FEELINGS

by Pam Gems

Copyright © Pam Gems
Pam Gems is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. The author has asserted her moral rights. 

All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before rehearsal to Rose Cobbe, United Agents, 12-26 Lexington Street, London W1F 0LE, UK. Tel: +44 (0) 20 3214 0800.
http://unitedagents.co.uk/agents/rose-cobbe/. Assistant: Dan Usztan. Email: dusztan@unitedagents.co.uk Tel: +44 (0) 20 3214 0873. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained.

FEELINGS

Cast

		An aging scientist

		A young girl

FEELINGS

SCENE ONE.

STUDY. 

A MAN, not young, is reading in an easy chair by a table laden with books and papers.

On the floor, across the room, a YOUNG GIRL, lies on her stomach reading a magazine.
She turns a page.
He turns a page.
She reaches for a biscuit tin.

			GIRL
		Rich Tea or Ginger?

He holds out a hand without raising his eyes from the page.  She swims across the carpet, puts a biscuit in his hand.  He eats without looking up.  She swivels back, finds her place and resumes reading on her stomach.  He reaches for a pen, makes a brief note.

			GIRL
		(Calls across, breaking the silence.)  Sortable!  (French pronunciation.)

He lifts his head.  She reaches for a dictionary on the floor.

			GIRL
		(To herself) Sortable.

			MAN
		(Calls) Presentable.

She flips the pages, finds the word and nods.

			MAN
		Pas sortable means you can’t be seen out with him.

She laughs briefly.  They work.

			GIRL
		(Calls)  Essayeur?  (Looks in dictionary)... essayeur...essayeuse...

			MAN
		Means fitter.  As in tailoring.

			GIRL
		Don’t think so.

She rises, brings him her copy of Paris Match.  He looks where she points, reads and laughs.

			MAN
		(Looking up at her)  Here it means a woman being tried out as a high-class escort.

			GIRL
		(Leaning for a look)  A whore you mean?

			MAN
		That’s what the scandal’s about.  He’s been rumbled, there’s the white flag  (points at the page) - wife with the fixed smile clamped to his side.

			GIRL
		Oh.  (As he turns the pages to look at the pictures) Will he lose his job?

			MAN
		No, no - whoever shopped him will be moved  sideways.

			GIRL
		For being a shit?

			MAN
		For being bourgeois.  Pas sortable.

The GIRL laughs, jolts him on the shoulder as he turns a page.

			GIRL
		Hold on - turn back.  (Takes the magazine from him.)

			MAN
		What?

			GIRL
		(Points) Agynesse Dehn - English model - (excited) Kate Moss!

			MAN
		(Looking) Mmm?

			GIRL
		Only the topmost top model in the world.  Emblems of the era, that’s what Spike calls them.  (He looks puzzled.  To herself) Jesus.  (Aloud)  Spike says if you wanna know about history sus the visuals.

			MAN
		Who’s Spike?

			GIRL
		Art master.  (Turns a page, stabs at a picture.)  Tam Johnson, latest male model.  There are some cool older guys modelling now, so long as they’re not bald - a shaved head’s OK.  (Looks at him speculatively.)

			MAN
		And older women?

			GIRL
		God no.

			MAN
		Why?

			GIRL
		Who wants to go to bed with a hag?  In France maybe - you’re allowed to have sex over thirty and not get arrested, look at Jeanne Moreau.

			MAN
		I’ll ring the travel agent.

She smiles at him briefly, bends her head to the magazine turning the pages.

			GIRL
		(Without lifting her head)  Did you go to the hospital?

			MAN
		Yup.

			GIRL
		OK?

			MAN
		Next appointment six months.

			GIRL
		You have to go back?

			MAN
		With prostate once you’ve got it what’s relevant is the rate of advance.

			GIRL
		What’s yours?

			MAN
		Not galloping.

She yocks with laughter.  He looks up.

			GIRL
		Sorry - a galloping prostate - Clint Eastwood...(to herself) oh stop it, he’s only a hundred and one.

			MAN
		Good looking man.

			GIRL
		Bone structure.  (Slight pause.)  What if it does decide to gallop?

			MAN
		They give you drugs.

			GIRL
		Any good?

			MAN
		Yup.

			GIRL
		What does Ruby say?

			MAN
		(Foreign accent) “Priéten, you are lost.”

			GIRL
		Priéten?

			MAN
		Means friend in Rumanian.

			GIRL
		In other words “You’ve had it, mate.”
		She’s worried about her billet.

			MAN
		You think so?

			GIRL
		She’s an illegal!

			MAN
		(Shakes his head.)  I keep telling her -  Rumanians are welcome now!  As my wife -

			GIRL
		She’ll still be anxious.  If you fall under a bus she’ll have to find another idiot.  (Settles down with her magazine.  Calls across) Why did you give her bed and board?
		I don’t know why you did that.

			MAN
		She could have been deported.  OK now.

			GIRL
		And you’ve lumbered yourself.  I don’t know.  (She flicks him a look of admiration for his gallantry.)  What you should do is demand your marital rights, that’d see her off.

			MAN
		Oh, get away.

			GIRL
		(Laughs) No - she’d be grateful with that moustache.

			MAN
		Very highly prized in Rumania - sign of a fertile woman.

			GIRL
		I think they may have got something wrong there.

			MAN
		I bearded virgin’ll get a hubbie with no dowry.

			GIRL
		Especially if she smells of latrines.  (Jumps up)   I know - Air Freshener!

			MAN
		No!

			GIRL
		(Grabbing her bag) It’s OK, there’s one to mask dog’s pee when you’re walking a puppy.  It’s called Fresh Air.

			MAN
		What will they think of next?

			GIRL
		(Pauses by the door.)  D’you need anything?  Pomegranate?  Anti-oxidant, refines the complexion.  No?
		I’ll get a pineapple - longevity and genius guaranteed.

			MAN
		(Calls as she goes) What are you cooking for your brothers  tonight?

			GIRL
		Leftovers and stewed apple.
			MAN
		Here.
		(He fishes, hands her some money.)

			GIRL
		Thanks!

		MAN
		They’re growing lads.

She laughs, happy with gratitude, and dashes off.  He bends to his work.

SCENE 2

THE MAN’S GARDEN.  A paved area with seating and pots, hedging and trees beyond.  It is stylish.  The MAN and the GIRL are enjoying the sun.  He has taken off his jacket, lies back, eyes closed.  She throws crumbs to the birds.

			MAN
		(Murmurs) You’ll encourage the pigeons.

			GIRL
		Don’t be mean.  Share the planet.

			MAN
		Who says?

			GIRL
		Guru Winston.  Writes in the local paper.  Got one leg.

			MAN
		Oh well!

She throws crumbs for the birds, nudges him gently as one approaches...they watch and lift their heads together to see the bird fly off.

			MAN
		Robin.  Mr Solo...loner - well, except when mating - tough little bird.. 

		I put up a rat once.  I was marking papers in a Cambridge conservatory and it ran over my foot.  Damnedest thing...it stood there savvying its options, which weren’t great - looked up at me, strolled back over my shoe and buggered off.  
		I should have clobbered it.

			GIRL
		But you didn’t?

			MAN
		Pure defiance.  Always humbling, courage in adversity.

			GIRL
		Depends whether you’re standing your ground for a good cause or  some mindless lash-out.  (She thinks.)  It could have been a lady rat with babies to protect.

		(They settle back to relax in the sun)  I wonder if it’s true for non-mammals.

			MAN
		What?

			GIRL
		Mother-love.  Do all species care for their young?

			MAN
		Shouldn’t think so - most of them are more like components than the full monty, which doesn’t stop them stinging you.

			GIRL
		Dear little aphids don’t bite.

