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A longish one-and-a-bit-act play for two players.
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Characters:
Sean: Thirty odd but looks older. In a pretty bad state of health. Red eyed, sallow, dishevelled, wet, and in serious need of a shave.
Ryan: Sean’s younger brother, thin, bespectacled and similarly unkempt. But dressed for bed, with bare feet, mismatched pyjamas, and dressing gown.
**********
Scene: A squalid kitchen. The windows are boarded up. There is very little light. Just enough to make out the piles of domestic debris that cover every available surface. It is cold enough to see the character’s breath.
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(Set is dimly lit. Ryan is slumped with his head on a fold-down table, a bottle of whiskey, the remains of a takeaway dinner, and numerous spent beer cans in front of him. Sean enters through the kitchen door, centre back.)
Sean: Ryan? (Hits light beside the door. Nothing happens.) Fuck’s sake. Ryan? (Louder.) Ryan?
(Sean inspects the kitchen, taking in his surroundings, generally repulsed. He fills the kettle, only to find when he flicks the switch, that nothing happens. He opens the fridge. And closes it again pretty sharpish, revolted.)
Sean: Unbelievable.
(Ryan moans in his sleep. Sean crosses to the table, lifts his brother’s head by the hair and gives him a disbelieving look before letting it fall back hard. Ryan does not wake.)
Sean: Un-be-shagging-lievable. (Coughs.)
(Helps himself to a belt of whiskey from the bottle beside Ryan’s head. It visibly burns his throat. He gasps, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, then eases himself in to the seat opposite his brother. He shiver’s slightly. It’s cold.)
Sean: (Drumming his fingers against the table.) Ryan? Ryan? Jesus Ryan, how can you live like this?
Ryan: (Asleep.) What? No, no, no, no, no… Feck off.
Sean: Ryan? Ryan? (With increasing impatience.) Ryan… For fuck’s sake Ryan, wake up!
(Ryan continues to mumble and twitch in his sleep. Sean reaches across the table and shakes him. To no avail. Sean leans back in his seat, sighing, shaking his head. He takes another drink. Rubs his hands together, then begins to sing, Boys of the Old Brigade, quite loudly.)
Sean: (Singing.) Father why are you so sad, on this bright Easter morn? When Irish men are proud and glad, of the land where they were born
(Ryan wakes up and stares blurrily at his brother.)
Sean cont: Oh son I see sad mem’ries view, of far off distant days, when being just a lad like you, I joined the old brigade (Coughs.)
Ryan: (Tentatively.) Sean?
Sean cont: Where are the lads who stood with me, when history was made? Oh, gra mo chree I long to see, the boys of the old brigade.
Ryan: Sean?
Sean: (After a suitable pause.) Ryan.
Ryan: (Nervously.) Sweet Jesus, Sean, how long have you been sat there?
Sean: A while.
Ryan: When… When did you get out?
Sean: This morning.
(Ryan looks at his watch and Sean takes another hit from the bottle. His hand shakes slightly. They regard each other uneasily.)
Ryan: (Watching his brother intently.) How… er… how’d you get here… Sean?
Sean: (Curtly.) I walked.
Ryan: Walked?
Sean: Walked.
Ryan: (With incredulity.) Walked? As in…
Sean: (Walks his fingers along the table, looking at Ryan like he’s thick.) As in walked. As in with my legs.
Ryan: Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come picked you up.
Sean: I did call you.
Ryan: (Opens his mouth.)
Sean: You’ve been cut off. (Drinks.)
Ryan: (Alarmed). Eh?
Sean: (Tapping the side of his head with his finger.) You’ve been disconnected, Ryan. By the phone company. ‘Lectric too.
Ryan: Oh. (Forcing a laugh.) Sorry, Sean. Here, let me fill your glass.
(Ryan wrests the bottle from Sean and carries it to the side where he fills two thick chipped china mugs. This he does clumsily, with a bemused air. He brings both cups and the bottle back, placing the latter strategically beside the leg of his own chair. This goes unremarked but not unnoticed.)
