Rathmines Road
Deirdre Kinahan
RATHMINES
ROAD
NICK HERN BOOKS
London
www.nickhernbooks.co.uk
Contents
Original Production
‘A Reckoning’
Dedication
Characters
Timeline
Rathmines Road
About the Author
Copyright and Performing Rights Information
Rathmines Road was produced by Fishamble and the Abbey Theatre. It previewed at the Civic Theatre, Tallaght, as part of Dublin Theatre Festival on 4 October 2018, before opening at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on the Peacock Stage, on 9 October 2018. The cast was as follows:
SANDRA
Karen Ardiff
EDDIE
Charlie Bonner
LINDA
Janet Moran
RAY
Enda Oates
DAIRNE
Rebecca Root
Director
Jim Culleton
Set and Costume Designer
Maree Kearns
Lighting Designer
Kevin Smith
Sound Designer
Carl Kennedy
Fight Director
Ciaran O’Grady
Voice Director
Andrea Ainsworth
Hair & Make-up
Val Sherlock
Fishamble Production Manager
Marie Tierney
Abbey Theatre Production Manager
Cliff Barragry
Fishamble Stage Manager
Steph Ryan
Abbey Theatre Stage Manager
Anne Kyle
Fishamble Assistant
Sarah Purcell
Stage Manager Dramaturg
Gavin Kostick
Assistant Director
Karen Stanley
A Reckoning
It strikes me that Ireland is going through something of a reckoning at present. Recent referendums on civil liberties, tribunals into political ethics and corruption, inquiries into clerical and institutional abuse, all signal an enormous shift in Irish thinking. The iron grip of Catholicism and stifling absolutism of class and convention are beginning to dissipate, and to my mind that is a good thing. Unfortunately there are many areas in which we still fail and fail spectacularly. In Rathmines Road, I want to explore our collective response to accusations of rape and sexual assault, and our complete failure judicially, socially and culturally, to negotiate the dreadful consequences of these crimes. So I decided to place a victim of sexual assault into a situation where he/she can confront that abuse in a public way and then watch each character shift and spin in the ways described by survivors. I wanted to try to feel what it is like to be blamed for inciting the very crime committed on you. What it is like to be constantly doubted. What it is like to be perpetually judged and labelled by that crime. What it is like to see your story, your truth and your dignity stolen from you by the people affected by that accusation – and how quickly the response becomes not about you but about them, and how your accusation affects them. I wanted to try to feel what it is like to disappear – disappear into an abyss where every social cultural and judicial reflex conspires to silence, to shame and to deny…YOU.
It was in writing the play that I began to understand how the failure of our response is often governed by gender and the cultural expectations associated with gender. Boys will be boys remember and good girls don’t get drunk or don’t go into bedrooms at parties unless they are willing to be sexually assaulted or raped. It sounds absurd. I have to say I have trouble even writing that sentence, but how many daytime-chat-show callers, opinion-column writers, neighbours, solicitors or indeed deluded bishops give air to the notion that a victim of sexual assault is in some way culpable – if not asking for it? It is extraordinary how control of the narrative of a crime is often removed from the person at the centre of it, then reshaped to fit the needs of those around them. The perpetrator of sexual assault rarely admits their crime, rarely sees it and in most cases is never forced to answer for it. And so you will see how each character in Rathmines Road attempts to take control of the story and recreate it in some way to suit their sense of themselves. You will see how some characters lie, lie constantly, and lie first to themselves because the capacity for human denial never ceases to amaze me, particularly when backed up by silence. Silence sits at the heart of Rathmines Road because, unfortunately, silence remains the go-to response for survivors, their abusers and ourselves. Silence means we might not have to respond at all.
Thank you.
Deirdre Kinahan
September 2018
This play is for my two amazing daughters
Síobhra & Sadhbh O’Farrell
Characters
SANDRA, forty-five, originally from Wicklow – living in London for twenty-four years
RAY, forty-eight, from London
DAIRNE, forty-five, originally from Wicklow – living in UK/NYC for twenty years
LINDA, forty-two, from Wicklow
EDDIE, forty-six, from Dublin
Timeline
Present: 2018
Incident on Rathmines Road: 1993
This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.
Scene One
We are in an old-fashioned sitting room. The lighting is low. A couple are entwined, having just had sex on the couch. RAY. God… I’m getting too old for this!
SANDRA. No you’re not. You’re amazing.
RAY. No you’re amazing.
SANDRA. You know I love you, don’t you, Ray.
You know I love you more than anything.
You and Séan and Emma. You are everything to me.
Everything.
EVERYTHING.
RAY. Who are you shouting at?
SANDRA. I don’t know.
Everyone maybe.
Everything.
RAY. Are you sure you’re all right?
SANDRA. Yes.
RAY. Are you crying?
SANDRA. No.
RAY. Are you sure… you look like you’re crying?
SANDRA. No I’m not… I’m fine. I’m honestly fine.
RAY. Okay. But what was going on with you this evening?
