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Leaves completely cover the stage and wings. A rusty iron bench is centre stage. A WOMAN in her early fifties stands upstage centre in the semi-darkness.
The WOMAN has short grey hair. She wears a large maternity-type dress with a Peter Pan collar. She plucks at the waist of the dress all the time, as if irritated in some way. On her arm she carries a handbag. When she moves, it is in a stooped shuffle. She slowly bends and picks up a leaf and whispers to it and then drops it again. She shuffles towards the bench and contemplates it. She knows there is something she has to do with it, but it doesnāt come to her.
Beat.
She looks about her, a pained expression on her face. She moans little moans. She comes to the front of the bench and lowers herself down towards the seat, but misses it completely. Slowly she squats down in front of it, whispering to the leaves as she picks them up. Upstage, a MAN, twenty-six, slowly follows her forward. He lights a cigarette. He clears his throat. He does this throughout his speech. He stands and stares at her. In his hand, he holds a bright-pink childās drinking beaker with a lid and two handles.
MAN. I stayed at the house last night. Your houseā¦ Last nightā¦
He clears his throat again. The WOMAN does not acknowledge him but carries on handling the leaves.
I stayed in your house last nightā¦ Our house. The house we all lived in.
The WOMAN pays no attention to anything the MAN says. Her focus is never on him.
WOMAN. Hanawahd. I couldevinā¦
She moans. He clears his throat again.
MAN. It was thereā¦ but it wasnātā¦ bit like you really. Shadowed. Dirt on the handle of the fridge. Fingerprints that belong to fingers that donāt feel any more. I touched them. Ran my fingers over them. You. Everything I touched had you on them. Every room had conversations in them.
It was all there exactly as I remembered it, nothing changed. But itās a dead house. If houses can die, then your house is dead. The girl Iād brought with me thought it was spooky. She sat in a chair afraid and wouldnāt move. Followed me about like you didā¦ Could hardly tell her to āFuck off and sit down,ā could I? It was cold. Soulless. There was still a distinctive odour of stale piss around the placeā¦ not your fault, I know. She smelt it. The girl. The moment we walked in. She didnāt let on but I know she smelt it. I knew it was coming at the top of road. Even before I put the key in the back door. Youāll be pleased to know I used the back door. Even though Iād brought a visitor. It made ...
