue lights in morphed shapes cascade over the carpet as an ambulance drives past. Its screams are warped by the Doppler effect, as though in and out of focus.)

  Have you felt like that before?

  (Pause.)

  nav: Have you?

  janet: Yep. Like you just want to hit, punch, something… anything… until you see what you’re feeling go away?

  (nav is silent.)

  Yeah, me too.

  (Pause.)

  nav: I’m not a bad person.

  janet: None of us are.

  nav: Your dad tell you that?

  (Pause.)

  janet: I’m not stupid. Please don’t call me what everyone else does. I didn’t do things because I believed that for so long. So… yeah. Just, I’m not stupid, all right? Please.

  nav: I’m sorry.

  (She picks up his uniform jacket and inspects it.)

  janet: Nav?

  nav: Oh my God, what now?

  janet: How did you know Ryan was in cookery school? Did you know him?

  (They watch each other.)

  nav: No, I didn’t.

  janet: Yes you did.

  ACT TWO

  Continuous.

  nav (changing the subject): I… You should know… I turned the radio off. I switched it away from the police bandwidth earlier.

  janet: YOU DID WHAT?!

  nav: I didn’t think it was a big problem. I just wanted to—

  janet: Fuck the nurse? Brag to the boys at the station? Play the hero after saving us all from the big bad rioters tonight?

  nav: I know it looks bad. But I put it back on. It must have lost the signal in switching back. Janet, I don’t know why I did it, OK? I fucked up. I fucked up.

  janet: You’re too right you have, you lying prat! I almost felt sorry for you then.

  nav: I saw you outside the hospital tonight and I didn’t want you to be alone. After Ryan, after… tonight. Can’t you see how I wouldn’t want you to be alone?

  janet: You mean, you didn’t want to be alone.

  nav: Neither of us did.

  janet: But, why the radio?

  nav: I panicked.

  janet: This isn’t some little boy’s game we’re playing, tuning the radio in and out! People are being shot at out there! In my street! My city! My city is burning and there’s nothing I can do about it!

  nav: I was there! You don’t have to tell me how a car burns and how it smells… like burning hair… but I suppose you wouldn’t know about that, would you?

  janet: I killed someone tonight; do you have any idea what that feels like?!

  nav: Yes!

  (Pause.)

  We all get the same speech in training. You’ll kill someone eventually. That first was today. That’s all. And I thought, in a crazy way, that made us tied somehow. That we have something to share. And I didn’t want anyone else getting in the way of that; I didn’t want to be alone on a night like that. And neither did you.

  (janet gives him a good hard look. She slowly walks over to the radio. He doesn’t stop her. She flicks it on. Slowly. Calmly.)

  janet: Hello?

  (Pause.)

  Hello?

  (It crackles. It hurts their ears.)

  It just keeps doing that wavering thing.

  (nav nods.)

  Just when you made me feel safe, too. (She puts a stray hair behind her ear.) This isn’t happening. This isn’t
happening.

  (She begins to hyperventilate. nav tries to distract her.)

  nav: What’s that in your hair?

  janet: Huh?

  nav: That pink?

  janet: It’s hot pink.

  nav: What makes it hot?

  janet: I dunno, do I?! I’m not sure if hot pink is really me any more.

  nav: I like it.

  janet: Really? It was going tomorrow.

  nav: Sleep on it. What else could you be? I can’t picture you any other way.

  (Pause.)

  I’m not supposed to cut mine.

  janet: You what?

  nav: I’m not meant to, you know, cut it.

  janet: What, at all? Why?

  nav: I told you, Sikh.

  janet: Oh.

  (Pause.)

  Is that the one with the turbans?

  nav: Yes. It’s the one with the turbans. But I have to cut it cos of all of this, the duty – people don’t like a policeman with long hair.

  janet: Oh, is that why you’ve been banned from wearing a turban? Because of joining the police?

  nav: No! And I’ve not been banned!

  janet: Then why don’t you wear one?

  nav: Because I cut my hair.

  janet: So, you were kicked out of Sikh Club?

  nav: It’s not a club. And no.

  janet: Bit like God Squad?

  nav: No. And you can’t say that.

  janet: Which one?

  nav: Neither!

  janet: Why do you cut your hair, then?

  nav: Because I need to not look like me, don’t I! Just for a moment, my favourite time of day is first thing in the morning. Before I get up and walk to the bathroom. Before I look in the mirror and I’m me. I’m not my dad.

