217 Babel Street | Apartment 14
(Damien's phone rings.)
- Hello?
- Damien, it's me. I don't want to talk to you particularly, but I need to ask about the money.
- I'll pay you back, Sophie. Promise. Give me more time.
- Can't you borrow from Dave? It's his problem too.
- Dave left the country. Haven't heard from him since.
- Shit. He made a nice escape. And what about you? Haven't you got a proper job yet?
- I'm working part-time in an outdoor centre. I applied for the overall manager's job but didn't get it. You won't believe who did. Blast from the past.
- Who?
- Banksy.
- Banksy that you ran the biking courses in Wales with? That idiot?
- The very same.
- God, Damien. You should be manager. Have you no ambition? For a guy who looks like Action Man, you're quite pathetic.
- Sophie, don't -
- Actually, I think you're some kind of masochist.
- He's got the job now. What can I do?
- Well, it's an outdoor centre so it can't be hard. A leaky kayak would do the trick. A snip into a climbing rope -
- You're mad.
- No, Damien. I'm sane. You're the one who doesn't get it. I'm not seriously suggesting you hurt Banksy, just take what should be yours.
- Funny. Someone else told me I could make something of myself. (A shadow passes over him. He flinches.) Guess I could.
- Now, that's more like it, Damien.