Blue Sky Read online

  Clare Bayley

  Blue Sky

  NICK HERN BOOKS

  London

  www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Original Production

  Characters

  Blue Sky

  About the Author

  Copyright and Performing Rights Information

  Blue Sky was produced by Pentabus Theatre and first performed at the Hampstead Theatre Downstairs on 24 October 2012. The cast was as follows:

  JANE

  Sarah Malin

  RAY

  Jacob Krichefski

  ANA

  Dominique Bull

  MINA

  Manjeet Mann

  Director

  Elizabeth Freestone

  Designer

  Naomi Dawson

  Lighting Designer

  Johanna Town

  Sound Designer

  Adrienne Quartly

  Costume Supervisor

  Chris Cahill

  Characters

  Jane, a woman in her forties

  Ray, a man in his forties

  Ana, Ray’s daughter, late teens

  Mina, a woman, thirties

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Sebastian Born. Purni Morell. Helena Lymbery, and all the actors who took part in workshops at the National Studio. Stephen Grey, and his fascinating book Ghost Plane. Ben Jaffey at Blackstone Chambers. Stephen Lovell-Davis. Mick Sanders, and all the people we talked to at airports and about planes. As always, to Giles Smart at United Agents. To Chris, Felix and Laurie, with love. And above all to Elizabeth Freestone for her inspiration and faith.

  C.B.

  JANE is working at her laptop. She looks up. The sound of planes.

  Scene One

  January 2003. The perimeter fence. RAY is standing watching planes, stamping his feet against the cold. When a plane comes in, he photographs it with a large lens. He has a bag with more equipment in, and other plane-spotters’ kit. JANE enters. She watches RAY for a while, then waits until a plane has just landed, before moving in.

  JANE. Ray!

  RAY. What are you doing here?

  JANE. I phoned the house. Ana said I’d find you here.

  RAY. Has something happened? Your mum…?

  JANE. No, no. I just wanted to look you up.

  RAY. It’s great to see you. Hey.

  What a surprise!

  He tries to give her a kiss – his large lens gets in the way.

  JANE. That’s a very large lens you’ve got there, Ray.

  RAY (embarrassed). Yeah, well – ah, it’s a good one, yes.

  JANE. And what’s all this kit you’ve got here?

  RAY. Oh, that’s just some…

  JANE. This one’s even bigger!

  RAY. Yes, that’s for long-distance shots.

  JANE. What’s with the little ladder?

  RAY. It’s quite useful, to get up above the perimeter fence.

  JANE. Ray, has this plane-spotting thing of yours got a bit out of hand?

  RAY. No, it’s just a…

  If you think this is bad, you should see what some of the blokes have!

  JANE. Really?

  RAY. Oh yes. This is nothing compared to –

  JANE. There’s one coming in now, Ray. Don’t miss it!

  RAY. Never mind that. How are you?

  JANE. But look, Ray. What is it?

  RAY. Yes, that’s a nice little Cessna. I think it’s a Citation Mustang.

  JANE. Something special?

  RAY. They’re about the only one of the very light jets to have an onboard toilet.

  JANE. I’m glad I know that.

  This is some serious equipment you’ve got here, Ray. Even your thermos is massive –

  RAY. You must think I’ve turned into a bit of a –

  JANE. That’s a hell of a thermos, Ray. For an amateur.

  RAY. I do sell some of my pictures, to specialist magazines.

  JANE. Don’t you still work at the garage?

  RAY. I do roadside rescue nowadays. It gives me flexibility.

  JANE. You’re one of those blokes who you call when you break down?

  RAY. Yes. This plane thing is just a hobby, really.

  JANE. This is a funny little place, isn’t it? I never knew it was here.

  RAY. It’s lovely – not like a big international airport. I know all the blokes who work here, it’s very informal. You can get up really close. And if it’s raining I can have a cup of tea with Pete in the control tower.

  JANE. Look – there’s one!

  RAY. Never mind about that. It’s good to see you!

