Janie (Work in Progress)

[Audience enters to music by female artists – Christine and the Queens, Anna Calvi, Adrienne Lenker/Big Thief, Arlo Parks, Low Chimes. Janie sits on a bed towards the left of the stage. There is a spotlight illuminating her and her room only. There is a clock on the wall, and a stereo and a mobile phone on a bedside table. The room is a mess, with plates and clothes on the floor, and she looks unkempt, and is dressed in pyjamas. Janie makes use of the bed as a ‘mini stage’ – moving around on it, sitting at the front, sometimes to the side, sometimes standing up.]

[Mum is sitting in darkness in an armchair to the side of this room, stage right. There is a phone on the table next to her, and a lamp beside the table. She remains this way throughout Janie’s monologue.]

Janie: Where should we begin? Well, I guess we don’t have a choice but to start at the start. But for me, this isn’t the start at all. No. You’ve found me at some point in the middle of one of the most horrific periods of my life so far.

It’s surprising, isn’t it, that I should be so aware of that, as it’s happening, and to the extent that I can talk to you about it so articulately.

I’ve always been told I was articulate. I did pretty well at school in English, I suppose, and I was always enough of a little shit to talk back to my teachers. Is that what ‘articulate’ means? Does it mean all the teachers thought I was a little shit all along? Well, we’re making discoveries left, right and centre aren’t we. Nice to be able to share that little moment with you. ‘Oh, I must say that Janie’s really articulate in class, Ms Ward’, they’d say to mum. I bet she knew exactly what they meant as well.

But I think I’ve always struggled more than I’d let on, you know. Articulating things, I mean. How do you articulate something so visceral, something that you can feel so intensely, so deep inside but you can never reach it. Sometimes I just want to stretch right down my throat and into my tummy and scoop it all out, all the bad stuff, with an ice cream scoop, you know. One of those metal ones you see at the seaside that gets dipped in a water bath after every customer, and the water gets all scummy and murky and you think, eurgh, that’s disgusting that. Forget the ice cream.

But it’s all forgotten when you’ve got that delicious strawberry goo running down your chin, isn’t it, you greedy things? Strawberry was always my favourite, and I don’t care what any of yous say about it. All those chewy bits really made me feel like I had to work for it, you know?

So here I am, trying to tell you all about how my life has taken a bit of a turn for the worse. And there you all are, sitting with such anticipation on your lovely little faces about what kind of profound things I’m going to tell you.

The truth is pretty mundane, I’m afraid: I can’t get out of bed. It’s not that I don’t want to – I haven’t showered in about three days or more, I’ve lost count really, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday lunch time, when I had a pot noodle on toast. No, it’s more that I can’t. I just can’t seem to bring myself to throw off the covers and face the outside world. Bombay Bad Boy by the way, if you were wondering.

And it’s really funny, because I used to love it. Going outside. Well, it’s not funny at all, it’s quite tragic really. [laughs]

You’re probably thinking, pot noodle on toast? That sounds like an absolute dream lunch, Janie, please tell us the recipe! [winks]

Or maybe you’re thinking, good on you Janie, you’re living it large, making the most of the student lifestyle. Party hard, sleep-in harder, that’s the way.

Maybe I’m doing just that – living my life just the way I’m supposed to. That the stuff I do to try and numb the rotten black pit in my stomach, that it’s just my crazy party lifestyle [German accent]. Everyone does ridiculous shit in their twenties when they’re trying to find themselves, don’t they? Everyone has a crisis of identity and spends a few years having absolutely no idea who they are, and feeling like they spend their whole life consumed by panic, scrabbling around in the dirt for the missing pieces of themselves, trying to spot a glimmer in the sunlight like buried treasure, until you realise that you’ve forgotten what it is you’re looking for? And you’re so drained and exhausted from doing this all day long, and cycling round and round in your head, interrogating yourself and berating yourself for all the missed opportunities, all the mistakes you’ve made, all the people you’ve pushed away and all the reasons why you’re so alone right now, in this very moment, that you can barely move. So you just stay in bed, where it’s safe.

It doesn’t always look like this, though. Sometimes life can seem like a party.

[Janie kneels to put a song on stereo (Georgia on my Mind by Billie Holiday), without leaving the bed.]

Georgia is a bit of a party animal. Me and Georgia have been friends since we were four. Proper best friends. She’s always been very good at tolerating the dramatic twists and turns that my life has taken – and that’s a good friend right there, that’s someone you should hang on to. She’s a lot more rationally minded than I am, and she’s driven, she’s ambitious – she’s a journalist now. She can talk me down from a crisis better than anyone. She can be philosophical, cold even. But sometimes that’s just what I need. And she can party harder than anyone I know.