SANDRA. What?
RAY. When the others were here?
SANDRA. Nothing!
RAY. Nothing?
SANDRA. Do you mind moving… I just want to fix my dress.
He rolls off her and on to the floor. He starts to pull up his trousers.
RAY. Of course. Sorry.
I don’t know why sex feels so illegal in here.
SANDRA. It’s still my mother’s sitting room.
RAY (looking at a photo frame). And there she is looking right out at us.
SANDRA. Sorry, Mammy…
SANDRA wipes away a tear. She is both laughing and crying.
RAY. Sandra?
SANDRA. I’m fine… honestly.
RAY. You are crying?
SANDRA. It’s just…
Jesus.
Poor Mammy.
This was her good room. RAY. Oh dear…
SANDRA. I know.
He puts his arm around her.
RAY. Are you sure you’re okay?
SANDRA. Yes.
RAY. I’ve never… never seen you ask anyone to leave before… what was it?
SANDRA. I don’t know…
RAY. Have you changed your mind?
You don’t want to sell?
SANDRA. No no, it’s not that.
RAY. What then?
SANDRA. I don’t know.
I don’t…
She gets up.
RAY. It’s em
otional?
SANDRA. Yes, exactly, it’s emotional and I couldn’t… I just couldn’t cope with them poking around and I couldn’t… not with the evening… sorry.
RAY. You don’t have to apologise to me.
SANDRA. No, no I know I don’t.
RAY. And it’s only natural you’re attached to the place. We really don’t have to sell…
SANDRA. Maybe we don’t.
Or maybe we do…
RAY. It’s pretty here. It could make a nice holiday home?
SANDRA. Shouldn’t you want to go on holidays to your holiday home? I’m sorry, Ray, I’m just… I’m not myself.
RAY. Well, whatever you want, love.
Whatever you decide I’ll row in with it.
Auctioneers are ten to a penny.
SANDRA. I know they are.
RAY. We can contact another company when you’re ready.
SANDRA. Yes. That’s exactly what we can do.
RAY. I never thought it was a good idea to ask a friend anyway.
SANDRA. You never said?
RAY. Didn’t I?
SANDRA. No, and I wouldn’t call Linda a friend, Ray. I just knew her from school, knew her sister from school.
She takes a deep breath and has to hold on to the sideboard.
RAY. What is it?
SANDRA. Nothing. I’m okay. I’m okay.
He approaches her.
She swings around violently.
RAY is startled.
RAY. Christ!
SANDRA. What?
RAY. You look terrified.
SANDRA. Do I?
RAY. Yes… what is it, love, what’s wrong?
SANDRA. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.
I’ll be all right.
She takes a deep breath again.
RAY. Is it a panic attack?
SANDRA. Yes… yes, that’s what it is… a panic attack.
RAY. Do you need to sit down?
SANDRA. No.
RAY. You haven’t had one of them for years?
SANDRA. I know. I haven’t, have I?
I think it’s just all this…
RAY. Well, let’s forget all this.
We’ll just go home, Sandra.
SANDRA. Yes. Go home.
RAY. And we can sell the place online if needs be.
SANDRA. Yes. Online.
RAY. We’ll go home.
We’ll go home tomorrow?
A day early.
SANDRA. Yes… that’s a great idea, Ray.
I want to go home.
RAY. The kids will be delighted…
SANDRA. Yes they will.
And let’s use it, Ray.
Let’s use your day off work to take them somewhere…
A hotel or something.
With a swimming pool.
RAY. Whatever you like.
SANDRA. They love a hotel.
RAY. Sure, whatever you want, Sandra.
Are you feeling better now?
SANDRA. A little bit.
RAY. Great. Don’t scare me like that.
SANDRA. Sorry.
RAY. Can I hug you now?
SANDRA. Yes please.
RAY. Has it stopped?
Your heart?
SANDRA. Not entirely!
She forces a laugh.
Thank God.
RAY. Thank God.
SANDRA. I’ll be fine, Ray.
I promise I’ll be fine.
RAY. Good.
I’ll make tea then, shall I?
SANDRA. Yes. Perfect.
RAY. And we’ll bring it up to bed?
SANDRA. Yes, yeah.
RAY. Come on so.
SANDRA. In a minute…
Just a minute…
RAY. You want to stay here?
SANDRA. Just for a minute, I’ll make the tea and follow you up.
RAY. But I’ll be freezing in that bed all by myself.
SANDRA. Get under the duvet and call the kids.
That’s what I do, then everything feels all right.
RAY. What?
SANDRA. Nothing. Honestly, Ray, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.
RAY. Okay but you’ll be up?
SANDRA. Yes… Yes… I’ll be up.
I just want to catch my breath.
Call me when you get through to the kids.
RAY. Okay.
SANDRA. Okay, Ray.
RAY exits.
SANDRA stands where she is.
She lifts up her hand and looks at it. It is shaking.
She grips her arms around herself.
Christ.
