National Theatre Live: Death of England - Delroy (2020) - full transcript

ANNOUNCEMENT ON PA:
Keep your social/racial distance, please.

Keep your social/racial distance, please.

– Keep your social/racial distance, please.
– ♪ Rule Britannia

♪ Britannia rule the waves

♪ Britain never, never, never
shall be slaves...

...Keep your social/racial distance, please.

♪ .. Britannia rule the waves

– Keep your social/racial distance...
– ♪.. never, never, never shall be slaves

Keep your social/racial distance...

♪ .. Britannia rule the waves

♪ Britain, never, never, never
shall be slaves



– ♪ Rule, Britannia
– Keep your social/racial distance...

♪ Britannia rule the waves

♪ Britain never, never, never
shall be slaves ♪

- – Make sure.
- –

It was as if things weren't bad enough.

It was the punch in Punch and Judy,
the real in surreal.

I mean, like, I didn't know,
understand, get how twisted,

corked, mashup life can be already.

They were gonna take my dignity, too.

My dignity, man! Yeah, yeah,
I weren't gonna let him know that.

I weren't gonna give him,
them the pleasure. Though to be fair...

...he... he was nice, yeah.

Well, as you can be,
in the circumstances, considering.

I mean like, he could never have known
the size of the crater on my heart.



I mean, he had as shit a job
as mine, I guess.

So, so, so maybe I should just enjoy the
fact I had a white man doing a Kaepernick.

I am guessing that everyone knows
what I'm on about?

Colin Kaepernick.

You'd have to be the biggest tosser
in the world not to know, right? Huh?

You'd have to have your head
so stuck up your privilege not to know.

You would need Nelson Mandela

to rise from the dead and twerk, naked

on the finish line at Ascot

to actually see that Black people exist.

So, so, so he's kneeling there,
yeah, in front of me.

Yeah? And he's telling me,
showing me, explaining

how I'm gonna have to manage this shit.

And even though it's killing me,
all I can think of is her.

Her!

Her.

Who is she? Where is she? Is she OK?

But I have to engage, but I keep
drifting off, thinking about her.

Wanting to hold her, to smell her.

Then he says the word 'breach'.

'You... You... You'll be in breach.'

My mind wip pans to his will.

I'll... I'll breach?

'Yeah, yeah, yeah. And that can lead to...
Well, it's like you're fucked!

'They could bang you up for that.'

I nodded, like a schoolboy
being a chastised by his headmaster.

He could see my ego
sliding off under the door.

And in an attempt to lighten the mood,

he then asked...

'What do you do?'
Now...

I paused to try and work out
if he was the right kind of person to tell.

Noticing my reticence,

he looked down to my ankle, clicked it
in place thoughtfully and then asked,

'All right, all right. Er...
What's the funniest thing about your job?'

And I just go into one.

Must have been the nerves,
the anger, the shame.

Yeah. Yeah! The shame!
The utter shame of it all.

'The surprise!' I said, as he stood up
and plugged it into the wall.

'The surprise, yeah. I think some people
think they're kind of untouchable.

'They're not untouchable,
just that it won't go that wrong for them

'until we bailiffs turn up
and rattle their cage!

'Yeah, bruv, we bailiffs turn up
and shatter that shit good.

'Yes! The look on their faces!

'It's like all their facial muscles
just give up,

'like some 100-year-old man's scrotum,

'all lifeless and southbound.'

He goes over to his bag
and starts packing his stuff up,

but still keeping eye contact with me,
like he's fully engaged, interested,

when he must've been dying for me
to shut the fuck up.

'Every time the same shit, like it's some
kind of surprise. They haven't paid!

'The rent, the mortgage or whatever.

'They haven't paid! So where's the fucking
surprise? It cracks me up. Here's the rub.

'If there are no evictions,
I don't get paid.

'And if I don't get paid,
I'm not a good member of society, right?

'That's capitalism, ain't it?
Or consumerism, one of the two.

'Someone has to pay in order for me
to live rich. That's British values, no?

'We're in it together!'

Then I start telling him about Michael.

'We're in it together. That's what Michael
gives it. "We're in it together, Delroy."

'He says, white guy.
Yeah, I've known him since school.

'My best friend, to be honest.
But it's been on the ropes, the friendship.

'He mugged me right off
a while back and well,

'they hate the fact that I do this job,
it goes against... I dunno, really, but...'

'Whoa! It takes about a hour
and half to charge.

'You can use the portable one
if you don't want to stand there with it.'

He says without taking a breath,
in case I start popping off again.

But now, I'm on a roll.

'And my daughter! Born now.
I haven't even seen her.

'They've made no effort
to make things right.'

It came like vomit from deep inside of me,
unannounced and visceral as fuck.

'No effort! None of them!
They didn't even come to court!'

'Er... I-I gotta go, mate.'

His knitted brow making it clear
he had the arse with me now.

'Er, remember,
if it bleeps you are in breach.

'So keep it charged, right?'

I nodded again,
like the schoolboy from before.

'Er, charge it every day. Right.'

And with that he was gone,
like some CIA operative.

I mean, all he needed was a plume of smoke
and I would have thought I'd imagined it.

And then I looked down at it.

My tag, my fucking tag and laughed.

[♪ 'Cornerstone' by Benjamin Clementine']

♪ I'm alone In a box of stone

♪ When all is said
And done... ♪

– – Fuck off, man!

To be honest, though, I didn't gave a fuck
who it was we evicted.

Black.
White. Indian. Chinese. European.

Though, er...
that's still white, though, right?

You see, sometimes,
I found that shit funny, too.

Whites hating whites
cos they've got a different accent.

Funny, bwoy!

When they know, unlike us Blacks,

if they breed here, their kids
are considered more English then me,

who's got generations of Britishness.

But that's being British, though, innit?

Well, that's what works for most of us,

apart from that lot, the kumbaya lot,

who just love to march
while singing and partying.

Black lives matter! Black lives matter!
Thinking they're gonna make changes.

Jokers!

Fucking rug! Yeah.

Fuck that! I'm staying right here!

Yeah, earn my corn, get a nice car,
lickle flat.

Big flat-screen TV and I'm set.

Fuck that! Fuck them!
Fuck Michael, Carly, all of them.

Island mentality, innit?

All that European shit,
it doesn't connect with me, man.

As long as my taxes ain't too high,
why should I care?

Huh? No one... No one...
No one cares about me.

Nah. Ain't no European Union

questioning police stop and search figures
on Black people here.

Checking up on our Black deaths in custody,

Black mental health figures.

Ain't no European law on that, is there?

He's cussing me out at his dad's funeral
for voting Brexit. 'We're in it together.'

– – Look at this fucking tag!

In it together? I'm just doing as British
do, innit? Looking out for my own.

Cos I'm as European is a dim fucking sum.

I'll tell you what, though.

If I hadn't lost my job,
I'd be busy like rass now, though.

Everybody bruc!

Coulda mad some Ps, mate.

Everybody bruc like, oh, what's his name?
Did the Spike Lee films back in the day.

Thought tax was beneath him, or something.

Come on, all you cultured folk.

Spike Lee films?
Thought tax was beneath him? Someone?