Ryan: There, there you are now, Sean.
Sean: (With subtle sarcasm.) You’re too kind.
Ryan: You’ll be glad of this, I’ll bet.
Sean: (Looking in to his mug dourly.) I’d have done with something hot.
Ryan: (Rising, preparatory to boiling the kettle.) I could…
Sean: The ‘lectric, Ryan. Remember?
Ryan: (With strained and nervous laughter.) Oh. Right you are, Sean… Sorry about that, eh? But you know how these things are.
Sean: Do I?
Ryan: Aye, what with one thing and another it’s hard to keep… to keep track, you know? Get things done. If I’d known you were coming…
Sean: (Dryly.) I see.
Ryan: Here, you have… (Reaches for the bottle, fills Sean’s mug.) You have another drop in there. Soon have you warm.
(They drink. There is thirty seconds awkward silence.)
Sean: (Quietly. Slyly.) You’d not have come, Ryan.
Ryan: (Jumps. Defensively.) I would.
Sean: Not in your car you’d not.
Ryan: Why?
Sean: You’re still driving the Cortina?
Ryan: Aye.
Sean: Not anymore.
Ryan: What d’you mean?
Sean: (Gestures to the door.) Look for yourself.
(Ryan stumbles to the back door, opens it and looks out. He is distraught by what he sees.)
Ryan: Me car! Not me car!? The bastards done me car as well! (Turning to his brother, throwing his hands up.) Me fucking car!
Sean: (Sharply.) As well?
Ryan: Forget it. (Recovers himself, but lingers nervously by the door).
Sean: (Warningly.) Ryan?
Ryan: Forget it Sean, it’s nothing. (Closes door.)
Sean: (Drains his glass.) Nothing…?
Ryan: (Sitting down again, carefully, placing both hands on the table in front of him and easing himself in to his seat.) Jesus…
Sean: Well…?
Ryan: Well…
(Sean pours himself another drink. Replacing the bottle on the table. There is a further thirty seconds awkward silence as Sean drinks and Ryan watches him.)
Sean: (Finishing his drink and reaching for the bottle a second time. He moves a little clumsily. There is a slight slur on his words.) Thing is, Ryan…
Ryan: (Goes to take Sean’s mug from him.) Here, let me do that, Sean (His hand brushes against his brother’s.)
(Sean surges to his feet, staggering backwards, knocking over his chair and sending newspapers, takeaway cartons and empties everywhere. He draws his hand back like he’s been scalded and yells at Ryan in a fit of sudden and unprovoked rage.)
Sean: Don’t fucking touch me. You don’t fucking touch me. You don’t ever fucking touch me. You understand? Understand?
(There is a stunned silence. Sean stands shaking, swaying a little. Ryan hovers, half way out of his seat, unable to decide what to do.)
Ryan: (Very quietly.) Yes. I understand, Sean, I understand.
(Silence.)
Ryan: Sean…? Sit down, eh? You’re worn out.
Sean: (Mumbling in to his chest.) I’m sorry, Ryan…
Ryan: Don’t matter.
(Ryan guides a shaky and stupefied Sean back to his seat by the elbow, where the latter collapses, looking fatigued.)
Sean: (Gestures weakly at the whiskey, apologetic.) I’m sorry, Ryan… I’m sorry… I’m not used to it, see? It’s been… I’m not used to it anymore…
Ryan: Don’t matter, Sean, no worries, no worries… You’ll be wanting your bed, sure… You can have my bed, Sean… You need a good night’s sleep… You’ll be right… You’re home now.
Sean: (Hoarsely. Drunk.) Home… Ryan… Ryan d’you remember… remember when…? You’re a good boy, Ryan… good boy… (Continues to mutter in this vein, his eyes closing, sliding back in the chair, head lolling.)
Ryan: (Backing out stage right.) No worries, Sean, no worries… I’ll put them clean sheets on and we’ll get you to bed, eh?
