Basket Case

BASKET CASE

BASKET CASE

by Nick Fisher

BASKET CASE

First published in 2012

by Josef Weinberger Ltd

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www.josef-weinberger.com / plays@jwmail.co.uk

Copyright © 2012 by Nick Fisher

Copyright © 2011 by Nick Fisher as an unpublished dramatic composition

The author asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

ISBN: 978 0 85676 333 5

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Printed

by Commercial Colour Press plc, Hainault, Essex

To Helen, Rory, Rex, Patrick and Kitty –the pearls in my oyster

BASKET CASE was first presented by Michael Whitehall and Lee Dean in association with the Royal & Derngate Theatres, Northampton at the Royal Theatre, Northampton on 9th September 2011, prior to a national UK tour. The cast was as follows:

MIRANDA ................................Christine Kavanagh

MARTIN.............................................Graham Seed

GUY...................................................Nigel Havers

JAMES ................................................David Cardy

Directed by Robin Lefevre

Designed by Liz Ascroft

Lighting Design by Ian Scott

Sound Design by John Leonard

Associate Sound Designer Andrea Cox

ACT ONE

A Wiltshire ‘farmhouse’ kitchen. ‘Smallbone of Devizes’ units and central island, all dressed with just the right amount of ‘Gaggia’ and ‘Dualit’. Tastefully-arranged around a huge cream Aga. On the wall hangs a portrait photo of a younger M IRANDA with her two small children and a cute puppy.

M IRANDA , 46, elegantly lived-in, kneels beside a big dog basket. Inside is Toby, a chocolate brown Labrador. Sick. Immobile. She strokes him tenderly.

M IRANDA My poor baby. Vet’s on his way. Martin . . . One you like . . . With the pocket full of tripe sticks. God, you’re cold . . . Let’s put you nearer the Aga. (On her knees she pushes the basket across the oak floor. With great difficulty.) That better? I’ll open the platewarmer door. Let a little heat out. (She opens a door an inch. And then, leans on the Aga, a little lost. She talks absent-mindedly to Toby.) Shall I make scones? Or, muffins . . . ? Scones or muffins . . . What would Nigella do? Which is better in a crisis? ( She consults her well-stocked cook book shelf.) Who’d be best, for a time like this, Toby? Nigella . . . ? Jamie? Or, Delia? (Searches titles.) Nigella’s good for sexy, seductive baking. No man’s ever going to resist her Banana Butterscotch Muffins. But this , this is a crisis. I need crisis-food. (Considers .) Jamie . . . ? Jamie’s good for attitude. But I need balm . . . I need solace. Delia . . . ? ( Decides.) Yes Delia. In a time of calamity you don’t want bustieres and butterscotch . . . Or attitude . . . You want District Nurse Delia, with her bulletproof, heart-mending recipes. ( Finding the recipe she wants . . . ) Blueberry and Pecan Muffins. Perfect, for an emotional meltdown. ( She gets busy with ingredients and scales. Switches

on her Bose radio/CD player with her tiny remote . . . She’s assembling her ingredients. Weighing out flour . . . as the “Archers” theme tune plays on the radio. Which throws her into a mini-panic.) Oooh . . . “Archers” . . . No. I can’t. It’ll just spoil the Omnibus. I mustn’t . . . ( Deep breath.) Be strong, Miranda. (She switches it off. Changes to CD mode. It’s a tasteful modern French chanteuse. Miranda even knows a few of the words, which she sings along to, sweetly, as she arranges the ingredients. Checking recipe.) Blueberry and Pecan American muffins. Okay, got everything . . . flour . . . caster sugar . . . Demerara sugar . . . salt . . . vanilla essence . . . Everything. Except . . . blueberries and pecans . . . ( Her mobile rings. She cuts the music and looks at the caller ID.) Oh . . . Shit . . . Shit . . . Shit. (She braces herself before answering.) Justin . . . ( Bad line .) Justin! Justin . . . Hi darling . . . Where are you? (She listens for a long beat . . . There’s obviously an involved explanation going on. She continues to mix ingredients. Pausing occasionally to pull faces at some of what she hears .) You didn’t think to check you had your wallet . . . before you drove into the petrol station? ( . . . ) I know the Honda’s still in my name. But that doesn’t mean I still have to pay for the petrol it uses. ( . . . ) No darling, I really don’t want to give anyone my credit card number over the phone. ( . . . ) Who’s with you? ( . . . ) Now. Is anyone in the car with you? ( . . . ) Well if they’re there, can’t they pay. Surely one of your friends has to have some money! (Caller cuts off. She stares at the phone, a beat. Then back to her ear.) Justin . . . ?

Justin . . . ? (She hangs up. Annoyed. Starts to mix ingredients. Her movements belie her now, agitated state.) That boy can be so selfish , Toby. It breaks my – ( Ring! . . . her phone. This time she snatches it to her ear.) You know, you could ring your father! You don’t always have

to ring me , every single time you – Oh you did ? And . . . ? (She holds her head. Listening to the explanation.) Why does that not surprise me . . . ? Why does that sound so familiar . . . ? Did you leave a message . . . ? ( . . . ) No of course not. Why would he . . . ( Resigned.) Okay, put him on . . . what’s his name? ( . . . ) His badge says ‘Khalid’ . . . Please, put Khalid on . . . (She takes her purse out of her handbag.) Yes . . . Hello Khalid . . . ( . . . ) Yes, he is my son. ( . . . ) Yes, I do understand that if he drives away with out paying it is a criminal offence. Believe me. I know. Do you have any children, Khalid . . . ? ( . . . ) Yes. Well good luck with that . . . The long number is 5434 8932 6881 5549 . . . ( . . . ) Expires

02/14 . . . ( . . . ) ( Flips card over.) . . . 656 ( Long beat as she holds and hums the “Archers” theme tune.) Thank you, Khalid . . . ( . . . ) No, thank you. Don’t hand me back to him. I’m done. ( . . . ) Bye-bye . . . (She hangs up. Her shoulders slump. Like she’s been here many times before. But, she takes a few breaths. Pulls herself together. She’s a fighter. Sticks on her French chanteuse . . . and starts back at her muffins. She greases her muffin tray.

Phone rings again. She snatches it up.) Don’t, Justin. Don’t. I don’t want to hear anyth–

(M IRANDA’S body-language changes. Her face lights up. This is quite a different caller. As she listens . . . she seems to touch her hair, lift her chest . . . ‘glow’ a little more .) ( . . . ) Oh . . .

I’m so sorry. I thought it was . . . ( . . . ) No. Exactly. Of course. Toby? Toby’s . . . well he’s no better . . . If anything he’s worse. I know. But . . . ( . . . ) Thank you . . . Thank you for calling. For just asking. It’s very sweet of you. I do feel quite alone with it all and you –

(OFF: SFX: Doorbell rings.)

M IRANDA ( . . . ) That’ll be him now . . . ( . . . ) Of course. I’ll call you later. After. ( . . . ) Thank you. Bisou. Bisou-Bisou. Salut. (She puts the phone down. Shudders with a little post-phone joy. Then, businesslike again . . . Exits . . . )

(OFF: SFX: Opening of a heavy door.)

M IRANDA Martin . . . That was quick.

(She re-enters with M ARTIN , 60, rotund. Genial.)

M ARTIN I was in Toller, draining an abscess. Where’s your little soldier . . . ?

M IRANDA By the Aga.

M ARTIN Ooh. Making scones?

M IRANDA Muffins. (Concerned.) Would you rather scones?

M ARTIN No. No . . . Love a muffin, me. But please, don’t go to any trouble on – (Off cook book.) Oooh, Blueberry and Pecan American muffins . . . ? Yum.

M IRANDA But . . . without blueberries or pecans . . . Sorry . . .

( Martin shrugs.)

M IRANDA Just nice to have something to do.

M ARTIN Of course.

M IRANDA Blueberry and pecan . . .

M ARTIN Yum.

M IRANDA I thought he might like the smell.

M ARTIN Of muffins?

M IRANDA You know . . . fresh baking . . .

M ARTIN Very soothing.

M IRANDA Like when you’re selling a house.

(M ARTIN gets on his knees. Stethoscope out. Listens to Toby’s heart.)

M IRANDA He hasn’t moved.

M ARTIN Since?

M IRANDA Yesterday morning.

M ARTIN What about his ‘business’?

M IRANDA Nothing.

(Stethoscope again. M ARTIN doesn’t like what he hears.)

M ARTIN Heart sounds very weak.

M IRANDA (choked ) Oh, Toby . . .

M ARTIN He’s holding on. But . . . ‘Selling a house’ ?

M IRANDA Baking. It’s what they say, isn’t it . . . ? Estate agents. And those house-moving programmes. Use comforting smells.

M ARTIN When you’re showing people round?

M IRANDA Fresh baking bread in the kitchen . . .

M ARTIN Of course. Lovely. That would work.

M IRANDA And pine in the bathroom.

M ARTIN ( jovial ) What about the bedroom? Horlicks . . . ? Or, massage oil ?

M IRANDA (a tiny, sad laugh) I don’t know. ( Re: muffins.) I’ll put them in.

(She scoops her mixture into a muffin tray. As M ARTIN examines Toby. He clearly doesn’t like what he finds .)

M ARTIN I’d be suspicious, wouldn’t you?

(She opens an Aga door. Slips the baking tray inside.)

M IRANDA Of muffins?

M ARTIN Of a house where they baked bread on the day I came to view.

M IRANDA God, yes.

M ARTIN I’d have to ask myself, what are these people trying to hide?

M IRANDA I’d feel manipulated. I’d think – they’re using the ‘Top Selling Tips’ . Something’s fishy. On principle, I’d have to not buy it.

M ARTIN What if you liked it?

M IRANDA Still couldn’t. I’d feel I was in one of those Derren Brown mind tricks. Where he plants subliminal images, to make you choose, whatever it is he wants you to choose. And because I’d know he was doing it, I’d choose the opposite. But then, I’d be scared it was a double-bluff . . .

M ARTIN ( gentle) Miranda, I’m afraid he’s not long for this world.

( A beat, as M IRANDA takes this in.)

M IRANDA ( being brave) Is . . . is he in pain?

M ARTIN I can give him something.

M IRANDA I rang Guy. Like you suggested.

M ARTIN Good. He should be here.

M IRANDA D’you think so?

M ARTIN I do. Yes.

M IRANDA Toby is his dog, after all. He did buy him. And name him.

M ARTIN He’d want to be here.

M IRANDA Would he?

M ARTIN For Toby’s goodbye . . . ?

M IRANDA We don’t know it’s goodbye, do we? Not definitely? Isn’t there anything you can do?

M ARTIN To keep him going?

M IRANDA Yes.

M ARTIN (unconvincing ) There’s always a bit more we can try. We could put him through heart surgery. That might . . . might , give him a little longer. Is that what you want? Is that what Guy would want?

M IRANDA No. I don’t know. Do I? It just . . . feels so . . . So sad . . .

M ARTIN Of course it is. It’s sad because you’ve loved him, and getting used to the idea of letting him go, is hard. If you hadn’t loved hi–

M IRANDA Are we talking about Toby or Guy?

M ARTIN Toby . . . It’s sad his life in your family, is coming to an end.

M IRANDA Sorry. I meant it’s sad, what you said about Guy . . . Is sad: ‘He’d want to be here’ . . .

M ARTIN He would. Wouldn’t he?

M IRANDA I suppose. But it’s sad, to me, that he’d want to be here to see Toby put to sleep. But he didn’t want to be here for . . . Justin’s 21st. Or Helen’s graduation. Or Christmas. A lot of Christmases, actually.

M ARTIN (wrong-footed ) No. Quite. I –

M IRANDA Am I being mean?

M ARTIN No!

M IRANDA To Toby. I’m being mean to Toby, aren’t I? It’s his . . . his moment. And I just hijacked –

M ARTIN Guy can come and share the burden of your grief. Is what I meant.

M IRANDA Guy doesn’t really do ‘sharing’.

M ARTIN But, surely he’ll wa–

M IRANDA ‘Burden of grief’? It sounds like a big sack. Doesn’t it? Like potatoes. Or coal . . .

M ARTIN (consoling) Yes. Well. Guy . . . He can maybe . . . come and help. Carry . . . your . . . sack.

( A beat. Then M IRANDA laughs, sweetly. Can’t help herself. Breaking the seriousness of the moment. M ARTIN starts to laugh too .)

M ARTIN That sounded really ridiculous, didn’t it?

M IRANDA Yes.

M ARTIN Sorry . . .

M IRANDA No. Please. Martin. Thank you . . . You made me laugh. That’s lovely

M ARTIN It was the ‘sack’ . . . wasn’t it?

M IRANDA Guy’s playing golf.

M ARTIN Oh . . . ?

M IRANDA Was . . . Not any more. On the back-nine at Shrublands. When I called.

M ARTIN Really . . . ?

M IRANDA And then off to go clay-pigeon shooting, at Barbury Manor.

M ARTIN Uh-huh . . .

M IRANDA Twat! ( Beat.) Sorry. That just slipped out.

M ARTIN Don’t mind me.

(M ARTIN fills a syringe.)

M ARTIN I’ll just . . .

M IRANDA He did offer to come over straight away, though.

M ARTIN ( you see) Well, there you are . . .

M IRANDA Which was kind. He doesn’t have to. Doesn’t have to do anything, now.