– Wesley Snipes.
– Who said that? You're a bad bwoy!

– – Wesley Snipes.

See, a lot of people that thought
their shit didn't stink

are gonna be feeling it now, yeah!

Yeah, I'm still gonna have
to bail out Carly, I bet.

Yeah, all that shit she said to me.

That's all gonna be forgotten.
All water under the bridge.

Yeah, yeah, all big-time sorries, yeah,
because she needs me.

Well, she can go fuck herself!

Leaving me on me tod.

Couldn't even come to court, man.

But she's getting through.

I hear, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Whole new her, her mum tells me.

Changed for ever.

But she's got family helping her
get through.

And I've got Guinness Original
Extra Stout, dark and lively.

Don't worry.
Look, I don't expect you to be on my side.

Yeah? Bailiffs don't engender
much sympathy.

And a Black one? Well, that's
a Black Lives Matter march too many!

Just fucking off-key, right?

- – But Carly. Oh, man! She's a...
- –

She's... She's... She's...

She's a trip. Yeah, she's my, er...

Well, I'm not sure any more.

It's complicated. It's always been
complicated, right from the off.

She's my best friend's sister.

Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Michael's sister?
Carly Fletcher?

Their dad was Alan Fletcher
with the twist-up lips.

Used to own the Fletcher flower stall
on Hermit Road? Died a couple of years ago?

Well, let me tell you
about Carly first, yeah?

But they should all come
with a government health warning,

and are highly addictive
and, it must be said, a good craic!

But she... She's...
I don't know. It's chemistry, innit?

Some people, it don't matter
what they look like, know what I mean?

You know what I mean.
Look, no offence, yeah?

But... Well, look.

It's like they make you want to go
deep sea diving, yeah?

Where breathing ain't easy
and you very well may drown

but you can't help but want to dive in
again and again and again.

You feel me?

– [♪ Theme to 'Test Match Special']
– My mum... [CHUCKLES]

My mum can't stand the girl.
Well, that's not entirely true.

You see, it wasn't that
she didn't like white people.

She was a care attendant!

A care attendant?

In the current climate? Yeah?

Come on! Fucking hell!

She worked with loads, looked after loads
and loads of her mates were white.

But I think... I think she wanted me
to have a Black girlfriend.

Like her, I guess.

I think she just thought, after all
the years of pain we suffer from them,

all the mistreatment, the disrespect,
all the centuries of colonialism,

that I should want to date someone
that understood that.

You know?
That got it, that knew it, that felt it.

And, bwoy, did she let me know it?!

Her?' 'Yes.' 'Her?' she said,
sipping on the Wray & Nephew for fuel.

'Yes, Mum!'

'But she can't cook jerk chicken.'

She slammed that one down
like a winning domino.

'She can't cook pasta!'

'Fried dumpling? Ackee and salt-fish?
Plantain? My Jamaican patties?'

'Mum, this isn't MasterChef, you know!'

'All the pretty Black girls out there
and you want a...?'

'I like her!' I pleaded weakly.
'And you want a white gal?'

'No, Mum. I don't just want a white gal.'

'You want her?'
'Yes. Yes, I do.'

'Her daddy is a...'
'I know.'

She then leaned over me so close

her 9-carat gold Nefertiti head around
her neck tapped me on the forehead...

...annoyingly.

'..A racist!'

It landed like a stink bomb
staining the whole room.

'I know!'

'So what di 'ell you playing at?'
'I like her.'

'She's not gonna know why
you don't like your hair being touched.'

'I could tell her! Look, Mum, I get ya.

'I like her. She's mouthy and messy.'
'And arrogant.'

'Yeah. But she's trying to be better.'
'Really?'

'Yeah. And she's funny, makes me laugh,
and so curious about stuff. I don't know.

'We're not getting married,
we're not having kids! We're just dating.'

'Her daddy know?'
'No.'

She kissed her teeth so loudly I thought
the glass she was holding might smash.

I knew she was right.
What the fuck was I playing at?

I was selling out. I was being a coconut.
I was...

But I liked her kisser!

First time we kissed...

No, no. It wasn't romantic,
no, not in a normal way.

But, well, I do remember it fondly, yeah.

Let me tell you, yeah?
I was walking home from school.

Yeah?

I just got off the 58, yeah?

I was about to step to turn down Regis Road
and there she was.

Now, she'd clearly bunked off
the last period or something

because she'd ditched our school uniform

and was now sporting one of those grey,
low-slung jogging hug-me-batty-tight pants!

Yeah, you know them, right?
And a Lycra sports top

that if she wasn't 15, she'd only
get away with on a nudist beach.

So, she comes up to me, all bossy with
her white gal, road gal stance and says.

'I hear once you've had a Black
you never look back.'

Now, I know that was
a pretty shit thing to say

and my heart rate and my pulse rate made
damn sure to me that I didn't like it, too.

So I lean my head slightly,

screwed up my face like I'd smelled
something rough,

and I was just about
to fling some lyrics in her head,

when I felt her hand resting
softly on my inner thigh.

I then registered her pupils enlarge in
her green eyes like my house cat on heat.

Now, I was 15,

so touching me there was like pressing
the button on Jack-in-the-box.

Actually, to be honest, you only had to be
was a girl with a pulse to climb my summit,

in those days, with my heart rate competing
with Goldie for beats per minute already.

By the time she leaned in to kiss me...

...I'd forgotten what she'd said!

'I had to get your attention, somehow,
didn't I? I didn't mean anything by it.'

She said, coming up for air,

with her little finger on the edge
of my Calvin Klein boxers.

No, no. There were no tongues involved.

Just tender young lips pressing together.

Blissful, mate.
I've been hooked ever since.

I know it's a bit Stockholm syndrome,
but what can I say.

It comes to something, innit, when your own
mother ain't even on your side.

Not that I was expecting much
from her anyhow,

considering she loved to give me
the arsehole day and night

about what I did for a living.

Like it was my fault some people couldn't
to pay their bills or get out of debt.

My mum has never been in debt.

She never had a credit card
till she was, um... 33.

Yeah, see our family were bruc,
like most families are,

but we were never poor, see –
Mum made sure of that.

Never was there a day
when there was no food on the table.

So, if Mum could handle her finances,
why can't others?

When I wanted the bike that Michael had
when we were kids,

if she couldn't afford it,
it was no, end of discussion.

Make more of it, you get a slap
round your head for your troubles.

My mum's slaps were premium, I no lie!

So, even though we'd disagree,
I'd still see where she is coming from.

So, why was it so hard
for her to do the same for me?

To understand it from my point of view?
She's my mum, right?

They're meant to understand yer, no?

See, it hurts when they don't,
she's cut me a few times,

but when she sided with them over me...

Well, no. It wasn't actually sided.
She just kinda...

She just kinda mugged me off,
in front of people, too.

This is how it went down, yeah?

Jog on, you muppet!

I just come from a job. Some mug fucked it
right up for himself by not paying his tax.

Yeah, I got that a lot, like they're
exempt. No sympathy from me, nada!

So we got all that shit ready to go,
laptop, fridge, flatscreen, all loaded up,

when I turn on my phone.

I don't like to have it on
when I'm working.

