- [Pansy and Chantelle are visiting the grave of their mother, Pearl]
- Pansy: Your memory of Pearl is not the same as mine. You, you had it easy. You were the favourite. You two thick as thieves, ha-ha-ha-hee-hee-heeing. And where was Pansy?
- Chantelle: She treated us both same way.
- Pansy: No, she never. She didn't support me.
- Chantelle: Yes, she did.
- Pansy: No, she never. I was good at maths. I was good with numbers. She didn't push me. Even in death, she chose you. I was the one who had to go round there and find her lying stiff in the bed, her two dead eyes staring at me. Accusing. Disappointed. "Oh, Pansy, what's wrong with you? Why can't you go outside and play? Why can't you make friends? Why can't you enjoy life?"
- Chantelle: Why *can't* you enjoy life?
- Pansy: I don't know!
- [long pause]
- Pansy: Haunted. Haunted.
- [long pause]
- Pansy: It's not fair.
- [at the dinner table]
- Pansy: You can't go in or out of a supermarket without being harassed by those grinning, cheerful charity workers begging you for money for their stupid causes. Why they gotta skin their teeth like that? Cheerful, grinning people. Can't stand 'em. Loitering out there, demanding your hard-earned cash. It's a scam. They're scamming people. Can't trust 'em. They want your phone number, your email. I asked one of them - I, I said, "Why do you want my postcode? I might as well just give you my front door key so you can bruk into my house, tief out my things, and kill my only child." And nobody calls the police on them. Police wouldn't come anyway. They're too busy harassing Black boys walking. And him round the corner with that dog. Got it dressed up in a red coat and green booties. Why has the dog got on a coat? It's got fur, innit? It must be sweating under there, stinking. That's cruelty to animals, that is, putting it under all that plastic. I've got a mind to report him to the NSPCG or whatever they call 'em. And her over there with that fat baby. Cold, cold, cold, and she's walking up and down the street with nothing but a big pink bow on its bald head so everybody can tell it's a girl, like I care. Parading it around in the little outfit. Not dressed for the weather. Nah. With pockets. What's a baby got pockets for? What's it gonna keep in its pocket? A knife? It's ridiculous.
- Moses: It's the RSPCA, Mum.
- Pansy: What?
- Curtley: The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
- Pansy: I know! I'm not stupid. Anyway...
- [she gestures toward the next room]
- Pansy: ...when we gonna replace that bruk-down sofa in there? Eh?
- [Pansy is browsing furniture in a shop when a sales assistant approaches her]
- Furniture Assistant: Hi. Can I help with anything today?
- Pansy: [curtly] No.
- Furniture Assistant: Just browsing?
- Pansy: I'm looking for a sofa.
- Furniture Assistant: Ah! Well, you're in the right place - we've got loads. We've also got chairs, recliners, footstools, tables, loveseats...
- Pansy: Listen. I'm more than capable of looking for a sofa. I can walk. I know I have to sit down, stand up, lie down, see if it's comfortable. I'm not an invalid.
- Furniture Assistant: I wasn't suggesting you were an invalid.
- Pansy: So what're you standing there for?
- Furniture Assistant: Just trying to be helpful.
- Pansy: Well, I don't need your help.
- Furniture Assistant: Okay.
- [she starts to walk away, then turns back to Pansy]
- Furniture Assistant: Look, I'm just trying to do my job.
- Pansy: No, you're not, you're harassing me. Why don't you go and show off for someone else, share your expertise?
- Furniture Assistant: To be honest, I don't really like your tone.
- Pansy: I don't like your face. Why'd you put on so much makeup?
- Furniture Assistant: What?
- Pansy: What if it comes off on all the furniture? Selfish.
- Furniture Assistant: Yeah, okay, now you're just getting personal.
- Pansy: Are you threatening me?
- Furniture Assistant: Excuse me?
- Pansy: Are. You. Threatening me?
- Furniture Assistant: I'm just trying to do my job, and I'm saying you're being rude.
- Pansy: Right.
- [she starts counting on her fingers]
- Pansy: Accusing. Harassing. Intimidating. Insulting. Where's the manager?
- Furniture Assistant: Oh, would you like to speak to my manager?
- Pansy: Yes, I would.
- Furniture Assistant: Okay. One second. I'll just go and get her. Make yourself comfortable.
- [she walks away; Pansy hastily exits the shop]
- Pansy: I'm so tired.
- Chantelle: I know.
- Pansy: I just wanna lie down and close my eyes. I want it all to stop.
- Chantelle: Let's go back to the flat.
- Pansy: No. I wanna go home.
- Chantelle: You're my only family, you know.
- Pansy: I can't do this anymore. I'm so scared.
- Chantelle: I know.
- Pansy: They all hate me. Curtley hates me. Moses hates me. The girls hate me. You all hate me.
- Chantelle: Nobody hates you! We all love you! I love you.
- [Chantelle pulls Pansy close; Pansy weeps against her chest]
- Chantelle: I don't understand you. But I love you.
- Pansy: [to a supermarket cashier] Look at you! Fix your face! Sitting there like a ghost. You're dealing with the public. Handling people's food.
- [following an argument with a clerk, Pansy is stewing in the front seat of her car in a crowded parking lot; a driver pulls up alongside her parking space and tries to get her attention]
- Irate Motorist: Darling, you leaving? Hello?
- [he honks his horn, then rolls down his window]
- Irate Motorist: Hello, darling, are you leaving?
- [Pansy ignores him]
- Irate Motorist: Hello!
- [he gets out of his car, growls in frustration, and approaches Pansy's car]
- Irate Motorist: Hey, babes. Just wondering, are you leaving? Hello? I'm talking to ya!
- [Pansy rolls down her window]
- Pansy: Who you talking to?
- Irate Motorist: I'm talking to you. I'm just wondering, are you leaving? Only I've been driving round this car park for the last twenty minutes trying to find a space. And you're the only person behind the wheel, and I was wondering, are you leaving anytime soon?
- Pansy: This car's stationary!
- Irate Motorist: I know it's stationary. Any chance of you making it un-fucking-stationary?
- Pansy: Don't swear at me.
- Irate Motorist: What's with the agg?
- Pansy: Hey! Lower your chest. Puffing it up like you wanna fight me.
- Irate Motorist: How 'bout you wind your jaw in?
- Pansy: What, are you on day release from the madhouse?
- Irate Motorist: Madhouse? I'll give you fucking madhouse!
- [he slams his fist against the hood of her car]
- Irate Motorist: You see this car park? This used to be my school. I'm from round here. All right?
- [he storms back to his car]
- Irate Motorist: Bitch.
- Pansy: Nutter!
- Irate Motorist: And I bet you ain't got no fucking fella either!
- Pansy: Yeah, and your balls are so backed up, you've got sperm in your brain!
- Irate Motorist: Yeah? And none of it's for you, ya barren bitch!
- [he drives off]