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Scene One
RUPERT. A crisp morning, a seat on the Tube, no queues on the escalator, an easy stroll in the navy suit with the red tie from my school days that I should have forgotten but I kept to remind me of success. Shoes polished like my grandfatherās and an umbrella tucked neatly under my arm just in case. Iām smart, Iām a
ALEX appears and RUPERT accidentally hits her with his umbrella, hard. It hurts her, but he doesnāt notice, until she shouts.
ALEX. Twat
RUPERT turns around, watches her walk away. A moment. He has lost his train of thoughtā¦
RUPERT. Iām a⦠aā¦
Green skirt ironed in a rush with straighteners, pink and yellow jumper clashing, but in a charming way. High-heel shoes rubbing already. I donāt know why she wears them. Itās okay though, there are some grey trainers discarded under her desk. Hair⦠a mess. No umbrella despite the weather forecast, handbag that doesnāt quite fit everything, a toothpaste stain down the clashing jumper, that smileā¦
Beat.
I work in finance, you already know that⦠Numbers bore everyone so I wonāt bore you.
Beat.
Well. Maybe⦠Are you interested?
Beat.
You see, for me, I find that you canāt not think of numbers, you canāt avoid numbers, day to day numbers are everywhere. That day for instance, the first day⦠Alarm at 6:45, snooze for five minutes, shower in ten, brush teeth for three, dress in seven, coffee and breakfast for twelve minutes, then three minutes to put on coat, shoes, collect bag, check the clouds and grab the umbrella. A ten-minute walk to the station, a fourteen-minute train followed by a stupidly long nine-minute change from platform one to four, another six minutes on the train, then if youāre smart and know the secret exit a five-minute walk out of the station followed by a seven-point-five-minute walk to the office. Donāt judge me for remembering all of that. Donāt judge me for enjoying telling you. Donāt judge me for loving each individual number. Those numbers are magic, imagine if I had been a minute late? If I snoozed my alarm two minutes too long, my train had been delayed or I had left the umbrella and then had to run back home, pick it up and get on another train, imagine if those numbers had been different well, then none of thisā¦
*
RUPERT. Hello
ALEX (looking around, bewildered). Hello?
RUPERT. Hello
ALEX. Hello.
RUPERT. Itās me. Umbrella man. I hit you with my umbrella.
ALEX. Itās you.
RUPERT. How are you?
ALEX. Itās early
RUPERT. Itās 8:15
ALEX. Itās early.
RUPERT. Coffee?
ALEX. Now?
RUPERT. Yes.
ALEX. Weāre on the train
RUPERT. I magicked a Thermos of coffee from my goatskin briefcase.
ALEX. Of course
RUPERT. What?
ALEX. Of course you have a Thermos.
RUPERT. She drank my coffee, took a big gulp, said it was
ALEX. Too weak
RUPERT. Then got off.
Scene Two
RUPERT. A Tube strike.
On a Monday.
A two-day hangover.
Drizzle.
A forgotten Thermos.
No umbrella.
Calls for one thing.
Americano and that almond croissant please.
RUPERT turns and runs into ALEX, the coffee goes all over her, her own coffee drops to the floor, she is soaked, she is furious.
ALEX. Fuck
RUPERT. Oops, / so sorry
ALEX. Fuck it, no, leave it.
RUPERT. Itās okay, here let me
ALEX. No, just leave it.
RUPERT. Let me, no, let me buy you a fresh one
ALEX. No, no I donāt want one.
RUPERT. Is okay, wait a sec. Iāll just nip up / to theā¦
ALEX. Itās you
RUPERT. Oh hello
ALEX. Umbrella man
RUPERT. Itās me.
ALEX. Nip up.
RUPERT. Excuse me?
ALEX. You said youād ānip upā to theā¦
RUPERT. Counter
ALEX. I know. āNip up.ā
RUPERT. Itās just another way of saying / go up
ALEX. I know what it means.
RUPERT. Oh
My mum says it.
ALEX. Your mum? Sweet.
Beat.
I didnāt take you as an almond-croissant kind of man
RUPERT. Oh you know Monday blues
ALEX. And where is your Thermos?...