Well, actually I was cool about it, it's
just that I had a new boy working for me

whose parents
had the nerve to call him Elvis!

Imagine! Moroccan fella, too.
Bet he loved that, right?

'Cheers, Mum, blinding, Dad.
Thanks for calling me Elvis.

'11 years of bullying at school
right there. Uh-huh! Uh-huh!'

Anyhow, I like to give it time with them,
you know?

'Do as I say. Watch and learn.
Phones off when you're working!'

I take my time, and as soon as I start to
I feel the love, I relax the rules a bit.

Yeah? Anyhow, the van is loaded up.

We are en route to our next gig.
Elvis is driving, doing as he's told.

So, fuck it, I thought!
I turn on my phone.

19 voice mails!

18 from Carly's mum giving me
the arsehole, wanting to know where I am.

So I call her straight back.

'Where the fuck have you been?'
'Eh?'

I said,
wishing I hadn't put in on loud speaker.

'What you got a bloody mobile for
if you ain't gonna use it?'

Elvis turns his face to the side but I
could see his cheeks bulging with laughter.

'Er... Mrs Fletcher.'
'I told you not to call me that!'

'Sorry, Maggie. What is it? Is Carly OK?'
'Haven't you heard your messages?'

'I called you back I saw your calls.'
'Which you didn't answer.'

I don't know how words were getting through
her jaw was so tight.

'How about you telling me
why it is you're calling?'

I said, having lost all authority
with Elvis and patience with her.

'Her waters! Her waters have broken.'

'Whoa, wait. It's January.
We're only in January.'

'Great. Do you know
your ten times table, too?'

Elvis burst out laughing,
spitting his drink all over himself.

Grabbing the phone, turning off loudspeaker
I placed it to my ear.

'W-where is she?'

'If you can, we'll meet you
at the hospital.'

Now, I know she's never had
any real love for me,

Carly's mum, for obvious reasons,
the main one being my skin, though,

but 'if you can'?

If I can?

This is my kid Carly is having,
and her mum's bringing out 'if you can'!

I mean, what de rass?
That woman facety man!

I turn to Elvis, trying hard not
to push his face through the windscreen

out of embarrassment and tell him to
'Drop me off at the nearest Tube, quick!'

I jump out, nearly getting run over
during the process,

and that was it.

Me jumping out of the van
was the beginning of a very bad day for me.

I just didn't know it, but in about four
minutes, I was going to know it, fer trut.

So I got out my Oyster card,
glide myself through the barriers

and start getting a serious jog on
for the escalators when I realised

this is the Overground –
it's the Underground I want.

I can hear Carly screaming in me head.
'You can't even hold me hand on time.

'All I needed was for you to hold me hand
and you couldn't even do that.'

The orange of the Overground sign
scorched my eyes.

The Overground takes too blasted long!

Four stops on the Underground
to the hospital.

'OK, ' I thought, 'I've got time.'

As soon as I hit the bottom
of the escalator,

I sharply used the up side ones
to take myself back up.

Now, considering my panic levels
were at maximum,

I was still holding down
some street swagger.

Only one bead of sweat perhaps

and I was fit so I wasn't breathing
that heavily.

I was still smooth.

That's when it happened,
when shit got real.

Without warning,

and I mean without a single bit, I felt
a heap of hands grabbing me from behind,

slamming my face
against the side of the wall

and holding it there
as the escalator went up.

As I went up, that shit hurt, so I goes,
'What the fuck, man? What the actual fuck?'

That's when I started to sweat big time.

Some brer with the stinkiest breath ever,
whispers right in my ear.

'Don't move. Keep your mouth shut.'

Straight off,
I knew this weren't no mugging,

or a bunch of white trash lads that fancy
a ruck with a brudda,

because they've got it in their minds
it was White Boy Day or something.

I was scared because I knew whoever
these guys were, they were hardcore!

'Why d'ya go back up the escalators?'
He said. Like he didn't need an answer.

'Why's it any of your mother-fucking
business?'

My eyes bulging with indignation.
'Clocked us, did yer?'

'What?'
'Tried to make a dash for it?'

He offered, pressing harder into my back
with his massive forearm.

'Clock who? Who the living rass are yer?'

As soon as we got to the top, I managed
to get a look around to see who it was.

One of them was flashing
his warrant card at me.

It was the Old Bill, the fucking police.

It was the Babylon troubling me.
I should have known.

What is this? Did someone take me back
in time to the '90s or something?

Not one, but three of them for me, yeah?

Three! I mean, what the fuck is this?
So, I ask them.

'What the fuck is this?'

What is it about
three large white men, yeah,

holding you against your will...

...against a wall,
that makes you realise how small you are?

Yeah? How... How insignificant you are.

'Shut yer mouth!' One of them snarls.

His bad breath swirling its way
up my nostrils like smoke.

'I just want to know what this is, man.'
'ID?' he bellows,

as his spit sprayed
across my now blistering hot face.

I don't know why he asked really,

because his hands had already emptied
my pockets with force.

'You don't understand! I got to be
somewhere! I've got to get to the...'

'Shut up! OK? Shut it!'

'While we check your ID.'

He said, our heads now touching.
'You got the wrong brer.'

'For what?'
My mouth now wide open with shock.

'What have we got wrong about you?'

Now, I've been black enough all my life
to know that this... this is a fit-up!

Some profiling thing. Obviously,
they're on the hunt for somebody,

and it happens to be my unlucky day

that I fit whoever this fucker is
they're looking for, down to a tee –

I.e. black skin.

Normally, I'd understand.

I'd be able to just flex
this shit off but this ain't no normal day.

This is the day I become a dad.

I ain't got time for it.
I got to get to the...

Well, they needed clarity, innit.

So, as clearly as I can, I tell them to,

'Get the fuck off me, yeah?
I ain't done nothing!'

Big mistake.

The copper with the rank smelling breath
leans in my face again,

while two of his finest hold me down tight,

in some mash up, Judo got-you-nigger-boy
I-can't-breath move.

'Swear at me one more time,
and you are coming with us.'

As I continue to remember that day,

that line from PC Stink Breath
still don't make no sense to me.

I couldn't help it!

So there I was, I felt like I was 15 again,
when I first got tugged by the beast.

Triggered to fuck I was, all humiliated,
scared and angry.

'Coming with us?

'It look like you had that on your mind
from the beginning,

'but you've got the wrong brer.

'You are holding me up,
so if you could be so kind

'and tell me what this is,
so I can go about my business?'

Nothing back from them.

'Oh, for fuck's sakes.'
..for fuck's sakes...

I said to myself. I know.
He warned me loud as clear.

I couldn't help the fuck from coming out,
but my panic level was at an all-time high!

'Right, that's it!' he said
with the petulance of John McEnroe.

Then he goes to grab me,
but I just lift my hands.

And then he... Well, I don't quite know,
really, just kind of slipped.

I mean, that's why I started to laugh
cos it was so, like...

Well, he just lost his cool and...

Brrrrrang-a-dang-dang-dang... la-la-la...

dang-dang-dang-boom-boom-boom pllllffff!

He fell like a bag of shopping down
the escalators, all messy and unrehearsed.