M ARTIN He obviously appreciates what an emotional ordeal it is. And wants to be with you, to support y–

M IRANDA You have to admit, there’s an irony, in that he’ll come running over to hold my hand when our dog’s dying, but when our marriage and my heart was crumbling into tiny little jagged broken pieces, he . . . ( Freaked, re: syringe.) My God. That’s not . . . !?

M ARTIN What?

M IRANDA The injection?

M ARTIN No . . . no. Just for pain. It’ll calm him. Make him a bit woozy. Fuzzy round the edges.

M IRANDA Can I have one?

(M ARTIN laughs.)

M IRANDA We could have a glass of wine . . .

M ARTIN We could . . .

M IRANDA (checks her watch) It’s only . . . It’s early.

M ARTIN Mitigating circumstances.

(She takes a bottle of wine from the fridge. Fills two big glasses.)

M IRANDA To Toby . . .

(M IRANDA takes a hefty slug.)

M IRANDA He offered to come. I didn’t ask.

M ARTIN That’s good . . .

M IRANDA I wonder who he’s coming for. Me, or Toby, or himself?

M ARTIN Himself?

M IRANDA To avoid having to feel bad at some later date, when I make him feel guilty because he wasn’t here the day Toby was . . . put to sleep.

M ARTIN Is that what you want? Have you decided? I think it’s good to make a clear –

(SFX: DRIIING! – A Doorbell rings.)

M IRANDA That’ll be him. (She empties her glass. For strength. Re: empty glass.) I think we’ll need a top-up.

M ARTIN ( grabbing bottle) Worry not . . . I’m all over it, like a yeast infection.

(She exits. As he fills both glasses to the brim. SFX: Door opening.)

G UY (off ) Darling! Are you coping, darling? It must be so awful . . .

(She re-enters with G UY (50) and JAMES (40s), both in golfing clothes .)

G UY I brought James. We were on the fairway when you called.

M IRANDA Guy, you remember Martin, our vet . . . ?

G UY Of course . . .

(They shake hands.)

M ARTIN Mr Brinkley.

G UY ‘Guy’, please. (To M IRANDA .) I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t come.

M IRANDA Thank you so much, for just dropping your game like that.

JAMES He was losing, actually. Four shots behind.

G UY Three to be . . . precise.

JAMES Couldn’t tear-up the scorecard quick enough.

G UY Whatever . . . You didn’t really think I wouldn’t come?

M IRANDA I wasn’t . . . sure . . .

G UY Oh darling. Of course I’d want to be here. If it’s as serious as you say. And the fact you’ve called out . . . um . . .

M IRANDA (terse) . . . Martin! (Catching herself.) I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . not think you wouldn’t . . . I just –

G UY I mean. A man and his dog? It’s practically biblical.

M IRANDA ( hurt ) Yes. Practically . . .

G UY

But most of all, I’d want to be here for you . Whatever happens. OK?

M IRANDA ( happier) Yes.

G UY I mean it.

M IRANDA Thank you. That means such a –

G UY (walking away) Oh, Toby! Oh Toby-Boy. TobyTobe. Look at you! Hey boy. Hey! It’s daddy! (To M IRANDA .) He’s not very responsive . . .

M IRANDA That’s because he’s dying.

G UY Still . . . you’d think he’d make more of an effort. ( Inspecting him.) He looks a hundred!

M IRANDA You haven’t seen him for a while, Guy. Last time you were here was –

G UY (re: Aga) God, is that new?

M IRANDA The Aga? Last Christmas. I had it for Christmas lunch . . . When the children and mummy all came home . . . But, you went to –

JAMES Mustique.

G UY That’s right. God, it’s enormous!

JAMES It’s like a small house!

M ARTIN Four-oven. Beautiful.

G UY You always wanted a four-oven. With a –

M IRANDA Gas hob. Yes.

G UY Alimony, James. The gift that goes on giving. Be warned.

M IRANDA ( kindly, changing subject ) Is there a special someone in your life at the moment, James?

JAMES Yes, absolutely.

M IRANDA Oh . . . ?

JAMES Always is . . . Me . ( Laughs hard, at his own joke.) No seriously. No one. No one I’m ‘serious’ about . . . Except . . . Me .

G UY

In the unlikely event that you ever do see matrimony as an option. Get a lawyer, James. Pre-nupt up to your nuts. Or John Lewis will be sucking on your blood like it was vintage bubbly . . . What does a four-oven Aga cost now ?

M IRANDA Guy, please.

G UY No. Just ballpark. Just wondering.

M IRANDA Why . . . ? Does . . . ‘Sonja’ want one?

G UY Nine grand? Ten . . . ? Twelve?

M IRANDA Today. This . . . is about Toby, remember?

G UY You’re right. God, I’m sorry. Old habits . . . (To M ARTIN .) What’s the prognosis?

M ARTIN Well, he’s has arthritic nodules on his spine.

JAMES Ooh, nasty.

M ARTIN He’s also developed severe –

G UY (re: wine) Is that open . . . ? May I?

M ARTIN . . . respiratory issues. Recurring hypertension, high blood pressure and –

G UY (re: wine) James . . . ? Looks like we’ve got a little catching up to do.

M ARTIN . . . some evidence of gastric dilation volvulus.

JAMES (mid-swig ) Dog bloat!

M ARTIN Precisely.

G UY Dog bloat?

JAMES Gastric dilation volvulus. ‘Dog bloat’.

G UY How d’you know about ‘dog bloat’? You hate animals.

JAMES I don’t ‘hate’ animals. I’m just not a ‘doggy’ person . . . I’m not a ‘cat’ person, either though . . . I do like wild animals. And dead animals.

Beef ones especially. But pet animals . . . ? I just . . . No . . . They don’t speak to me.

G UY They don’t speak to anyone , James. They’re animals . . . If they speak, they’re human.

JAMES We studied dog bloat in a module in Dentistry School . . . (Off their looks.) Don’t know why.

M ARTIN It’s a gastric dysfunction. Common to elderly animals . . .

JAMES ( by heart ) ‘The stomach fills with gas and twists on its axis by 360 degrees, between the esophagus and the duodenum’.

M ARTIN Like when you’re making balloon animals. And you twist a long thin balloon into separate sausages, to fold over each other.

JAMES So the entrance and the exit of the stomach, is twisted, like –

G UY James. We get the picture.

M ARTIN He’s got some cognitive dysfunction.

G UY James?

M ARTIN ( serious) No. Toby.

G UY (accusing ) I know . . . I was joking! Joke . . . ?

M ARTIN Oh. I see . . .

( An uncomfortable silence.)

G UY So it’s not good?

M ARTIN It’s not.

(G UY squats to ruffle Toby’s fur.)

G UY (concern, sounds ‘put on’ ) How’re you doing, old boy? Hey? We’ve been through some stuff, haven’t we? You and me. Pal. I am really, truly, so going to so miss yo– ( Mild disgust.) Is it my imagination, or has he got more . . . greasy?

(Sniffs his fingers.) Ooh. No. He smells!

M ARTIN

It’s increased oil production. More secretions to the skin and coat.

G UY D’you have a Wet Wipe?

M IRANDA There’s kitchen roll.

(G UY wipes his hands a bit too obsessively.)

M ARTIN It’s what happens when you get old. You get smelly. Things don’t function like they used to. His poor old glands are working overtime, because the communication between –

(G UY takes a big glug of wine .)

G UY (re: wine) Oh my God. That’s nice!

JAMES Delicious, isn’t it!

M ARTIN Very pleasant, indeed.

( He checks the label. Takes another glug.)

G UY

What is that? ( Reads.) Chateau St. Philippe. What’s going on, Miranda? Not like you to drink something that’s not from ‘Oyster Bay’.

M ARTIN Quite a find. I’d say.

G UY Where’d it come from?

M IRANDA (making light ) Oh, it was a gift.

(G UY notices on the wine rack, more bottles.)

G UY You got gallons! What, did you get given a case?

M IRANDA (changing subject ) We really should discuss what to do next, with Toby?

G UY Who gave you a case of . . . ? ( Another gulp.) . . . this? God, that is good.

JAMES Spectacular.

M IRANDA Just a friend.

G UY What friend? . . . Yvonne? Vanessa? The Ashcrofts?

M IRANDA It doesn’t matter, Guy. It’s not someone you know.

(G UY slurps again.)

G UY (suspiciously) Was it a man?

M IRANDA Guy!

G UY Sorry. None of my business. (To M ARTIN .) D’you have any of those Latex gloves?

M ARTIN Yes.

G UY May I?

M ARTIN Really?

(M ARTIN produces gloves from his bag. G UY puts one on .)

M ARTIN You’re going to wear gloves , to pat your dog?

G UY He’s greasy! In fact, actually you wouldn’t have one of those surgical mask things . . . ?

(Of M ARTIN’S reaction.) No. Really. No. It’s fine . . .

M IRANDA Guy . . . This might be the last time you’ll ever . . . properly pat him.

G UY I can still ‘connect’. Through Latex. ( He squats down, on his haunches, to pet Toby. They all now watch. Like he’s performing some last rite.)

G UY

Dear old Toby. Dear old boy. So sad to see you go, mate. We’ve been through the best of times. We –

( A fart rends the air. G UY jumps up like he’s been shot.)

G UY That wasn’t me! That really wasn’t me.

JAMES ( joshing ) Yeah. Course it wasn’t!

G UY It wasn’t! (Sniffing.) Oh my God! That was Toby. Smell it. Even you can tell that is a dog fart. You don’t have to be a ‘dog person’ to know, that is not human.

JAMES Awwwh . . . Open a window, Mr Denied-It.

G UY It. Wasn’t. Me.

M IRANDA (messing with him) Don’t worry, Guy . . . No need to be embarrassed. Really. That’s what extractor-fans were made for. (She switches on a fan.)

G UY ( jaw clenched ) Wasn’t me.

M ARTIN It’s his dog bloat . . . .

JAMES (re. fan) Crank it up to ’max’. This bad boy’s fug is a killer.

M ARTIN As I said, the gastric function is –

G UY ( spotted something ) Whose shoes are those? ( He picks up a sandal from under the island.)

M IRANDA Can we talk about this later?

G UY Espadrilles? Size 10 espadrilles! What are you doing with size 10 espadrilles, in the kitchen?

(SFX: PING . . . PING . . . PING! The cooking-timer pre-warns a two minute countdown. M IRANDA is thrilled to have a change of subject.)

M IRANDA Muffins! Ready in two minutes!

M ARTIN Muffins!

G UY Muffins?

M ARTIN Blueberry and Pecan.

JAMES Nice. Crisis-food.

M IRANDA & M ARTIN (together) Without the blueberries, or the pecans.

( Both M IRANDA and M ARTIN laugh. G UY doesn’t .)

G UY ( suspicious) Espadrilles . . . ?

JAMES

I’d never have known you were baking. Didn’t smell a thing when we came in.

G UY (acidic) Agas are secretive beasts.

M IRANDA It’s because they’ve got a flue. All the cooking smells go up the chimney.

G UY ( loaded ) Ordinary cookers don’t have flues.

M IRANDA (explains) Guy never wanted an Aga.

G UY Professional chefs hate Agas. You can’t tell when something’s burning.

M ARTIN That’s true.

G UY

Anyone who owns an Aga can tell you endless stories, of things they’ve burnt to a coal-like consistency. From being left in the Aga. Sometimes, for days on end.

M ARTIN

My dear old mum once reheated some roast potatoes . . . For a week .

G UY

More Le Creuset wedding presents have been destroyed by Agas than by any other known method.

M ARTIN . . . they looked like Anthracite.

G UY It’s an international conspiracy, between Aga and Le Creuset. So remunerative, it partfinanced the digging of the Channel Tunnel.

M IRANDA It’s the only real downside.

G UY Only downside? Please!

M ARTIN You must admit they’re a marvellous invention.

M IRANDA Please. Don’t get him started. We had endless arguments about –

JAMES Wasn’t it a Swede . . . Who invented the Aga?

M ARTIN A Nobel Prize-winning physicist, no less. Dr. Gustaf Dalen.

G UY (ironic) Who, was so brilliant, he managed to totally blind himself, in a botched experiment, to discover a method to store acetylene gas.

M IRANDA Please Guy, let’s not –

G UY

So instead, once blind, maimed and housebound, he invented a cooker! Made of cast iron. A material, so modern and so

technologically advanced, it was first invented in 1709, and hasn’t changed since. Poor bugger, couldn’t even look inside to see if his pies were burning. Which most probably they were.

M ARTIN Eton and Harrow schools have got Agas, you know. And, the British Antarctic Expeditionary Force, took –

G UY (with controlled venom) David Cameron. Shania Twain. Elizabeth Hurley. Sting.

M IRANDA Guy . . . ! Please . . .

G UY Sharon Stone. Christiano Ronaldo. Jeremy Clarkson. Alan Titchmarsh. Elle ‘The Body’ McPherson. Jonathan Ross. Even Madonna and Guy Richie had one. But me, I hate Agas. And every fucking celebrity, that ever says, how much their house would ‘so not be a home, without one!’

( Everyone’s stunned into silence. It’s an uncomfortable moment. A tense silence that is fi nally broken by a groan. A terrible pain-fuelled groan, from Toby. M IRANDA sinks to her knees.)