			MAN
		No, too busy guzzling -  you should see my beans.

			GIRL
		They’ve got to eat something.

			MAN
		Why me?

			GIRL
		Well, they don’t realise.  Unlike Uncle Norman, my father’s brother.

			MAN
		Ate his beans, did he?

			GIRL
		Only conned him out of his share of the family home.  Didn’t need it, he was loaded - a few bucks around Dad might not have pushed off..

			MAN
		Yes.  (Slight pause.)
		Families don’t always work.  Still the best idea though.

			GIRL
		(Laughs) Think so?

			MAN
		In the end, yes.  Too much freedom leads to bewilderment.  You see it in children.  Without parameters they don’t know who they are.

			GIRL	
		(Shakes her head.)  Sure they do.  OK, human beings  get together when things go wrong but  otherwise it’s  take care of yourself.  Who else does?

			MAN
		Teachers, doctors, dentists - 

			GIRL
		(Cutting him off) That’s just maintenance.  I’m talking about who’s in charge.

			MAN
		And who’s that?

			GIRL
		Me!  I’m not Snow White, some bird in a trance waiting for Leonardo di Caprio to kiss her awake.  Who needs heros poncing all over the manor?   The Anti-hero rules OK?

			MAN
		(Laughs) If you say so.

			GIRL
		I do, Galahad and Batman having warped off to Saturn decades ago along with young Lochinvar, whoever he was.

			MAN
		What about the unfortunate?  Are you saying kkkkk - (index finger across his throat with a harsh hiss) to what is it you call them - the patsies of this world?

			GIRL
		Yes.  Serve them right.

			MAN
		For what?

			GIRL
		For being fantasists.

			MAN
		Oh come on!  Even Einstein said the most important component of a successful life was luck.  Some people thrive,  for others it’s heads below the parapet.
.
			GIRL
		People are one-offs!  That means You - you decide. Who else?

			MAN
		A question of options.

			GIRL
		OK, so sus the scene, figure the odds...toe in the water, take the plunge!

			MAN
		And caveat emptor.

			GIRL
		What does that mean?

			MAN
		It’s Latin for watch it, buster.

			GIRL
		Yeah, that and all.

He smiles, lies back, relaxing.   Starts to tap his fingers on his chest.

			GIRL
		What?

			MAN
		Oh nothing.
		Just...
		Perhaps an atavistic moment of yearning for something else...other...something poetic perhaps.

		I’m being romantic.
		What do I know?
		Totally unreliable.

			GIRL
		What?

			MAN
		Oh...feeling.

			GIRL
		Feelings?

			MAN
		Feelings.
		Why do we still believe...?
		Why these obstinate attachments to notions of - of - (throws up his hands, looking for the word.)

			GIRL
		Of what?

			MAN
		Gallantry.  The moment.  Rising to the occasion.
		Complete bloody waste of time.

			GIRL
		I don’t see why.  If somebody does something special -

			MAN
		But you can’t rely - you can’t depend on or guarantee the moment - 

			GIRL
		Why not?

			MAN
		It’s not necessarily there, quantifiable, available on demand -

			GIRL
Sure it is in some people.  Some people are naturally brave - or naturally timid - probably in their nature, runs in families.

			MAN
		No.  Take my word for it.  Response to crisis - accident - never stable.  Human beings have many qualities.  Predictable, reliable response to stimuli - (shakes his head) - no.  It’s why you have to hard-train soldiers.

			GIRL
		To get them to fight.

			MAN
		There again you never know, though it’s easier than you might suppose.

			GIRL
		Well boys like fighting.  Girls like dolls, boys like swords and guns.

			MAN
		And looting.  And raping.

			GIRL
		That is pissy.  Most people...

		MAN
		Most people are capable of anything - for self-preservation absolutely anything.

			GIRL
		So if I fall in and Peter - you haven’t met him - jumps in after me I should tell him to fuck off, quit being a romantic prat, just let me get caught in the weed and drown.

			MAN
		Now you’re being silly.

			GIRL
		No, I’m not.

			MAN
		Yes you are, you want a fight.

			GIRL
		And you’re cruising for a bruising.

A pause.  He stirs at last.

			GIRL
		What?

He shakes his head, makes to subside, changes his mind.

			MAN
		When you’re young you feel immortal and that can be exploited.  It doesn’t last, gone by your twenties,  sooner in battle - if you do dodge the Reaper it’s no more dreams of victory - it’s how do I survive?
		If being brave looks like doing you in -

The GIRL laughs.

			GIRL
		Who wants to be a dead hero!
			MAN
		Glad you agree.

A pause.  He smiles to himself.

			GIRL
		What?

			MAN
		Oh nothing.

			GIRL
		What?

			MAN
		We had this little ginger, pink-eyed chap in the pay office -  never opened his mouth except to say sorry.  (He stops.  She waits.)  We were crossing this paddy field after a fairly rough morning - no cover, much too quiet - all of a sudden ginger streak takes off, sprints over the ground full-tossing hand grenades to extra cover, square leg like an England team fast bowler.

		Took out a whole bunker.  Amazing.

			GIRL
		Was he killed?

			MAN
		No, probably because he was five foot nothing - dodgy target.  When I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, he apologised, said the flies had been driving him up the wall and would I overlook it?

			GIRL
		Wow.  Did you give him a medal?

			MAN
		Would have if he hadn’t stepped on a mine.

Pause.

			GIRL
		Were you brave?  In Korea?
			MAN
		Of course not.  Wars of futility promote highly sophisticated modes of self-preservation.

			GIRL
		So you didn’t go in for valour?

			MAN
		Only occasionally.

			GIRL
		(Eager) Where?

			MAN
		In the boxing ring usually.

			GIRL
		You were a boxer?

			MAN
		Amateur. 

			GIRL
		Pigeon-weight?
		Fly-weight?

			MAN
		Light-middle-weight.

			GIRL
		Did you win?

			MAN
		Yes...sometimes before the fights began.

			GIRL
		You mean because they were fixed?

			MAN
		No.  You look in their eyes.

			GIRL
		Your opponents?
		And that tells you?
		(She nods, digesting this.)
		Did you enjoy it?
			MAN
		Boxing?  Yes.  It made me happy.  Didn’t realise it at the time, you don’t.

			GIRL
		Happy?  To punch people?  Why?

			MAN
		Dunno.

			GIRL
		Insanity - you could have damaged your brain.  Probably did.

			MAN
		Oh well, worth it for the bliss.

			GIRL
		Bliss?

			MAN
		Yes...a rare state.  You see it in dogs sometimes -  babies -  young strikers after scoring before they’ve learned to cool it.

			GIRL
		Strikers go berserk.
		
			MAN
		That’s triumphalism - not the same as joy.

He picks up his jacket from the back of the bench.

			GIRL
		(As they exit)  Joy?

SCENE 3.

A CAFÉ.  The MAN and the GIRL having coffee.  She stirs her cup, frowning.

			GIRL
		Not my favourite word, joy.
		(She leans across the table towards him.)
		Her Christian name.

			MAN
		(Taking a roll and butter.)  Madam Miasma?

			GIRL
		How did you know?

			MAN
		The whiff of sulphur.

			GIRL
		We try to avoid the bitch.  Janey Ironside said to her once  “Sorry, Miss Harper, could I have some water, you’re making me feel faint.”

			MAN
		(Buttering his roll) How was that received?

She looks at him scornfully.

			GIRL
		(Mincing voice) “I don’t know why you girls are so in awe of me - I’m just a human being, you know.”

He laughs.

			GIRL
		Caught me flat-aback this morning.  “Could I borrow you?”  I was in the library and she saw me - heavy beckoning across the hall to her door.   (She groans heavily.)  Pray to the echelon of godly rarified creatures who pound the paste of your sanity that you never cross the threshold of the Abandon Hope Saloon.