I couldn't help but laugh!
Call it gallows humour.

Call it karma. Fuck, call it what you like,
shit was funny for real, bredren.

Next minute they're marching me out
the station. Should I make a dash for it?

No chance, they got me tight.

Whoever this fucking brudda is
they got me mistaken for,

must have done something hardcore!

I felt shame, bwoy.
People staring at me hard.

It felt like I'd been sent off at Wembley
for breaking Harry Kane's fibula

during the World Cup final.

My stress levels were now
about 11 out of 10.

I weren't swearing now, though.
I weren't giving it large.

But I was saying,
'My girl's waters have broken!

'Carly's waters have broken.'

Every chance I got. 'She's about to drop
at any minute. Don't you care?

'Don't you realise how shamed you're gonna
be, when you realise you fu... messed up?

'I'm not your man!' Nothing back from them.

Not a word, like I was talking to one
of them guards outside Buckingham Palace.

And then, to make things worse,

when we get to the station, I got their
custody sergeant staring down at me.

And guess what, he's only a brudda!

You could not make it up!

You see, white coppers are one thing,
especially the working-class variety,

nothing but a bunch
of 'good ole boys' in uniform.

But a brudda with stripes on his sleeves?

They're the worst.
They know they gotta overcompensate.

Can't be too black for their colleagues,

so you know they're gonna go
all white east London on us.

'Name?' I give it to him,
in between telling him about Carly.

'Brudda, brudda, brudda, please. I gotta
be somewhere. I gotta get to the...'

He doesn't want to know.
'Date of birth.'

Fuck it, I'll give it to him. What else
could I do? But then he had to say it.

He had to ask that question.
He had to go there.

'Previous convictions?'

'What?'
'What have you done in the past?'

I didn't need to ask,
I know what I heard, from this coconut!

'How can you ask me a question like that?

'You been kissing the white man's arse
so long, you starting to like it, brudda?'

'Previous convictions?'

'I have no previous convictions!

'As I keep telling you people,
you have made a rhatid fucking mistake!'

I managed to get that in,
for as long as it took them

to fling me in one of their cells.

All I could think about was Carly.

And that she could drop at any second
my kid, and I was in here.

Am I cursed?

Was Zeus looking down at me
from Mount Olympus, going,

'Oi, Apollo, come 'ere.
I'm done with shagging Aphrodite.

'Let's fuck with Delroy today, I'm bored!'

Cos it bloody felt like he was.

I don't know if he knew, Zeus that is,
cos I bleeding well didn't know,

how I'd take to be in here.

In a cell. Mate...

A-as soon as he turned the lock...

No, no, no.
Actually, it was when he walked away...

...I felt like, like I'd been hollowed out.

Like all the things that were holding me
together mentally just evaporated.

I started to sweat in my palms
and my armpits, not my face.

Just my hands and my arms
started seeping sweat.

I don't know if it was the claustrophobia
or that I was missing Carly giving birth

or the fact that finally they got me,
the feds.

Finally, I was just a number.

Finally, I was another Black man
that got fucked by the police.

Finally, I was another hapless victim
to this class-colour bullshit!

I, me,
was on this conveyer belt of hate.

I don't know, I felt shame and rage

and fear.

Because I knew what
these people were capable of.

Was I gonna be another story?

Was this it? Me, dead, finished?

See, it weren't no
don't-pick-up-the-soap kind of fear.

It was because... It was because...
I didn't know if I could make it.

If I was bad enough. Yeah.

Strong enough, rough enough
to be held like a slave,

like an animal in a cage,
fucking caged, me!

Fucking me!
All right, I'm a bailiff!

I take people's things away,
but it's legal, it's a job, it's my job.

Someone's got to do it.

I pay my taxes. I abide by the law.
I have never committed a crime in my life.

I voted for Boris, twice.

And I don't care that it's fucked up.
What, is that not allowed?

Am I to be told what I can and cannot do

and who I'm supposed to be
in my own country?

NO!

And then the tears started coming

and I thought
already I'd fucked it as a dad.

Already, I was the kind of dad that
my kid would have to not want to be like

or be ashamed of.

Was I suddenly unemployable?

Undesirable?

Unsuccessful?

I picked up the paper-thin,
spunk-riddled mattress.

And leaned it against the wall.

And I pounded it.

I pounded the shit out of it!

Over and over and over and over again.

Tears making welts in my face.

'If you don't stop that shit now boy,
we'll fucking make you!'

Boy? Boy?

I bought my own flat three years ago.

I've got a mortgage
and two house cats to feed.

But still, in the eyes of some,
I am nothing but a boy.

I turned to him and I...

And I buckled.

Like a three-year-old

standing in the middle of a road
staring at a bus hurtling towards it.

I buckled and I sat

and I cried out all the man tears
I'd held over the years.

All the shit I'd buried.

Cried out all the anger I'd hidden,
all the hope I'd managed,

all the pride I'd held in remission.

I wept it out.

I cried and cried and cried and cried.

Four hours, straight.

The whole time I was in there for.

Like a...

Like a baby.

And then, suddenly, the cell door opened

and they chucked me out.

Do I get an apology? Do I fuck!

Just a, 'Well...

'We may be pressing charges,
pending further investigation.

'But for now, on your way.'

Yeah. Fingerprints and photos,
and blah, blah, blah, blah.

Now, normally, I would have loved
to have stayed and chat,

and take great delight in telling them
about themselves.

But needs must, tears wiped,
I had a hospital to get to.

Carly's probably dropped it, I thought.

Actually, I wasn't thinking,
I was bloody panicking.

When I got out I clocked my battery
was dead, so I couldn't phone anyone.

So, I don't know if a record exists...

...for the fastest time to get
from the local nick to the hospital,

but if there was one, I broke it.

In your face, Usain!

As soon as I arrived at the hospital,
I saw my mum sitting there in a chair

giving me the look.

Nothing I could say
would be good enough for sure.

We were never gonna be in accord,
no matter fucking what.

I could have rolled in with no legs and she
would have still looked at me the same way.

Mums, man! But what I also knew right then
was that Carly hadn't dropped it yet.

You think my mum would be have been
sat there all calm and serene

if Carly had given birth
to her first grandchild?

No! She'd have been in there,

fighting with Carly's mum
over whose turn it was to hold the sprog.

Anyway, I told her
as we went up in the lift.

And after being dragged
around a police station

like a refugee out of Italian waters,

I was expecting a little bit
of tea and sympathy from me mum.

But all she had for me, was...

'It's your fault!'

'Say that again.'
'Your fault.'

You should have seen my mouth,
it was all this.

'Sorry, Mum, can you give that to me again?
How was any of that, my fault?'

Then, without skipping a beat,
she laid it on for me.

"It's your fault, Delroy,
right from the beginning

"because you gave them what them want,
another mouthy Black man.

'You can't beat those people,
not like that. You play them, bwoy.

'You play them at them own game.

'I taught you better than that.
You know better than that.

'You kill them with kindness.
You don't say a word.

'Don't give them what them want.

'You never done nothing wrong,
so it is all 'pon them.

'You can't beat them by going all loud.

'If you think you can,
you're nothing but a wurtless fool

'and I never raised no fool, so don't go
making a liar for me, understand?

