BU21 Read online

  And it’s not that I want to change him – I’m not one of those mean ball-busty girls – but I think I can help him to be more – to develop and flourish and bloom. As a person.

  The wedding’s going to be stunning.

  Look – I’m definitely not all bridezilla about it, you know – it’s not like it fills all of my time, thinking about it, planning it – just most of it.

  I’m totally joking.

  I’m very – my sister’s in events management – so we can totally smash this biatch.

  Of course Mum’s not going to be there – which is – almost unbearable, at times – but I think she’ll look down from whenever she is, and she’ll be totally overjoyed.

  All she ever wanted was for her daughters to be happy, to be settled. So I’ve sort of got a duty to be happy, for her sake. To make her proud of us.

  And I’ve changed, but I think I’ve also grown.

  I guess that I embrace life more than ever now, because I know how precious it is, how fragile it is.

  It’s weird, isn’t it, I’ve become stronger because I realise how fragile things are?

  It’s sort of beautiful, though, I think.

  Wish me luck.

  THALISSA leaves.

  FLOSS. So in a couple of months I go back to university.

  Do the second year, after like a year off.

  I kind of think of it as a gap year – a grindingly, unremittingly horrific gap year. They kind of all are, though, aren’t they? Actually it’s been vastly more, you know, valuable than a real gap year – where you’re in theory supposed to learn about yourself, and the world, and grow as a person – whereas in reality you just get boshed on shit speed and get off with a heinous rat-faced guy from Manchester called Gary in a sweaty tent somewhere in the third world – and to be frank, what the fuck does that teach you?

  Whereas me? I learnt a bunch of shit.

  And it’s not good shit.

  But it’s the truth.

  It’s weird, all the houses are just being rebuilt so quickly. Everything’s just getting back to normal –

  The park’s been relaid, the roads are working again, the shops, the offices –

  I mean it always was a perpetual building site around here –

  So if you didn’t know, you totally wouldn’t know.

  But we know. We can’t forget.

  Once you’ve seen the truth you can’t unsee it.

  Ana the Roasted Romanian at the support group. That’s what I’m talking about.

  She was doing so well – we all thought she was doing so well.

  But in the end she still killed herself. Last month. Yeah, I know. Which is fucking hard for all of us.

  It turns out the only thing you really learn is that there’s a certain magnitude of horror that you just can’t deal with – that we’re not programmed to deal with, as humans –

  And when your glass is full, that’s it – whatever you do, however heroically you fight it, it still fucking breaks you.

  Cheery, yeah?

  So I ended it with Clive a while back. My head was just – the fact that his dad randomly died in my back garden wasn’t ever going to be the basis for a lasting relationship, was it?

  I mean, it was fucking difficult to explain at parties, and – between you and me – his coming face was fucking similar to his dad’s dying face –

  Look, sorry, that was unforgiveable of me. I fucking realise, okay? I’m just – I’m just – if you can’t laugh at it it’ll fucking rip you to bits, yeah? And I’m not going to let that happen, K?

  We’re still friends. Kinda. He took it a bit – he’s grown a beard. Goes to mosque a bunch of times a day now, according to his Facebook.

  Look, I’m sorry, but what the fuck did you expect?

  (Suddenly very emotional.) Did you expect this to be a bunch of happy fucking endings?

  What the fuck?

  You don’t get better from this shit, okay?

  Right, is that it?

  Is this over now?

  Why isn’t this over now?

  GRAHAM. Look, love, let me just – I need to do my bit, okay, and then we can all finish? You just stay there, and I’ll – everybody’s had their turn, you know?

  (To us.) Right.

  Epilogue

  GRAHAM, addressing a public event.

  GRAHAM (making a speech). Your Majesty, Prime Minister, ladies and gentlemen –

  On the 22nd of July last year the lives of the people of Fulham – and indeed lives across London, the United Kingdom, and around the world – changed utterly.

  BU21, flying from New York to London, crashed at thirty-two minutes past ten after being hit by an anti-aircraft missile. Five hundred and thirty-eight people died, and over two thousand were injured.

  These are the bare facts of what happened, but underneath these facts – horrific and barbaric as they are – are many thousands of stories.

  There are stories of loss, of grief, and of heartbreak.

  But there are also stories of heroism, of astonishing kindness, and of communities pulling together.

  And I say to you now, ladies and gentlemen, that our stories of hope proclaim far louder than our stories of despair.

  My own story is well known, but I say this to you now – I am nothing.

  Truly I am nothing, ladies and gentlemen, compared to the great spirit of the British people – a spirit which will overcome any obstacle, and any foe, today, and tomorrow, and for ever.

  Today is not a day for politics. Today is a day of commemoration. And commemorate we must.

  But every one of us has a sacred duty to remember that our great nation has come through times of great darkness and tribulation before, and we have emerged victorious.

  And victorious we will emerge again.

  Thank you.

  (In his normal voice). I said all that, you know, at the service of commemoration.

  And they cheered. Fuck me did they cheer.

  And I looked up at myself on the giant screens, this one man alone in front of thousands and thousands of people, and I thought –

  Boy done fucking good. Boy done great.

  The End.

  STUART SLADE

  Stuart was born in Bristol and now lives in London. His first play, Cans, was produced by Kuleshov and Etc and performed at Theatre503. BU21 is his second play.

  A Nick Hern Book

  BU21 first published in Great Britain in 2016 as a paperback original by Nick Hern Books Limited, The Glasshouse, 49a Goldhawk Road, London W12 8QP, in association with Theatre503 and Kuleshov

  This ebook first published in 2016

  BU21 copyright © 2016 Stuart Slade

  Stuart Slade has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work

  Cover image: Lucy Newman

  Designed and typeset by Nick Hern Books, London

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 84842 573 6 (print edition)

  ISBN 978 1 78001 729 7 (ebook edition)

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