(Ryan clatters about and periodically curses offstage for five minutes. Sean sleeps, snoring faintly. Lights dim further. Ryan reappears, carrying a ball of dirty linen, half a dozen empties, and with a moth-eaten dressing gown slung over his arm. He trips on the corner of an equally threadbare rug and drops the cans. The noise wakes Sean who comes to with a start.)
Sean: (Sitting bolt upright and staring about in alarm.) Fuck! What! What is it? Who’s there? Fuck off! Get away!
Ryan: Sean?
Sean: Ryan? Ryan? (Remembers where he is.) Jesus, Ryan.
Ryan: Sorry about that there, Sean.
Sean: (Still a little unnerved.) Ryan, Ryan where are you?
Ryan: I’m here Sean, I’m down here. (Bends to pick the cans up.)
Sean: It’s dark, Ryan.
Ryan: Aye… Well, it’s late now.
Sean: You scared me… scared me half to death.
Ryan: (Gently.) It’s alright, Sean, I’m here.
Sean: Don’t we… isn’t there any light?
Ryan: Sorry, Sean… We’ll get it sorted out tomorrow, okay?
Sean: I’m cold, Ryan.
Ryan: (Finishes placing the empties on the table, passes his brother the moth-eaten dressing gown.) Here. I sorted this out for you, keep the chill off a bit. (Sits down.)
Sean: Cheers. (Coughs.) Ryan?
Ryan: Yes, Sean.
Sean: d’you have a cigarette?
Ryan: I thought you gave up.
Sean: That was outside.
Ryan: You’re outside now, aren’t you?
Sean: (Doubtfully.) I suppose so.
Ryan: Anyway, I’ve got none.
(A silence ensues.)
Sean: Ryan?
Ryan: Yes, Sean.
Sean: (Rather pathetically.) You couldn’t top us up, Ryan?
Ryan: (Uncertain.) There’s not much left, Sean.
Sean: What does that matter? (Upset.) Fuck’s sake, can’t you give your own brother a drink?
Ryan: I’m sorry, Sean.
Sean: I only wanted a fucking drink. My nerves… you know…
Ryan: I’m sorry. Here…
Sean: ‘Cause anybody’d think you weren’t happy to see me.
Ryan: (Alarmed.) What? No! ‘Course I am.
Sean: I been gone all this time… all this time… and I come back… I come back-
Ryan: (Interrupting Sean.) Sean, Sean, don’t upset yourself now, it’s been a long day, you’re shattered… we’ll talk in the morning, come on to bed.
Sean cont: - I come home to… It’s like… it’s like… what happened, Ryan? (Emotional.) Ma’s house… our house… it’s like… look at the state of the fucking place… it’s like you’re living under siege. (Coughs.)
Ryan: (Laughs nervously.) Now, Sean…
Sean: Are you?
Ryan: No, no, ‘course not.
Sean: No ‘lectric, no phone, no heat, not a scrap of fucking food in the house… How long, Ryan…? How long have you been living like this...? (Coughs.)
Ryan: Sean, it’s nothing, please, come on to bed, eh? You’re not well.
Sean: It’s not nothing… What’s going on, Ryan… why’s it like this? What’s going on?
Ryan: I know it’s a bit… a bit of a mess, Sean… But that’s all, honestly.
Sean: And the windows.
Ryan: Kids.
Sean: And the car.
Ryan: (Shrugs helplessly.) Sean…
Sean: I thought… Why’s nobody been round?
Ryan: (Squirms awkwardly.) It’s…
Sean: You were s’posed to be looked after… you were s’posed to have… (Coughs.) have… protection.
Ryan: It don’t matter, Sean. Leave it, eh?
Sean: It don’t matter? It don’t fucking matter? It matters to me, Ryan. He promised me. Liam promised me. Won’t let nobody give you trouble, he said. Look out for you, he said. I mean we… (Increasingly upset. Red in the face, coughing and spluttering.)… we had a fucking… he give me his word… (Taps himself vehemently on the chest.) … His word…
Ryan: Sean… it’s…
Sean: What the fuck is going on, Ryan?