  You look just the same.

  JANE. You’re looking pretty fine yourself, Ray.

  RAY. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on my best anorak.

  JANE (watching the plane). What is that then?

  RAY (lining up his shot in spite of himself). That’s actually an aerobatic plane.

  JANE. How do you know?

  RAY. You see the wings? They go out from the fuselage at ninety degrees. Most small planes have wings at an angle, to give them greater stability.

  JANE. Okay…

  RAY. And this one hasn’t got a nose wheel, just a small tail wheel.

  JANE. Let’s see. You pleased with that picture?

  RAY. Not bad. Nice light.

  JANE. And the tail number is clearly visible.

  RAY. You’ve been doing your homework.

  JANE. The tail number tells you where a plane is registered, right?

  RAY. So suddenly you’re interested in planes?

  JANE. Yes. I am.

  RAY. Get off it.

  JANE. It’s for a story I’m working on.

  RAY. Oh. I see.

  JANE. I’ve got a hunch that planes are going to be part of the puzzle.

  RAY. Right.

  A beat.

  That’s why you came to see me?

  JANE. Kind of.

  RAY. And I thought it was because of my pretty face.

  JANE. That’s always an added bonus with you, Ray.

  RAY. You’re a heartless bitch, Jane Simonds. So you’re still at the newspaper?

  JANE. No. No, I’m freelance now.

  RAY. I thought that was a plum job.

  JANE. I quit.

  RAY. Jane…?

  JANE. My editor didn’t want to send me on the stories I wanted to do. Investigative journalism is falling apart, Ray. Nobody has the budget any more.

  So I thought, sod it.

  I’ll go freelance.

  RAY. How’s that working out then?

  JANE. I’m going to break this story on my own.

  Then they’ll beg me to come back. And I’ll be able to dictate my terms.

  RAY. Yeah? What’s the story?

  JANE. I’m still working on that bit.

  RAY (laughing). I see.

  JANE. The tail number – is it an international thing? Does it tell you where a plane comes from anywhere in the world?

  RAY. I’m fine. Ana’s fine. Thanks for asking.

  JANE. Sorry, Ray.

  How about I come round for dinner? We can catch up.

  RAY. What – tonight? Now?

  JANE. Why not? I’d love to see Ana. She sounds like a grown-up.

  RAY. She is. She’s doing a degree in Media Studies – she’s just home for the Christmas holidays.

  JANE. God! That counts as a degree now, does it? Why doesn’t she just get a job on the Western Daily Press, like I did?

  RAY. It’d be good for her to talk to you. The voice of experience.

  JANE. And you can give me a crash course in plane-spotting.

  RAY. I’m not a plane-spotter.

  JANE. Oh no, of course not.
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  Just – some of your best friends are.

  RAY. Go on then. I’ll cook you supper, and then you can come up and have a look at my flight logs.

  JANE. Now there’s an offer.

  RAY leaves. JANE thinks she sees a figure or figures in the shadows.

  Scene Two

  That night, at RAY’s. RAY bringing food to the table. JANE pours wine.

  JANE. Funny being in this house again. That conker tree – it’s massive now. It’s a proper tree.

  RAY. When Mum died, I couldn’t bear to sell the house.

  JANE. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I was abroad.

  RAY. I appreciated your letter.

  JANE. She was good to me, your mum. Remember that night, when I ran here all the way from our house? It seemed such a long way down that lane in the pitch dark. But it’s not so far really.

  RAY. How are things – with your mum?

  JANE. The Home’s great. She’s off my hands. Thank Christ.

  RAY. I should visit her.

  JANE. She won’t know who you are. She doesn’t know who I am.

  RAY. I’m sorry.

  JANE. I’ve got to clear out the house. I’ve left it long enough, but now I’m freelance, I need the money, frankly.

  RAY. You could live there. We could be neighbours again.