M IRANDA Oh, my poor baby.

(M ARTIN kneels too. SFX: DRIIINNG!! )

G UY (“The Shining” ) Ah . . . muffin time!

(M IRANDA puts on oven gloves and gives G UY a piercing, pissed-off look as she open the Aga .)

G UY (of her look ) What . . . ? I’m allowed not to like Agas. Doesn’t make me a . . . racist. Or a paedophile . . . I just don’t happen to –

M IRANDA Ta-dah!

M ARTIN Muffins!

M IRANDA With cinnamon . . .

M ARTIN Oh, yummy.

JAMES Hmmm, smell that!

M ARTIN Heavenly.

M IRANDA They do smell great, don’t they?

M ARTIN So good. They make me want to buy your house!

(M ARTIN and M IRANDA laugh together. Private joke . G UY looks irritated .)

G UY All I can smell is dog fart.

(Stage fills with hot muffin aroma as M IRANDA puts them on a wire tray.)

JAMES It’s like magic the way you just did that.

M ARTIN Gorgeous.

M IRANDA There’s plenty. And, they all need eating . . .

(M ARTIN and JAMES are reaching for the muffins.)

M IRANDA But, hands-off for five minutes. Delia says they need to stand . . . ( Barbed, to G UY.) . . . and cool down .

G UY Sorry about the Aga rant. It’s an old wound. Sorry.

(M IRANDA looks chilly at him.)

M ARTIN It really is time we made a decision. About how we proceed.

JAMES Phenobarbitone? That what you give him?

M ARTIN We prefer Pentobarbital, actually. ( Kindly, to M IRANDA .) It’s exactly the same as they use at Dignitas.

(M IRANDA is suddenly fighting tears.)

M IRANDA (trying to ‘fan’ tears away) Oh . . . Oh . . . ( Re: tears.) I don’t want to do this, now. I know I’ve got to cry. But . . . (Gasp.) not . . . Not . . . (Gasp.) Now.

(She can’t help it and starts to sob. G UY puts his arms around her. Her head buried in her hands. He looks up at the other men, and shoos them out with a shake of his head. M ARTIN and JAMES take this cue to vacate.)

M ARTIN (re: drug ) I’ll just . . . um . . . It’s locked . . . in the car.

( He exits stage right . JAMES shuffles towards stage left.)

JAMES I’m just going to . . . Ah . . . Wash. Um . . . my . . . hands . . .

(JAMES exits stage left.)

G UY

Oh, darling . . . Come on . . . Let’s just take a little moment . . . It’s perfectly okay to cry. Really . . . You don’t have to fight it . . .

( Her face, still buried in her hands.)

G UY

Oh my poor sweet ’Randa. I hate to see you so sad.

( He takes her face in his hands, peels away her hands and gently kisses away her tears.)

G UY Your tears taste like . . . oysters. Or, little cockles . . . collected off the beach at Southwold.

(M IRANDA laughs through her tears.)

G UY Little cockle-tears dribbling down you face. To your lovely little fat lug-wormy lips.

( He kisses her lips. With passion more than comfort. She responds. Kissing him back. His hand caresses her hair, her breast. Suddenly she stops. Frozen.)

M IRANDA What are you doing?

G UY (trying to continue) Something that feels very lovely. Very natural. Very –

M IRANDA No. What are you doing!

G UY Kissing you.

M IRANDA Why? After . . . Why are you kissing me now ?

G UY I don’t know. It just happened. Your tears. Your sadness. Your touch. It just feels so right . ( He moves to kiss her again.)

M IRANDA No. Guy. Not right. Not –

G UY We just had a moment. I felt it. And I think you . . . you felt it too. A fl ashback. A chemical / biological ‘us’ moment. It’s good. I really liked it.

M IRANDA It’s not good. Please, take your hand off my breast.

( He does. Slowly.)

G UY You’re right. Of course you are. But . . . You did feel it. Didn’t you . . . ?

M IRANDA (cross) You are such a child!

(She exits. G UY follows.)

G UY Randa . . . Darling. I didn’t mean anything. Randa!

( He’s gone. Just as M ARTIN re-enters, carrying a drugs box, retrieved from his car. He opens the box on the island, just as JAMES re-enters . . . They smile weakly at each other. JAMES doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. M ARTIN makes himself busy with his kit. JAMES checks his phone texts. M ARTIN and JAMES are now stranded with each other. Martin indicates the syringe.)

M ARTIN I’m just going to . . .

JAMES Oh, of course. Go ahead. Crack on.

(JAMES looks at the muffins.)

JAMES What d’you reckon. Muffin time?

M ARTIN How long have they been cooling?

(JAMES shrugs . . . staring at them.)

JAMES Okay. Executive decision-time.

( He picks one up. Takes off the baking paper and rams it home. Chewing. His eyes roll. In heaven.)

M ARTIN ( hungry) Good . . . ?

JAMES Mmmmm-mmmmm. MMMM!

(M ARTIN can hold back no longer. He does the same. They chew together in starving-man delight.)

M ARTIN Mmmmmmm. Mmmmmm.

JAMES Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmmm!

( Momentarily bonded by muffins . . . JAMES picks up the wine bottle.)

JAMES (re: wine) Suppose, we might as well . . . ?

M ARTIN Why not?

JAMES Bit like an Irish wake. Where the living need to get hammered, to remind them they’re not dead.

M ARTIN He’s not. Yet.

JAMES What?

M ARTIN Dead.

JAMES No . . . I know. Of course. Still, doesn’t mean we can’t have a sort of pre-wake wake.

(They both drink. More uncomfortable smiles. Embarrassed by their silence. They avoid each other’s gaze. Both eyeing the muffins. Holding back. They drink. Big gulps. Out of embarrassment.)

JAMES So what happens now?

M ARTIN I suppose he’ll try and comfort her. And she’ll either feel better. Or feel worse. Or feel nothing. And he’ll have some regret –

JAMES I mean with Toby . . . ?

M ARTIN Sorry . . . ?

JAMES When you’ve done the dastardly deed?

M ARTIN (offended by tone) Do you mean, when I’ve –

JAMES Served him his Last Supper. Hit-him-up with Judgement-Day juice. Bought him a season ticket to the Afterlife. Settled his account. Cancelled his life membership. Sent him to the big celestial bean bag in –

M ARTIN (terse) He will suffer respiratory and cardiac arrest. And I will pronounce him dead.

JAMES Of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so glib. That did sound glib, didn’t it? Just don’t really get the whole pet thing.

M ARTIN Ah . . .

JAMES If I was looking for something warm and hairy to snuggle up to. I’d date a Greek chick.

(JAMES laughs hard at his own joke. M ARTIN barely cracks a smile. They drink. Keen to have something distracting to do.)

JAMES Okay. So . . . Worst case scenario. Your time’s up. You’re on the way out. What would be your last supper?

M ARTIN Oh. I don’t know . . . Good question. Something Thai, I think.

JAMES Interesting. Going out on an Asian note . . . Not scared of passing through the Pearly Gates holding back the old Thai-dal wave . . . ? ( Does a mock puke.) Bombay Belly . . . ? Katmandu quickstep . . . ?

M ARTIN (not amused ) No.

JAMES Oh . . . (This is going to be a long day.) What I meant about Toby, was afterwards . . . When the deed’s done. Do you, what . . . ? Have an incinerator, back at the practice?

M ARTIN No. No. That’s not how –

JAMES Or, do dogs have undertakers?

M ARTIN There is a collection service. Yes. For the local pet crematorium.

JAMES Dog owners have real funerals for their mutts?

M ARTIN It depends. Some do. Some don’t. I’ve known some really quite elaborate ceremonies.

JAMES With what . . . flowers and a coffin?

M ARTIN I’ve known some even have a choir.

JAMES No! Jesus wept . . . ( Laughing.) ‘And, what did you do today?’ ‘Oh, you know . . . sung the Messiah at a memorial service, for a Jack Russell, named Gherkin’. That is so tragic.

M ARTIN Owners get very moved by the death of their dog.

JAMES Sure. But it’s still just a dog. It’s not a relative!

M ARTIN To some it is.

JAMES And those people need a psychiatrist . Not a canine burial service.

M ARTIN Oh, I disagree. I’ve seen a lot of owners find great comfort in laying their pet to rest.

JAMES That’s not comfort. That’s just a perpetuation of the whole dog-man-best-friend-loyalty myth. They are animals . We are humans. It’s like a chicken crying over the death of a . . . wasp! It doesn’t make sense.

M ARTIN It does to the owner.

JAMES What is wrong with doggy people?

M ARTIN I don’t think, they think, there’s anything ‘wrong’ with –

JAMES Why locate your emotions in a mutt? It’s not like there’s a shortage of humans in the world. That you need to seek out dumb animals to dote on.

M ARTIN It just . . . makes people. Some people. Happy.

JAMES Don’t get it.

M ARTIN Humans can be tricky. Dogs . . . not so much.

JAMES Well, can’t say I ever had a human try to hump my leg. Or, crap all over my lawn. ( A beat. Jokes.) Actually . . . now I think about it . . . At Sebastian’s stag do . . .

(M ARTIN smiles weakly at JAMES’S joke. JAMES in turn, realises raising a laugh out of M ARTIN is going to be hard work. Both now increasingly uncomfortable .)

JAMES Is this going to take long? Like how long after the injection is he officially signed-off?

M ARTIN Five to ten minutes. Depends on the heart.

JAMES This isn’t really how I planned to spend my day.

M ARTIN No. I’m sure. Very inconvenient.

JAMES (re: G UY) I’m surprised he wanted to come. During the divorce, if he saw her name on his caller ID, he’d pull that face . . . You know. The Oh-God-I-do-not-want-to-answer-this face.

(JAMES mimes the face with an imaginary phone.)

JAMES This-is-gonna-hurt-like-haemorrhoids face!

( It’s funny. But M ARTIN tries not to laugh .)

JAMES Today. He gets his phone out on the back nine – which is a sin in itself – he’d moan like a bastard if it was me. And he smiles . Yep. Little twinkle. All warm as cocoa. ‘Oh darling . . . how lovely that you called’. Before he heard the dying-dog news, of course.

M ARTIN She didn’t want to call him.

JAMES And, I’ve never seen him want to speak to her.

M ARTIN Births death and marriages . . . Isn’t that what they say? Focuses family. Brings the broken pieces back together? From death flows life.

JAMES Can’t you stick the needle in him now. And then we’ll tell them he just pegged-it?

M ARTIN Certainly not!

(JAMES shrugs. ‘Oh well, worth a try!’ He opens the fridge. Takes out another bottle of wine.)

JAMES In that case . . . I think we deserve a little more anaesthetic. (Offering to M ARTIN .) More tea, Vicar?

(M ARTIN does a polite ‘Oh-Well-Go-On-Then’ mime. As JAMES twists it open .)

JAMES You know, the US government did a survey of last suppers. Among prisoners on Death Row. Ones who got to request a final meal.

M ARTIN Really . . . ?

JAMES Nearly all burgers.

M ARTIN Yes. Well . . . Not surprising really, I supp–

JAMES Or Kentucky Fried Chicken. And every single last one, to a man, ordered French fries as their . . . ( Quote marks.) . . . ‘vegetable’.

M ARTIN Huh . . .

JAMES And the serial killers . . . Practically every one chose the exact same desert.

M ARTIN What was it?

JAMES Guess.

M ARTIN I . . . I don’t know . . .

JAMES Sounds like a joke doesn’t it? ’I don’t know. What do serial killers like to eat for pudding . . . ?’

M ARTIN Chocolate brownies? Macdonalds Mc Flurry? Apple pie . . . ?

JAMES Mint choc-chip ice cream.

M ARTIN Really?

JAMES Makes sense, though. Doesn’t it? There is something kind of evil about it.

M ARTIN Mint choc-chip? I know what you mean . . . But good stuff. M&S or Waitrose stuff. That can be jolly tasty . . .

JAMES Serial killers don’t eat M&S ! They want proper hard-core chemical. With radioactive mint streaks. Like toothpaste.

(M ARTIN refreshes their glasses.)

M ARTIN When I first qualified, a lot of dogs used to be stuffed.

JAMES Well now, that is weird.

M ARTIN Doesn’t happen much now. No taxidermists left now. Not a trade that really . . . thrived. And, now they do freeze-drying instead.

JAMES Freeze-dried dogs?

M ARTIN It’s the big thing in America. Pet preservation.

JAMES You’re kidding.

M ARTIN They employ new deep-freezing technology, that can extract moisture from the cadaver, as it freezes.

JAMES What’s wrong with these people . . . ?

M ARTIN Unlike traditional taxidermy, where you would skin the dog first. Preserve the skin and the fur, and then reconstruct the animal, around a model of the dog. Made of plaster-of-Paris, or wood, or resin. Instead, freeze-drying means you can leave the bone structure intact. That way, even the facial expression, barely changes. So your dog ends up looking natural and life-like.

JAMES But, dead.

M ARTIN But dead.

JAMES Doesn’t it worry you?

M ARTIN Freeze-drying dogs?

JAMES That this is what dog-ownership does to people?

M ARTIN Well, not all dog owners are –

JAMES Millions of dollars of space-age technology . . . Employed, to desiccate the body of some ancient mutt. Preserve it for posterity.

M ARTIN Some owners just keep a locket, of its hair.

JAMES But, even that’s creepy.