			MAN
		Abandon Hope Saloon?

			GIRL
		Harper’s den.

He laughs.
			MAN
		Intimidating?

			GIRL
		What is that phrase about losing the will to live?

			MAN
		That bad? 

			GIRL
		Much worse.  Damask curtains, fully lined - couldn’t look pottier in a building obviously designed for punitive correction.  No, it’s - (He laughs at her gloomy expression.) - oh, God.  You don’t want to - why should you suffer... Arrgh...(Sighs dramatically.)

		The Abandon Hope Saloon.
		Washed out Turner prints,  Impressionist repros all the wrong size, Clarice Cliff repros,  bloody great  rubber tree with the top lopped off, behind Miasma enthroned in mock  suede, ginger rinse,  the wrong pong, and guess what on “the platter?”

			MAN
		(Thinks)  Vivaldi?
		(She shakes her head.)

			GIRL
		Mozart.

			MAN
		Mozart?

			GIRL
		As background music.

			MAN
		(Slight pause.)  Ye-es.
		So - no discernible movement towards the au courant?

			GIRL
		From Senora Stiffened to fracture by status rods up the ass? 

			GIRL (Cont’d)
		(She groans.)
		Ohhh for the slightest trace - one flicker - 
		A tasteful tattoo - little weasel on the ankle.
		Fish and chips at the Opera, a streak at Wembley, tidge of white up the nose on Speech Day....
		Just one day...
		one day with no knickers.

		(Slight pause.)

		What the fuck is happening to people?

The MAN stirs his coffee.

			MAN
		(Thoughtful) “If you want to know the secrets of me you must first learn the real me.”  (She looks at him, frowning in puzzlement.)

		Imagination.  Has to be there - dried out, dishevelled, shoved on top of the wardrobe like most people’s...

		Nonetheless.
		Look...forage...pursue.  Locate the imagination - locate and invade.

			GIRL
		Imagination?  From Madam Decant the Beaujolais You Can Always Rely On Harrods?   We’re talking about the Iron Age - encrusted vaults on the sea bed - the Carboniferous Layer.

Pause.

			MAN
		What did she want to see you about?

			GIRL
		You.

			MAN
		Me?

			GIRL
		She’s after you again.  Could you be persuaded to grace us with your awesome presence - she even uncapped the Mont Blanc,  got out the Diary.  Oh God.  People.

He gives her a tender look, unseen.

			MAN
		What did you say?

			GIRL
		The truth, that you had the clap, stage Two -  I didn’t mention the weeping ulcers -  give me some discretion.
		I said that you work all the time - ALL the time and I’m the reason you stop sometimes because I take your mind off.  It’s what I’m for.

			MAN
		Don’t cut yourself.

			GIRL
		It’s true.  Partly.  Sometimes.
		Mostly you aren’t listening.

			MAN
		Of course I listen.

			GIRL
		Liar.  Well - occasionally.

		(He regards her.)

		What?

			MAN
		You remind me of...something...probably of when there was time for a me.  (She pulls a face at him, puzzled.)  It’s the price you pay - there’s always a price.  (She looks away, baffled, as she often is with him.)

		So - you put her off?

		GIRL
		I did.
		Actually I was rather subtle.

			MAN
		(Laughs) Subtle?

			GIRL
		I indicated that although this was not known to the general public the reason for your rare appearance on the platform was due to - guess.

		(He drinks his coffee.  She leans across the table... whispers,)

		Your handicap.  A burden born bravely since early childhood.

			MAN
		Not the clap then.

			GIRL
		(Offers him more cake.)  An infirmity known only to members of your inner family - and, of course, Her Majesty.  The reason, so often pondered, for your non-appearance in Oslo in person.
		What would be a crushing disability that would prevent you utterly from your rightful place as the major star of the scientific firmament?

			MAN
		I give up.

			GIRL
		Give up?

			MAN
		I’ve just said so.

She leans across, grasps his hand in pity.

			GIRL
		(Dropping his hand dismissively and eating cake.)  Your stammer.

The MAN absorbs this.  Nods.
			GIRL
		A severe and obliterating-of-all-meaningful-converse stammer.  Worst of all - most disastrously focussing on a total failure to deal with the letter P.

			MAN
		P.

			GIRL
		P.  I felt obliged to illustrate, I said that one day you were in such despair that you invoked my assistance - of course I was only too willing - honoured to be of service -

			MAN
		What did I want?

			GIRL
		You said - you apologised but urgently needed, for your work, to know how many ps -

		(She pauses.)
		You wanted to know how many ps there were in p-p-p-p-pepper...was it five or six?

He throws a cake at her - she dodges.

			GIRL
		No, I said your time was programmed two years in advance.  That you were due in Paris and Bonn and China, but that wasn’t supposed to be known.  She was round that desk like an Airedale on uppers.  God I wish you’d been there, I had to bat her away -

			MAN
		Little bitch.

			GIRL
		She leaned over the sodding desk, said I was not, on any account, to worry.  That if I felt the need to unburden myself a quick knock on her door...that  I was a credit to the school, that my work had shown increasing promise - just keep up the high standard, relax, be assured of support...and whenever I needed - da da da...the door was open. 
He laughs.
			GIRL
		You have your uses, you old sod -  I should let you loose on L’Air du Temps.

			MAN
		Ah, the incomparable Mamselle!  Still offended?

			GIRL
		It wasn’t our fault she fell in!

They laugh.

			MAN
		Not a good idea, a Frenchwoman on water.

			GIRL
		And she broke a finger-nail.  But -

			MAN
		What?

			GIRL
		May Jenkins stopped me in the corridor this morning.  Seems my essay on deserts hit the spot in the staff room.

			MAN
		Deserts?

			GIRL
		Moments of profundity apparently.

			MAN
		Did you say deserts?

			GIRL
		The word ineffable was quoted, yes I’m crazy about deserts, didn’t you know?

			MAN
		You’ve never seen a bloody desert.

			GIRL
		What difference does that make?

			MAN
		If you had had one term of elementary science in that phoney showplace of yours - and I don’t mean  computers -

			GIRL
		Oh, not that again.

			MAN
		(Irritable)  Yes, Miss Neanderthal.  What the hell do you know about deserts?

			GIRL
		Listen.  I’ve no need for real sand under my feet to be inhabited by silence...a dry sweetness...a sense of elsewhere.  As a student of the arts I have an imagination fed by the printing presses of the world, I don’t need the dehydrated aridities of science to get me up.  I’m a gifted romantic intellectual, a credit to my trendy establishment.

			MAN
		Which thrives without the need of science.

			GIRL
		I did chemistry for a term!  Bloody boring, thank God it was optional.

			MAN
		And obviously dispensable.

			GIRL
		I didn’t say that.  Of course we need scientists for... for fission...cosmetics.

She giggles.  He looks at her amiably and does his withdrawing thing.
Pause.

			MAN
		(Dreamily) And the Second Law?

			GIRL
		Law?

			MAN
		Of Thermo Dynamics?

		(She looks at him with defensive wariness.)

		Let me demonstrate.
		(He puts a book on end, knocks it over.)
		Can you reverse that?

			GIRL
		Of course.  (Rights the book.)

			MAN
		No, I said reverse.  You have created a subsequent occurrence.  The Second Law of Thermo-Dynamics expresses the fact that things happen one way.  An awesome realisation, as no doubt you are aware.

			GIRL
		(Defensive) I don’t think so, no.

			MAN
		Of course not, how could you?  You’re not  equipped to know, nor to experience the celestial intoxication of realising that two and two do not - necessarily - make four.  You, my young sprout,  are an illiterate savage.

