Trilby James > Quotes

“You don’t remember me, I’m not – I’m Lou, we met at Army Cadets, ten years ago – you don’t remember, that’s fine – I don’t cry, uh. Ever. Doctor said I was hard as fuck, so – as a baby – so, yeah, don’t feel anything, at all, never have, ’cept this one night, with you. You don’t remember, that’s – It was last night of cadets. Camp. The boys sneak into our dorm, cos the girls want to play this game thing, where you have to guess where our nipples are. Guess our nipples and belly buttons. With our pyjamas on. Which is erotic, and challenging, cos we’re all different aren’t we? Some people have really, like, low, nipples, or whatever – And anyway, you’re paired with me, cos no one else – I guess maybe we’re getting bullied, you seem upset, you don’t want to do it, you look at the floor, and you just sort of jab your finger at me, and turn to go, but you… You get it. You get me. Bang on. My left one. I think you feel it. And I say ‘wowza’. Like that. Breathy. ‘Wowza.’ And people cheer, cos – Maybe they’re bullying still, but I don’t care cos it feels real, like in a romcom, and you have this. Smile. I notice it. And then you guess my right one. And you get that too and – I s’pose that’s easier after the first, cos you sort of line ’em up, don’t you, I wouldn’t know – and then I nod, and then your hand moves down, to my stomach. And you look me in the eye, for the first time… and I didn’t mind looking in yours, uh… sorry… hang on… Uh… ‘Bomb… sound effect…’ No, that’s not yet, sorry. Sorry. Uh… So… She looks back to her notes. Oh yeah… so… Then, really gently this time, your hand reaches – Your finger just (moves), like that, and, like, slowly dis-disappears into me, into my stomach, my belly. Only up to about there, and with a pyjama. Sheath. Over it – shouldn’t – don’t say sheath – but, it feels like you’ve reached right in. Your whole hand. And touched something, right in the core of – Freezing cold in the core of me… and, just for a second… lit it up. And, it’s like…”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“She makes an explosion sound effect. A moment. And then I sort of… ran out of room there, but basically, anyway, I know you don’t remember me or anything but I was thinking that was the best bit of my life, so far, probably. I know it is. I never really realised before. But I’ve had a shit year, and I’m trying to do something, and I’ve missed you. I’ve realised I’ve missed you. And I’m back for a couple of weeks now – Off tour – I’ve been – so I thought I’d look you up. Today. And see what you were up to. And see if you remembered that too, and whether you might wanna. Have dinner. With – Do you like curry? It’s reduced but it’s fine. Sorry… Sorry – […]”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“So I’m not sure what I can actually add to the whole – I’m just not completely down with emoting, you know? Like this. Feels a bit – dickish. Sorry. Fuck it. So basically I was in my dad’s kitchen making a sandwich and then all of a sudden this guy, still in his airline chair, just crashed into the garden. Wee – Bop. Like a cartoon – a really fucking dark Tim Burton cartoon or something. And I – for the first couple of seconds he was alive, and then he wasn’t. And I’m a twat, and I’ll feel guilty for this for the whole of my life, but the first thing I thought was just – that song – ‘It’s Raining Men!’ Sorry. […] And I was just staring at the chair guy, like this – (Eyes wide open.) He looked up at me, and he caught my eye for a moment, and then he just died. The light just went out – quietly, and softly – And the thing is, he looked so kind. Pause. And we had to move out of the house for a week, and when we came back chair guy was gone, and they’d tidied everything up as best they could, jet-washed everything, you know – fucked up the whole garden, actually – but there was still this gash in the grass, and on the wall behind there was this black stain – which was like corpse juice or something. Charming. And for six months me and my dad ignored the black stain on the wall with this sort of studied indifference – I love him for that – we made no mention of it at all – stiff upper lip, all that shit – but neither of us went out into the garden either. And then one day I came back home, and the wall had been painted white, and there was this trellis and like roses or something planted against the wall, and the gash had this chiminea over it. And I missed the black stain on the wall, actually. Weirdly. And when I went to the inquest to give my little spiel – it’ll go on for like four years or something, so it’s awesome that I’ve done mine already – and Chairy – The Man Who Fell to Earth – his name was actually Sunny Mir – Sunny Mir – which is such an awesome name – and he was forty-seven, and he was a doctor from High Barnet. I didn’t say anything, in the inquest, about him still being alive. His family were there and I didn’t want them to – so I totally bossed the inquest – smashed it – I kept that between me and Sunny. Our little secret.”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“Rav, can I talk to you? […] I really have to tell you something. […] Sorry, but I really do need to talk to you. […] I love you, Rav. […] I love you. […] No. I mean, I love you. Actual heart-pounding, heart-aching, love-of-my-life, romantic love, heart beating out of my chest when I think about you, love you. […] I follow you on Twitter. And Instagram. […] I know you do park runs once a fortnight.
