Thorne - Bunny

Bunny was first performed at Underbelly Cowgate as part of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, on 5 August 2010, performed by Rosie Wyatt, and directed by Joe Murphy.

The production subsequently toured the UK from June 2011 before a run at Soho Theatre, London, in October 2011.

For Teresa Topolski

KATIE, eighteen

Okay, its hot.

And Im late leaving school because of orchestra practice.

And Abe. Sort of my boyfriend, sort of my not, is sitting waiting on the wall by the school gate. Because, you know, we dont get much time together and so walking home is sort of a thing with us.

Alright, he says, without smiling. On the wall. Shoulders hunched.

Alright.

I play clarinet. Not well. But Im carrying my clarinet case because of orchestra practice and my bag. Abe is not carrying anything because hes not at the school. Hes a bit older. Twenty-four. He works in the offices at Vauxhall. 8 til 4 so that works, fits, with my school day. Hes good-looking. Well. Hes also black.

Not that that I just never know how to bring that up.

I didnt bring that up with my parents for ages until he came round and I could see they were surprised. And then later I heard them talking in the kitchen and they said Mum said I knew Abe was a funny name, I told you thered be something about him. Not that theyre they read the Guardian. And we live next door to some Iranians and they come round all the time. Or they could. The Harandis.

Anyway, were walking. Hand in hand. Which is okay but Ive got my shoulder bag on and my clarinet, so Im having to have them both on the right-hand side while holding hands with him on the left. And theyre sort of too big and banging against my hip as we walk. Not that I have hips.

Sometimes we have quite a bit to say to each other. Hes not much of a talker, but he can talk. But today its hot and I think hes had quite a hard day, so thats He doesnt like his job. Because of the people he works with mainly. He works in the office. He likes the people who work in the factory down below, but office people just arent his people.

He told me once my parents were sort of like the people who work in the office, but Im more factory It was a compliment.

Anyway, Im sort of talking for us both about the spots between my shoulder blades because Im classy and about my A levels because and about orchestra because Ive just been in orchestra and its sometimes quite funny and Im jabbering but thats okay because Abes pretty zoned-out.

You want an ice cream? He says. Interrupting a particularly interesting thing about how someone put a tampon up Suzy Brinsteads flute. For jokes. When we did this thing in Bedford.

What?

You want an ice cream? I really need to up my sugar or something, you want an ice cream? He means blood sugar and he knows he does, but hed never use a phrase like blood sugar because it sounds too posh. Were walking past the newsagent. Hes had a thought.

No. Im not doing sweets at the moment. I say, smiling, while the whiteheads on my back nod in agreement.

Youll have a bite of mine though? He says. Hopefully. Or And I nod and just like that he dislocates from my hand and disappears inside the shop.

And I think and then follow him in.

I always like shops. I like the feeling of everything being available. For a price. I think if I owned a shop, Id just spend ages staring at all my stuff. I went through a stage, about three years ago, four years ago, of shoplifting and the trouble was I never shoplifted anything I used I shoplifted cleaning equipment and things like that.

I kept it.

I didnt use it.

So when my dad caught me I still had everything stacked neatly inside my cupboard tins of Pledge and posh Brillo Pads and we went round to every place and gave them their stuff back I remembered which store each was from which is psycho and Dad asked in every place if they wanted to press charges.

None of them did.

Anyway, I just linger as Abe he roots through this freezer cabinet for his ice creams he takes ages to make up his mind and Im all as I linger well, I could nick them J-cloths and no one would notice. My whole lifes a hazard. And this kid Duncan who I know from school is stacking boxes in the back. So I go over to him to take my mind off the J-cloths and say Alright but he doesnt say nothing back and Im trying to think if I did anything to him and think maybe he was one of those I puked on at the school disco at Christmas. Long story. So I leave that. And then I leave the shop partly to get away from the J-cloths and partly to let Duncan know he hasnt phased me and partly to let Abe know he needs to make up his mind about which flavour Cornetto he wants. Because I wont wait for ever. Though I will probably. And he waited for me outside school so

Pause.

Weve been together six months, well, five-and-a-half and having sex for the last four months.

He was my first. Which makes me later than most I know.

Id blown quite a few. More than a few actually. I blew so many that I almost got the nickname of Balloon Girl. Someone tried to start it. Didnt hold. Which is good. For some reason I am the sort of person people have nicknames for. My nickname for ages was Fish. Because well, I dont even know why my nickname was Fish But one time, at a parents evening, Im with my mum and Jade, a friend, sort of a friend, a friend you know shouts across Fish, you alright? And Im all Yeah. And my mum was sniffing all the car journey home and sat me down that night and asked me whether I had a yeast infection. I think I ended up telling her I was called it because I liked swimming.

No. Lots of blowjobs. Vaginal sex saved for best. Or something

Hes not particularly big. So thats a myth.

He comes out of the shop and we start walking again. Hes got an ice cream so we dont hold hands. Though why you need two hands to hold an ice cream and not two hands to hold a clarinet and a shoulder bag and you know Well

He doesnt say anything. And Im not babbling so much. So it is more then, bang

Wed not walked five metres, him licking, me not talking which I wish is the story of my life but it isnt and a kid on a bike comes past and knocks his ice cream out of his hand. And Abe in the confusion of the moment kicks out in anger at the loss of the ice cream and in the kick kicks the kids wheels and sends him sprawling onto the road.

We go from nought to sixty without me even noticing. Ice cream on the floor. Kick. Kid on the floor. Abe standing looking at his dead ice cream.

Its the kid still laying on the street that speaks first. Fuck dyou do that for?

And its his tone or something. But this riles Abe who says My fucking ice cream, you knocked my fucking ice cream.

So you kicked me off my bike, you fuck?

No. No. I lost my balance.

The kid. Well, I say kid, hes a man. Just a young one. My age. Maybe. Unruly hair. Slight moustache. Dressed like a Tintin fan. Hes scrawny, but well defined, you know? The sort of kid whos been doing press-ups since he was fifteen in the hope of getting a girlfriend but with the sense he never will. He picks up his bike and walks over towards us.

You kicked me off my bike. Into middle of road. You fuck.

Hes Northern. Hes one of those Northern Asians. Not Northern Asian. As in from Northern Asia. Wheres Northern Asia? Asias Asia, right? No. Just Bradford or whatever. Again. I dont know how to bring up the whole race thing Its a conundrum, that one.