			GIRL
		Savage?
		I’m a savage because I have the capacity to be moved by the nothingness of space - by air unimpeded by moisture, light unmolested by cloud?
		What is wrong with deserts?

			MAN
		Nothing.

			GIRL
		Then what are you on about?

			MAN
		Idiotic tendencies in humans.

			GIRL
		Oh, I see.  So no relief from Tube strikes, English fucking movies, Angelina fucking Jolie, Jonathan fucking himself Ross.
		Temporary refuge from the nightmare of the now  taboo.

		What is Wrong with deserts?
		Shortage of facilities?    
		No on-street parking for massage parlours, chicken takeaways, all night chemists?

			MAN
		Yes...yes...and yes.  Undoubtedly.  Well noted. 

		Absolutely.

		However.

		Although the drawbacks of deserts - vegetatively, habitationally and culturally - are widely known, their more profound danger -

			GIRL
		Deserts aren’t dangerous.

			MAN
		I disagree.

			GIRL
		No more than  pudding bowls, copies of the Beano.  They just ARE.

			MAN
		Of course.  Benevolent or the reverse, depending on the wisdom or derangement of human involvement ...degree of jejune romantic idiocy.

			GIRL
		A bottle of pop and no sunhat  for a trans-Saharan stroll, for example...

			MAN
		It has been known.
		I was thinking of another sort of risk.  Something  other.
			GIRL
		Different you mean?

			MAN
		Entirely different.
		Tendencies capable of inciting conditions leading to - to trauma.

			GIRL
		Trauma?  A set of medical conditions - like Angela Norris’s father’s diabetes? 
		I don’t get it.
		I’m talking about deserts.  What are you on about - prickly heat?

			MAN
		(Shakes his head) No, another sort of trauma.  I suppose you could call it Trauma Lawrentius.

			GIRL
		Trauma Lawrentius?

			MAN
		Yeah.  Lawrentius.   Lawrence  T.E.

			GIRL
		You mean Lawrence of Arabia?

			MAN
		As he was, with reluctant diffidence, pleased to be known.

			GIRL
		Lawrence of Arabia?

She rises, looms over him.

			GIRL
		Just because I like deserts does not mean that I am either male, ex-army, nor a repressed homosexual.  I do not crave welts on my bloody bum which is quite bloody enough once a month thank you very much (he looks round to see if they are being overheard) - nor do I intend, noisily and publicly, to announce my withdrawal from society to the loftier heights of über-intellectualism.
			GIRL (Cont’d)
		Did Sam Beckett ponce down the boulevards displaying de haut en bas refusal to join the human race?  Was James Joyce a teetotal Vegan?

			MAN
		They were Irish.

			GIRL
		What’s that got to do with it?

			MAN
		They’re not Anglo-Saxon.

			GIRL
		And nor are they pseudos and stop being racist, God it dates you.  Lawrence was a great big middle-class phoney.

			MAN
		Who lived at the daily risk of being shoved in clink as a gay, queer, perverted, shirt-lifting pouf.  That’s how it was for us dated old has-beens.

			GIRL
		Yeah yeah and women were strung up as witches - anyway sod off, you’re not gay.

			MAN
		No, though at times it would seem to offer the better option, all things considered.

			GIRL
		Not about option.

He flicks a look of admiration at her precision.

			MAN
		No, of course not.

		(Pause.)

		So - you got it.  The Literary Prize.

			GIRL
		Yup.
			MAN
		I wondered why you were looking so -

			GIRL
		Big-assed.

			MAN
		I was going to say in such a good mood.

			GIRL
		(Laughs) Yeah.  Got it.  Enfin my dear knight - I must stop doing that.

			MAN
		Doing what?

			GIRL
		Quoting.  Doesn’t go down well.

			MAN
		Why not?

			GIRL
		Marks you out as a reader.

			MAN
		That not good?

			GIRL
		Absolument pas, fuck I’ve done it again.

			MAN
		Reading not on?

			GIRL
		No, dead out.

		(He digests this with deep dismay.  Which she notices.)
		There’ll always be a minority, like liken - or is it pronounced lichen - on the trees...a few quaint souls who can’t work DVDs, or phones that tell you the date, state of the Stock Exchange and the name of Miss World.  I’m thinking of starting a new secret society - the Neeps.  Neo-Primitives - neep tides as emblems - “We aim to infiltrate, not surge.”
			MAN
		Are there many of you?		

			GIRL
		No.

			MAN
		Not enough for a decent-sized movement?

			GIRL
		Wouldn’t bet on it.

			MAN
		I’m surprised they still have prizes in that place of yours.  Don’t they find it racist - vieux jeu?

			GIRL
		Yeah but they want it both ways, like everybody else.
		They didn’t want to give it to me.  Usually the ones who lie low pick up the dibs.  All about reasonable behaviour.

			MAN
		A decent degree of deference, politesse?

			GIRL
		More about not wearing nose rings, tattoos on the physog, skirts above the bum.  Plus what you said.

			MAN
		Hardly your style, deference.  Your father should have been court-martialled God knows how many times.  Completely buggered up the line of command.

			GIRL
		(Remembers, smiling)  He sent me some money!

			MAN
		Your father?  Bravo, how much?

			GIRL
		A lot - he must have had a good day at Epsom.  I got a Westwood jacket and Lamboutin red heels - four inch - I tried the six inch but I fell over.  (He smiles with polite sympathy.)  As soon as I get my head shaved at the sides,  some stars tattooed here (indicates a necklace) my monkey-fur fright hat back from Blubber-Lips Rooney I’ll be ready to ponce off in style.  The stash dealers in the school library have nicked  the books I need, plus, of course, I shall have Le Trophy - me prize ahar!

			MAN
		What do you get?

			GIRL
		A book what do you think, a nose job?

			MAN
		Who chooses?

			GIRL
		Me.

			MAN
		Oh.

			GIRL
		Don’t start.  
		You’re allowed to leave out Shakespeare wouldn’t you know - I might just go for him to pull their bloody todgers.  You’re supposed to pick some inert, oh I don’t know - so long as it looks good on the platform.  (She laughs.)  Last year Nitty Johnson found a blockbuster on the world’s best boxers - sent it to her father, he’s doing three years for GBS.

			MAN
		How much did it cost?

She is slightly miffed at his lack of reaction to the GBS.

			GIRL
		He wrote a letter of thanks to Miasma from Parkhurst! - dunno, fifty, sixty - maybe more.

			MAN
		Sixty quid?  (Thoughtful, to himself.)  Hmmm.

Pause.

			GIRL
		I don’t want some fucking doorstop.

			MAN
		I’m thinking.

			GIRL
		Year before last Madeleine Annetts got away with buying the Roger Hilton book.  That cost about fifty - lovely rickety drawings of women’s fannies - unsuspected by pas-de-joie-de-vivre Joy - Mad gambled on the hymen of the plastic wrapping remaining unruptured.  Which it was -

			MAN
		About fifty?

			GIRL
		I did think of a primer on tattooing or there’s a big book by the door at Tesco’s - they sell books now.

			MAN
		Get paperbacks.

			GIRL
		Paperbacks?

			MAN
		Put in for a hundred quid’s worth.

They look at each other.

SCENE 4.

THE STUDY.  The GIRL and the MAN sit across from each other at the round table, illuminated by a table lamp.  She has pen and paper.  He nods for her to read out the list in front of her.

GIRL
		(Reads) Conrad, James, Wharton, Wodehouse, Simenon, Elmore Leonard, early Amis M, Primo Levi, blow the lot on Proust (looks up) in French?  (Shakes her head) - two subscriptions to mags, Saul Bellow, Tennyson - best ear in the business,  Larkin, Beckett.

			MAN
		Too many, d’you think?