I know you make a really good steak and kidney pie. I know you love funny cat videos. […] I know you really hate Paul Hollywood. […] I know that when you were fourteen you got your best mate Jonesy who was in my Business Studies class to put a note in my rucksack asking if I’d go out with you and I said yes and we went to Fat Mike’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet for our first date and I was so nervous I hardly ate anything which kind of defeated the object of Fat Mike’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet but I didn’t want you to think I was greedy and you had corn on the cob and it got all stuck between your teeth and all night all I could think of was that sweetcorn and how if you kissed me it was going to go in my mouth and I really wanted you to kiss me but I didn’t want all your sweetcorn in my mouth. […] That year we went out was honestly the happiest year of my life. […] We […] knew how we felt. Fifteen is a formative age. And if my parents hadn’t split up and Mam got a job down the country. […] What I felt for you I’ve never felt for anyone else. […] Nothing’s come close. Standing here with you now, it doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I feel the same fizzy butterflies in my stomach when you look at me. I feel awake. […] Maybe I shouldn’t say this but I’m glad there’s an asteroid, cos it’s the kick I needed. Seeing that announcement earlier, my life flashed before my eyes and it was… shit. And after, in the office on my own, your face just kept popping into my mind until you were all I could think about. I’ve wasted so much time but I’m here now. And I’m asking you – last-chance saloon. And I know I talk a lot but – […] Yeah. ‘She never says one word when she can say ten’ my gran used to say. Well, here’s three – I love you. I really do.
Sorry, that was six.
And that was another four. I just wanted to leave it at ‘I love you’ but I’ve spoiled it now.
Are you going to say something?
Sorry, that was another six.”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“Thank you for coming, Miss Cole, if you’d like to take a seat. The man tells me there’s a scoring system. A drop of sweat
runs down my back.
Is there? I say, A scoring system. I see.
I have to score your answers. He’s sharp.
Nice one.
My voice don’t sound like me.
I want this job.
That’s all it is
Just a job
I wasn’t cultivated for a career
I just want a job
He takes out a tissue and wipes his top lip, leaving remnants
of white fluff over his face.
He tells me whoever scores the highest, goes through to the
next round. There’s a next round? I say.
I’m aware that Samantha’s waiting for me outside Greggs and
she only has an hour.
And nobody said nothing about rounds.
I thought I’d be in and out.
A chat, they said.
He clicks the top of his pen and writes something on a form.
There’s three.
Three?
Like X Factor or something.
I laugh. Too loud. Too big.
For fuck’s sake. Why am I still laughing?
He glares at me from over the top of his glasses.
I’m fucking it up.
And I really want this job.
I need to save my arse. Ask something good. Something that
makes sense.
Can I just ask, this is for the make-up counter?
He sneezes.
Are you telling me you don’t know what job you’ve applied
for?
No. I know. I just. I wanted to ask something. I…
Stop talking Yaz.
I just…
Beg. Try begging.
Look. Please. Um sir. I just wanted to say how much
I really want this.
His disinterest is tangible.
Too much? Not enough? Who knows. I go in hard.
I did a beauty course? Level 2, NVQ in beauty and nail
services? Will that score?
Fuck it. Shit or bust.
I got a paper. A… one of them… it’s square. What’s
it called. A certificate. With NVQ on it… you know
the ones?
A certificate?
Yeah. That’s it. A certificate. Level 2.
Nailed it, Yaz.
He tells me they got girls with degrees lining up for this job. Rats racing to get in the rat pack.
In what? In make-up?
They do degrees in standing all day at a make-up counter?
He looks to the floor. Can’t look me in the eye. That come out
wrong.
Bollocks.
He reshuffles his papers.
This is well and truly blown.
He pulls the tissue back out of his pocket, blows his nose.