Ryan: It’s…
Sean: (Shouts, standing, bringing his fist down on the table.) What the fuck is going on?
(Sean goes in to a coughing fit from which he’s unable to recover. Ryan slaps him repeatedly on the back. Sean crumples, bent double over the table but eventually stops coughing and collapses back in to his chair. Ryan takes his mug to the sink, gives it a cursory rinse and fills it with water. Placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder he passes him the mug.)
Ryan: Here. Sip it, mind… That’s it.
Sean: Ryan?
Ryan: Better?
Sean: Aye… Ryan?
Ryan: Proper fucking state, you are. (Squeezes Sean’s shoulder.) Skin and bone.
Sean: Ryan?
Ryan: (Ruffles Sean’s hair.) Still… home now. We’ll soon have you-
Sean: (Cutting Ryan off.) – Ryan?
Ryan: Yes, Sean.
Sean: (Looking up at his brother, leaning his head against him.) You never came to see me, Ryan.
Ryan: (Starting.) What?
Sean: You never come to see me, Ryan.
Ryan: I…
Sean: (Insisting, tearfully.) You never come to see me.
Ryan: I was scared, Sean.
Sean: (Pulling away, pushing back to stare up at his brother, disbelievingly.) Of what?
Ryan: (Looking down at the floor. Awkwardly.) Just scared, Sean.
Sean: Of what, for Christ’s sake.
Ryan: Prison… that place… it
Sean: And I wasn’t?
Ryan: Sean, it’s… like when we were kids, when we were kids and we went to see Da… the smell of it Sean, the smell of it… enough to make a man’s blood run cold, turn his stomach... I’m sorry, Sean, I couldn’t do it… I didn’t want to see you like that… in that place… like Da…
Sean: Not once…
Ryan: I’m sorry, Sean… I couldn’t. I couldn’t think of you that way.
(Ryan sits back down. There is silence. Both stare off in to space, lost in private reveries. They’re like that for an unbearably long time. Then Ryan risks a glance at his brother.)
Ryan: Sean?
Sean: Yes, Ryan.
Ryan: Do you forgive me?
Sean: Yes.
(Silence.)
Ryan: Sean?
Sean: Yes, Ryan.
Ryan: You understand… about Da and that?
Sean: Yes Ryan.
(Sean reaches for the bottle but it’s all but empty. He curses and rolls it between his hands, rocking back on two legs of his chair.)
Sean: Thing is, Ryan…
Ryan: What is it, Sean?
Sean: Thing is, I was wond’rin… I’ve been playing it over and over in my mind and I can’t make no sense of it.
Ryan: (Uncomfortably.) Playing what over, Sean?
Sean: (Very quietly, but distinctly and suddenly soberly.) I was wond’rin who gave them my name.
Ryan: But that’s… does that even matter any more?
Sean: To me. It matters to me. It matters to me and I was wond’rin, Ryan… (Looks steadily and pointedly at his brother for a very long time.)
Ryan: (Touches himself silently on the chest.) No, Sean, no! That’s an ugly fucking thought, Sean. I’m your brother for Christ’s sake!
Sean: (Dully.) Aye. It is an ugly thought.
Ryan: No, Sean, no! I swear to you! Come on now.
Sean: (To himself.) An ugly fucking thought…
Ryan: Sean… That’s the whiskey, Sean, honest to God, you’re not thinking straight…
Sean: (Shakes his head.) No.
Ryan: You’re not well, Sean.
Sean: (Shakes head.) No.
Ryan: You’re not well and you’re fucking shattered.
Sean: (Shakes head.) No.
Ryan: You’ve put a fair old bit away, Sean, you said so yourself, you can’t hold your drink no more, it’s gone to your head, it’s done you in… (Pleading.) Sean…
Sean: No, Ryan. (Very firmly. Sits up straight, places the bottle carefully back in the middle of the table.) No.
Ryan: I…
Sean: No. Because ‘side from Jimmy and Liam you’re the only one who knew.
Ryan: No…
Sean: You called them. You gave them my name. You told them where I was.