M ARTIN There’s a woman in Dundee makes pet pillows. You send her the cremated ashes and she sews them into a little linen pouch, placed in the middle of a pillow. And then embroiders the animal’s name across it.

JAMES I blame the internet.

M ARTIN ‘Comfort from your pet, even after death’.

JAMES Don’t you sometimes, just want to turn that hypodermic around, and stick-it to the owners instead?

( Lights go down as M ARTIN and JAMES exit. Lights go up . . . on G UY and M IRANDA by the island. She is showing him something on a laptop computer. Light from the screen reflects on G UY and M IRANDA . G UY is transfixed. They’re looking at family photos.)

G UY (off the screen) Oh my God! The Wendy House! Awh . . . And look . . . look at Justin! He was just a little shrimp back then . . .

M IRANDA Wait . . . I can do better. I even have . . . Now, how do I do this again . . . ?

(Squealing childish laughter emanates from the laptop. Splashing water . . . )

M IRANDA (off the screen) There we go!

G UY That paddling pool . . . Is that our paddling pool? Did we have a paddling pool? That’s our garden . . .

M IRANDA (terse) The kids always had a paddling pool. Every summer . . .

G UY (watching ) Oh . . . Right . . . Oh my GOD ! Look at you!

M IRANDA Those were the days. Before wrinkles and cellulite were even invented.

G UY You look . . . Wow.

M IRANDA Hardly. My bum was still huge. Would show up on Google Earth.

G UY D’you think kids that age, know when they’ve got such a hot mum?

M IRANDA Oh please!

G UY No really. D’you think it makes a difference? Not like they compare mums. But that just having a yummy mummy, the one getting all the looks, from all the dads, and all the –

M IRANDA I wasn’t getting any looks. I was juggling two toddlers. Looking a right mess most of the time.

G UY Come on. Here, you look amazing. Can you pause it?

(She does with a click.)

G UY And zoom-in?

(She zooms-in on what we assume is a young M IRANDA .)

G UY Let me have that . . . ( He takes the control and continues the zoom.) Don’t tell me you weren’t getting looks! Look at you! Like Bridget Bardot mum. Marilyn mum. Madonna mum.

(She tries to grab the control from him. He holds it out of her reach. It’s a tiny play-fight moment. Eventually she grabs it and presses the button.)

M IRANDA (off the screen) Awwwwww! Look at him. Toby . . .

(M IRANDA stifles a sudden sob. They both stare a beat, until M IRANDA snaps out of it. Dries her tears. Businesslike .)

M IRANDA Do you remember, when you first brought Toby home . . . ?

G UY (course he doesn’t ) Ahm . . .

M IRANDA You played a trick on the children . . . promised them a surprise. Went downstairs to get it, and came back empty handed.

G UY Er . . . yeah. Yes.

M IRANDA You stood in their bedroom, with your hands empty. And pretended you’d lost their present. Helen sobbed. Four year olds don’t really get irony. And then . . . then, little Toby’s head popped-out your dressing gown pocket. Bang on cue. His great big eyes and his floppy ears . . . Helen squealed!

G UY Oh yeah . . . I remember. I think. ( He doesn’t.)

M IRANDA That was such a precious moment, Guy. I’d like to have taken that moment and swallowed it. Kept it warm and complete, inside me, totallyunchanged forever. ( A darker tone.) But, life

moves on. Doesn’t it? (She presses a key on the keyboard.)

G UY He was pretty damn cute . . . But I’m sure, today, what we’re doing, it’s for the best.

M IRANDA What?

G UY Moving him on.

M IRANDA (appalled ) ‘Moving him on’? That’s it? It’s decided? No questions. You’ve made a decision. The master has spoken. Put the dog to sleep.

G UY Isn’t that why I’m here?

M IRANDA You haven’t talked to the vet. Asked his medical opinion. Investigated alternatives.

G UY Alternatives ? Toby’s ancient, Miranda. In dog years he’s like a hundred! You can tell just looking at him, he’s on his way out.

M IRANDA He could have . . . heart surgery.

G UY Really? That what the vet said? No. Look Toby’s been loyal to us all these years. Now, it’s our turn to be loyal to him.

M IRANDA What . . . ?

G UY It would be so easy to bottle out now. Heaven knows, I’m sure Malcolm out there, would be only too pleased, to summon up some excruciatingly expensive surgery option.

M IRANDA ( piqued ) His name is Martin. (She wipes away any vestige of tears.)

G UY Whatever.

M IRANDA He’s only been Toby’s vet, for . . . the last fifteen years.

G UY I know . . . of course. I . . . just . . .

M IRANDA And, actually he agrees with you. That it’s better to let Toby go now. With dignity. I just . . . I just wanted you to ask . To ask me . Consult with me. For it to be a joint decision not just you. Barging back in here. Getting all . . . All high-horse about it.

G UY Sorry.

M IRANDA (re: laptop) D’you remember the day this picture was taken?

G UY ( lying ) Of course . . .

M IRANDA Really?

G UY Those . . . were the golden days, darling. Weren’t they?

M IRANDA D’you remember the row?

G UY No.

M IRANDA The awful row that morning?

G UY I don’t think . . . we –

M IRANDA You’d been away all week. Working. Saturday morning, the children were so excited to see you. You forget, how little we saw of you when you were busy.

G UY Someone had to bring home the bacon. You already had rampant Aga-lust.

M IRANDA Justin talked of nothing else all week. He had a magic trick. He so wanted to show it to you.

G UY How is he . . . ? I’ve tried to catch up, but even if I leave messages. He never seems –

M IRANDA Funny . . . He told me he rang you this morning. Went straight to answer-phone.

G UY I don’t . . . I never . . .

M IRANDA He rang me because he was in a garage buying petrol with no money.

G UY I’ve given him money. I always give him money. In this family . . . Money-giving is what I do.

M IRANDA How is he . . . ? He’s bitter. Twisted. Moody. Self destructive . . . Same old lovable Justin. (Beat. Back to the photo.) In the morning . . . All they wanted was to climb into bed and playfight with you.

G UY Lovely . . .

M IRANDA But, you announced you’d booked a portraitsession, with the photographer in Shaftesbury.

G UY In Shaftesbury . . . ? ( Remembering.) Oh yes. The creepy one . . . With all the Edwardian costumes. He was really quite odd. But, in a ‘fun’ way.

M IRANDA He was arrested, Guy. He served four years in Belmarsh, for Public Indecency.

G UY God, that’s right! I remember now. Was in the Western Gazette. ‘Inappropriate behaviour with customers’ negatives’. I always said I had a ‘feeling’ about him, didn’t I?

M IRANDA They didn’t want to go . . . Kids don’t care about photos. Justin still hates having his picture taken.

G UY (re: photo) It came out well though! That is a proper family-heirloom photo!

M IRANDA ‘A family-heirloom photo’. That’s what you kept saying. Over and over. I had a fabulous camera. Which you bought me the Christmas before. But no, that wasn’t good enough. It had to be ‘in a studio’. God knows why.

G UY Look at the lighting, that’s professional lighting. It’s very hard to achieve ligh–

M IRANDA You jumped out of bed. Before they even had a chance to cuddle you, and opened your closet to put on your slippers.

G UY ( suddenly cowed ) Oh God . . . Is this the tassel story?

M IRANDA (angry) Yes!

G UY

Those were very different times, Miranda. Work was extremely stressful. I was very tightly wound. I–

M IRANDA You opened your closet door. And you screamed.

G UY

I did not scream.

M IRANDA You screamed.

G UY

I was angry. Angry people don’t scream. Frightened people –

M IRANDA You screamed. And then you started shouting.

G UY

I agree I shouted. I never screamed.

M IRANDA ‘Fucking dog this’. ‘Fucking wife that’. Your two tiny children, and little pup, Toby . . . Half past eight on a Saturday morning . . . After

all week, just waiting . . . Looking forward. Counting the hours. You exploded at us.

G UY I was stressed.

M IRANDA Being the ones who loved you, Guy. That’s all we were ever guilty of.

G UY That fucking dog, had chewed the tassels off every pair of loafers I owned!

M IRANDA I know. I was there. We were all there.

G UY So, you also know, at least two pairs were Gucci.

M IRANDA And two were Prada. ( Does his voice.) ‘And those fucking slippers are Louis Vuitton!’ I do know.

G UY Those were bad days. Different days. They . . .

M IRANDA What happened to ‘Golden’ days? ( Beat.) So you slammed out the house. Swearing at us. And drove all the way back to London, on Saturday morning, to buy yourself several new pairs of loafers, from Bond Street.

G UY Not ‘several’.

M IRANDA While I took our, now traumatised, children, and Toby . . . Who had wet himself, cowering under the bed, to the pervy photographer in Bell Street.

G UY (re: photo) It is a lovely image.

M IRANDA I took them along, because part of me wanted to do something normal. To blow away the stink-cloud of your rage. Part of me was being the frugal housewife, who knew we’d have

to pay for the appointment anyway. And I suppose, part of me wanted a visual record.

G UY Of Toby and the kids?

M IRANDA Of what a total prick you could be.

G UY (confused ) But, I’m not in it!

M IRANDA You’re not in most of the family photos. (She presses a button on the lap top. A slide-show begins.) D’you remember the beach holiday in Fowey . . . ?

G UY (unsure) Er . . . Yes.

M IRANDA You weren’t there. You were working. You planned to come. But something came up. Or, Portmeirion? Blakeney? Whitstable? (The images change in sync.)

M IRANDA All holidays you never attended.

G UY I was there in Capri. And Cape Town.

M IRANDA Cape Town was business. You just left us to fend for ourselves and went off with a mining consultant called Hein.

G UY Heinrich Friedlander. Good man. Great wine buff. Knew everyone in Constantia.

(M IRANDA confronts him.)

M IRANDA What hotel did we stay in? What beach did we swim at? Was Justin still in nappies? Did the kids have to have jabs before we went?

G UY (changing subject but genuinely intrigued ) How d’you manage to get those photos on to that screen? They were just stuck in photo albums . . . Weren’t they?

M IRANDA They’ve been scanned. And burned on a disc. And then Bluetoothed onto the hard-drive.

G UY Really . . . ?! What suddenly happened . . . ? You used to need someone just to set the oven timer! ( Laughs.) I remember, you’d bring it all the way up to my study, to ask me to set it.

M IRANDA And you’d get angry. Call me a ‘retard’. So, I learnt. I can do Technology now.

G UY Did someone show you?

(She doesn’t answer.)

G UY Did Duncan show you?

M IRANDA I haven’t seen Duncan for nearly a year.

G UY I thought you and ‘The Dunk’ were big ‘hiking buddies’. Didn’t he take you to . . . Madeira?

M IRANDA Duncan is very sweet. But no. Not Duncan.

G UY Then who . . . ? (Suspicious.) Has all this . . . got something to do with that rather lovely white, and the espadrilles?

(M IRANDA looks at him a long beat. Carefully considering her answer.)

G UY What . . . ?

M IRANDA Nothing.

G UY Nothing . . . ?

M IRANDA No.

G UY Not nothing. There’s something . . .

M IRANDA No.

G UY Is there something you want to tell me . . . But . . . ?

M IRANDA Nothing. Ce n’est pas grave.

G UY There obviously is something . . .

M IRANDA No.

G UY People. Women. You. Don’t use cute schoolgirl-French phrases, unless they’re hiding something.

M IRANDA ( piqued ) Hiding ? What would I need – ? What do I have . . . To hide? From who? From you? Why on God’s earth would I feel I had to hide something from you?

G UY ( he hit a nerve) I know you. You don’t think I do. You don’t think I ever paid enough attention to you. But, I do. I did. I know you.

M IRANDA Hah!

G UY Better than you think.

M IRANDA (twisting knife) Tu ne sais rien de moi.

G UY I can read you, like a Dan Brown thriller. Cover-to-cover.

M IRANDA No you can’t.

G UY (teasing ) I know . . . everything there is to know about you, Miranda Brinkley.

M IRANDA Don’t fool yourself –

G UY I know you think . . . Eating in the street is common.

M IRANDA It is!

G UY The Beatles are overrated.

M IRANDA Totally!

G UY See . . . ? I know . . . you once cut your hair into a disastrous pudding-bowl style. Because you were a fan of . . . Because you really liked . . . a . . . a . . . character in a TV series . . .

M IRANDA Which one?

G UY Purdey! From . . . ‘The New Avengers’.

(M IRANDA groans, and then laughs. Can’t help herself.)

M IRANDA You know trivia. Meaningless Miranda trivia.

G UY I know you have ‘That’s Amore’ engraved inside your wedding ring.

M IRANDA Duh ! You bought it. You paid to have it engraved. You married me.

G UY Yes. And I know it, because I know you. I’ve known you for decades . . . Most of your life.

M IRANDA Guy, you would have to be a cretin to forget what you had engraved –

G UY You hate lip gloss. Think it looks slutty. You think swimming with dolphins is creepy. You like runny honey, better than set.

M IRANDA Everyone prefers runny –

G UY When Helen had a scorpion tattooed on her hip, you cried. You never flew on Concorde, but always wished you had. You love asparagus, but hate the way it makes your pee

smell. You hate hot tubs. And saunas. Love soft ice cream. Hate capers and glacé cherries. You used to smoke Sobraine Cocktails . . . Hate strip-wax kits. Carnations. And anyone touching your tummy button . . .

