SKYLIGHT

By

David Hare

This is the definitive edition of Skylight, incorporating all the textual changes made during its West End and Broadway runs.

Characters 

Kyra Hollis

Edward Sergeant

Tom Sergeant

Act Two

scene one

The door to the bedroom is slightly ajar. A white light, reflected off snow, comes from outside the kitchen window. The bar heater Kyra lit hours ago is still on, and glowing. It's around 2.30 a.m.

Kyra appears in the doorway. She is wearing a white flannel nightdress, over which she has put a sweater and a cardigan. She has clearly just woken up. She moves across the room trying to make as little noise as possible. The tray of cutlery she threw earlier is still scattered all over the floor. The abandoned meal is still on the table, uneaten. She looks at it a moment, then takes the spaghetti sauce she made earlier, picks up a piece of bread  and carries them both across the room. Kyra puts them down by the big armchair, then looks for the school exercise books which she had put on the floor for the meal. She  picks them up, then turns on a low side-light. She pulls the little heater nearer the chair, then sits down with it at her feet. She puts the books on her knee, then dips her bread in the cold sauce and starts to eat.

This is how Tom finds her as he now appears in the doorway of the bedroom. He has put on his shirt and trousers, but his feet are bare. He stands a moment, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him: the teacher sitting with books on her knee, the glow of the heater on her face.

Tom: What are you doing?

Kyra: Eating the sauce. I'm starving. Remember? We never had supper.

Tom: God, I'm sorry. I fell asleep. What time is it?

Kyra: I think it's two-thirty.

Tom: I must say . . .

Kyra: It's no worry. I must have fallen asleep as well.

She looks at him, genuinely affectionate. He moves towards her, an easy warmth between them, and kisses the top of her head in the chair.

Tom: Why don't Baptists like to fuck standing up? Because they're frightened God will think they're dancing. Is it me? Or has something happened to make it warmer in here?

Kyra looks up, amused. He wanders away, more skittish, definitely pleased with events.

Kyra: It may be you. But also it's snowing finally. Everything's covered in snow.

Tom: My God, you're right. It's beautiful. I'm beginning to like it. I think I've decided I'm going to move in.

Kyra just sits back, as he looks round, comfortably at home.

Tom: I was lying there, yeah, in that bed of yours, next to that sort of interesting lump in the mattress you have, I was thinking I could get used to this. Maybe this area isn't so bad. Over there, I was thinking, I'm going to put my telly . . .

Kyra: Have you still got that big one?

Tom: Oh no. It's much bigger now. I've got a home projection system. Enormous. It's going to take up most of that wall.

He points to her wall of books, then looks round contentedly, imagining the scene.

Tom: Yes. The football. Sunday afternoons with the lager . . .

Kyra: Do you still support Chelsea?

Tom: Of course.

Kyra: How are they?

Tom: They play the English game. My own game, you know. Kick it up the middle and hope for the best.

He is amused, knowing how perfectly the sentiment suits him personally.

Tom: And over there, the stereo. Maybe put Frank in a box room. He'd love it. We could make a life, you and me. Takeaway Indians . . .

Kyra: Except you'd need the house next door as well to store all your clothes.

Tom: Oh no, I've stopped all that rubbish. I haven't bought clothes . . . well, since Alice died. Do you think I've lost weight? A diet of suffering . . .

He does a little pirouette.

Kyra: I didn't notice, in fact.

Tom: No.

Kyra: I wasn't thinking.

Tom: I was thinking, whatever else happens, we always have this.

Tom has said this speculatively, but Kyra says nothing. She is curled up in the chair, at peace. She puts her bread back in the sauce and starts eating again.

Tom: I was wondering, you know, it can't be much longer. Your term.

Kyra: No. There's only two weeks to go.

Tom: Do you know what you're doing for Christmas? It's just I've now got this place in the sun. It's at the water's edge. It's perfect. The steps lead down to the sea. The island has palm trees. Beaches. Great fish. Unless of course you'd made other plans . . .