Shall we get started?”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“You know how people have dogs and they love their dogs and they take photos of them and buy them jumpers and cry when they die and you all have to chip in money at work to buy them flowers even though it was just a fucking Pomeranian. Steve was like a dog. I loved him. I love him. I do. But he was like a Labrador and, in reality, if at the pet shop, I’d gone for a, I don’t know, a King Charles Spaniel, instead, I would have loved that just as much. We loved each other because that’s what people do they love their dogs and their husbands. It’s just the – ease that I miss. I don’t miss him or need him but when I come back to this [empty house]. All I want to do is order a curry. And I don’t know what my favourite curry is. He did the ordering in. He must have had the number memorised or on his phone or – There was this one curry. It’s lamb with this yogurt and it’s just the right kind of spicy. I used to be able to handle vindaloo but after – when I was pregnant, I went completely off it but this one was just right. Not too greasy. And the naan too – not too thick. I tried to order it last week from one of those apps. But it wasn’t the right one. It was all creamy and thick and wrong. I just want to ring him and say ‘Hey, I know you hate me, I know it’s my fault she’s gone but please, which is the good curry house, what’s the curry I like, with the lamb called? Thank you, Steven. Goodnight.’ That’s all I want.”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“MADDY stands outside a toilet cubicle. The door is slightly ajar. She talks to Joshua who is the other side. While we may hear some audio of Joshua on the toilet, sing-songing, etc. Joshua does not respond to MADDY’s questions. Any pauses come from MADDY’s own thought process rather than a sense that she is hearing a response. Try not to touch under the toilet seat, Joshua. No, no, you’ll need to touch the seat to hold yourself up but try not to touch underneath the seat. It’s just dirtiest under there, my darling. Are you done? Is it a poo? Okay, sweetheart. You take your time. Joshua, when Granny took you out for your tea. And you had pizza and a chocolate rabbit. You went to a loo like this didn’t you. While Granny was paying for the meal. A man brought you to the toilet. Was that… Was he a nice man? No, don’t touch that please. It’s dirty. It’s for dirty things a bit like nappies but for mummies not babies. You went into the boys’ toilet didn’t you, with the man? Like you do with Daddy. How much did the man help you? Or did he stand all the way out here like I’m doing so you can be a big boy and do it all by yourself? Have you finished your poo? Do you want me to come and wipe you? You’re doing it yourself. Okay. That’s right, pull that. You might need more than that little piece. Was there anybody else in the toilets when the man brought you? You don’t need that much toilet paper, do you? Stop now, Joshua. That’s too much. Stop. Okay, good. Just tear a smaller bit off that. It’s trailing all over the floor. Get a smaller bit. Okay. Good boy. Did the man go to the toilet too when you did? Did you see his peepee? Did you touch it? Did you? Joshy, answer Mummy, please. Did you touch each other’s peepees? Why are you covering your ears, sweetie? Is there something you want to tell Mummy? (Desperate now…) Joshy, why are you covering your ears?! A breath. She composes herself. Is Mummy being annoying? Yeah? You’re sick of Mummy asking questions, is that it? Okay, my love. Okay. Let’s get your hands washed and get out of here”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2

“Do I miss him? No. Not the himness of him, you know. He was my husband but it was sort of like – You know how people have dogs and they love their dogs and they take photos of them and buy them jumpers and cry when they die and you all have to chip in money at work to buy them flowers even though it was just a fucking Pomeranian. Steve was like a dog. I loved him. I love him. I do. But he was like a Labrador and, in reality, if at the pet shop, I’d gone for a, I don’t know, a King Charles Spaniel, instead, I would have loved that just as much. We loved each other because that’s what people do they love their dogs and their husbands. It’s just the – ease that I miss. I don’t miss him or need him but when I come back to this [empty house]. All I want to do is order a curry. And I don’t know what my favourite curry is. He did the ordering in. He must have had the number memorised or on his phone or – There was this one curry. It’s lamb with this yogurt and it’s just the right kind of spicy. I used to be able to handle vindaloo but after – when I was pregnant, I went completely off it but this one was just right. Not too greasy. And the naan too – not too thick. I tried to order it last week from one of those apps. But it wasn’t the right one. It was all creamy and thick and wrong. I just want to ring him and say ‘Hey, I know you hate me, I know it’s my fault she’s gone but please, which is the good curry house, what’s the curry I like, with the lamb called? Thank you, Steven. Goodnight.’ That’s all I want.”
― Trilby James, Contemporary Monologues for Women: Volume 2