M IRANDA Sobranie Cocktails . . . God, that was so naff!

G UY You bite your lip when you reverse. You voted for Margaret Thatcher, but spent a weekend at Greenham Common . . . One weekend! You lost your virginity to a rower called Quentin. And you think Australia, looks like ‘Luton with palm trees’.

M IRANDA This doesn’t mean anything.

G UY No?

M IRANDA All it proves is we once shared a life. A life you squandered. Because you wanted to share it with someone else.

( A beat. As G UY slowly grins . . . and slips into his well-practised Princess Diana interview pose . . . )

G UY

( Princess Diana) ‘There were . . . There were . . . three of us in the marriage . . . So, it was . . . a bit crowded’.

(M IRANDA laughs. Can’t help it.)

M IRANDA Jesus Guy . . . Is that it . . . ? You make a joke. Make me laugh. Everything’ll be okay?

G UY Still a closet Royalist, then?

M IRANDA And you’re still a shit!

G UY You don’t mean that.

M IRANDA I do.

G UY You tell yourself you do. You probably tell Martin . . . Duncan . . . Abby . . . Anyone else who’ll listen, what as shit I am. I was . . . I can be. But . . . you look back at these photos . . . Our life. Our kids. You tote up all the laughter and time, and water that’s flowed under our bridge . . . And you cannot deny it . . . (Cocky now.) You, Miranda . . . You still . . . You still love me . . . You know you do.

( Face to face. M IRANDA looks defiant. Mind made up . . . )

M IRANDA If you must know . . . His name is Hervé.

(M IRANDA exits. G UY freezes . . . a long beat. Then . . . )

G UY Fuck!

(The lights dim. And the curtain falls . . . )

( End of Act One.)

ACT TWO

Kitchen. M ARTIN and JAMES on opposite sides of the island. Same as before. Only a little bit drunker. M ARTIN stoops to do cursory medical checks on Toby. A French crooner sings from the CD player. JAMES is listening to it, until he picks up the remote . . .

JAMES Aw . . . Stick a sock in it!

( . . . and stops the music dead.)

JAMES It’s a menopause thing.

M ARTIN (confused ) What?

JAMES French singer. Clinically-proven that women of a certain age get hormonal-cravings for Sacha Distel.

(JAMES opens another bottle of wine. And cuts the last muffin in half . . . They share the muffin. They eat and drink. They’re never going to be best friends, but they’re learning to pass the time together.)

JAMES How’s the patient holding up?

M ARTIN His heart’s beating. He’s still breathing . . . But not much else really.

JAMES Lights are on, but nobody’s home.

M ARTIN That’s it. Sedative’s kicked in.

JAMES Lucky boy.

(The door opens. G UY enters. He seems changed. Quick in his movements. Terse.)

G UY We need more wine in there . . .

(G UY collects a bottle and glasses. Then, turns to walk out again, but, a thought hits him and he stops by the Aga.)

G UY (to M ARTIN) Which of the four ovens, of the hallowed four-oven Aga, is the hottest?

M ARTIN ( showing him) Well . . . This one here, is just a plate-warmer really, or for slow cooking . . . overnight stews, and porridge. Makes fabulous porridge. This is your simmering oven. ( Indicates.) Baking . . . .

G UY Where does she keep her baking trays?

(Trying to be helpful, JAMES eagerly searches in the island cupboards.)

M ARTIN And top right, here, is your roasting oven. Top temperature somewhere around about 260 degrees centigrade.

JAMES (re: cupboard ) Ah . . . here we go.

(G UY puts down the bottle and glasses.)

G UY Give me her biggest Le Creuset?

JAMES Lasagne dish . . . ?

(JAMES produces a big metal dish from a drawer.)

G UY Perfect.

(G UY picks up the pair of espadrilles from the floor and puts them on the centre of the dish. He opens the roasting oven. And slips the baking dish inside. Then, he picks up the wine and glasses, and makes to leave again .)

G UY (to JAMES) Be a mate. Set the timer to 40 minutes.

( And exits. JAMES sets the timer. He shrugs at M ARTIN .)

JAMES (thoughtful ) Doesn’t look good . . . Forty minute sandal roast. More wine. Bollocks! Not going to be blasting clay pigeons today. Am I?

M ARTIN I used to so envy him.

JAMES Guy?

M ARTIN All that he had.

JAMES Yeah?

M ARTIN I live with my mother.

JAMES Oh . . .

M ARTIN Out of choice.

JAMES Of course.

M ARTIN Confirmed bachelor, me. But, I’ve treated animals in this family for years. Little Justin brought me a wounded badger once. Bloody thing nearly ripped a finger off.

JAMES Ow!

M ARTIN Miranda, bless her, sent me a Get Well card.

JAMES You should have sued.

M ARTIN Then one day, he was gone. How could he just walk away? What on earth could be better than this?

JAMES A hundred years of marriage isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.

M ARTIN I was staggered. Miranda was so . . . Is so . . . always so, lovely. Always asks after mother. Opens a bottle when I visit. I’ve never married. But, am I missing something here? Isn’t she perfect?

JAMES Well . . . Obviously not.

(M ARTIN is dumbfounded. A beat as they both stare at the Aga, a long beat. And drink. Until M ARTIN shakes off his daydream .)

M ARTIN So . . . A golfer, eh?

JAMES Oh, yes. Definitely. And you . . . ?

M ARTIN No. Never fancied it really. Fishing’s more my thing.

JAMES I tried salmon fishing once. In Scotland . . .

M ARTIN Nice.

JAMES On a golfing holiday. Gleneagles.

M ARTIN Oh lovely.

JAMES Didn’t catch anything. Of course. No one ever does. Do they?

M ARTIN Sometimes they do.

JAMES All the fishers were moaning. Not a single salmon had been caught for, I don’t know. Over a week. Or more. Ridiculous really.

M ARTIN Well, it’s all down to the state of the water.

JAMES That’s what they kept saying! ‘Water’s not right’. There was either too little, or too much.

M ARTIN It can be a bit of a tease at times.

JAMES Sounds bloody stupid. If you ask me.

M ARTIN It’s not everyone’s cup of –

JAMES How can you have ‘too much water’ for a salmon? They live in the sea for God’s sake!

M ARTIN Not all the time. Some of the time.

JAMES Whatever. It’s still the sea. They live in the sea.

M ARTIN They do . . . sometimes.

JAMES You keep saying ‘sometimes’. And okay, they also live in rivers. Sometimes . But they go to, wherever . . . Norway, or –

M ARTIN Greenland.

JAMES Sorry. Greenland . To feed. To migrate. To the feeding grounds.

M ARTIN For some of their lives.

JAMES And then they come back to Scotland. To what? To have babies?

M ARTIN To find a mate and spawn. Yes.

JAMES In the river?

M ARTIN Correct.

JAMES And the river is ‘too much water’ for them?

M ARTIN Well, technically –

JAMES After they’ve just crossed thousands of miles of the North Sea . . . suddenly they can’t cope with a little river . . . ?

M ARTIN It’s not that they can’t cope, it’s –

JAMES I’m sorry. But talking as a golfer, that sounds like three shades of bullshit to me.

M ARTIN It’s not –

JAMES Am I right? Isn’t that the exact same as the ‘wrong sort of snow’ or the ‘wrong type of leaves’ ? Huh? Isn’t that just a ‘whiskery-oldman-in-waders’ excuse for sitting in a bothy – and that’s another thing – the ancient, oldie, weirdy language. What the fuck is a bothy . . . ?! Apart from an excuse to soak up another bottle of Glenfiddich?

M ARTIN It’s not too much water for salmon. It’s too much water for fishing for salmon. The salmon are still there. It’s just, they can’t see the fly.

JAMES Not surprising. I’ve seen those salmon flies. For a start they don’t look anything like flies. And they’re tiny.

M ARTIN Exactly. And in a river swollen by rainwater, there’s increased sedimentation . . . Which means decreased clarity. Which impairs the salmon’s vision.

JAMES So use a worm! Wouldn’t worms work?

M ARTIN Oh, they’d work. But they’re not allowed.

JAMES Why?

M ARTIN Because they might make it too easy.

JAMES But the salmon can’t even see the fly.

M ARTIN No.

JAMES So what is the point? You could catch them on a worm, but they’re banned . . . Because they might work! And instead you use something that definitely won’t work. No wonder salmon fishers are all so miserable.

M ARTIN Compared to golfers?

JAMES At least we can play whatever the weather.

M ARTIN ‘Play’. That’s it, isn’t it. Golf. It’s just play. Let’s dress up and hit a white ball. And follow it. And hit it again . And again. And again. Until we eventually reach the bar. Where we can talk about how many times we hit it. Up. And down. To no end. For no point. You hit it into a hole. You take it out. Hit in into another hole. Take it out. If ever there was an exercise in futility . . . .

JAMES It’s a sport. Sport’s not futile.

M ARTIN Nothing changes. At the end of the day, the ball is still a ball. The hole is still a hole. And the golfer is still a man, and his clothes are still ludicrous . . . Only he’s a bit more drunk!

JAMES How can golf be futile, and salmon fishing isn’t?

M ARTIN It’s about life and death.

JAMES Not if you don’t catch a salmon, it isn’t. Which no one ever does.

M ARTIN The potential is there.

JAMES Golf, is Zen-like. Cerebral. Finely-tuned. It’s about the exact repetitive positioning of the body. The swing. The stroke. The repetitive, well-oiled stroke. And it is, ultimately . . . a

game against yourself. It’s about striving for perfection.

M ARTIN I’m sorry . . . Oil, strokes, repetition . . . Playing against yourself? Isn’t . . . isn’t that the perfect description . . . of . . . masturbation?

( Lights dim. M ARTIN and JAMES exit . M IRANDA and G UY enter. Then, lights go up on . . . Kitchen. G UY has poured glasses of wine. His nose is out of joint. But, he has to keep smiling. Be sympathetic .)

M IRANDA He’s French . . .

G UY I kind of got that.

M IRANDA An old friend of the Ashcrofts. He runs a small design consultancy. They help to launch and re-launch, various products and brands. Like the wine. Chateau St. Philippe is one of his.

G UY ( hating this) So, you and he just . . . ?

M IRANDA We just clicked.

G UY ‘Clicked’, huh?

M IRANDA (excited ) It’s different, Guy. It . . . It’s a bit of a revelation, really . . . To me. It’s . . . God, I don’t know . . . I –

G UY ‘Different’, as in good? Or ’different’ as in . . . ( Does so-so gesture with his hand.)

M IRANDA Oh, God yes! Good! Really good. I mean, I’ll be honest . . . after you. After we divorced . . . And, what with the children. And Justin being so . . . needy. I never really thought about my own life, in that way. Didn’t want to.

G UY What way?

M IRANDA Meeting-someone, sort of way.

G UY You met Duncan.

M IRANDA Oh, come on, Guy. I’d known Duncan for ever. We both knew Duncan. I didn’t meet Duncan. Duncan wasn’t like a new man in my life. Duncan was like an old . . . an old gardening coat, or something. Something that I couldn’t quite bear to throw away . . . But, at the same time, I didn’t really like anyone to see me wearing.

G UY I always thought Duncan was a solid guy.

M IRANDA Exactly. Solid old Duncan. No risk. No threat.

G UY No hair.

M IRANDA Not like Hervé.

G UY Hervé’s got hair . . . I take it?

M IRANDA Hervé feels like a relationship. Like a man. Like someone who can make me feel a whole woman again. A living, breathing, loving, lusting woman.

G UY (in Hell ) Oh . . . great. That’s . . . great. So . . . great . . . .

M IRANDA I haven’t felt like that, like this since –

G UY ( quick ) Since, we were together . . . ?

M IRANDA Well, yes.

G UY We really did create some heat, didn’t we?

M IRANDA We did, Guy. Way back. Way back in the early days. Before the children and the work. And

the lies, and the affairs and, then . . . Sonja. Yes. We did create some heat, way back then.

G UY We definitely did. And not that long ago. Not that long at all . . . really.

M IRANDA I didn’t think I really wanted another proper ‘relationship’ relationship, ever again, after you.

G UY Well, it was epic. We were ep–

M IRANDA Duncan was enough. A companion.

G UY That’s because, our marriage was so special . . .

M IRANDA It was such a huge part of my life.

G UY And mine too.

M IRANDA Such a big thing.

G UY Oh yes. Not like this French flash-in-the-pan.

M IRANDA A thing that you just . . . broke . Guy . . . That you . . . Just . . . shattered. ( A beat.) Something so big and so proud, and so precious to me, that you . . . That you treated like it was just some . . . crappy little business. One you just bought and sold. That you got shot-of, liquidated, as soon as you saw a better, younger, firmer one, to acquire in its place. And then, you never even looked back. Not even to observe the wreckage . . . you left behind.

G UY Aw, come on, that’s not quite how it happened. It –

M IRANDA But it’s alright. ( Warmly.) Really. Guy. It is. I’m not being a bitch. Really. Because I don’t want that anymore. Don’t want to be that woman. Hervé has woken up that hurt-and-

closed-off part of me again. Made it better. Made me feel all . . . good. All . . . glow-y.

G UY (ouch) Oh . . . good. ‘Glowy’? Glowy’s good.