But she still doesn't answer, just dipping her bread in the sauce.

I mean, I'm just saying. Think about it.

Kyra: Yes.

Tom: No pressure.

Kyra: No.

Tom: No hurry.

Kyra: Of course.

Tom: If you let me know, say, Friday . . .

At once he holds up a hand.

Tom: No, honestly, that’s just a joke.

They both smile, liking his half-serious, half-funny tone.

Tom: For God’s sake, I'm not totally insensitive, I don't think ‘One fuck and everything's solved . . . ’

She has got up to go to the kitchen to put the kettle on and now passes him.

Kyra: Two, though, and that'll be different.

Tom: (smiles) I mean, well, yes. That sort of thing.

He's pleased with the way this is going. He is at ease in the flat, casually looking at papers on her desk.

Tom: So it's good . . .

Kyra: What?

Tom: This teaching? You enjoy this teaching of yours?

Kyra: I wouldn't say ‘enjoy’.

Tom: Ah . . .

Kyra: It can be pretty stressful. But at least it does mean I feel stretched.

Tom: Stretched?

Kyra: Yes.

She smiles at him.

Kyra: Surely that's a good thing, isn't it? Don't we think it's good to be stretched?

Tom: Oh sure.

They both smile. She is very relaxed.

Kyra: I know it sounds crazy, but I'm out at six-thirty – earlier.

Tom: My goodness!

Kyra: I get on the bus. That simple journey, Kensal Rise to East Ham, in many ways it's the thing I like best about the job. I take a good book. I take my sandwiches. Every day I sit there. Always the top. The top deck's better.

Tom: Oh really?

Kyra: Always. You hear better things.

She is becoming more expansive.

Kyra: I’ve developed this passion for listening.

Tom: Blimey.

Kyra: It's like an addiction. I love it. I can't get enough. And the more I listen, the more it strikes me, you know . . . what extraordinary courage, what perseverance most people need just to get on with their lives.

Tom: Huh.

Tom nods as if he's taking this seriously.

Kyra: And at the start I actually got lucky . . .

Tom: Lucky?

Kyra: Yes, I met this fantastic Nigerian friend. Adele. And she's introduced me to the group that she's in.

Tom: ( frowns) A group?

Kyra: Yes. It's very informal. We meet every Friday after work. We have a few drinks. That way you don't feel so lonely.

Tom: That's nice.

Kyra: Because when you're working so hard, you're working such ludicrous hours, the danger is you end up losing sight of your aims . . .

She smiles at the idea.

Kyra: And there's always something new. Like at the moment we have this real problem. We have this private security firm . . .

Tom: At the school?

Kyra: Yes. I mean, we've had them there lately. Just for a few days. It's absolutely disgusting, the staff have protested like mad.

Tom is looking at her, amused by the depth of her involvement.

Kyra: We had this problem with burglary. Lootings. A dinner lady was mugged.

Tom: She was mugged at the school?

Kyra: Tom, that's not unheard of. Don't take up that Home Counties tone.

Tom: I'm not. Just allow a moment of taxpayer's interest that dinner ladies now walk in fear of their lives.

He is making a joke, but she quickly corrects him.

Kyra: One dinner lady.

Tom: OK.

Kyra: Only one incident. It happens. It happened once. But of course it's being used politically. There are – let's face it – certain elements. Partisan elements, who wish the school ill.

Tom: For what reason?

Kyra: Precisely because it is an enlightened regime.

He looks at her, saying nothing.

Kyra: Tom, don't look at me like that.

Tom: I didn't say anything.

Kyra: I'm not a soft liberal. Far from it. My views have got tougher. They've had to. You grow up pretty fast. Education has to be a mixture of haven and challenge. Reassurance, of course. Stability. But also incentive.

Tom: I'm not sure I actually know what that means.

