Harris - Sugar Baby

Alan Harris SUGAR BABY NICK HERN BOOKS London www.nickhernbooks.co.uk ContentsSugar Baby was first produced by Dirty Protest as part of Wales in Edinburgh with the support of Chapter, the Arts Council of Wales, Wales Arts International and British Council Wales. It was first performed on 4 August 2017 in Paines Ploughs Roundabout @ Summerhall, at Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2017. The cast was as follows: Alex Griffin-Griffiths

Director	Catherine Paskell
Lighting Designer	Ace McCarron
Sound Designer	Dan Lawrence
Assistant Producer	Glesni Price-Jones
Stage Manager	Emily Butler
Marketing Consultant	Rhian Lewis

Note on Play One actor plays all the characters. Italics are for real-time dialogue. Narrative dialogue is not in italics. A dash on its own line () indicates a pause for thought. This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed. Prologue I try not to act on impulse.

But I cant help it. Which, to be fair, is the problem with impulse. Or the problem with me. Ill start again. I acted on impulse. I was sitting on a bus stop waiting for the 61 minding my own when I sees a girl standing in the middle of Fairwater Road with a Beamer coming towards her.

I gets up, sprints the six yards and grabs her out of the road. Impulse gets you into trouble. The sort of trouble that leads to Vicci Park, murder, going on the run and Billy the Seal. Seriously theres a seal in this story. The thing thats always held me back is sharing Ive always hated it. Like when youre out and theres other people there and they say: shall we get something to share? No I wants my own plate of food.

Sharing is dangerous ground. I once told someone that once once mind you I played with a Wendy house with my cousin in Malpas, little Justine, and every times I sees him now they says, this person I told, they says Hows it going, Wendy? Ive always had a vision that Im, like, some kind of lone wolf I know. And that Im really in a movie Im the central character, obviously. Aright, my story is a bit crappy and dirty and set in Fairwater and not LA and I feels a bit of a bell-end because people like me are not supposed to have a story. But, anyway, thats a load of shit. What I want to tell you about is what happened on August 18th last year.

The story, really, starts before I save a girl from being run over by a Beamer. About thirty-seven minutes before. Im sitting in Oggys. Sweating. Is not a bad day outside but hes got the heating cranked right up. Im sweating so much my bollocks is damp, you know? Part One I wants cash off Oggy.

Six thousand pounds to be exact. As I sits in Oggys front room The waiting room. The same thoughts come into my head: Dont fuck this up. Dont fuck this up. As mantras go its not a great one. Not very positive.

I likes to think of myself as a positive guy. Thats why I grew a moustache. Not a great moustache but there it is. I felt it would distinguish me from the crowd. Really. Its 10.27 a.m.

I look up to see Gary in the doorway. Mos behind as they both cant fit in the doorway together. Mo has to talk over Garys shoulder: Aright, sunshine, Oggy will see you now. I works as a drug dealer in Fairwater. Its a drugs cooperative. Theres six equal shares. Everyone grows separate and then pools the gear.

Then if anyone gets arrested, no biggie. You gets done but you still get a sixth of the profits. You dont get as much cash as independents but it takes the risks out of the game. Makes sense yeah? Im pulling down, most weeks, about two hundred quid. I know, not exactly Pablo Escobar but it keeps me going. Just.

I grows my gear behind Stannies house. In a greenhouse. I puts in fake tomatoes and no ones any the wiser. Serious.
The price of toms has gone up recently which is a fucking blow. Stannie is a little shy, what with his actual job being a fence for stolen goods. Serious. Serious.

After Celia (who you will meet later), left it was just me and my dad, Mark, living opposite Fairwater Fish Bar, you knows? The red-brick flats? Celia lived there till I was fourteen. If you go up the top of the road, you can see right over the city see the Principality Stadium and down, beyond that Cardiff Bay. Its that close. I dont call him Dad, I calls him Mark or the old man. My dad Marks Mark is a traditional one with a K and when him and Celia had me they thought theyd name their boy after Mark but give it a modern twist. My Marc is with a C.

Thas a modern twist in Fairwater. Sitting in Oggys front room Im thinking: Dont fuck this up. Dont fuck this up. Like my life depends on it. Only its not my life that depends on it. With a K. With a K.

Oggy is a twat. A twat with cash. He suffers from the desire that a lot of men round here suffers with a desire to never be a disappointment to himself. Recently theres been this thing about Wonga clamping down and for many its a nightmare you just cant get through the week to get food. And, believe it or not, Oggys rates are actually cheaper than Wonga or Tangerine or whatever the fuck company. So there is a lie that loan sharks are exploitative.

There is also a stereotype that if you cant pay, loan sharks come round your house and fuck you up. That bit is true. Not Oggy personally he couldnt punch his way out of a Clarks pie but Gary and Mo would. So Im in Oggys thinking: Dont fuck this up and then its my turn. Oggy could have afforded a proper office but made his clients come to his house; something about lording it over your fellow man, you know? For some reason, I thinks thats why hes got the heating on on a nice day. Oggys taken the gangster thing to heart.

And is now playing his part. He has a tattoo of him and Beyonc in bed together, wrapped in silk sheets, on his neck. When he speaks the vein in his neck moves and Beyonc starts to jiggle back and forth. What a twat. I goes through. Oggys done the back room out like a quaint pub, complete with pool table.

He waves his pool cue at a bar stool where I perches like a parrot with one leg. Fucking shaky. When I goes to speak I just got to ask him why the heatings on Oggy stops me with an imperious wave of his cue. Hows it going, Wendy?When we was in school, Marc was in all the top sets, wasnt you, Wendy? Gary and Mo do the laugh-along thing, even though they must know hes a complete cockstain too. Remember when we went to Rachel Pattersons party, brah? Every time I meets Oggy its the same stories or a version of them. He came in his pants even before he got to stick it in her. Did I mention he was a twat? I gives Oggy my pitch Ill get straight into it as I knows youre a busy man, blah blah fucking blah. He came in his pants even before he got to stick it in her. Did I mention he was a twat? I gives Oggy my pitch Ill get straight into it as I knows youre a busy man, blah blah fucking blah.

Oggy actually plays a few shots while hes pretending to think about the proposal and then stops and gives it the two-hands-onthe-edge-of-the-table-lean-forward-Im-going-to-be-earnest shit. He gives it a second before Beyonc starts to move her ass. You wants me to lend you six thousand pounds so you can give it to your old man so that he can pay back a debt that he already owes me? In a fucking nutshell. Are you insane? Ill be no better off.Ill owe you instead of the old man owing you.But Ill still be owed the same amount. Can see hes grasped the concept I tells him I can see hes grasped the concept.