'Use your head, bwoy!'

Mums!

I bloody hate them,
especially, when they're right.

Cos when I ran down the corridor
and raced onto the ward Carly was in,

and slipped into a gown
quicker then a Tyson Fury left hook,

and dived into Carly's room,
I was told in no uncertain terms to...

'Fuuuuck off!'

'You miserable no-watch wanker!'

By my loving, darling
mid-contracting girlfriend Carly.

'How the fuck can you be late now?

'You can't even hold me hand on time.

'All I needed was for you to hold me hand
and you couldn't even do that.'

Yeah. I had guessed near enough
exactly what she would say.

But I never would have guessed
what she went on to say.

'Get the fuck out of here!

'I don't want to...
hear no excuses and explanations.'

Her face contorted with the pain
of childbirth and anger.

'I don't wanna hear no
"You don't understand" rubbish, '

she squeezed through her tight, tense jaw.

'No "black people got it rough!"
Sick to death of it.

'You an and your "it's different for us"
bullshit, Delroy.

'All your "walk in my shoes" shit
or should I say trainers?

'One of your 50 pairs of trainers you wear

'like giving multi-national, imperialist,
racist corporations money makes you Black!'

Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

She well and truly dug me with that one,

while wiping her grease
and sweat-soaked hair from her eyes.

'You and your "white privilege" wank.
Get the fuck out, Delroy. You let me down!'

Her words wrapping around me
like a hair shirt.

'I'll do this on me own, you hear me?
Like I knew I would when I got pregnant.

'When we got together.
You're just the same as all of them!

'Grow up, Delroy!
Grow the fuck up, will ya?

'We're not in South Africa, bruv.
We're in Hackney!

'It ain't that fucking hard!
Now get out! Out!'

I just stood there, knowing I couldn't
tell her the rest now about what happened.

Along with, um... Er... what di rass?

What the fuck did she just say to me,
with my child in her belly?

I just backed away,
with the nurses giving me dead eye.

Slamming my back into the double doors,
I exited.

Broken to the core.

Have you ever seen a Black guy go red?

Hm? Nah, I didn't think
it was possible, either.

Until I saw my face in the mirrors
when I went to hide in the loos.

The shame had managed to bring blood
so vehemently to the front of my face

it was peaking through my pores
like beetroot and chocolate cake.

'I'm not in South Africa?
Fucking hell!'

I thought, after all the hours
going to antenatal with this bitch!

The only man there, you know.

All of them looking at me like I must have
been her Uber driver or something.

I thought after all the back-rubbing,

and the scraping

and the fetching

and the hugging and the supporting...

After all the decorating and managing
and hoping and wishing...

After all the cooking and cleaning
and not drinking –

I hadn't had a fucking drink in six months

and this is what she's gonna say to me
while giving birth to my child?

Fucking hell.

English people.

Doesn't she think
how that makes me feel?

I know I'm not in South Africa

but the point is if I was I'd be fucked!

Just like them, so I feel it,
cos we share that knowledge.

Doesn't she realise how small
that makes me grow as a man?

Knowing an American white man
can shoot dead someone that looks like me

out of hate and get away with it?

English people.

Even when you worship the ground they tread
they can still say shit like that

and still not see you.

She said I was like 'all of them'.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

All of who? What kind of
narrow-minded bullshit was that?

But in truth, I knew what she meant.

I mean, I know she phrased it terribly,
but I knew what she meant.

And the fact was,
having just left the police station,

I was now this racists' picture
of a Black man.

That was the fact
and nothing could shake that.

But that ain't fair, is it?
Of course it ain't!

It ain't bloody fair!

'Delroy?'

I knew that voice from anywhere.

I've been hearing it
since I was 13 years old.

Now, it wasn't Michael saying my name
that made my body go cold in that instant.

It was the way he said it.
It was the tone, yeah?

The same tone he continued with.

'You all right, mate?'

Now, why was he saying it like that?
'You all right, mate?'

You don't use a tone like that
to your mate, especially to your best mate.

The tone he was giving is the same tone
you use to your grandparents,

when they get carted off
to the nearest care home.

It was then I realised
I hadn't been thinking it.

Fuck!

I'd been sounding off like
some high-level nutter for all to hear!

Michael had heard every word
of what I had just said, every lick.

It had to be him, innit?
I turned around to face him.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Smashing, mate. Yeah.'

He looked good, it had to be said. Yeah.

He was true to his word when he said
he was giving up the booze for a bit.

The last thing he must have heard from me
was me bellowing with laughter

when he claimed he was giving up the sauce.

'Fuck off, mate!' I goes, delirious.

'Ha-ha! Do one!'

I haven't laughed that hard
since Eddie Murphy's stand-up comedy film.

Delirious? That bit when he's taking
the right piss out of his dad?

'Eddie, this is my house,

'if you don't like it,
you can get the fuck out.'

But the proof was in the pudding.

There he was, my mate Michael,
standing there, just standing there

looking all lean and shit.

Someone had put him in a right nice suit.

Must have been the new girlfriend
Carly told me about,

when we sat down
to have our Friday night pizza.

'The one who does yoga, '
is how she described her.

'I mean, she's good for him.
She's got him into Pilates and shit.'

'What? Michael Fletcher?
On a mat, bending?' I goes, shook.

'Yeah, yeah. Let's see how long it takes
before he fucks that up for himself.'

Feeling him move further and further
away from me. 'I mean, it won't last.'

I replied,
trying hard not to reveal my hurt.

Anyway, there he is,

standing there,

eyes wide with sympathy.

'How are you, mate?'

I hadn't seen him for time –
well properly, anyway.

Not since his dad's funeral,
when his Charlie-and-alcohol-ridden body

had proceeded to dig me and everyone else
he loved, well and truly out.

I mean, that rant was epic.
He went in.

'Delroy, my best mate!

'His parents came over from Jamaica,

'but he went and voted for fucking Brexit!

'I mean, fucking Leaver, he is. Jesus
Christ, Delroy, what's the matter with you?

'When they want a curb on immigration,
who do you think they're talking about?

'Delroy, I love you like a brother, yeah?

'You may sound like us,
you may act like us,

'but you will never be one of us,
and deep down you know it, you have to.

'Cos this is England we're talking about.

'You see, banana throwing on the pitch may
not be a regular, but mark my words, yeah?

'It's making a comeback.
It's coming out in droves.

'Yeah? Or maybe you choose not to.'

Yeah, yeah. In a room full
of English people, too, mate.

He thought that by getting Carly
to snog me at the wake

it would somehow make
all that shit go away.

English amnesia again.

I wanted nothing more
to do with him after that.

He killed our friendship there and then,
stone dead.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Yeah, smashing mate, '

I said with an age-old Black camouflage
used for dealing with the English.

'Only, you're talking to yourself.'

Fuck! He may as well have slapped me
round the face with a white glove.

'I'm just letting off some steam, mate.

'Something you should know all about.'
'What?'

I gave him a silent 'nigger please'

with my eyes that Samuel L Jackson
would have been proud of.

'Oh, ' he said,
like he'd just stepped in quicksand.