  JANE. Are you kidding? I need the city now. I need twenty-four-hour corner shops and a mobile-phone signal that doesn’t cut out when you go into the hall. Out here you could just cease to exist.

  Nobody can hear you scream.

  ANA enters, carrying laptop.

  ANA. Hi.

  RAY. Here you are, Ana. This is –

  JANE. I’m Jane. I think you were about two last time I saw you.

  RAY. No – there was one time you came down, Ana must have been about five then.

  JANE. That’s right – you told me you wanted to be a barmaid when you grew up.

  ANA. That dream came true – I’m working at The Plough.

  JANE. The Plough?

  ANA. It’s the pub in the village. I do a bit of cash-in-hand there.

  JANE. I used to work at The Plough.

  ANA. Seriously?

  JANE. It was a terrible dive. Do you still have to run the hot tap over the frozen prawns to make prawn cocktail?

  ANA. They don’t do food. Well, except for scratchings and crisps.

  JANE. Just as well, probably.

  ANA. It’s just a holiday job. I’m studying journalism.

  JANE. Being a barmaid would probably have been a more sensible career choice.

  RAY. Jane!

  ANA. Dad showed me some of your articles.

  RAY. I always look out for your byline.

  ANA. I’ve always wanted to write.

  JANE. It seems weird to me that journalism’s a degree. But I’m old-school. At least it gets you away from here.

  ANA. I like it here.

  JANE. Once I got away I never looked back.

  ANA. I wouldn’t abandon Dad.

  JANE. I suppose you can study. No distractions.

  ANA. I’ve got a blog.

  ANA opens her laptop to show JANE.

  JANE. Oh God! Now everyone’s got their own blog, editors can just fill their pages with that kind of crap for free and nobody has to actually know anything. They just have to have an opinion.

  ANA closes her laptop.

  ANA. Online journalism is a way for the truth to get out when it wouldn’t otherwise.

  JANE. Bullshit!

  RAY. Jane!

  JANE. Well, how do we know what’s the truth when it’s completely anecdotal and unattributable?

  ANA. What about the Baghdad blogger? Do you read him?

  JANE. How do I know who he is? He could be a Saddam stoodge. He could be some little fantasist sitting in Telford making it all up.

  RAY. I’m sure you can argue –

  ANA. Okay so where are the journalists covering Iraq right now? They’re all embedded with the army. We’re going to get a really impartial, balanced view from them, aren’t we?

  RAY. I suppose Jane has a point – and you won’t get paid for blogging.

  ANA. It’s not all about money, Dad!

  JANE. It is if you’re trying to earn a living.

  ANA. The future of journalism’s going to be more democratic, and web-based. Ordinary citizens can –

  JANE. Citizen journalism is just another name for unverified, unresourced –

  ANA. What if twenty people all give eyewitness reports of the same incident?

  JANE. That can corroborate a well-researched, well-written –

  ANA. And what if the proprietor of the newspaper doesn’t want to publish that well-researched piece? What if the editor is taken out to lunch by powerful interests –

  JANE. You’re talking about eyewitness accounts.

  But who’s going to find out about the things that nobody sees? That nobody even knows are happening?

  ANA. Sure. The trouble is, people like me don’t tend to buy newspapers. They want information online.

  I’ve got to go now I’m afraid.

  She gets up, clears her plate. Starts texting.

  RAY. Now?

  ANA (texting). Yes, there’s a party – I’ll be back late.

  RAY. That’s a shame, I thought –

  ANA (texting). Sorry, Dad.

  RAY. Perhaps, Jane, you could…

  JANE. Yes – if I can help. I don’t know. Let me know.

  ANA. Thanks. I’m taking the car, Dad.

  RAY. Okay. Drive carefully.

  ANA. Have a look at my blog, anyway.

  JANE. What’s it called? I’ll take a look.

  ANA. What’s your email address?

  JANE. Just write it down – here.

  She gives ANA a paper napkin and a pen. ANA writes it down on the napkin. JANE pockets it.

  ANA. See you later.