Ryan: No, Sean…
Sean: Yes. And that’s why Liam’s not been round… ‘Cause he’s not such a fucking idiot he hasn’t put two and two together.
Ryan: Liam doesn’t….
Sean: Doesn’t know? No, Liam doesn’t know. But he made an educated guess, didn’t he? Thought you’d got away with, did you? When he didn’t come for you?
Ryan: It ain’t like that, Sean.
Sean: No. I know it ain’t. ‘Cause Liam’s not fucking stupid. He wasn’t going to hurt you Ryan? He washed his fucking hands, is all. He left you, didn’t he? Left you for the Bresslaws and the Shankses and the Whitkisses and the twenty other fucking families want you dead!
Ryan: But I didn’t… I didn’t…
Sean: You didn’t do nothing? You’re Donnie Drabble’s boy, you thick fuck! That’s what you did! You think that’s not enough? Well it is! It is enough! And them as did your car and did the windows will come for you an’ all in the end… when they get bold… when they get to realising there’ll be no comeback… (Coughs. Violently.)
Ryan: They…
Sean: (Spluttering and choking.) Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan! Jesus fucking Christ! How could you be so stupid? (Coughs.) I can understand you wanting rid of me! But you must’ve fucking realised what’d happen.
Ryan: I didn’t!
Sean: Then you’re a bigger fucking fool than I thought.
Ryan: No! Sean! I meant I didn’t want rid of you. I didn’t want rid of you, Sean, I don’t, not at all, not at all.
Sean: Then why did you do it, you stupid little bollocks?
Ryan: (Quietly, looking down at his feet.) I just wanted it to stop.
Sean: (Sharply.) Say that again.
Ryan: The robbing and the fighting and being at Liam sainted King’s beck an’ call all the time. It did for Da and it’d have done for you too.
Sean: Bollocks!
Ryan: No, not bollocks, Sean. How many more jobs?
Sean: What?
Ryan: Before something went wrong. Before you got hurt. Before Liam had enough of you. You’re not indispensable to him, Sean, you know that.
Sean: You don’t know…
Ryan: I do know. (Taking his brother by the hands across the table.) Sean, please, listen to me. It had to end, Sean, one way or another, it had to end… before you got hurt, Sean, before Liam…
Sean: Before Liam what?
Ryan: Come on, Sean. Like father like son. Rory King done Donnie Drabble and Liam King’d see to you too.
Sean: What happened to Da was an accident.
Ryan: Which he’d have survived if Rory’d let him go to A an’ E. You know that, Sean. There’s no honour amongst thieves. Liam King don’t care about you.
(Profound silence.)
Ryan cont: You don’t have to make the same mistakes. It had to end, Sean, it has to end. I just wanted you out of it... 'fore you was killed.
(After a long time Sean raises his head.)
Sean: Aye… Alright.
Ryan: Alright?
Sean: Aye… I’m tired, Ryan. And I’m not well… I need… What’re we going to do now?
Ryan: We can go away.
Sean: Where?
Ryan: It doesn’t matter where.
Sean: We’ve got no money.
Ryan: I have.
Sean: From where?
Ryan: It don’t matter from where. I got a bit... We’ll get jobs.
Sean: (Doubtfully.) I don’t…
Ryan: I'll get a job, then. Trust me, Sean, please. We’re all we’ve got. Look, no one’s knows you’re out, no one expects us to be together, we got a head start, if we go now maybe-
Sean: (Interrupting.) – Now? Jesus!
Ryan cont: If we go now, we can be long gone by Monday. By the time they look for us it’ll be too late. Come one Sean, let’s go.
Sean: Where? How? Isn’t there anything you need?
Ryan: Walk to town, get a train. To the airport. There’s nothing I need here, just money... and passports.
Sean: Jesus , Ryan, I don’t know...
Ryan: And you, Sean, I need you.
Sean: Okay, Ryan, okay.
(The pair stand up and look towards the door. Lights go down. Fin, as they say.)
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The human race, the only race I know where everybody loses.
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