			GIRL
		Wow.  Takes rarified scientific heights to figure that out.

			MAN
		Don’t piss on your chips, I was thinking of buying the ones you had to leave out for your birthday.

			GIRL
		Oh now I feel a cunt, thanks very much.

			MAN
		Come on.  How many shall we say - thirty?

			GIRL
		(Shakes her head) No chance.

			MAN
		Twenty.

			GIRL
		Paperbacks don’t cost 50p - maybe in your day -

			MAN
		One and sixpence.  (She looks baffled) Fifteen pence.

			GIRL
		(Amazed) What!

			MAN
		It was worth more then.  How many do you want?  (She shrugs.)  Look I’ve said I’ll buy the rest for you.  (No response.)  What’s wrong with that?
			GIRL
		OK if you must.  I might as well ponce about in ankle socks.

He holds out his hand for the list.  She gives it to him and he read it.

			MAN
		Fine.  Hand it in.
		(She shakes her head.)
		Why not?

			GIRL
		What’s the point?  They’ll either think I’ve gone daft or I’ll get sworn at...either way that’ll be the end of it.

			MAN
		They can’t just dismiss the whole thing out of -

			GIRL
		If I was up for the percussion prize - trip for the winners of that to Buenos Aires for the International Jazz Fest!

			MAN
		(Waves her down) Learn to stand your ground.  If you want books - never mind whether reading’s in fashion, show the list to May Jenkins.  Make your case, go for it.

			GIRL
		(Flat) OK.

She grabs her satchel and moves off without enthusiasm.
Pauses at the exit.  He looks at her in enquiry.

			MAN
		Now what?

			GIRL
		Just in case you had a better idea.

He laughs, waves her off.  She looks at him, dispirited, and goes.  He drops the cheerfulness and looks after her thoughtfully.  Dismisses doubt, settles down and listens to Ravel.

SCENE 5.

A HOSPITAL WARD.  The MAN, propped up in bed, is reading.
Pause.
The peace is disturbed by the GIRL entering noisily.  He looks up over his glasses as she approaches and upends her cloth carrier bag onto the bed.

			GIRL
		New toothbrush, biros, whisky and claret and sod fucking Nurse Bigass who keeps breathing all over you.

He watches as she fills his locker.
		
			MAN
		Very cool hands, I may marry her.

			GIRL
		You’ll be dead in six months, she’ll be at the poison cabinet for your bank balance.

			MAN
		Ah, but in between -

She stands over him, brandishing chocolate and a bottle of wine.

			GIRL
		Chocolate with nuts and ginger.

			MAN
		Some of that I think (pointing to the wine.)

She grins, produces a corkscrew from her pocket, tries to open the bottle, hands it to him.  He opens the bottle as she finds a glass and a teacup.  He pours.  They drink.  She sits on the bed.

			GIRL
		Are you still - ?

			MAN
		No.  Feeling more myself.  As they say.

		(She looks at him, nods sceptically.)

		I have, however, after taking advice, abandoned cycling.
			GIRL
		(Rises)  Yes...well...being knocked down not once, twice, three times, four times but five times has to be beyond random significance.  What is it about you that motorised transport seems so bent on wiping you from the face of the planet?
		Is it personal?
		Who have you offended?    MI5?    Not  Elton  and David?

		(She steps back, regards him sternly then sits on the side of the bed.)

		You’re too old for cycling.

			MAN	
		Einstein cycled when he was ninety - ninety-one.

			GIRL
		And been dead for ten years, knock it off.
		(He lies back and she leans forward, gazing at him.)
		What IS it with you?

He opens his eyes.

			MAN
		As the great Ronaldinho says  “I am ugly, but I have charm.”

			GIRL
		Don’t change the subject.  It’s something about the way you fade out, bleach the canvas, switch into neutral.  Everybody else joins the human race, why not you?  What is it - swank?

			MAN
		(Taken off balance.)  I don’t think so.  I hope not.

			GIRL
		(Peruses him.)  I suppose there are more lonely people.  I haven’t met that many being shackled behind a desk for my years of enchantment.  You should see my tits. (She lifts her t-shirt.) Like something from Botticelli - 

			MAN
		(Genuine obeisance) Thank you.  They’re lovely.

			GIRL
		Who’s ever seen them - well apart from you now.  I should be sleeping with Ralph Fiennes, he lives down the road.

			MAN
		He pronounces it Rafe.

			GIRL
		How would you know, you don’t see films, you don’t see anything.  I’m your only visitor and you only put up with me because I don’t matter.

She offers him a bag of sweets.  He shakes his head.  She bends, choosing a sweet and he gazes at her tenderly.  She looks up, sucking a sweet.

			GIRL
		Are you still on morphine?

			MAN
		Nope.

			GIRL
		Good.  (Sitting in the chair by the bed.)

		You missed a treat.  Founder’s Day Festival.  I did my tango.

She jumps up, lifts her arms and dances.  He applauds.  She throws herself on her back at the bottom of the bed.

			GIRL
		I’m free!

			MAN
		Bravissimo.
		(She sits up and they smile at each other.)
		(Quietly)  What now?

She jumps down, evading the question, moves away and then turns to him.	

			GIRL
		I got the books.  (He reacts.)  I didn’t tell you, you weren’t...I was waiting - no, that’s not true, fact is I never know how you’ll...it’s what makes you so  life-enhancing, anyway I thought I’d wait until you, you know...

			MAN
		What went wrong?

			GIRL
		Wrong?

			MAN
		Don’t grind your teeth.  With the books.

			GIRL
		Nothing.

		(Silence.)

		I thought the best thing was to show the list to May Jenkins, ask her to present it to Madame la Directrice - aka Miasma Ode-to-Joy-Not.

			MAN
		What did she say - Jenkins...

			GIRL
		Looked at the list, handed it back, said I must take it myself.

			MAN
		Backed off?

			GIRL
		(Shrugs)  Dunno.
		Anyway I took it over to Abandon Hope during break.  I was going to leave it with the secretary,  I didn’t think Miasma would be there.

			MAN
		And she was?

			GIRL
		Yah, sitting by the window drinking coffee.
			MAN
		All OK?

			GIRL
		(Guarded, after a slight pause) I got the big smile.  Congratulations.  Interested to hear my choice of book...
		(He waits.)
		(Absently)  She didn’t ask me to sit down.
		(Comes to)  I handed her the list to shut her up in the end.    .

			MAN
		And did it?

			GIRL
		(Slight pause.) There was this wonderful silence.  Just the sound of the tennis.

			MAN
		What did she say?

He waits.

			GIRL
		(Turns to him suddenly) I do wish you’d been there.  Give Miasma her due, she can lay it on - her best thing, only thing really.  She got up and was sitting behind the desk all in one and dangling the list across it - waving it in my face - well, not close enough but fast enough to make you boss-eyed.  I realised something was up when somebody knocked on the door and she yapped at them to clear off.

			MAN
		(Posh) Clear awf!

			GIRL
		(Mean shriek) “Go Away!”
		I just stood there, wondering.  Anyway she put the list down and asked if this was my idea of a joke.

			MAN
		A joke?  What did you say, did you try to -

			GIRL
		Sure.  I said the cost of seven softbacks was no more than one quality hardback.  She said that wasn’t the point.  I said I was sorry, but what did she mean, something like that - she said...she said... (her voice breaks slightly)

		(Recovering) She said no doubt I wasn’t aware of the enormity, the unacceptability of what I had done.

			MAN
		Which was?

			GIRL
		(Hardening)  I’d been exploitative apparently.

		Apparently I was misusing an occasion designed to celebrate achievement by seeking to make profit out of staff and fellow pupils, out of the school itself and what it stood for -

He hoists himself up in fury, lights a cigarette.

			MAN
		(Mutters) Bitch.