  RAY. Bye, love.

  JANE waves. ANA leaves.

  Jesus, Jane. I only wanted you to give her a bit of encouragement.

  JANE. Sorry. But you’ve got to be realistic.

  RAY. She’s just a kid.

  JANE. She’ll do well. She came right back at me. She’s got spirit.

  RAY. Oh yes, no shortage of that.

  JANE. Like her mum?

  What’s wrong?

  RAY. Oh – I worry.

  JANE. What about?

  RAY. Everything! Drugs. Nasty boyfriends. Pregnancy.

  JANE. Ray! She’s an adult.

  RAY. She never talks to me any more. She spends all her time on her bloody laptop.

  JANE. Don’t worry!

  RAY. You get paranoid. You read an article, ten ways to tell if your child’s on drugs. And then you start seeing the clues in everything she does.

  JANE. Are you really worried about drugs?

  RAY. No. But if you stare too hard at anything, you start seeing things that aren’t there.

  JANE. Except in my case. When they are there – I just can’t see them.

  RAY. When we were kids, our parents got to know what we were up to – friends had to phone the house or call round. Now it all goes on texts. Beep of a text. Rattle of the keyboard. Headphones on.

  Switching screens when you try and snatch a look.

  JANE. If you’re that curious, Ray, why don’t you just have a look? This is it, is it – her laptop?

  RAY. I couldn’t do that.

  JANE. Don’t you know her password?

  RAY. I mean, I just couldn’t.

  JANE. If it put your mind at rest…

  RAY. I’d feel bad.

  JANE. Want me to do it for you?

  RAY. What?!

  JANE. Just a quick look. Check her browsing history.

  RAY. I’m not going to do that – I’m not that cheap!

  JANE. Fair enough. Just offering.

  So what is it with the planes, Ray?

  RAY. Why do I like them?

  JANE. Yeah.
r />   RAY. I think it’s the sheer beauty of the technology.

  JANE. The engines, or the design?

  RAY. Everything. They look so purposeful, even on the ground. But then when they’re in the air –

  JANE. You wish you were flying them?

  RAY. No – it’s just the noise, and the power –

  JANE. Would you like to own one?

  RAY. I’d never be able to afford it.

  JANE. Look but don’t touch?

  RAY. When you see something really amazing, like a Vulcan, say – it just makes you feel… you want to go over and hug them. Sometimes it makes me want to cry.

  JANE. Blimey, Ray.

  RAY. I was driving back from a job once. It was late, almost dusk on a beautiful, summer evening. I decided to go past that little airfield.

  So I was driving down this country road, right next to the runway. All the cow parsley was in flower, the swallows were skimming through the trees, there was a clear sky, the light was beautiful, kind of violet – and suddenly I heard this roar. I pulled over and a Vulcan came right over my head, massive and dark in the half-light, with its distinctive delta wing, like a moth – like a giant, roaring metal moth.

  Honestly, I stood there watching, and there were tears running down my cheeks.

  JANE (moved). Wow.

  RAY. Yeah.

  JANE. What’s a Vulcan doing in a little airfield like that? They’re the ones they used in the Falklands War, aren’t they?

  RAY. The military use it as well, from time to time.

  JANE. I’ve got this tail number, Ray. And I want to find out where the plane went. Who owns it. Stuff like that.

  RAY. Why are you interested in this plane?

  JANE. Not for the reasons you are. How would I find that out?

  RAY. People post all the flights on websites. All the info’s out there, if you know where to find it.

  JANE. Seriously?

  He goes to his computer.

  How do they do it?

  RAY. With scanners.

  JANE. What kind of scanners?

  RAY. Hand-held devices. Like this one.

  He shows her his scanner.

  They read the ACARS signal. You download the data onto your computer and it tells you the flight plan, arrival and departure reports, the tail number – sometimes you can even hear the pilot talking to the control tower.

  JANE. And they allow that?

  RAY. There’s nothing illegal about it.