Shush

Elaine Murphy

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9781848423220
• eBook ISBN: 9781780012568
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

A funny and insightful glimpse into the power of female friendship.

Five women with five different stories on a girls' night in to remember. It's Breda's birthday, but life's not been going according to plan of late and she's in no mood to celebrate. Her friends, however, have other ideas...

Elaine Murphy's play Shush was first staged at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, in 2013.

ACT ONE

BREDA’s outdated kitchen is in a state of disrepair. Broken appliances have been replaced with new items but the old ones still remain, along with magazines, newspapers, a black sack of men’s clothing, golf clubs and other useless bric-a-brac. A corner of the room is being used for a home office, there is a rickety desk, a couple of boxes of unopened ballpoint pens, numerous packs of highlighters, staplers and blocks of A4 paper, which are stacked one on top of the other creating a small wall. A corporate motivational picture of an eagle with the words ‘Dare to Soar’ hangs over the desk. There is a large bouquet of flowers with a ‘Happy Birthday Mum’ card proudly displayed on the coffee table, along with a half-eaten box of Ferrero Rocher, a handbag and a couple of pill bottles. Photos of BREDA’s son, Colm, at various stages of his life are displayed around the room, and of BREDA and her husband, Tommy, at a dance and on their wedding day. A stopped clock hangs on the kitchen wall.

BREDA is sitting in her armchair drinking vodka and looking at the pills. She is wearing dark shapeless clothes with a dressing gown. Her face is bare of make-up and her hair slightly messed. She contemplates making a call and finally dials...

BREDA. Hi, Colm, it’s Mammy... em... if you can get back to me tonight, it doesn’t matter how late... not that it’s an emergency or anything... it’d just be nice to talk to you on the day that’s in it. Okay, love, bye.

Her phone beeps with an incoming text message.

Happy Birthday from the O2 network.

BREDA throws the phone aside and eats another chocolate, still staring at the pills. The doorbell rings, startling her. We hear chattering outside. On realising it’s her friends, BREDA quickly drains the remainder of her drink and clears away the pills. The doorbell rings again. Noticing the Ferrero Rocher, she tucks them down the side of the armchair, covering them with a cushion. She finally answers the door to MARIE, CLARE and IRENE, who are all dressed for the cold winter weather.

MARIE. Hi-di-hi.

IRENE. Ho-di-ho.

MARIE waves out to the street.

MARIE. She’s here, I’ll ring you later. (To BREDA.) Are we coming in or what?

Offstage, a horn beeps and a car pulls away.

BREDA. Of course, come in. What are you all doing here?

IRENE. We came to see the birthday girl.

MARIE. And if Muhammad won’t come to the mountain...

BREDA. Oh, that... I’m not celebrating this year.

MARIE. You say that every year... Jaysus, it’s freezing out there.

IRENE. We brought you something to help you forget.

IRENE hands BREDA a large bottle of vodka.

BREDA. That should do the trick.

IRENE. C’mere and give us a love, happy birthday.

IRENE envelops BREDA in a big hug and then drags everyone else into her embrace. MARIE extracts herself from IRENE’s grip.

MARIE. Get off me, Redback.

CLARE. You don’t mind us landing on you, Breda?

MARIE. I told her I’d pop over during the week.

BREDA. You could’ve narrowed it down for me.

IRENE. I bet you were expecting us.

BREDA. I really wasn’t.

MARIE (looking around). Obviously.

BREDA. It’s great to see you, Clare.

CLARE. You too, Breda.

BREDA. To what do I owe the pleasure?

MARIE. She’s staying in mine tonight and our electricity’s gone, again.

CLARE. Mam.

BREDA. I thought that was all sorted.

MARIE. It was supposed to be but it keeps coming and going, I don’t know what they’re at.

CLARE. It was back on when we were leaving.

MARIE. That and the telly was shite – Wha’? Irene, isn’t the telly shite these days?

IRENE. It is.

MARIE. So I said you might as well come with us.

BREDA. Well, it’s nice to see you anyway, Clare.

CLARE smiles awkwardly. MARIE is carrying two bottles of mixers and is about to put them in the fridge...

Give me that.

BREDA takes the bottles from her and manoeuvres the rickety fridge door.

MARIE. Have you not fixed that yet?

BREDA. It’s on my to-do list.

MARIE. It must be a novel by now.

CLARE. The place looks... well.

IRENE. I was just thinking that.

BREDA. Thanks.

MARIE. Normally she sprays a bit of Mr Sheen in the air and calls it a day.

BREDA. You should have left her at home.

CLARE.We tried but Dad insisted we bring her.

BREDA moves a few things around so the girls can sit down.

IRENE. Were you having a clear-out?

BREDA. Tommy asked me to put a few of his things aside.

MARIE. That was very decent of you.

BREDA. Ah, sure. Did your daddy drop you off?

CLARE. Yeah.

MARIE. I’m not paying for a taxi with a car outside the door and a husband sitting at home doing nothing.

BREDA. He’s very good, isn’t he?

CLARE. The best.

MARIE. I have him well trained. Why don’t you go on upstairs and wash your face while I make us all a little drinkie, what are we having?

CLARE. Just an orange juice for me, thanks.

MARIE. Bacardi, Irene?

IRENE produces a large bottle of Bacardi from a shopping bag and hands it to MARIE.

IRENE. A small one.

MARIE. They only had fat Coke in the shop, will that do you?

IRENE. It makes me very gassy, Marie.

MARIE. Just drink it.

IRENE. Okay so.

BREDA is about to hand CLARE her juice.

MARIE. I’ll throw a vodka into that for her, Breda.

CLARE. I’m fine, thanks.

MARIE. Clare, don’t be such a square.

Before CLARE can protest, MARIE adds a large vodka to her juice. CLARE never has more than a few sips and is constantly looking for new and inventive ways to avoid alcohol.

It’ll do you no harm, loosen you up a bit. (To BREDA.) Look alive, we’ll still be here when you get back.

BREDA. Oh right.

MARIE. And put something else on while you’re up there.

BREDA exits. CLARE looks at MARIE.

What’s with the face?

CLARE. You’re as subtle as a brick.

MARIE. She has visitors and I’m sick looking at her in that jumper. She doesn’t look great, does she?

IRENE. She’s delicate, Marie.

MARIE. What do you think, Clare?

CLARE. I barely spoke to her.

MARIE. Well, you haven’t seen her in a while... I thin...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Dedication
• Original Production
• Characters
• Shush
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information