			GIRL
		I know - it’s a bucket shop - don’t smoke.  I said not at all - I said there was no intention whatsoever to  take advantage, that I didn’t know what I was supposed to have done.  Which was true.

			MAN
		What did she say?

			GIRL
		Bugger all.

			MAN
		She must have said something.

			GIRL
		Just sat back glaring down her long bony nose and then skimmed the paper across the desk at me.  It fell on the floor.
			MAN
		What did you do?

			GIRL
		Got up and left.

Silence.

			MAN
		Well...perhaps that was the -

			GIRL
		Forget it, buster.  Outside I thought - you shitty hag, and I went back in.  She was just sitting there looking cheesed - and even more cheesed to see me again.

		(He laughs.  She smiles briefly.)

		I sat down, crossed my knees and said “I agree, Miss Harper.”

			MAN
		You did?

			GIRL
		She perked up at once, leaned over like King Kong on the skyscraper -  I said “I AM greedy.  Very greedy.”  She’s nodding like a toy Alsatian on the back seat of a Ford Cortina now. 

		I said: “I’m greedy to read Primo Levi, Edith Wharton, Wodehouse, Fitzgerald... I need all of them and to be supported for that, not to be accused of vulgar greed for expecting education from a school.  Who would believe that, even these days?”
		I said “I need these books” picked up the list and put it on the desk.

			MAN
		What did she say?

			GIRL
		Fuck all, I left.

			MAN
		Then what?  I mean, did - ?

			GIRL
		Hang on to your drawers.  Obviously there’d be no sodding prize.  What else she’d cook up - anyway we waited, bit of excitement, which was good, everything being dead boring after the exams...people kept coming up to me for info.

		Anyway.  It was yesterday.  Prize Giving.

			MAN
		Ah.  Was your mother there?

			GIRL
		Yup, new gear, black leather.  Buck Halliday, history master, found her a seat on the back row.   I think he approves of her being bored, they sort of bond.   I do wish you’d been there - every time I came in to see you you were out of it.

			MAN
		I know, I’m sorry.
		So - what happened?
		What occurred?

			GIRL
		Well -  I  was shoved on the front row with the rest of the swots -

			MAN
		(Smiles) The mark of Cain?

			GIRL
		What?

			MAN
		Doesn’t matter.

			GIRL
		Anyway, when they got to the Lit Prize,  Shitface - she’d been giving out the books comme toujours - anyway she slithered off sideways like an affronted locust and May Jenkins stepped up and presented me with two lots of books tied with pink tape.
			MAN
		How many?

			GIRL
		All of them,  I had a dekko, anyway you could see it in her face.

			MAN
		Did she say anything?

			GIRL
		What, make a speech?  
		(She keeps him waiting.  Then smiles.)  

		She said on behalf of the English department I’m proud to present the books requested by ... who has chosen not the usual tome for the bookcase, but a set of paperbacks full of the best that writing can offer.  My colleagues and I  applaud her choices...
		Anyway, something like that.

			MAN
		Good.  Great.
		Were you pleased?
		(She shrugs.)
		Come on.
		(She waves him away dismissively.)

			GIRL
		A few people clapped.  Who’s into books?

			MAN
		What are they into?

			GIRL
		Direct penetration.  Books are for weirdos.

			MAN
		Oh come on.

			GIRL
		Hardly Madonna time.  Can’t see her curling up with E.M. Forster.

			MAN
		You never know.  How did she take it?
			GIRL
		Stared ahead like she’d seen the Creature and noticed his weeny little feet.   Didn’t matter.  It was a good day - went for a curry after with Mum and her new guy.

			MAN
		(Interested) Oh?

			GIRL
		Yeah...he sells shower curtains.  And drugs.

She pours water into a glass and a cup, gropes in his locker, laces the water with whisky, hands him the glass.  They sit back.

			MAN
		Well...

She leans forward, peers into his face.

			GIRL
		Are you all right?

			MAN
		It’s the lighting.  We all look cadaverous, they’re saving on lighting.

			GIRL
		Must give the visitors a shock.

			MAN
		Cheers some of them up, you’d be surprised - (she looks at him in enquiry) never mind.

		(He lifts his glass.)

		Here’s to...to...

			GIRL
		To everything.

They toast each other and laugh.

SCENE 6

THE MAN’S STUDY.  He lies on a sofa, with a rug over his knees.  He and the GIRL have been drinking tea.  He has lost weight.  She has changed her hairstyle, and wears more stylish clothes.  She takes his cup, puts it to one side, and sits.

			GIRL
		How’ve you been?

			MAN
		You know - I do wish people wouldn’t ask that.  I realise -

			GIRL
		I’m sorry.

			MAN
		No, I’m sorry.  What else are you supposed to say?

			GIRL
		Sorry.  I just -

			MAN
		It’s fine.
		I’m fine.

			GIRL
		You’re taking the - ?

			MAN
		Oh yes.

			GIRL
		No side effects?

			MAN
		Absolutely none.  They’re getting much more sophisticated with drugs these days, new formulae, new dosages - all much more refined.

			GIRL
		Like this?  (Waves a delicate hand, turns an aristocratic style profile.)

			MAN
		Not that good.  Style comes next, they’re working on that.

Slight pause.

			GIRL
		Are they doing the trick?

			MAN
		I presume so.  Oh yes.

			GIRL
		And you’re feeling - ?

			MAN
		Fine.  Absolutely normal.  I’ve been working.

He waves a hand, indicates his books and papers on the table.

			GIRL
		Great.  No, that’s great.  The drugs don’t blur you off?

			MAN
		I just have them at night.

			GIRL
		Nothing during the day?

			MAN
		I can put up with that.

			GIRL
		So there is some pain?

			MAN
		A little - no, the medication’s fine, anyway I don’t want to work all the time...never mind that, what about you?

			GIRL
		What about me?

			MAN
		Are you all fixed up - you’ve taken your time.
			GIRL
		Sorry?

			MAN
		Cambridge!

			GIRL
		Oh.  Yes.

			MAN
		What college in the end - quite a complicated choice.

		GIRL
		Yes.

			MAN
		So?

			GIRL
		What?

			MAN
		Which one?

		(Silence.)

		What’s the matter?

			GIRL
		Nothing.  Nothing’s the matter.

He leans forward.

			MAN
		Yes but what’s the matter?

		Oh no.

		No.
		Please.

She looks at him and turns away.

			MAN
		No for God’s sake don’t - don’t tell - I......sorry, but chances are either taken or lost.  The luxury of hanging about - doesn’t - ah - it’s take it or -

			GIRL
		Sod off?

			MAN
		Not to be killed in the rush is an achievement for anywhere worth having, probably always was.

			GIRL
		I know.

			MAN
		You’ve made up your mind.

			GIRL
		Yes I have.

			MAN
		(Relieved) Good.
		Not easy.

			GIRL
		I have given it a lot of thought.

			MAN
		But you’ve come to a -

			GIRL
		Oh yes.

			MAN
		And?
		And?

		What college?
		(Silence.)
		Which one?  You had choice!
		(Silence.)
		What’s the matter?

		(She looks at him, a long, pensive look.)

			MAN (Cont’d)
		Don’t.
		Have you - ?

		Oh for God’s sakes.
		You haven’t.

		You haven’t, have you?

		You haven’t done a runner?

Pause.

			GIRL
		If by that you mean have I decided to make alternative arrangements for the future...seek another direction, pursue a different goal the answer’s yes.  I have.

			MAN
		(Pause) Bugger.

		(He turns, leans towards her.)

		Listen.  Look around.  What happens if we abandon education.  We are left with illiterate feral savages without skills or legal means of sustenance -  predatory criminality the only means of survival.  Look around.