M IRANDA I don’t even feel angry. Or bitter, about Sonja any more. I did . God. And I thought some pretty horrible things. About you and her . . . And, I wished for such awful things, to happen to you both. I feel ashamed to admit it.

G UY Don’t. It’s only natural. And, well . . . there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you . . .

M IRANDA I hated who I became.

G UY . . . about me and Sonja . . .

M IRANDA You know. It so doesn’t matter! Honestly. It doesn’t. I’m over it, Guy. I’m so over it.

G UY No, but you see, we –

M IRANDA I’m so deliciously over it. Over hurting. Over resenting.

G UY But, things have changed.

M IRANDA Hervé has opened my eyes. I’ve decided . . . to sell the house!

G UY

What!?

M IRANDA I’ve had a valuation.

G UY But this is the family home! You can’t sell it. What about the children?

M IRANDA Children? They’re in their 20s for God’s sake. Same age we were when we started having them.

G UY They still need to know they have a –

M IRANDA They’ve flown. You’ve flown. Who am I kidding, buying a four-oven Aga? Most days I barely need a kettle. And, well . . . Hervé has an apartment in Paris, and also a little barn / villa thing, near Montpellier . . . So, why on earth do I need this huge mausoleum?

G UY

It’s where all the memories are.

M IRANDA Memories are in your head, Guy. Not in your real estate.

G UY This house is . . . is . . . like . . .

M IRANDA It’s like some sort of family museum! And I’ve just been promoted to Curator of the Family Photos. Most of which you aren’t even in – or else, they’re too painful to look at.

G UY A valuation?

M IRANDA So I’ve put them all on disc. I’ll give you all a copy, and then job-done. My work here is over.

G UY

I think you’re being very hasty.

M IRANDA (troubled ) I am sorry, Guy.

G UY (misunderstanding ) That’s OK. Nothing’s done. Nothing’s undo-able. Just a valuation. Just a moment of madness.

M IRANDA No. I –

G UY Money decisions were never your strong suit, darling. That’s exactly why I always –

M IRANDA No. I’m sorry. Because . . . That was a lie.

G UY What . . . ? About Hervé . . . ?

M IRANDA I’ve sold the house, Guy. Not a valuation. Sold it.

G UY Sold it?

M IRANDA To the Ashcrofts. It never went on the market. Estate agent came to value it. I mentioned it to Abby. She told Daniel . . .

G UY Daniel Ashcroft! God, he has always been jealous of this house.

M IRANDA No hesitation . . . He just –

G UY

When I put in the tennis court. That put his nose so far out of joint, he opposed the planning application – anonymously. Fucking weasel! Thank God for the Freedom of Infor–

M IRANDA He offered two hundred thousand over the valuation price.

G UY You can’t sell it to Daniel Ashcroft.

M IRANDA I have.

G UY Well un-sell it. He can’t have it.

M IRANDA It’s done.

G UY He used to look at you, you know. Playing tennis. Leering, like a dog on heat. Couldn’t take his eyes off your bum.

M IRANDA I know.

G UY Two hundred thousand above what?

M IRANDA The asking price.

G UY Which is . . . ? What d’you mean . You ‘know’?

M IRANDA I know about Daniel.

G UY He’s always lusted after you. Mind you, I suppose, when your own wife looks like a horse . . .

M IRANDA That’s unkind!

G UY You keep saying you ‘know’.

M IRANDA Because you’re telling me, Daniel Ashcroft had feelings about me, like it’s . . . news .

G UY You knew ?

M IRANDA Of course I knew. Come on. What am I, some sort of . . . idiot? Anyway, soon as you moved out. He . . . He came round.

G UY Ashcroft came here? Why?

M IRANDA Why do you think? To tell me . . . he’d always had ‘warm’ feelings for me.

G UY He said ‘warm’? He actually said ‘warm’ feelings?

M IRANDA And, he said, that in his opinion, you must be mad . And, if there was ever –

G UY Makes you sound like a mug of Ovaltine.

M IRANDA . . . Ever anything he could do. ( Does a voice.) ‘Anything , Miranda. You do understand . . . ?’

G UY I’m going to be sick. ( A beat. As G UY computes the prospect.) You didn’t . . . ?

M IRANDA What?

G UY Not with Ashcroft? (M IRANDA baits him with a coy look-away.)

G UY

You didn’t . . . let him touch you. With his hands? His banker’s hands. I could never forgive you.

M IRANDA That would be my business.

G UY Daniel Ashcroft . . . ?! (G UY’S about to go into anaphylactic shock .) Oh. God. No.

M IRANDA Of course I didn’t. Abby is one of my best friends.

G UY Thank God. I could never forgive you.

M IRANDA But, what if I did?

G UY You couldn’t . Not with him. I’d die.

M IRANDA You’d die.

G UY

You don’t understand. Ashcroft and me. The history. The competition. The hatred. The envy . . .

M IRANDA ‘Hatred’? You were friends . . . You are friends. You’ve been on golfing weekends.

G UY

That doesn’t mean . . . I can’t, hate. I can . . . I can like him, and I can hate him too.

M IRANDA Jesus, Guy. You got more upset at the thought that I might have slept with Daniel . . . than all the time we were breaking up.

G UY That’s not true. I was devastated.

M IRANDA Devastated?

G UY I was. It’s just, this . . . Ashcroft. Now Hervé. Strikes a raw nerve.

M IRANDA Hervé isn’t like Ash – like, Daniel . There was no Daniel. I said no to him. But, none of this is about you. It’s about me. My life. My future. So . . . So I’ve put all the family photos on disc. Everyone has the same selection. And Toby dying today . . . Well, personally, I see that as a sign.

G UY He isn’t dead.

M IRANDA It’s like a proper ending. A full stop. A finale. A family finale.

G UY He isn’t dead!

M IRANDA No. I know. Bless. Sorry, Toby. But, it is very close.

G UY You don’t know that.

M IRANDA (duh) There’s a vet next door. With a syringe full of Pentobarbital . . .

G UY Doesn’t mean we have to kill him.

M IRANDA We’re not ‘killing’ him, Guy. Don’t say it like that.

G UY Well we are. Aren’t we. Murdering him, really. Deciding . . . ‘Okay that’s enough of you, bye. I want to get on with my brand new life with Hervé. And you . . . You can die now . . . ’

M IRANDA That’s not what it’s like, at all.

G UY Isn’t it?

M IRANDA Guy, you said yourself, he’s an old dog. He’s had a fabulous life. A good innings. Now, is his time.

G UY Not necessarily. You said yourself that there are surgery ‘options’. Alternatives.

M IRANDA ‘He’s been loyal to us all these years. Now it’s time for us to be loyal to him’ . Remember?

G UY ‘Loyal’ yes. Not homicidal.

M IRANDA Look, Guy . . . Since Toby’s been ill . . . There’ve been a few, well . . . Quite a lot of . . . ‘accidents’. Especially in the night.

G UY So? You’ve got oak floors. A quick mop and –

M IRANDA Incontinence, Guy. Think about it. It’s not very dignified.

G UY I don’t see –

M IRANDA It’s not very nice for me, Guy. Either. Especially, especially when Hervé’s staying over . . .

G UY ( penny drops – getting nasty) That’s it! Isn’t it? The real reason. This isn’t about Toby at all. It’s about you. And him . . . Espadrilles . You want a loyal family dog, dead. Because, his bladder interferes with bonking your Frog boyfriend.

M IRANDA I don’t want him dead.

G UY Well then, let’s elect for heart surgery. See if we can’t buy him a new lease of life.

M IRANDA I want what’s best for him.

G UY Best, so long as it fits in with bonking your Frog boyfriend?

M IRANDA Oh please, Guy. Is this really how mature you’re going to be about this? ‘Frog boyfriend’? Listen to yourself.

G UY Just because he’s French . . . He can’t cope with a little dog piss? That it?

M IRANDA No, Guy. That’s not it. More than anything, I feel bad for Toby. He’s always been such a dignified dog. He –

G UY Don’t. Don’t say it . . . That whole ‘letting him die with dignity’, thing. Just makes you sound like Harold Shipman.

M IRANDA What . . . ?

G UY It’s just an excuse to off-him, because Hervé can’t handle a whiff of dog-turd with his cappuccino.

M IRANDA Okay. So . . . what are you actually saying, now? We shouldn’t put Toby down?

G UY Absolutely not. That dog has got years left in him. There is a Border Collie, in Somerset, twenty-eight years old. Twenty eight! Maintains a strict vegetarian diet.

M IRANDA You really would put Toby through surgery just to –

G UY Toby could have another ten years. More . . . If he gives up meat.

M IRANDA Guy . . . Out there, a vet with many, years experience with Toby. Is strongly recommending that we, as responsible, dogowners, should put our old and now suffering, dog, to sleep.

G UY But it’s not . . . to ‘sleep’.

M IRANDA Just let’s for a moment, think about Toby.

G UY How do I know you’ve not paid him?

M IRANDA Who?

G UY Malcom . . . Martin. The so-called expert vet.

M IRANDA Martin? Paid Martin?

G UY Yes.

M IRANDA I have. I do. This is his job.

G UY Or Hervé? Who’s to say he hasn’t slipped the dodgy vet a bundle of Euros, to fabricate evidence?

M IRANDA Evidence . . . ? This isn’t a trial.

G UY No. And don’t I know it! No jury. Straight to the hanging-judge. How do I know Toby’s not . . . drugged?

M IRANDA He is !

G UY Or, being slowly poisoned. Maybe that’s why he was so unresponsive.

M IRANDA He’s swimming with dog-Valium.

G UY I’ve never seen him like that. Cold. Dead eyes.

M IRANDA You’ve seen him a total of what . . . ? Three times in the last four years?

G UY His master. His best friend . . . .His packleader. Enters the room. Nothing. Nil reaction.

M IRANDA You could chuck a live squirrel in his basket right now and he won’t bat an eyelid.

G UY

Exactly. That’s it. Drugs. You and Hervé have paid Martin to drug him. So I assume he’s ill, and –

M IRANDA Guy, listen to yourself. Listen. You’re –

G UY Martin’s just clearing the way for you and Hervé. Isn’t he? Tampering with evidence. Hiding bodies. He’s just like your own . . . personal . . . vet pimp.

M IRANDA (calm) Guy, please . . . Please . . . It’s time . . . to put Toby to sleep.

G UY It’s not ‘sleep’. It’s death.

(They freeze. Lights go down. M IRANDA and G UY exit. M ARTIN and JAMES enter. Lights go up. The kitchen. JAMES is picking crumbs off the muffin tray. Scraping burnt-edge bits with a butter knife. M ARTIN is slurping more wine. Holding it up to the light, like he’s a connoisseur.)

JAMES Is there a dog heaven?

M ARTIN I can’t really answer that. Not comprehensively.

JAMES Owners bury their dogs. They have choirs and services and headstones. They must believe there’s a dog heaven.

M ARTIN I suppose.

JAMES So, is it, seventy two celestial virgin-bitches? Or, all marrow bones and tummy-rubs?

M ARTIN You’d really have to ask a believer.

JAMES Which begs the question: Are there humans in dog heaven? Huh . . . ? If they’re really man’s best friend – wouldn’t they want man in their heaven?

M ARTIN

I don’t see why exactly.

JAMES Do dogs get on with each other? Would they choose or wish to spend time, just in the company of other dogs?

M ARTIN I would think –

JAMES The expression ‘dog-eat-dog’ . . . Did that come about from generations of harmonious living? I think not.

M ARTIN Fox hounds; pack dogs . . . They get on.

JAMES Do they? Really? Isn’t there always an alphamale, in charge?

M ARTIN There’s always a top dog.

JAMES So all the other dogs are scared of him . . . ? ‘Don’t do that, or Top Dog’s gonna bite your nuts off!’ ‘Don’t go mounting that pretty bitch, ’cos she’s Top Dog’s bitch, and he’s gonna open a big can-o-hurt all over your butt . . . ’ Sort of thing.

M ARTIN Of course there’s a . . . hierarchy . . .

JAMES Personally, I don’t see that as harmoniousliving. I don’t frankly see an under-dog dog, wishing for more of the same , in the Hereafter. Do you?

M ARTIN Dogs are a pack animal. Descended from wolves. And wolves operate in a pack.

JAMES Doesn’t mean they’re happy about it. All the more reason for heaven to be different. And what about Toby, he hasn’t been near a pack of anything , in his whole life? Except biscuits.

M ARTIN Domestic dogs are different.

JAMES Toby loves a nice warm Aga, a bowl of marrow bone chunks, and the lovely Miranda . . . itchy-scratching the small of his back.

M ARTIN (drink talking ) Put like that, who wouldn’t?

JAMES So, ergo . . . there has to be humans in Toby’s heaven.

M ARTIN Philosophically that would make sense.

JAMES So who are the humans in dog heaven? And what desperately depraved things did they do in their time on earth, that they came back in the Afterlife, as hounds’ hand-servants, in dog heaven? Huh? Is dog heaven full of paedophiles and merchant bankers? Is it? Wallto-wall serial killers?

(JAMES pours more wine. Filling up both their glasses.)

JAMES There anything else to eat? I’m starving. We were supposed to have lunch at the shooting range. Bloody good carvery. Until the dogsituation reared its ugly head.

M ARTIN There’s usually some Kettle Chips . . . in the cupboard.

JAMES Get them down.

M ARTIN D’you think we should?