But Kyra ignores his humour, really forceful and coherent, wanting to explain.

Kyra: Tom, these are kids from very tough backgrounds. At the very least you offer them support. You care for them. You offer them security. You give them an environment where they feel they can grow. But also you make bloody sure you challenge them. You make sure they realise learning is hard. Because if you don't . . . if you only make the safe haven . . . if it's all clap-happy and ‘everything the kids do is great’ . . . then what are you creating? Emotional toffees, who've actually learnt nothing, but who then have to go back and face the real world.

She is genuinely carried away with this problem as she gets another piece of bread to dip in the sauce. Tom is watching her as non-judgementally as he can.

Kyra: I mean . . .

Tom: I see that.

Kyra: I tell you, it's fucking interesting . . .

Tom: I'm sure . . .

Kyra: Finding that balance . . .

Tom: Sure . . .

Kyra: Finding it, keeping it there. Tom, there's nothing I've done in my life which is harder. Forty per cent speaking English as a second language!

She stands cheerfully dipping bread in the sauce.

Tom: (a little shocked) You're really that involved?

Kyra: You mean me personally?

Tom: Do you go to staff meetings?

Kyra: I'm not an activist, if that's what you mean. But I take it quite seriously. Because . . . apart from anything, I'm older than most of the teachers . . .

Tom: Really?

Kyra: It's a young person's area. A young teacher comes out of college. They think, this is the kind of work I want to do. Then pretty soon . . . well, they move house, they marry . . . They decide they want something a little bit easier.

Tom: Mmm.

Kyra: A little bit less arduous. Mostly.

Tom:  But that's not happened to you?

Kyra thinks a moment, then speaks thoughtfully, her tone hardening.

Kyra: Early on, you know, I was spat on. Very early. Like maybe, the first day or two. In front of the class, this boy spat on me. He called me an arsewipe. A cunt. I tell you, I can still feel it. Here, on the side of my cheek. I realised I had no defences. That night I went home and I cried. Then I thought, right, this is it. No more crying. From today I learn certain skills – survival skills, if you like. I master certain techniques, if for no other purpose but that in the years ahead . . . maybe even after I've finished perhaps . . . I can say, right, it was a job and I bloody well did it. I learned how you have to survive.

Tom: I see. It sounds like a challenge.

Kyra hesitates, deciding whether to risk saying what she actually believes.

Kyra: I've seen the way things now are in this country. I think for thirty years I lived in a dream. I don't mean that unkindly. Everything you gave me I treasured. But the fact is, you go out, you open your eyes now, you see this country as it really is . . .

She shakes her head slightly, then waves her hand, as if to imply that nothing more can be said. Tom is watching, suddenly chilled, fearing he has lost her.

Tom: But you have friends?

Kyra: What?

Tom: This life that you're leading? I'm asking, it's not without friends? It's none of my business, but as you describe it . . . I suppose it all sounds a bit bleak.

Kyra: Tom, the point is, we're mostly totally exhausted . . .

Tom: I'm sure.

Kyra: What are you asking? Do I go out? Oh yes, I go out! On Fridays, I go to Thank God It's Fridays. On Saturdays, Sainsbury's. And also, yes, I have a few friends.

Tom: Well, good.

Kyra: Adele is terrific. She lives downstairs. She's the woman who found me this place.

Tom: You call that an act of friendship?

Kyra: Oh very funny.

Tom: It's more like she's trying to freeze you to death . . .

But Kyra's up to this, off to the kettle, and already off on a tack of her own.

Kyra: It doesn't bother me. Not after my childhood.

Tom: Being pushed by nannies beside stormy English seas . . .

Kyra: My dreadful father had something he called heating-bill targets. He'd hold up the heating bills, he'd say, ‘By all means, keep this place like a furnace, if that's what you want. But remember: turn it up in September, by February you'll have to be turning it down . . . ’

Tom smiles at this.

Kyra: You know he died?