			GIRL
		No.  You’re off the plot.

			MAN
		I wish.

			GIRL
		Universities as you knew them don’t exist any more.  Sally Robert’s sister, supposed to be doing a French and German degree except that she never hears a live word of a foreign language.  Tutorials?  Forget it.  Sixty plus people listening to notes from the platform to be sicked up into personal computers.  You know as well as me -

			MAN
		- as I -

			GIRL
		- as I - politicians destroyed universities to get elected by telling everybody look brothers and sisters you too can be an educated wanker with a scroll and initials after your name, only they debased the currency so much nobody’s fooled anymore.

			MAN
		(Silence.)  OK.  So, what will you do?

			GIRL
		Take a couple of months off - experience the relief of not being in the wrong place for the first time.

He waits.

			GIRL
		After which...

She plays with the edge of the bedspread, then moves, tops up his drink.  He nods thanks.
They drink.
She turns to him.

			GIRL
		(Conversationally) I’ve been...
		(Clears her throat) I’ve been accepted by Guildhall.

			MAN
		Guildhall?		

			GIRL
		School of Music and Drama.  Drama School.

He gazes at her, stupefied.

			MAN
		(Puzzled)  Drama School?

			GIRL
		I’m going to act.

			MAN
		Act?
			GIRL	
		Yes.

			MAN
		Act?

		I don’t - when...?

He is lost.

			GIRL
		I’ve given it a great deal of thought.

		(She leans to him as he still stares at her.)

		Do you remember once - I was reading an Arthur Miller play and you said read Tennessee Williams.

			MAN
		Did I?

			GIRL
		It was when you were telling me about Berlioz and musical theory - didn’t understand a word of that.

			MAN
		You took up the flute.

			GIRL
		And who begged me to stop!  I wasn’t bad.

Pause.

			MAN
		Act?

		(She nods.)

		You want to act?
		Read, learn, quote and requote other people’s thoughts and ideas for a living.

			GIRL
		(Shrugs) Well...yes...Shakespeare?...Chekhov?
		I may end up directing - or I could be a writer - I mean it’s hard for women having to settle for displacement activities like men now we’re released from the holy miracle of bearing and nourishing children.

			MAN
		(Confused) What?

			GIRL
		Well, it was all so hand-held...can’t have that.
		Yeah, a writer - sounds OK.

			MAN
		(Dry) All settled then.

			GIRL
		I could be the Billy Wilder de nos jours - remember Joe E. Lewis at the end of “Some Like it Hot” - “Nobody’s Perfect!”  (Sighs) Can’t follow that.  Comedy’s out.  It’ll have to be the other thing.

			MAN
		What other thing?

			GIRL
		The high ground.  Should be OK with the right gear -  saggy cardigan, side parting (pointing at her hair) with a slide to be groped for by the entourage - (as he frowns, puzzled) terrorists, clubbers - Tasmanians of course.

			MAN
		What the hell are you on about?

			GIRL
		No, you’re right.  Fuck all that, it’s the boards for me.

			MAN
		Are you serious?

			GIRL
		Yuh.
			MAN
		You’re talking about the stage?

			GIRL
		Yuh.

			MAN
		You want to be an actress?

			GIRL
		It is accepted now as a respectable calling.

			MAN
		But you’ve never shown any particular - I mean you read plays, you read everything but -

			GIRL
		I played Hedda. last year -

			MAN
		Only because the tall girl fell off her bike.

			GIRL
		People said I was better -

			MAN
		No they didn’t.  You gave offence, got up people’s noses -

			GIRL
		No I didn’t.

			MAN
		You played her for laughs.

			GIRL
		What was I supposed to do - Torvald standing there like a twat -

			MAN
		Yes - transfixed by what you were up to - I’m surprised you weren’t arrested for that bed scene with the judge - that’s not in the text.

			GIRL
		Spiritually it is.  Somewhere.
He looks at her drily.  She smiles, giving in.  A pause.  He turns and looks at her reflectively.

			MAN
		You really mean it?

		Acting?
		(She nods.)
		Why?

			GIRL
		Because I want a life with life in it.

			MAN
		By inhabiting fiction.

			GIRL
		And you prefer fact? 

			MAN
		Fact may not be truth, but can - well, may lead - can be helpful.

			GIRL
		(She leans over him, into his face) Cobblers.

		Art’s all there is - you’ve said so yourself.

		I want insecurity.

			MAN
		(Laughs) Why?

			GIRL
		What’s the alternative... some living death funk-hole of a life and don’t  think I haven’t thought of options, I like money, the idea of security -

			MAN
		I’m not surprised with your background.

			GIRL
		Just to be able to let your shoulders drop.
		It must be so......restful.

Slight pause.
			GIRL
		I’ve given it a lot of thought.  I’ve thought of this, thought of that - imagined myself here - there - in a uniform - indoors - outdoors - abroad -  but doing what?  Research - teaching - something arty - designing - computers - everything’s computers now - or printing, publishing...selling?

			MAN
		What about good works?  Oxfam - Médecins Sans Frontières? - you’ve got the bottle for it.

			GIRL
		But not the vocation.  (Slight pause.)   When I told you I was going to Norfolk to ski...

			MAN
		(Waves a hand)  I just thought you were pulling my chain for being nosy.

			GIRL
		That I was up to mischief?  (Laughs.)   I went to see a woman in Norfolk.  Sister Marie-Thérèse.  I stayed overnight at a nunnery.

			MAN
		What for?

			GIRL
		Advice.  She told me to stop fucking about, leave nunning to people like her who were at home with it, they didn’t need someone barging in to tell them where they were going wrong.  She suggested politics.

			MAN
		Politics?

			GIRL
		I thought about it but oh Christ, all those ball-breaking non-achieving meetings - worse than stacking shelves, at least that’s physical exercise. 

		Democracy’s crap. 
		Benevolent despotism’s the only thing that works.

			MAN
		Yes, you’d be good at it.

			GIRL
		Fuck off, so will you be watching my Rosalind or not?  I’ll want notes - that’s what they call it in the profession - criticism is called notes.  I’ll need plenty, you’re going to have to sit on the end of Row F, fixture.  I’ll get you a season ticket.

			MAN
		What about my low boredom threshold?

			GIRL
		Oh I’ll see you right, leave it to me, I’ll figure a little nightly coup de theatre - “Adam, who is that girl on the swing playing with her minge?”  (She sighs heavily.)

			MAN
		Now what?

			GIRL
		What is the use of dreaming up some irresistible stage name - not too exotic but à point (French pronunciation) that will lodge in people’s orifices when you have to screw an ugly old man with grey pubic hair just to get a walk-on as fifth handmaiden.

			MAN
		I thought you said you didn’t go in for all that.

			GIRL
		I don’t but this is business.  S’OK, you just close your eyes and think of Brad Pitt - it’s what he’s for.

A heavy pause.

			MAN
		(At last) I do know a couple of people.

			GIRL
		(Quick) Who?

			MAN
		A London producer.  I wrote his essays at Oxford.  And his son’s.

			GIRL
		And the other one?

			MAN
		A New York Mr Big, you’ll have to be stage two for him.

			GIRL
		Excellent.  Be there.  Row F every performance, and don’t turn into one of those old sods who fall asleep and then go like this - (she does a waking up and snorting fit.)

			MAN
		Oh they’re just theatregoers’ husbands, anyway, by the time you get employment I’ll probably have kicked the bucket.  How long is your course?

			GIRL
		Two years - that OK?

			MAN
		Yeah I should think so.
		Probably.

			GIRL
		What have they said?

He shrugs.

			GIRL
		They were going to tell you.

			MAN
		Yes.

			GIRL
		Well have they?

			MAN
		In a manner of speaking - no.