  I’m British.

  (Pause.)

  janet: When I cut my hair, I felt so cool – it was the last thing my family expected.

  (Pause. He smirks. She nudges him. He nudges her back.)

  Sorry. You’re no one else but Nav to me. I’ve not really been anywhere, me, and I say things I don’t understand. I’ve not really done anything at all, ever. My family’s never been anywhere. Done anything. Maybe that’s why I’m trying to be a nurse. To do something for someone else.

  (Pause.)

  nav: I got into this because I wanted someone like me to answer the call the next time my parents’ shop was smashed in. To turn up at the door and listen to them.

  (Pause.)

  First thing Pap does here is set up shop. He had one in Uganda – a big one, took care of business for most of the neighbourhood. But… we started from scratch here all over again. He was clever when he got here. G & Sons. He only had one son, but always promised he’d have more. Papaji stays behind one night late. Mum’s not happy about this cos she’s cooked his favourite. Gulab jamuns. Sweet and sticky. If she didn’t, we’d never hear the bloody end of it for weeks. He’d go on about how last year’s didn’t happen. There was no rose water sugar in his beard. No saffron in the kitchen. ‘No culture in this country.’ You can have culture without Gulab jamuns, Pap! ‘The mother is the first teacher in all of life! We respect her when she feeds!’ I want to call him Dad, like you, but Papaji is what he wants. Papaji’s thing, that was. One of the last things they brought over from their home when they were making ours. We brought a piece of us here. Pans spitting out pistachios at us. Burnt green. And Mamaji’s gold spoons are on the table. They’re the size of two fat frogs sitting at the pond. She was actually from India. Before. So, when they come out, you know it’s supposed to be special. The frosted sugar scuffs on the table corner. We’re thinking, Bit odd that. He’d never miss this. And if he did, we’d be blamed for it! Turns out, he’s stayed back to count the change. The change! So stubborn. Dads are like that, aren’t they? Just have to know exactly where they are before they leave anywhere. He couldn’t leave the shop until he had counted all the petty cash. So he can leave knowing whether he made a profit or not. Gives him pride, that. Understandable. Every day. But today, Mrs McKenzie decided to loaf off about her sister-in-law, so Dad got cornered by her ‘You know what ah mean?’s and didn’t get a chance to count like he normally does. Finally, after some free gum, she leaves. So he’s counting. He’s doing his job. And Gulab jamuns are waiting for him. Just like his mamaji did a long time ago. Before Uganda. Before me and my sisters. And…

  (Pause.)

  He sees them outside. ‘Bloody boys,’ he thinks. It’s not the first time. And rose water in his beard. Gulab jamuns waiting for him. He’s nearly counted it all. He smiles. A profit today. And…

  (Pause.)

  Something hard shatters our window. It shatters over Pap. He’s on his knees. Hands. Overhead. Counter’s now a barricade, like an overturned car. Everything feels big and small at the same time. He pants. It’s over in a second. He peels his hands from his head and it’s sticky. Hot. Shop phone. ‘Boys will be boys, Mr Gupta,’ Police say. It’s only then that he realises he can’t see some of the shop. It’s dark. Darker than before. It’s hot, sticky, like home, like where he wants to be… And there’s Gulab jamuns waiting for him. Like how his mamaji made them.

  (Pause.)

  Half blind now.

  (Pause.)

  Why can’t I be like everybody else?

  (janet moves towards him.)

  janet: I’ve never been to India.

  (Pause.)

  nav: Neither have I.

  (Pause.)

  janet: I’ve been to Blackpool, though. Have you?

  nav: Yeah. It’s pretty good. Ice cream in winter and all that.

  janet: Smashing, ain’t it?

  nav: Yeah, great, that tower – and the rides!

