Last Christmas

Matthew Bulgo

• Editorial: Oberon Books
• Año: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781783196999
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Medien & darstellende Kunst
• Categoría: Schreiben von Theaterstücken

Matthew Bulgo's debut full-length play, Last Christmas was produced in 2012 to critical acclaim by Clwyd Theatr Cymru and Dirty Protest, and was nominated in the Best Production category at the inaugural "Theatre Critics in Wales Awards". Marking its London premiere at Soho Theatre in December 2014, the script is revised for publication with Oberon Books. Stuck in the city, in a life he hates, Tom is to return home for Christmas and be confronted with his past. Forced to face his demons, loss and the unstoppability of time, he attempts to rescue his family and his future. Will Tom be able to save it all in time?

TOM goes to speak.

Nothing comes out.

He tries again…

I can be pretty dim sometimes.

Actually, that’s a bit of an understatement.

I can be really – fucking – stupid, actually.

She’s been following me ‘round the house all morning.

Not quite getting under my feet.

But there, on my shoulder, man-marking me.

I loved that when we first started going out. I did.

It was like…she wasn’t interested in anyone else. No one else mattered, you know?

But now? Right now? With this pig of a hangover, when I should’ve left the house 10 minutes ago, with a three hour train journey on the cards…on Christmas Eve…well, with all due deference of Christmas spirit, she’s beginning to get on my tits…

And I’m trying to find that little fucking code they give you, the one you have to put in the machine at the station, and I’m trying to remember where I put all the Christmas presents (the ones Nat made me wrap when it was still practically summer, the ones she made me wrap because she thought it might be best to get it out of the way – oh yeah, great idea – get it out of the way, get it all so far out of the way I can’t even find the bloody things) and I’m starting to sweat like a, like a, like a bastard, sweating pure booze (I can feel myself start to stink up this fresh shirt), when she follows me into the toilet…actually follows me right in…

And I’m like…I’m like, well, speechless for starters…but then I’m like –

Do you want to come in here, too?

It’s alright. I’m not taking a dump.

It’s only a piss, and I don’t mind.

I really don’t.

(Beat.)

I see the first tremors of something then.

I see her lip start to go, she juts her chin out to try and compensate, she looks at the ceiling. She does it all. She knows there’s no one else here for me to look at and she really is going for the Oscar here.

And me? All I do is, I do this thing. With my forehead and my eyes. That tries to say I’m sorry.

But I don’t say it, I don’t actually say those words.

I just… (He does the thing.)

I have to close the door then before she really starts to go.

Because when that happens, that just, that’s, no.

(Beat.)

We’re not usually like this.

We’re not.

But this last year has just been…yeah, well…

(Beat.)

I sit on the toilet for a while. I mop my pits with a bit of loo roll. I don’t even need a piss!

I just need a bit of…silence. A bit of fucking… space.

(Beat.)

When I open the door, she’s still standing there.

Time isn’t on my side so I just wade on in, all guns blazing. I know I’m walking into some sort of trap, but I just think ‘Fuck it’.

Listen, if this is because we’re not spending Christmas together this year, we’ve had the conversation, God knows how many times, haven’t we? So. Not the guilt trip, not this time.

For a moment I don’t know whether I’ve said that out loud or just thought it…because I get nothing back.

I’m mean, I’d be a total…cunt if I just…didn’t go home, just…changed my plans, just like that…

And I throw that word in there because I think that might get a rise out of her. I think, it might get a response, something…but nothing.

Look, I’m sorry about, well, about being snappy, but you know that was the plan… I haven’t been back, not once since last Christmas, so if that’s what you’re getting pissy about, it’s a bit late to be bringing it up…

She says something…

…isn’t it?

…I think. But it’s short and swallowed and I don’t quite hear it because, well, because I am on one by now…

…and well, we did say it’d be fine, didn’t we? And you could come with me, if you wanted, you could still come with me, get a later train.

She says it again, louder this time:

It’s not that.

(Beat.)

Oh.

(Beat.)

That’s all I manage.

Not – Well, what is it.

Not – Tell me. Get it off your chest, love.

Not – You can talk to me. Never mind the train.
It’s only a couple of hundred quid, I’ll get the next one…

None of that.

Just Oh.

(Beat.)

I think I’m about to swallow my tongue when she…she does this thing.

She just lifts her hand…so slowly…and she…

(He places his hand on her stomach.)

And…it…it just…

(He’s all at sea for a second.)

I breathe out, through my nose – and it makes this sound, like a snort. I don’t mean it to come out like that, not like that. But it does.

I see myself from the outside, a reverse-zoom-dolly, myself in the foreground and the background rocketing away from me.

I’m Roy Scheider in Jaws, when suddenly there are screams and shouts and blood in the water.

I see us standing there, at the furthest extremities of the frame, this gulf of space separating us, me with a suitcase full of festive tat, her hand resting on the slightest of bumps…

And…

I say Merry Christmas. I have no idea why, but I do. I don’t mean Merry Christmas. I mean I really can’t handle this right now but all she’s getting is Merry Christmas.

She says she loves me. (Beat.) I can see she means that and a million other things that I can’t even begin to comprehend, I don’t think either of us can.

I think about saying it back, but I can already hear how those words will sound dropping out of my mouth. All hollow and thin…so I don’t.

She moves in to kiss me.

My head shifts. Imperceptibly. I don’t move it. It just moves.

Just, like, a fraction of a degree.

It’s nothing really, in the grander scheme of things, but it’s enough. Oh, it’s more than enough, it’s seismic.

She lands, not on my lips, not on my cheek but somewhere in between.

That place that means nothing. That nowhere, and we both clock it.

That it wasn’t quite right.

She stands there waiting for something… an explanation. I just stand there like the kid who got caught with his cock in the cookie jar.

You’re going to be…we’re going to have a…aren’t you…

And before she can finish one of those ...