			GIRL
		What is that supposed to mean?

			MAN
		Diagnosis is a mug’s game - why lose points by getting it wrong?

			GIRL
		So they weren’t specific.  Didn’t tell you how long you’d got.  Did they at least say whether it was years - months -

			MAN
		Does it matter?

			GIRL
		Are you nuts?

			MAN
		(Laughs) Oh, nothing terminal.

			GIRL
		Better not be - think what you’d be missing.

			MAN
		(Dramatically) God yes!  (Back of hand to brow.)
		(Drops the pose)
		Spine-destroying seats at the Bush, subsidised... oh God...theatre run by Adrian and Edward, Tim the wild card scratching his bum.  At the National this season’s twenty-year-old genius telling us all where we’ve gone wrong.

			GIRL
		Have you finished?

			MAN
		No.  Aim low for God’s sake - television.  Try for a quiet soap...rural background...nice-looking women with low voices...one that I can watch with a malt and the Times crossword.  Not too late at night, OK?

			GIRL
		Piss off you love the theatre.  You’ve told me - hurtling down the M1 for all the greats you say I’ve missed -  Edith  Evans, Wolfit, O’Toole before he legged it - Sir John - Sir Laurence.  You won’t need to stick around for my wan contribution.

			MAN
		Absolutely.  You’ll be off the hook.  Think of that moment of calm as they call the half - “At least HE’s not sitting out there totting up the waste of time and money to get to bloody Row F”...well, if I linger on long enough I may come across you accidentally.

			GIRL
		Oh, very supportive.

			MAN
		Support?  You want support?  If you need that  give up now.
		(She turns, open-mouthed at his coldness.)
		And that is the best support you will ever  receive.  File it, stow it, remember it as you lurch from one gig to another.

			GIRL
		Lurch - yah...I am aware of the knock-knees.

			MAN
		Don’t be cute.  Where do you think the John Wayne walk came from?  Didn’t hold the Duke back.

		Nope.  On your own.  Solo.
		Forget support.

			GIRL
		(Sarcastic) Thank you.

			MAN
		I mean it.  Essential.  To be alone - among many but alone, alone and focused - focused and alone.  But not, absolutely never lonely.  That is for wimps.

Slight pause.

			GIRL
		You must have supported her.  The one you lived with.

			MAN
		No.  Nobody could.  (Turns to her.)   Nobody could because acting is walking from Westminster Abbey to the Houses of Parliament on a high wire.
		Only there’s no wire.

			GIRL
		Oh thanks, I feel great now.

			MAN
		As I say, you’ll lurch across somehow.

			GIRL
		Thanks very much.
Pause.

			MAN
		We’ve been - apart from, I hope, friends -
		(She turns to him in surprise.)

			GIRL
		Of course!

			MAN
		- a satisfactorily profitable mutual investment company.  Time to move on.  (As she tries to speak.)  You’ll be taking me with you - fade out as time goes on but the trace elements will stay.  What you need will be there.  We don’t have to inhabit the same space for that, OK?

			GIRL
		Fine - I’m not asking for consolation.
		
		(Pause.)

		(Clears her throat at last.)  If you’re not going to support me - if you aren’t going to support me where will you be?
			
			MAN
		Where will I be?
He hoists himself up, then shrugs, lifting his hands in a “Who knows” gesture.
		
			GIRL
		That’s all very well.

			MAN
		It’s all you’re getting.

			GIRL
		Thanks a lot.

			MAN
		Oh you’ll cut it.

			GIRL
		You think so?

She moves about, touching things restlessly.  Looks over at him moodily.

			MAN
		Simple.  Just - believe in yourself.  Adamantly - mineral hard.  And be close to tears at the same time.

			GIRL
		I see.  Dead easy.

			MAN
		Not difficult.  You simply relate at all times, with every phrase, to the relevant human response.  With accuracy and the correct tone.

			GIRL
		Tell the truth you mean, oh come on, you could spend your life getting things wrong.  When my mother says yes she means yes, no, maybe, or I never wanted you in the first place - sort that out.

He laughs, delighted with her.

			MAN
		It’s why theatre - real theatre - live theatre - is so important.  It matters because occasionally - unexpectedly - something happens.  Takes place.  Occurs.  Things - change.  You see it in their faces - the audiences - as they come down the steps - 
			MAN (Cont’d)
		- oh don’t worry, doesn’t happen that often, we couldn’t deal with it if it did, it’s why we need the reassurance of sentiment to get through the day.  Can’t expect all to be solved in the second act, even anything come to that.  Sorry, it’s the whisky talking.

			GIRL
		No it isn’t.
		(Pause.)
		What I want to know is -
		What I want to know is where you’ll be.

		Where will you be?

			MAN
		How the hell should I know?  I’m a scientist, I work on data.

			GIRL
		(Shakes her head)  Uchuch.  You’re one of the five best scientists in the world, you lot work on hunches, you’ve told me.  What’s your hunch - angels’ wings - fires of retribution - sweet fat nothing?  You must have some idea, some conclusions.

			MAN
		Conclusions?
		(Scratches his eyebrow.)
		Yes.
		One.

			GIRL
		One?

			MAN
		A good one.  Reassuring...intriguing.

			GIRL
		One?  OK - what?

			MAN
		We know bugger all.
			GIRL
		Thanks very much.

			MAN
		What we know - what we know is what we are equipped to know.

			GIRL
		I.E. bugger all?

			MAN
		Think about it.  A dog has immeasurably superior sense perception compared with humans - books full of verified anecdotes - animals aware of impending death, arrivals, disasters.  I had a terrier - Dodger - quit whatever he was up to the moment I left the lab - waited at the gate until I got home, sometimes half the night - ran indoors - we timed him - when I turned into the village, though he couldn’t have heard me, I was ten streets away.

			GIRL
		You’re saying that there’s - possibility.

			MAN
		I’m saying that I don’t know.  My God, would you want your life sickened by knowing the extent of everything?

			GIRL
		Somebody must.

			MAN
		Poor bugger, I don’t envy him.

			GIRL
		Him?

He laughs.  She looks at him gloomily.

			GIRL
		Who am I going to have to talk to?

			MAN
		Well, there’s always yourself.
			GIRL
		I spend the rest of my life talking to myself.  Great.

			MAN
		And anybody else who takes your fancy.

			GIRL
		I have to go on the hunt for -

			MAN
		It happens naturally.  In between there are cats, dogs - trees are good - and the sky - the English sky on a good day - birds - skylarks - owls -

			GIRL
		Owls?

			MAN
		No, not owls, blundering great idiots.  Try firebirds, more your style.

She looks down at him with genial condescension.

			GIRL
		Daft.  Tea?

			MAN
		OK.

		(She makes off.  He calls.)

		Could I have some bread and butter?  Not that malt-dyed get-under-your-dentures gritty stuff, just Tesco white and New Zealand salted.

		(She turns, nods and goes.  He lies back against the pillows.)

Pause.

			MAN
		(Quietly) God I’m tired.

Silence.  A light change. 

A long pause.

A pause.  We realise that the man has left us.

The GIRL enters backwards, manhandling a tea-tray.  She approaches the bed.

			GIRL
		I brought you some biscuits.

She pours the tea, hands him the mug.  There is no response.  She leans, inspecting his averted face.

			GIRL
		D’you want it or not?

		Oh well.

She puts the mug back on the tray and turns towards the exit.  And stops, drops the tray and turns back to the bed.

			GIRL
		Cedric?

		(Quietly) Cedric?...

		Cedric, it’s Louise.

She stands over him, gazing down for a still moment.  Moves away, indecisive, then flicks a look back at the bed, and slumps into a chair.

			GIRL
		(Quietly, to herself)  Oh bugger.

The lights fade.

THE END.