'Really? Now? Look, alcohol made me...'

'Don't! Don't blame alcohol, mate!

'I knew you were selfish when you nicked
Joseph Kiffin's break money for two terms.'

'Delroy, are you OK?

'I am eager to be in service
of you right now.'

In service? Eh?
'What's he eaten?' I thought.

He stood there, all open and honest,
all fucking...

I don't know what,
but not Michael Fletcher.

Like he wanted to talk about what happened,
to say sorry at long bleeding last.

I was thinking he didn't just deserve
the beating I gave him that night,

more like he earned it, but...

But if he was willing to put his hand up
at last for that, fair dues to the man.

But I find with Michael

it's always wise to give him
a gentle reminder about such things.

You know, forgive but never forget.
You gotta watch the English, you know.

Any excuse to rewrite history and turn on
the self-righteous tap, they will bag it.

Michael, although I loved him
like a brother, was no different.

'Come on, mate. She's mad for you.'
'It's over!'

I said it. Did I mean it? I don't know but
it spread out my mouth like a COVID cough.

'I've had it with her.'
My wet eyes betraying my certainty.

'You just need to reflect.'
'Reflect?'

'She's giving birth to your kid.
Time, Delroy. Time.'

'Now, I ain't been to church
since I was 17, but Lord! Jesus! Fuck!

'Is there anything else
you want to tell me, Michael?

'Anything you want to lecture me on
seeing as you're so sorted, you cunt?'

My hand now shaking in fear of myself.
'Who the fuck do you think you are?'

'I don't think I am anyone,
but I am sorry you feel that way, mate.'

He's straightening himself up
to show his size over me.

'Mate? Mate? When was the last time
me and you were mates?

'We haven't been mates
since you shafted me at your dad's funeral.

'Remember that, gave me a right seeing to
in front of everyone?'

'I know what I did, ' he said,
closing his eyes in shame.

'You know what you did? And?'

He then lifted his chin,

in that Ray Winstone kind of way,
he flared his nostrils.

'I am sorry.'

He opened his palms like Francis
of bludclarrt Assisi and said...

'I'd like to make amends.
I'm sorry, Delroy, not just for that.'

'Amends? How are you gonna do that?'
Nothing back from him.

'Don't worry. I'll wait.'

'I don't know.'

'Yeah! Course you don't!
The English never seem to know.'

'But I am sorry.'

'All that stuff you said to your dad when
he's dead, when he couldn't do nothing.

'Why didn't you say any of that when
he was spinning that racist stuff to me?

'Why didn't you say something then to me?

'You never said sorry about him
to me Michael. You said nothing to me!

'Was I just meant to take it?
Meant to live with it, huh?

'How you gonna make amends for that?'

'I am truly sorry, Delroy.'

Now, he said it. He definitely said it.

But what I heard in that one word 'sorry'
was all that he said to me at the church.

All over again. It wasn't torture to him.
It meant nothing then, and it still don't.

'All right, Michael, what is this?' I said,
cooling my face with some tap water.

'Why are you standing there like you've
finally read a book in your miserable life?

'Have you had help?
Who you been talking to?'

Nothing back from him,
so I styled it out a bit

by dragging the paper towel out
with the flourish of a young matador.

'And don't say it's got anything to do
with your new bendy bird, the yoga one?

'Because from what I hear,
she ain't that bright.

'Not unless they're giving out PhDs
for getting your leg over your head.

'So what gives? Who's been helping you?
Whose your new friend, Michael?

'Who the fuck is it?'

He stood there, looking around the room
for the answer but he stayed silent.

He had an answer,
he just didn't want or couldn't give it.

His right, I suppose. But here was my right
to tell himself about himself.

'Michael, I don't business
if you are sorry. Fuck that you are sorry.

'Take your sorries
and ram them up your shithole!'

'I... I'm sorry you feel that way, mate.'

'Michael, are you deaf? Did you not hear
what I told you to do with your sorries?"

But I wanted his sorries, his friendship,
his love – but I wanted action more.

'All right, Delroy, just as you like.

'I didn't come here for this.
I just want to see my sister.'

'No, no, no, no. I don't think so, bitch.

'You stay right there.
You don't move an inch.

'I got a whole heap of shit
I want to say to you, bwoy.'

'All right, Delroy, say what you feel.
Get it off your chest.'

The more decent he was,
the more I wanted to thump him in his face!

'That's what you said to me
when you slagged me off for voting Brexit.

'You want to know why?
Why, I voted for Brexit?'

'Because of all of this!

'This day that I've had.

'This shit that we are living in
needs to come down!

'That's why! Fucking Great Britain?'
I had to say something, I had to.

'Is someone having a laugh here?'
How much of it I meant, I still don't know.

'The rest of Europe is no better.'
But I had to give it to him.

'Fucking France, rhatid Spain...'
Had to let him see me.

'Them saps who come from Germany!'
Finally see me.

'England still treating
the have-nots like shit!'

So in the effort...
'It's a house of lies, fucking lies.

'Racist fucking liars, mate.'
..be understood clearly.

'So, I say bring it down,
bring it all down!

'Tear it up, tear it all fucking up!'

I grabbed him by his shirt.
I twisted it in my fist.

And I leaned in so close
we could have kissed.

'This is where your old man and the rest
of his right-wing nut jobs got it wrong,

'calling for Brexshit
when they really thought

'that would mean seeing
a few less brown faces on the streets.

'The same brown faces that was propping up
the NHS when it was on its knees.

'Cos the same brown faces
will be wiping their arses for them

'when they wind up in a care home one day.

'I don't just want Great Britain
on its knees, Michael, no.

'I want to keep it there.
That's why I voted for Brexit!

'Yeah? Let's see how great fucking Britain
is then, when it's got no one behind them

'and has to rely on the likes of you,

'and the thick-as-shit
working-class Brits like me!

'Who'll be on our rhatid hands and knees,
cleaning the streets,

'wiping toilet bowls, sucking cock,
wiping up sick?

'Yeah? Let the British be the people
that no one sees, see how we like it.

'See how it feels
to be the true niggers of the world.

'You think it's a joke? You're gonna
find out. You're finding out now.

'How's it feel now, Michael?
Still think you're number one?

'You fart! You're having a laugh.

'You are the laugh!

'Whose gonna come for you when you're down?
Who's gonna save you?

'This is it for England,
the end of the motherfucking line

'and I can't wait to see it happen,
see it right at the bottom,

'where it can't be seen, yeah?

'Bring it! All of you!
Like the big I am? Nah.

'You're nothing but a bunch of stupid,
arrogant, lazy as fuck,

'snow-flaking, line snorting,
Fred Perry wearing,

'red neck, pecker-wood, inbred,
jellied eeled, fish and chips,

'gammon loving, tea drinking,
bacon eating, dumb arse crackers!

'With your God Save The Queen,
wrap ourselves around the Union Jack,

'we survived the Blitz,
hands up if you won the war,

'take it up the arse from the US of A,
Pukka Pies bullshit!

'Fuck England, R.I.P!'

I said it.

How I felt.

Not what I knew, but how I felt.

Not what I thought,
but how I felt.

And it felt good to say it!

It was like a riot in my mouth.