  (They gently laugh and move closer together. They look at each other.)

  janet: Nav, what happened to you?

  (nav is silent. He moves away from her.)

  I need you to tell me the truth. Should I be afraid of you?

  (Long pause.)

  nav: I don’t want you to be.

  janet: But should I be?

  (Pause. A loud crash outside makes them duck down together. Sirens. A light bulb bursts, making it a bit darker than before. They cascade to the floor once more. The crash and bulb smash has triggered something within them. They separate from each other and shapes distort around them.)

  nav: I want to be honest with you.

  janet: So do I.

  (During the following, nav and janet act out their own memories, whilst also acknowledging each other, checking in with one another. The ECG machine thumps louder.)

  I was tending a wound on one of the patients down in Ward C. Basic stuff – you know, minor head injury. Round the face.

  nav: I was warned. That this is going to be serious. It was the station. We’re under attack. It’s spread. It’s bad.

  janet: I was warned that it’s gonna be something I’ve not dealt with. Big wheels charring, scrambling, scratching, wheeling. Wheel. Bed. Right. Corner goes over my foot twice. Left and Right.

  nav: Blood.

  janet: Dripping down titanium poles. White sheets. Starched hard cotton.

  nav: Masses hair masses hair masses scalps heads bodies bolts…

  janet: Bowls bowls bowls.

  nav: Hands cans arms legs. Bolts and batons.

  both: It’s everywhere.

  (She laughs. They swerve past, in and out of each other. The burst light bulb now creates deeper shadows.)

  janet: Oh. And… A&E front window? Just been smashed.

  nav (dodging): Three bricks.

  janet: Classy. Oh well. Keep calm and carry on. And all that. Isn’t it?

  nav: Keep that. Lip up.

  janet: If you’ve still got it.

  both: After this.

  janet: I see the bed coming, rushing down on wheels like some kind of jumbo jet. He looks sixteen or fifteen? Mixed race, maybe? Not sure – I can’t tell from here. But his head’s slashed and it’s bleeding; it’s dripping down the whee
ls and on to the floor, and you can see not footsteps but wheel lines coming down the corridor, and the floor, which is usually alabaster white… not so much. Blood sweeping down it…

  nav: Feels like thirty miles per hour.

  janet: Looks like he’s about to take off.

  Vroom.

  Vroom.

  Vroom.

  We are ready for take-off!

  nav: OK!

  janet: Right.

  both: Keep calm. Keep calm!

  nav: This is not a game. You’re real. You’re real.

  janet: You’ve really got the training, you’ve got the training, the training—

  nav: Oh my—

  janet: I’m going to throw up.

  (Ambulance lights wash over her.)

  nav: I get information that just bleeps in my ear like an alarm clock that’s way too early for your ears but kind of all right for your eyes—

  janet: And I don’t understand what the other nurse is saying, but I know that her eyes are telling me to—

  nav: Keep calm!

  janet: Jan, you’ve never dealt with this much blood before in your entire life.

  (nav is now thrown into the full action of the riot.)

  nav: He’s crying, screaming.

  janet: He’s screaming for his mother.

  nav: He’s screaming for his brother.

  janet: He’s screaming

  nav: Don’t let me die!

  janet: I don’t want to die.

  (Pause. nav stands breathless, frozen. janet looks around for someone – anyone.)

  And I look down and… white noise.

  nav: Nothing. Silence.

  janet: I’m told to… and I can’t.

  (The ambulance sirens scream louder. As she acts putting pressure on her patient’s chest, the sirens morph into lion roars. Vicious. A hunt in the offing.)

  nav: Hard.

  janet: Sweaty.

  nav: Sticky.

  janet: Hot.

  both: I know what this is.

  janet: I put both hands on. As I was trained.

  nav: As I was trained.

  janet: Remember.

  nav: Remember what you’re here for.

  janet: Remember… please, just please to God, please don’t let this be my first. God, he looks like my first boyfriend.

  nav: Oh God.

  janet: Oh God.

  Left over right.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Hold.

  nav: And, in that moment, I realise… I can’t…