JAMES We could be here a very long time.

(M ARTIN looks into the cupboard where he’d searched for baking trays.)

M ARTIN Balsamic Vinegar and Sea Salt . . . or, Red Thai Curry . . . ?

JAMES Let’s have the Thai Curry, in honour of your last supper.

(M ARTIN opens the bag. He pours them into a bowl. JAMES takes a couple and munches loudly.)

JAMES It’s the bowl, isn’t it . . . ?

M ARTIN What?

JAMES The thing that defines the cultural chasm that lies between the ordinary common-or-garden crisp, and upscale, upmarket Kettle Chip.

M ARTIN How so?

JAMES Crisps never get into bowls. Crisps are eaten straight from the bag. Kettle Chips always get poured into bowls. Bowls . . . you see? It’s what separates Kettle Chips from crisps.

M ARTIN I never really thought about it. But, they do carry a little more gravitas.

JAMES Cheesy Wotsits.

M ARTIN What about them?

JAMES Never, ever in a bowl.

M ARTIN (what about? ) Children’s parties . . . ?

JAMES Doesn’t count.

M ARTIN Quavers?

JAMES Bag. You put Quavers in a in a bowl and you’re being pretentious. But Kettle Chips . . . Toujours la bol.

M ARTIN Hoola Hoops?

JAMES Bag.

M ARTIN Frazzles?

JAMES Bag.

M ARTIN Mini Cheddars?

JAMES Bag.

M ARTIN Twiglets.

JAMES An exception . . . they do get put in containers. But not bowls. Normally flat tray-like things at naff drinks parties.

M ARTIN What about peanuts . . . ?

JAMES Peanuts . . . you can put in a bowl. But, truth is, they’ll always just look like a low-rent barsnack.

M ARTIN What about dry roasted ones?

JAMES Different league.

M ARTIN Or, honey roasted?

JAMES Yep. Bowl. No problem. That I won’t dispute. But only because at that stage of peanutevolution they’re practically elevated to the level of cashews . . . Or, that holy of all holies – the macadamia.

M ARTIN I feel sorry for peanuts.

JAMES I know. And me. They only have class when they have added value.

M ARTIN . . . The roasting. The coating . . .

JAMES . . . The fancying-up.

M ARTIN In their natural state . . .

JAMES ‘Monkey’ nuts.

M ARTIN Only fit for monkeys.

JAMES Or fat, bloated squirrels, hustling picnickers in the park.

( A beat, as they consider this . . .)

JAMES I fucking hate squirrels.

M ARTIN What about pistachios? Bowl?

JAMES Two bowls. One for the nuts. One for the shells.

(M ARTIN nods at the wisdom of this. Feeling the buzz of the wine, he’s a little tipsy, and so asks . . .)

M ARTIN Do you think being a vet makes me some kind of dog God? Because, I’ve so often wielded the power of life and death, over so many dogs. Does that make me God-like, in the annals of dog mythology?

JAMES No.

M ARTIN ( peeved ) Oh . . . ?

JAMES You’re just a hired gun. A hit man. An executioner, brought in to do the dirty work on behalf of the owners. They’re the real players. You’re just the axe man.

M ARTIN

I have a medical opinion. A divine authority. I would always use my clinical judgement to –

JAMES Which, when you think about it, is exactly what makes dog-owners pussies.

M ARTIN Pussies? Why pussies?

JAMES Because they don’t have the gonads to do what they should. They wimp out of doing the dastardly deed themselves, and bring in Martin.

M ARTIN You really think owners should euthanise their own dogs?

JAMES Euthanise? You make me laugh. You even clean-up the language for them. So they don’t have to feel bad about culling their loved ones.

M ARTIN ( bit harsh) Culling . . . ?

JAMES Of course they should do it themselves. They choose, they breed, they cross-breed, they genetically-modify . . . They’re happy to get their hands dirty, tinkering at the front-end of a dog’s life. Seems only fair, they should follow-through on the back end.

M ARTIN Dog owners are dog lovers. You can’t expect them to –

JAMES They teach and train and mollycoddle . . . All through a dog’s life, controlling everything from diet to destiny. For God’s sake, Toby even had his testicles removed, on Guy and Miranda’s whim. His nuts . . . Whipped off, because . . . what? Because he kept trying to hump the neighbour’s Springer bitch? A fairly natural instinct . . . One would’ve thought. But one which caused bad feeling and wagging chins, in the ’hood.

M ARTIN Neutering male dogs, is clinically proven to create a more placid and satisfactory –

JAMES And . . . who ‘picked his pockets’? Tell me that? Who was the man who colluded with the owners? The dog ‘lovers’? And took out

his surgical scissors and snipped Toby’s hairy sacs, to let his precious little crown jewels, come tumbling out? Who . . . Who could possibly have done such a terrible thing?

M ARTIN ( quietly, shamed ) I did.

JAMES I’m sorry Martin, who?

M ARTIN I did! I castrated him!

JAMES Shame on you!

(G UY enters. At a trot. Obviously angry.)

G UY You. Take your hands off my dog!

(M ARTIN is nowhere near having his hands on Toby.)

G UY I want a second opinion!

M ARTIN Sorry . . . ?

G UY How can I trust you’re telling the truth?

M ARTIN About Toby . . . ?

G UY You go anywhere near him with one of your needles, and I’ll have you convicted of dogslaughter. (To JAMES .) He’s working in cahoots with Hervé.

JAMES Who?

G UY Espadrilles . Together, planning to kill Toby.

JAMES I thought Toby was dying . . . ?

M ARTIN Please. By all means. Do get another opinion. I wouldn’t be happy, if –

G UY I will . You see.

M ARTIN But, for the sake of Toby. Do it quickly.

G UY How do I know you haven’t missed something. On purpose ? He might just have some sort of virus. Or, some sort of . . . Diabetes.

M ARTIN I’m sure he has got diabetes, of one sort or another. He’s fifteen years old, his major organs are all beginning to malfunction. His blood’s certainly not being sufficiently processed by his liver. And his kidneys are –

G UY I know a family. Had a diabetic dog. It lived practically, forever. They kept a special fridge, in their car, for the dog. For when they went on holidays . . .

JAMES Liked a cool beer, did he?

G UY Shut up, James. A little battery-operated thing. Ran off the cigarette lighter. To keep insulin in. For his injections. Toby could have his own fridge!

M ARTIN I’m very sorry, Mr Brinkley. But insulin . . . or a fridge, isn’t going to make any difference to Toby’s condition.

G UY How do you really know? What tests have you run?

M ARTIN With all due respect –

JAMES You hear that . . . ‘due respect’ You instantly know someone’s about to blow smoke up your arse . . .

G UY Not helping, James . . . (M IRANDA enters.)

M IRANDA What is going on?

M ARTIN I don’t have to run a lot of tests on Toby. I’ve been his vet his entire life. I just need to observe his state. Look into his eyes. Listen to his heart –

G UY ‘Look into his eyes!?’ Miranda, this man is little more than a witch-doctor! He says, he looks into Toby’s eyes?! . . . That’s what he says. And expects to . . . what . . . ?

M ARTIN Close observation of the retina, will reveal clouding . . . while the blood vessels in the eye –

G UY What’s the dog equivalent of Harley Street? Where do the top vets work?

M ARTIN I don’t really know . . .

G UY If I was an oil-rich Saudi, with a faulty Afghan hound, where would I go?

M ARTIN I don’t know.

G UY Money is no object. James . . . ?

JAMES Mayfair?

G UY Mayfair. Is that where the top vets are?

JAMES I don’t think so. But there’s an awful lot of Saudis.

M IRANDA Stop this, Guy.

G UY I want to take him to Mayfair. I want a second opinion, from someone who is at the top of their game. Not a half-cut, country quack.

M IRANDA Take him, then.

G UY What?

M IRANDA If that’s what you want. Take Toby.

G UY No. It’s not what I want. Not at all. But, I’m sure it’s exactly what you want. Very convenient for you. Get Martin to kill him, or Guy to take him away. Either way Miranda gets to wash her hands of responsibility!

M IRANDA Oh you are such a shit, Guy.

G UY Would free-you-up lovely. Wouldn’t it? Either option.

M IRANDA You really want to take this sick, suffering, dog in your car, all the way to Harley Street –

G UY Mayfair.

M IRANDA All the way to Mayf–

JAMES Uh-unh. No way. Not in the Boxter you don’t.

G UY What?

JAMES You’re not putting that dog, in my Porsche. Sorry.

G UY James!

JAMES Golf clubs already fill up the boot space.

G UY You can’t put a sick dog in the boot of a car!

JAMES And you can’t put him anywhere near a cream leather jump seat.

G UY Hour of need, James.

JAMES I respect that.

G UY What do friends do for each other in their hour of need?

JAMES What they don’t do, is put perfect Italian leather upholstery in jeopardy. No dog. No dog bloat. No negotiation.

G UY I can’t believe, you could be so bloody heartless.

M IRANDA Guy, this has to stop, now.

G UY (re: M ARTIN) This man is trying to kill my dog. And you are all colluding with him. His innocent life, will be ripped from his grasp. And, it will be on all your heads.

M IRANDA Shut up! Shut up, Guy. Stop it. Now. I don’t want to hear anymore. Toby is going nowhere. He’s staying here. Dying here. Peacefully in his own home.

G UY Except it isn’t. Is it? It’s Ashcroft’s now.

JAMES (what? ) Ashcroft’s . . . ?

G UY She’s only gone and sold the family home to Ashcroft . . .

JAMES ‘Shagger’ Ashcroft?

G UY Uh-huh!

JAMES (nasty) Eee-yu!

M IRANDA Shut up! Shut up! Shut. The Fuck. Up! Why are you doing this?

G UY I’m only trying to save (Toby’s life.) –

M IRANDA (overlapping ) Shut up!

G UY He’s our – ( Family pet. A life long companion.)

M IRANDA Shut up!

G UY You’ve been – ( Emotionally hijacked by . . .)

M IRANDA SHUT UP!

M ARTIN Miranda, really, this really isn’t at all uncommon . . .

G UY Shut it, Fatty!

JAMES Oi, steady on!

M IRANDA GUY!

M ARTIN (calmly) It’s alright, Miranda. These moments rarely go to plan. This can be a very emotive time.

M IRANDA (calmer) You’re doing this to get back at me. For trying to move on with my life.

G UY Stop sucking-up to her!

M ARTIN It’s a big event in any dog owner’s life. Don’t worry on my behalf. I’ve seen this, this sort of thing, many times before. Owners do get upset.

M IRANDA You don’t have excuse his behaviour, Martin. His awful rude, selfish – What’s that smell ?

(The guys exchange a look. Worried. ‘Oh no’.)

M IRANDA Can you smell a smell?

JAMES Probably just Toby again.

M IRANDA No, like a burning smell?

M ARTIN (about to grass-up G UY) Ah . . . hmmh. It’s . . . It could . . . It’s possibly –

(JAMES makes a cut-throat sign at him. ‘Shut it’.)

JAMES ( prompting ) You were saying, Martin . That it’s quite common for owners to get upset. At these difficult times.

M ARTIN (running with it ) Yes. Of course. It’s not at all unusual, for there to be friction, and disagreement, between the nearest and dearest of a dog . . . When . . .

JAMES (distracting M IRANDA) Martin was just telling me. About how different owners behave, in this . . . difficult time. And how . . . How . . . How, some want to . . . make cushions.

G UY Cushions?

JAMES And freeze-drying. Did you know you could have Toby freeze-dried?

G UY ( feigning interest, to cover) You didn’t tell me that ?

M IRANDA ( sniffing the air ) Did you put the muffins back in?

JAMES No. We . . . we didn’t do any –(She opens the Aga door.)

M IRANDA What the . . . ? What’s this? What is going on? She puts on oven gloves and removes the smoking Le Creuset dish with smoking charred remains of the espadrilles.

M IRANDA Jesus Christ! What is . . . ? This is Hervé’s shoes! (To JAMES .) Did you do this?

JAMES No! Of course not.

M IRANDA Martin?

M ARTIN You know, I’d never –

M IRANDA Guy. Fucking Guy.

G UY I’m sorry.

M IRANDA You are a fucking child.

G UY I’m really sorry. It was a moment of jealous madness . . .

M IRANDA I don’t believe how pathetic you are.

G UY Give it to me. ( He grabs another set of oven gloves.) I’ll put it outside. Give it to me. I’m sorry. It – ( He grabs the dish. Acrid smoke is billowing off it.)

M IRANDA No. You get out. Get out!

G UY Miranda . . . I’m sorry it was a stupid . . . Wait. Just wait. Give me the dish. Give it to me. Please. Let me –

M IRANDA Get out!

(SFX: YEEEOH! YEEEOH! YEEEOH! The smoke alarm above them starts to flash and scream with a deafening wail.)

G UY Please. Give me the dish. Give it to me. Please. Let me. Give . . .

(She lets go. G UY quickly rushes to the door with the smoking dish. Smoke and smells fill the stage . JAMES goes to the smoke alarm. He can’t reach it. It howls and wails. M ARTIN brings a stool. JAMES climbs on. Can’t find the right button. G UY suddenly returns with a broom and decisively whacks the fire alarm. Busting the alarm’s casing. The noise stops immediately.)

G UY Please! Please . . . let me explain.

M IRANDA (to G UY, calmly) Get out! Get out of my house.