Yeah. I felt a freedom.

Yeah, I felt free.

And I breathed hard and heavy.

Letting go of his now wrinkled shirt,
I tried to compute what I just said.

'All right, Delroy.

'I'll see you around, ' he said,
staring at his shirt.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
See you around, yeah.

'See you fucking around, innit, yeah.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah.
White male privilege, innit, Michael?

'Yeah, even you,

'a fucking third-rate white boy spiv
is allowed to change.

'But not me. Nah, not my black arse self.

'Nah, I've got to stay, gotta stay Black,
stay silent, right?

'Yeah?

'Gotta stay street, innit? Yeah?
Stay silent. Yeah?'

'This, this... this ain't you.'

And then he turned away...
and walked away from me!

'You don't know me, Michael! You never knew
me, none of you! You don't know me!

'You have to know me
to say something like that!

'So, come on, Michel, come on!
Get to know me!

'Get to like me! Get to understand me!
Get to love me!'

Something snapped inside of me.
It broke off, I could feel it.

'Get to respect me!

'Get to value me! Get to trust me!
Do the work, Michael!

'It ain't rocket science! All of yer!'

'Do the fucking work! Do the work!

'Do the work! Do the work!
..the work, the work!'

And I just had to leave, I had to.

I couldn't take them any more, any of them.

It was all ruined.

The day, the love, the lot.

So I walked out on them, all of them,
they were dead to me.

And then came court.

You may or may not be aware, your honour,

that I've managed to fall out,
disagree with, um...

to make vex four different lawyers
who had agreed to take on my case,

all pro-bono I should add.

Oh, by the way, 'vex' means anger.

As in 'to make angry' in Jamaican patois.

Thought I'd clear that up, as language

is part of the whole point
I'm trying to make here.

Anyway, what I'm saying, badly,

is that they, the lawyers, didn't want
me doing what I'm doing now,

a closing speech, so we parted ways.

Now, why? You could ask.

See, I think it was all in an effort
to not be me.

They didn't want me to be me,
your honour, cos me isn't good enough

to be understood or respected
or taken seriously by the likes of you.

Now, I thought that was kinda... off-key.

You know? Rude? About you!

About your level of intellect and bandwidth
to understand human behaviour or character.

It also kinda assumed you'd be racist

and perhaps fall into the same biases
as I believe my case has pointed out.

So, I'm gonna be as honest
and myself as much as I can.

I'm gonna be me,
in the hope that you can see me

and understand the point
at which it went wrong with the police –

to try and convince you
I'm a good guy stopped on a bad day.

Anyway, now, you've heard already
my account of what happened

and their conflicting account?

All right. I guess you don't need
to answer. It was kind of rhetorical.

And of course the 'shove' as they put it,

and the bad language could be seen
as crasses, as in 'bad behaviour'?

But I'd like you to think of this.

When a man's put under pressure,
as you know I was,

as any dutiful father would feel

on the way to the hospital
to see the birth of their child.

I was prang, dented, out of shape, prang.

That's how I felt rushing to the hospital
and that, having got the message late.

Prang. Excited but prang.
I mean, that's all understandable, right?

A little nod would do, your honour,
just so I know...

Yeah, calm, as in... Never mind, but you
see how I use language is different, right?

It's not wrong, it's just different.

A swear word to you is an adjective to me.

It's all right, Mum!

Sorry, sorry.
Me mum's screwing at me, bwoy.

Upset. At me.

Actually, my mum...

my mum, now, she is an amazing woman
but you lot... Well, not you, personally.

But maybe you, as you did nothing, I bet,
really hurt her and me.

The Windrush scandal?

What? Yes, this is to do
with my case, actually.

It's not quite what I've written down,
you could argue that it's a detour,

but hear me out still.

I think it talks of the same thing,
culture.

A disrespected culture.

A misrepresented culture.

Cos everyone knew she was British, right?

She had every right to be here and ting
yet you people or, to be fair, your people,

or the people you put in charge
had hatched,

concocted a devious plan
to rid yourself of us!

My mum!

Who I'd watched work herself
into the ground,

paying her taxes, put her bloody life
at risk as a frontline worker she did.

She was to be told 'come out!'
But hear what now.

I think I felt it worse than she did,
cos I have to stay here.

I love what I've built.
I love where I live.

It's all I know, so I'm kind of like lost.

Cos I'm made complicit.
I'm made her enemy.

Cos I'm powerless to do anything.
So where do I put that, your honour?

Hm? Where?

Where do I get to house that anger?
Where do I get to shoot that anger at?

Cos to me, it's like all you people
told my mum 'you can't stay here any more,

'cos we didn't want you here
in the first place.'

And it makes a knot in all of us
that can't be untied.

So when PC Stink Breath over there tells
me... Wait. Hear me out! Hear me out!

When he tells me not to swear, yeah,
like I'm his chattel or something,

the complete embodiment of the wastemen

that wanted to send my mum
back to a country she'd never lived in?

That wanted to disregard all her efforts
to make something of her life,

to be a model Brit,

it's not only hard to take,
it's bloody hard to do to not swear!

Your honour, I couldn't help myself.

I can't help it. I couldn't help it.

It's part of my culture,
my working-class culture.

My British culture.
It don't make me bad.

Mate, I weren't even swearing at him.
I said, 'Oh, for f's sakes' to myself,

because I was going to miss
the birth of my child!

A one-time event!

Made for me to share with my woman
and he was killing that stone dead. Dead!

I mean, anything can happen
in childbirth, right?

She could have died or something.
The baby could have.

So, I had to be there.

So of course I lost my cool,

my focus.

Of course I forgot my... place!

Wouldn't you, your honour? Huh?

How can we blanketly...
You see, it's all about the context.

The context, your honour.

Yeah, how can we blanketly
throw these laws, these rules,

these judgements,
these morals down without...

Like threaten my livelihood, take away
my job without truly understanding

and allowing for the context, how?

Well, unless... unless...

Well, unless you're happy to be

some kind of cunt!

No, no, no, no. Wait. Stop. Please, stop.
Wait. No, no, no.

No, get off me!

Aagh! No, get off me!

Get off me!

♪ ...Drinks a glass
of cold champagne wine... ♪

To say that Carly isn't technically minded
is an understatement.

She can't even set up a new smartphone
without fucking it up.

And don't get me started when she switched
her broadband package from BT to Virgin.

'So many cables! All these wires!

'Where does this one go?'
'There and there, ' I kept saying.

'Cable with the red bit goes
in the red hole. Blue bit, blue hole.

'It's nowhere near as hard
as you're making it, babe.'

Not a clue.
Common sense right out the window.

So, you imagine my surprise,
sitting here in lockdown,

when my laptop here was telling me
not only do I have an email from Carly,

but its also a folder, a file,
a video file.

I don't know who taught her how to do that,

but I wanted to shake their hand
when I weren't kissing their feet.

So what gives, I thought?

Is she up for apologising
for cussing me out the hospital?

Cos I don't want to know.
I don't want to hear. Me and her are done.

D-O-N-E! I'm finished with her.

Where's my drink?

Well, it couldn't hurt to hear
what she has to say, though, could it?

Fuck it, I thought.