Me and Georgia like to go out together sometimes, usually on a Friday, if I’m not working. She’ll be so pumped to get out after a week of hard graft that she’s even more hyper than usual, and she’ll be gagging to have a proper dance. She’ll ring me and say, ‘so are we going out or what?’. Sometimes I don’t feel up to it, but she always tells me I’ll feel better once I get out there. So I say she should come over or I’ll go to hers and we’ll get our glad rags on. I’ll try not to compare our bodies in the mirror. Have a cheeky bottle of wine each for pre-drinks (white for me, red for her), and off we go to paint the town red.

[turns volume down so song fades out]

We always run down the stairs of my flat on our way out chanting ‘Thank Gee it’s Friday’ and acting like little school girls again, giggling all the way.

I went out with her a couple of Fridays ago. It’s a pretty funny story actually. I’d taken a bit too much ketamine, as has become a bit of a habit of mine on a night out. Whoopsie. And I started to really feel it when we were on the dance floor. Everything seemed to sort of fade a bit, almost like the world was zooming out and away from me, like that bit in Jaws where the police chief first realises the water’s not safe.

And I don’t quite realise it myself but I’ve sunk down on to my knees. And Georgia swoops in straight to my rescue, like the absolute warrior queen that she is, and helps me to the toilets – via the wall, of course, as the floor is made of lava and I don’t have a death wish. The next thing I know, I’m on the toilet and I can’t even move my lips to speak, but I can see Georgia’s serious face looking down at me, (her ‘business’ face I call it) and, and [pause] she’s shouting down at me to pee. She’s saying, ‘Come on, Janie, PEE. FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, PEE!’ So I’m sitting there on the toilet, and I’m trying to remember how to use it, and suddenly Georgia’s my MUM, and I’m a little kid and I’m learning to pee again. [laughs uncontrollably] Can you imagine that?

[short pause]

[Janie picks up phone and types in number/selects contact – visible as a projection behind her]

[Phone near mum rings three times in darkness. When Mum picks up, the lamp next to her illuminates.]

Janie: Hey mum, how are you?

Mum: Hello love, [warmly] yes I’m well thanks. It’s been incredibly overcast here, as bloody usual, but that’s the stupid kind of weather that we get in this part of the country. I’m completely sick of it, as you know. Bloody rainy and cloudy and cold all the bloody time. And um, well I’ve not done much today, really, aside from the shopping of course, and some laundry. And I’ve just come off the phone with my sister actually.

Janie: [looks at audience nervously, one eye closed and wincing] Oh, really?

Mum: I did tell you she rang at Christmas, out of the blue?

Janie: Which one? Debbie? [wide eyes, searching for the answer]

Mum: No, Vicky. She rang on Boxing Day, and it was quite surprising, as I don’t remember the last time she’d reached out before that – must have been years ago. And well, the short version is that she’s finally realised what a little bitch my mother is.

Janie: [winces at word ‘bitch’] Oh, really?

Mum: Yes! And I’m delighted she’s finally come round to the idea to be quite honest with you! You know, she’s spent so many years of her life being bullied and abused by my mum and dad, and she seems to have always maintained this hope that things might be different one day, maybe if she just stuck by their side and put up with all that foul treatment and didn’t cause too much of a fuss. Her mental health has suffered for years, as you know. And it seems she’s really waking up to it now. So, anyway. I’ve invited her to come and stay for a few days. It seems she could really do with some support. I think she’s feeling very outcasted at the moment. And you know what I’m like, I said, Vicky, you can’t have that one, I’ve earned my title as the black sheep of the family – you’ll have to fight me for it! [laughing]

Janie: [comical fake laugh for audience’s benefit]

Mum: She’s basically been told she’s used up all her inheritance, and that she won’t be getting any more in the will. Mum told her she was a ‘financial drain’. Can you believe that? Well, it’s no surprise to me of course. And the other two, as you know, well they’re getting loft conversions and conservatories and Caribbean cruises, the grandchildren have all their University fees paid for, new cars, brand new fitted kitchens and electric showers, extensions, mortgages sorted out.

And the absolute crime of it all is that Vicky’s been loyal. I haven’t, God knows I told your Grandma what I thought of her a long time ago. I made my bed. But Vicky’s been loyal to them for years and years, and for years and years she’s been treated like complete shit. And it seems she’s finally seeing that.

I said to her, Vicky, when we were growing up, you had it worst. She told me she didn’t have a clue what she was getting beaten for, when Dad got his belt out. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong. And I’ll tell you what, love, it’s so good to hear that she’s finally feeling angry about all of that. After all these years.

[Janie puts the phone down. Lamp next to Mum switches off and she is returned to darkness. Janie lies back in bed and tosses and turns, as the clock turns rapidly behind her, hours passing.]

[Janie sits up in bed, rubs her eyes and looks back towards the audience.]