Abigail (NHB Modern Plays)

Glass everywhere now. Bits’ve it are… damn it. Dangerous this. Mind how you go when you get up. I’ll try my best but… bits’ve it everywhere. (Tries to pick a splinter out of the carpet.) Fuck. (Looks at her finger, tries to pick it out.) Gone deeper now.

Beat.

Take it out. Please. It hurts.

He looks at her a moment. Then beckons her over. She goes to him and he removes the splinter for her.

Thank you. (Sucks her finger like a child. Then continues clearing the glass.) When I was small I had a splinter in my toe. Dad tried to get it out with a needle but he couldn’t. Poked and prodded around for an age but it wouldn’t budge. So next he tried tweezers. Kept digging and digging but… must’ve been deep. He hadn’t realised how deep. So he made me soak my foot in the tub for half an hour. Water was lovely. Nice and warm. Just right. When the time was up, he took me out and sat me on a chair. I could hear a dog barking outside. And then he started sucking. Put his mouth over it and sucked. It tickled. Didn’t like it. But he kept on sucking. Closed my eyes and pretended I was at the seaside. Pretended I was paddling in the water and a fish was nibbling at my foot. His hands were big and rough and his mouth felt hot. I didn’t like it. I never… then he stopped. Tried the tweezers. It came out. Big long thing. Ugly. Must’ve been deep. Started gushing blood.

They told me I should stay. But there was a machine somewhere. In the hospital, when he was… and I knew he was. I knew. Six fifteen. The time. When I looked. ‘Should’ve stayed.’ That’s what they said. They all said I should’ve… but I… it was a short walk. To the machine. Past all the rooms. All the people. All the same. Sick. Dying. One of them… looked at me. Must’ve heard my footsteps. He was expecting me. So I stopped and looked back. And he smiled. He smiled at me. Little old man in his bed. Thin. Withering away. Called me ‘Mary’. He was so happy to see his Mary. But why had I taken so long?

Beat.

Six thirty-two. ‘Shouldn’t’ve gone,’ they said. But I wanted a coffee. There was definitely a machine somewhere. Round the corner I saw a boy in a red jumper sat on the floor. All on his own. Playing with a toy car. Blue. Yellow stripes. He looked happy.

Beat.

Seven ten. My foot was asleep and the boy was gone. I’d sat down to watch him and must’ve… he was going then. ‘Stopped breathing at seven twenty,’ they said. I think that’s when I was getting coffee. Two pound fifty. From a machine! Seven thirty-five. When I got back. Without the coffee. Threw it down a sink on the way there. Didn’t taste right. He was still warm. They told me to kiss him goodbye so I did. His skin felt… different. They were all… all tears and collapsed faces. All around him. Like a king. A cold clammy king.

Pause.

Shame. I should never have thrown it away. All it needed was some sugar.