'What's going on, knob-head?
What's going on?'

'What do you want, Carly?'
I said without thinking.

Only realising a quick second later
that this was a recording.

I couldn't help it, it's her face, you see?

That annoying, but beautiful,
sexy, come-to-bed eyes,

Mel from EastEnders look on her face?

Could have kept her face on pause all day,
but I needed to hear what she had to say.

'How come you haven't come round
to see us and that?

'She's your kid as well. What's the matter
with you? Are you thick or something?'

'You bloody know why!' I say again,
knowing full well this was a recording,

but I can't help it, I didn't business.

'You always want attention, innit, Delroy?

'Everyone's got to run around
and make a fuss about you.

'What are you, seven or something?'

'Yes bitch, keep it up.'

'Well, I ain't playing.'
'Do, I look as if I care?'

'If you think I'm gonna to tell you how
much I miss you, Delroy, you can dream on.'

'I'm dreaming now. Watch me.'

'I ain't got the time or the energy
to tell you how much I miss you,

'I ain't got time for it, Delroy.'

'Good!'

'I ain't gonna say
I ain't got time to tell you

'how much I miss the way you look at me.'

'Say what?'

'When you stare at me so intense
with those gorgeous brown eyes of yours,

'I find it hard to look back.

'I ain't gonna say
how much I miss looking at you.

'Your beautiful chiselled face
that just makes me want to bite you.

'Rrar!

'I ain't gonna say how much I miss
the way my skin tingles all over

'whenever you touch me,
whenever you hold me in your arms.

'Whenever I think of our weekends
together in Blackpool.

'All those showers we had together.'

Damn, girl! She went in!

'No, I ain't gonna say any of that,
Delroy Francis Tomlin,

'but what I will say is
fucking call me, you twat!'

No, no, no. I ain't calling her.
What? Like I must do what she says?

Are you mad? I'm not calling her, bruv.

I ain't calling her, Rebecca.

I ain't! Ain't calling her! Ain't.

Fuck her!

Fuck 'em all!

I ain't calling her.

–
– Shit! It's her!

I know it's her, it's Carly.
That's her ringtone video call.

Face still scowling, I bet.

But still beautiful. Still my Carly.

Fucking hell! Well, all right.

If you're gonna make a thing of it,
all right.

Yeah, what?

You, all right, Del?
– Yeah, I'm all right, babe. What's up?

Your mum told me
what happened to you in court and that.

– Yeah.
– You were found guilty?

Yeah.

Why you couldn't fuckin' well tell me that
to begin with, I do not know.

– If you gave me a chance, I would have.
– I wanted to see if you were all right.

Babe, I'm all right. I'm just here, innit.

I was giving birth
and I wasn't in my right...

I know, babe. I know.

What I said to you before in the hospital
still stands you know.

– What?
– You're still a prat, Delroy.

– All right, babe.
– A colossal prat!

– Jesus Christ.
– Michael told me what you said to him.

Going all political, fuck England and that,
I mean, what the fuck, Delroy?

– Woman never lets me speak.
– When did you care about any of that?

– Since now.
– You've never been on a single march.

When have you ever
held a placard in your hand, you twat?

Are you done?

The little people are the ones that matter
to you, the little ones. You said that.

Your mum and that, my mum and that,
friends, family, the little things.

Well, you've got
two little things right here.

Oh, shit.

It's my baby.

Our baby.

Little things, Delroy.
She's number one, I'm number two.

So, what are you going to do
about that, then?

What the fuck do I say in response to that?

I love you, Carly.
You want to hear me say it?

I love you, girl.

From the time I was 15 until now,
I love you. I never stopped.

Even though you drive me mad
with your chat,

like nails on a chalkboard
half the time, I love you!

Even though you're always an hour late
whenever we go out, I love you!

Even though you hate
my mum's Jamaican patties,

but you yam them down anyway,
every last bit, I love you.

And if you were here right now,
I'd fling you down on my bed

and I'd show you how much I love you,
because I do.

I love you. I love you.

Carly?

Carly, you just going to sit there,
looking all nice? Say something, babe.

We're in bloody lockdown, I don't know
when I'm gonna get to see you both again.

- – Carly, what? What? I can't hear you.
- –

It's cracking up. Carly, Carly?
The picture's frozen!

Carly!

See, this is when I want to go
to fucking war with Zoom!

I just want her back!

Ah, why did I have to leave the hospital?
Bloody lockdown, pain in the arse fer trut.

I just want to see my little baby girl
for the first time.

Hold her in my hands for the first time.

All this
'if it bleeps you're in breach' shit.

Yes, Delroy!

Blame the courts, blame Michael,
blame Carly, blame your mum.

Blame everyone, but don't ever think
about blaming your stupid,

proud, dumb arse, unemployed self.

What a total claart you are!

I am a dad.

And nothing can change that, nothing.

And Carly is her mum,

the woman I created her with.

And nothing will ever change that.

See, it's not an opinion.
It's not about faith.

It's not about loyalty, it's a fact –
a scientific fact.

Unlike all the bullshit in the papers,
on the news

about immigration and inflation

and Conservatives and Labour

and Christians and Muslims,
all those things.

Opinions, choices, desires.

I have made... No, no.
We've made something factual.

I guess that's what all the fuss was about,
about kids, about family.

We've made a fact –
a living breathing fact.

And no matter how long she lives,
nothing can take that away.

Look at 'em, both of them looking
like they've been frozen in time.

Oh, my days! She's got my soft-shaped
Caribbean nose!

I'm humbled to the core, man.
I'm looking at her mouth.

And, er... it's not my mouth.
It's not gonna grow into my shape either.

It's frugal in size, but perfect.

It bears no resemblance to Carly,
but I know that mouth. Oh, my...

It's fucking Alan Fletcher!

Alan's mouth! Alan fucking Fletcher,
just really small and brown.

He's back! I can't believe it!
He's living on through me!

Fuck me! I wonder
what he would have made of that.

Because I knew what a racist he could be.
I had to suffer his jokes for time.

I had to suffer him
forcing Carly to hide me,

watching Michael cowering from him.

But it was him that took me
to the Repton boys club with Michael,

him that dropped me home after football,
him that screamed on the side lines at me.

'Come on, you long streak of piss!'

And encouraged me to score.
Out of anger, yeah, but I scored!

I got the glory.

And there he was, on the face of my child.

We're knitted, woven together forever.
That is a fact.

That is an irrefutable cast-iron fact.

His history was now my history.

And I have to own it without anger or hurt.
I have to forgive.

I have to learn to forgive.
I have to learn and forgive.

What a bundle she is.

A sheer bundle of joy.

I wonder how she feels.
I wonder how she smells.

I'm sorry I didn't stay. I'm sorry I left.

Like she cares,
considering how early she was,

She just wanted to get out here,
anxious to start her life and that.

Fighting to get out there, yeah.

She's a fighter, I can tell.
She's my little fighter.

She's gonna fight on,
no matter what you do.

She's gonna live on,
no matter what you say.

And so am I, so am I.
I'm gonna fight on and on and on and on.

She is a fact. She is my fact.

My everything and nothing else matters.

Nothing can and nothing should.