Jesus Christ.
She starts to walk around the room, shaking out her hands, flexing, breathing.
Fuck you. Fuck you.
Fuck you, Eddie Dunne.
She smacks her hand to her mouth at the sound of his name.
She almost shrieks.
Oh God.
She flops onto the couch.
Beat.
What the fuck just happened here tonight?
A hoover appears into the room all by itself. It switches on almost like a challenge. SANDRA looks at it.
Scene Two
SANDRA goes over to the hoover, takes it by the handle gingerly and then slowly starts hoovering the room. Lighting indicates a shift in time. We are now back to earlier that evening. The doorbell rings. SANDRA stops hoovering. Her demeanor is very different. She checks her watch. She goes to the door leaving the room empty. We hear voices as she and her guest approach.
DAIRNE enters ahead of SANDRA.
DAIRNE. Oh wow… you haven’t cleared it?
SANDRA. What?
DAIRNE. The house.
SANDRA. No? Should I?
DAIRNE. Usually… before a sale.
SANDRA. Oh…?
DAIRNE. Jesus this room is like a time capsule…
SANDRA. Is it?
I mean, yes, I suppose it is.
Isn’t yours?
Your mother’s?
DAIRNE. God no, haven’t you been in?
SANDRA. No. I met her in the village last time I was over…
DAIRNE. I thought she said that you had called.
SANDRA. No. Should I? I suppose I should.
We… I. I’m rarely home.
DAIRNE. So she says.
SANDRA. Yeah.
I think that that was over a year ago?
When I met her?
DAIRNE. She went crazy after Daddy died – fitted kitchen, designer bathroom, gave the house a total makeover.
SANDRA. Really? Fair play to her.
DAIRNE. There’s that much glass you can see nothing but yourself as you walk up the drive. She’s been glued, you see, to the Nordic dramas…
SANDRA. Has she?
DAIRNE. Went on cruise and all to Oslo. Next thing is a hot tub in the garden.
SANDRA. Right!
DAIRNE. She said you were mad to see me!
SANDRA. Did she?
DAIRNE. Aren’t you?
SANDRA. Yes.
DAIRNE laughs.
DAIRNE. You were never a good liar, Sandra Byrne.
SANDRA. I’m not lying.
It’s great, it is great to see you.
DAIRNE. Mammy saw you arrive in this morning.
SANDRA. Did she? Jesus, I almost forgot how small Glenealy is.
DAIRNE. Never forget how small Glenealy is!
Anyway she insisted that I call…
SANDRA. And I’m glad… I’m glad…
Pause.
DAIRNE. So aren’t you going to say anything?
About me?
SANDRA. You?
DAIRNE. Yes.
SANDRA. No. No, your mother… or someone told me you that you had… transformed.
DAIRNE. Transformed?
SANDRA. Transitioned.
I’m sorry.
But you look amazing.
You do.
DAIRNE. You look good yourself.
SANDRA. Older?
DAIRNE. We’re all older.
SANDRA. So what do I call you now?
DAIRNE. Dairne.
SANDRA. Dairne?
DAIRNE. Yes.
SANDRA. That’s nice.
Not far from David.
DAIRNE. No not far from…
Pause.
SANDRA. Well.
DAIRNE. Well!
SANDRA. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now.
Are you happy?
…Did it hurt?
DAIRNE laughs.
DAIRNE. It’s good to see you, Sandra.
SANDRA. Why?
DAIRNE. I hear you’re doing really well over there… in London.
SANDRA. From who?
DAIRNE. From Mammy of course.
SANDRA. Of course.
Slight pause.
But when did you get back from the States?
DAIRNE. Two years ago.
SANDRA. Really?
DAIRNE. Yes.
SANDRA. For good?
DAIRNE. Yes for good.
I had enough of New York.
SANDRA. Did you.
DAIRNE. Yes. It’s hard.
It can be a hard place.
SANDRA. What did you do over there?
DAIRNE. All sorts.
SANDRA. Theatre?
DAIRNE. Sometimes.
I thought I should come home after Daddy died.
SANDRA. Right.
I see.
Did he ever… your dad… did he ever know that you… transitioned?
DAIRNE. Yes, in a way… though I think he still considered it a phase.
SANDRA (almost laughing). Christ!
DAIRNE. We never got into the mechanics.
SANDRA. No.
DAIRNE. It was easier just to talk on the phone.
SANDRA. But what about when you came home? How did he manage that?
DAIRNE. I didn’t come home. Not for years.
Mammy used to come over to me.
She was delighted at that stage. I was the girl she never had. The two of us used to go off on cruises… Bahamas… or maybe fly down to Florida.
SANDRA. Very nice.
DAIRNE. It was. Girls are much kinder to their mothers apparently.
SANDRA. She’s gas.
DAIRNE. She is.
SANDRA. God when I think of all you had to put up with… all the fuss…
And now you’re here.
DAIRNE. Yes. Now I’m here, large as life, in your front room.