G UY I’ll go. I’ll go. But, please, please just hear me out.

M IRANDA Actually, I want you all to get out. Now.

M ARTIN I think Miranda’s right. I’ve given Toby plenty of pain-relief. This can wait ’til tomorrow.

M IRANDA James. Can you go too. Please. Now!

JAMES Okay. Thanks for the Kettle Chips. And muffins . . . The lovely Sauvignon. In fact, if Hervé can get hold of cases . . .

G UY James, go!

(M ARTIN starts to pack his bag. JAMES starts to leave.)

JAMES When you think about it, though, Miranda, what just happened, does disprove Guy’s theory, about Agas. Doesn’t it? You smelled burning!

M IRANDA James!

JAMES Okay. Sorry. Just . . . (To G UY.) I’ll wait in the car.

(JAMES exits.)

M ARTIN I’ll come tomorrow. I’ll call first. And, if you need me, tonight, any hour . . . Ring my mobile.

M IRANDA Thank you, Martin.

M ARTIN You know, don’t you . . . That I wasn’t part of any of . . . this?

M IRANDA I know. I know. Just. Go.

(M ARTIN exits around G UY. Then, G UY starts to move too.)

M IRANDA (to G UY) You. Stay!

(G UY is left in the centre of the kitchen head bowed. Ready to take what’s coming. When the door finally closes. She turns on him.)

M IRANDA ( surprisingly calm) What was it, Guy. You just couldn’t let it end well?

G UY I’m sorry. It . . . it hurts is all.

M IRANDA What hurts?

(G UY seems genuinely vulnerable. For the first time .)

G UY You. This. Toby. The house. Montpellier.

M IRANDA Montpellier?

G UY We always said, didn’t we . . . ? When the kids were grown up . . . Doing their own thing. We’d get a place in the south of France. Grow lavender . . . make olive oil. And now . . . now you’re going to do it . . . with Hervé. That hurts.

M IRANDA But you left me . And you didn’t mention Montpellier then.

G UY Is this all just to get back at me? Because if –

M IRANDA No, Guy. Not at all. I’m getting on with my life.

G UY Because you think it’s love?

M IRANDA With Hervé? Yes. Why not. What else have I got to love? A dying dog? A screwed-up son? A daughter, who’s too busy living her own mess of a life, to be much bothered with mine?

G UY

Just because it feels like love doesn’t mean it is. I know that. I know because I made this same mistake. I had a doting wife, a dog. A house, history, photo albums, children. All of it I gave up for Sonja.

M IRANDA What and now. Just now. You think that was a mistake?

G UY Her little cluster of perfect physical assets, felt like it was worth more than all our lives together. It was a spell.

M IRANDA Don’t do this, Guy.

G UY A mirage . . . I’m trying to help you. Stop you making the – ( same mistake.)

M IRANDA No. Guy. You’re just trying to stop me. Stop me moving on.

G UY Because I don’t want you to regret – (doing this.)

M IRANDA Because you can’t bear to lose, Guy. I gave you all my love. Laid it out, like a carpet at your feet . . . And, what did you say to me when you left me for Sonja? You said: ‘I couldn’t help it’. ‘We just fell in love’. ‘I had no control’.

G UY I thought it was love!

M IRANDA You said it like you were some sort of clockwork lemming. Who fell over a cliff. Like

G UY

the force of love-gravity . . . pulled you out of my orbit.

I’m sorry. I wish I’d been stronger. I wish I’d known then what I know now. It’d be different.

M IRANDA It doesn’t matter now.

G UY It does. I’m admitting I was wrong.

M IRANDA I know you were wrong. I’ve always known you were wrong. I told you then.

G UY So. What about now . . . ?

M IRANDA Now’s too late. I don’t care what you want or feel or think, Guy. You had your chance.

G UY Give me another one.

M IRANDA No!

G UY Please . . . ? I don’t want to lose you.

M IRANDA You only want me because I’m no longer on offer.

G UY No.

M IRANDA When I was calcifying here with Duncan. That was fine and dandy. Wasn’t it? No need for you to feel anything. Now, now I’m going . . . Grabbing a love-life. Making changes. Now, suddenly you want to jam a sick bloated dog in between me and a my new man. A sick dog. Is all you’ve got left, Guy. A sick dog, who’s about to die. If you were a real man. You’d let me go, with dignity. You so disappoint me. You’re the father of my children. I can never change that. I gave you everything there was of me. And now you haven’t even got the balls, to let me go . . . Me who doesn’t want you any

more. Or Toby, who just wants to die. To be at peace. Both of us, to finally, be free, of you. (She turns, takes a coat off the back of the door.) Let yourself out, Guy. I’m going to get some fresh air. Blow the stink of you away. And . . . say goodbye to your dog. He’s being put down tomorrow . . . It’s the end. (Crossing off.) Close the door behind you . . .

(M IRANDA walks out. Leaving G UY alone. He looks around the kitchen. He looks at Toby. Kneels and strokes him. After a beat, JAMES reenters. G UY barely notices. Just stares down at the dog.)

JAMES I saw her go.

G UY Yes.

JAMES Didn’t look happy.

G UY No.

JAMES We . . . We . . . um . . . We off?

G UY

( lost ) I don’t know.

JAMES Right . . . I am starving. I gotta eat. Even my tape worm’s grumbling.

(G UY doesn’t respond. Just looks at Toby.)

JAMES Alright, now I got to syphon the python. ( He exits.)

(G UY watches Toby breathe. Studying him. Assessing him. G UY seems to reach a decison and walks out the door . . . He doesn’t close it. Toby moans . . . A toilet flushes . JAMES reenters.)

JAMES No seriously. Guy – ( He realises G UY’S not there. He looks at the dog. Looks at the open door. Goes to the fridge opens it. He stares inside it . . . looking . . . As though searching for an answer. He takes out a dish with half a quiche. Pops it on the island finds knife and cuts off a wedge. He slips the dish back in the fridge, is about to neck the slice, when . . . G UY re-enters. Carrying his golf bag. JAMES freezes. Quiche in the air. He eyes G UY guiltily.)

JAMES It’s quiche . . .

(G UY just stares.)

JAMES I checked out the fridge . . .

( Nothing.)

JAMES Got bacon bits in it. And mushrooms. (JAMES lowers the quiche. Re: golf clubs.) You not coming then . . . ?

(G UY shakes his head.)

JAMES (uncomfortable) Okay. I’ll . . . Y’know . . . rockoff then. (Re: quiche.) Should I . . . put . . . ? ( Indicates fridge.) Or can I . . . ?

( Nothing.)

JAMES I’d better . . . put it back. She might have . . . something planned. I was just –

G UY Take the fucking quiche, James!

JAMES ( going fast ) Right. Taking the quiche. Leaving . . . Gone!

(G UY walks to the dog basket. And stands over Toby. He gazes at him a long time, until . . . )

G UY

I used to look at you, Toby, in quiet moments, and be . . . inspired . Really . . . You always had a kind of canine serenity. A few bumholes to sniff. A bowl of low-grade meat. A warm radiator . . . And you could transcend to a fartscented Nirvana. That’s a gift, Toby. I used to think . . . that’s what I need. Be more like Toby. Toby does ‘expectation management’. Toby does acceptance . . . (G UY takes a golf club out of his bag.) But then, I’d get yanked out of my yearning for dreams and whimpers, by an object of Man’s perfection . . . ( He removes the sock cover, with a holy reverence, to reveal a very modern, pristine driver.) This, Toby, is a Calloway Razr Hawk. It’s a work of nano technological genius. Tweaked. Reshaped. Finessed. Tested with laser accuracy. This is a sword of the Gods. This Toby, makes me moist. (G UY stands back from the basket, to swing. Gently. Testing the weight. Flexing his shoulders.) The moment I feel the grip, snug in my fingers . . . My cock stirs. Then the swing. Aaah . . . And, the kiss of rare metal against pure white ball. The noise . . . The noise. The fleshy thwock, of sweet-spot meeting sweet-spot. Followed by . . . (G UY swings. Follows through. Holds his endposition.) The elation , as that ball climbs up into the air, bending beautifully with the wind. Lining up with the flag. And then . . . Then comes the Tantric-swell of almost-orgasm, as it falls – dead-eye centre of the fairway. Beautiful. Poised. Positioned. (Sighing.) Fuck, Toby. That is living. ( Beat. Deflated.) Everything else . . . lasts too long. It gets messy. It smells. Everything else, Toby, is just time in the bag, with the sock on. Most of life, Toby, is life with the sock on. ( He lowers and caresses it again.) For a micro-second, Toby. A tiny fraction of time. A blink. A heart beat. A sperm’s wriggle. And it’s gone . . . Over. The club is dead . Now, just a silly metal stick

with a sock on its head. ( He puts the sock cover back on. Slides club into his bag. He now takes a shotgun out of his golf bag.) The difference between you and me is that you knew how to be loyal . . . You’ve gone nowhere. Done nothing. Just tucked your nose in your crotch night after night, and basked in the warm glow of an Aga. (Opens the shotgun. Puts shells in the chambers .) And you’ll be missed. Miranda will shed real tears over you. Tears she’ll never shed for me. You won Toby. Your place in her heart is guaranteed. Mine is vacant. And . . . sweet Jesus Toby . . . you were even loyal to me ! The most disloyal of them all. The one who valued it the least. But bless you . . . You still did it. (G UY stands over the dog basket.) There’s only one way I can repay that loyalty . . . ( Puts the gun to the back of Toby’s head.) Lots of love, mate. You go get them rabbits. ( But, he can’t pull the trigger. He tries. But he can’t. He struggles with this. Tries again. Willing himself to do it.) This is the right thing, Toby. I’m your master. You’re my dog. This is the way it’s meant to be. This is what man does for his best friend. Puts him out of his misery. (Once more he lowers the gun to Toby’s head. Like this time he means it.) Of Mice And Men . . . Candy’s Dog . . . ? Blam! Back of the head. Curtains. It’s what real men do . . . ( He pauses. Rearranges his position. Tries again. Willing himself to pull the trigger. He can’t. Puts the gun on the island. And paces around it. Psyching himself.) I won’t let that pudgy vet be the master of my dog’s destiny. Fuck him, Toby. He’s soft. A schoolgirl. A wimp. A wet fart of a man. ( He picks the gun up again. Points it at Toby’s head.) You and I. You. And. I. I . . . I . . . I am going to . . . Put. You. Out. Of. Your misery . . . (Self psyching.) I can do this. (This time he really looks like he’s really going to do it . . . Grits his teeth.) Come on.

M IRANDA

Come ON . . . COME ON! ( His finger closes on the trigger, when:

SFX: DRRIIIIING! The oven timer rings.

Making him jump. He takes a moment to recover. But the bell has broken the spell. His shoulders slump. He can’t do it.) Shit! SHIT! I can’t . . . ( He looks at the Aga.) I couldn’t stand the mess, anyway. The shot. . . Might ricochet off the Aga . . . ( He looks around him like he’s imagining shot bouncing off the walls.) That could’ve been dangerous. ( He puts the gun on the island.) I’m going to have to suffocate you. A bag. I could put a bag over your head.

( He searches through the drawers.) Where does she keep her bags? ( He finds them. Takes one out. Smooths it down.) Okay. Okay. This could work . . . ( Reads . . .) ‘A Bag For Life’.

Oh. Sweet Jesus! ( He kneels and strokes Toby.) Okay Toby. I am going to just lift your head and . . . Gently . . . smother you with – ( Under his hand Toby feels different.) Toby? . . . Toby!

(G UY prods him with a finger. Nothing. Then, it slowly hits him . . .) Oh. God. Oh. God . Toby. Oh my God. You . . . You poor sweet love.

(G UY strokes Toby’s head. With real affection now. Tears begin to swell in his eyes.) Oh . . . Baby . . . (G UY puts his head down to Toby’s head and snuggles him. Kisses Toby’s head. His tenderness is now very real .) Oh my TobyBoy. You lovely, lovely Boy . . .

(Suddenly . . . The door opens. M IRANDA walks in. Quickly. At a clip. She goes straight to the island. Hardly looking at G UY.)

I need to change my shoes. I need a long walk. Get your fug out of – (She sees G UY’S face. Faltering.) My. Head. My . . .

(G UY is looking up at her. Tears in his eyes. Immediately she knows Toby’s gone.)

M IRANDA Is . . . he . . . ?

G UY (choked ) Just stopped. Like that. Over. Didn’t hear . . . anything.

(M IRANDA walks over to G UY.)

M IRANDA Oh . . . Toby . . .

(G UY lets out a sob. He can’t help it. M IRANDA moves beside him. And cradles his head .)

M IRANDA Oh. Guy. Darling. I know . . . I know . . . It’s so sad. Oh. Poor baby.

G UY Didn’t groan. Or moan. Nothing. Just. Slipped. Away.

(G UY sobs again. Only this one, isn’t quite so real. She cradles his head. He hugs her legs in response.)

M IRANDA It’s over now. It’s okay . . .

(She can’t see his face. But we can. There is a tiny mischievous smile curling at his lips. In contrast to it he lets out one more tiny ‘sob’. She holds him tighter. He hugs her tighter. For ‘comfort’. His smile growing as his hands moves up to stroke her bum. His smile widens . . . to a grin. As the lights go down . . . And the curtain falls.)