Cast: MEG
MERYL
Setting: A kitchen. A stove. A kettle.
[Lights up. A kitchen. Kettle boiling. Two women. Meryl at the
stove. Tableau.]
MERYL: Oo-err.
MEG: Smells lovely
MERYL: Meg! I didn’t see you sitting there.
MEG: I’ve been here all the time.
MERYL: What smells?
MEG: No, I mean the scones.
MERYL: Ahh.
[Pause. Meg looks at the scones. Clock ticks.]
MEG: Do you like a bit’v butter then?
MERYL: What’s that?
MEG: No butter.
MERYL: The arteries, dear.
MEG: I am sorry.
MERYL: The varicose veins.
MEG: Arteries, did you say?
MERYL: No, no, veins Meg, veins.
MEG: Onions?
MERYL: As good for the goose as the gazunder...
MEG: The what?
MERYL: Never mind...Shall I put the kettle on?
[Pause.]
MEG: Put the kettle on will you love?
[Pause. Stillness. Clock ticks.]
MERYL: Where is the kettle?
MEG: You’ll recognise it when you see it.
MERYL: It was here a moment ago.
MEG: There. Over there! It’s on. Who put it there?
MERYL: Where?
MEG: There. On the stove. Are you blind?
MERYL: Is that what you call it?
MEG: The hob.
MERYL: The element.
MEG: The Cistercian.
MERYL: I suppose I did.
[Pause. Meg fetches tea cups. Meg rises out of her chair, then
sits again exhausted.]
MEG: I don’t know why I said Cistercian just then. I must
have been thinking of something else.
[Pause.]
It just slipped out.
MERYL: I don’t want to know about it.
MEG: I know, I know...
[Pause.]
MERYL: What?
MEG: Beg yours?
MERYL: You know what I mean.
MEG: No, I don’t.
MERYL: What do you know?...Quickly, quickly.
MEG: I never discuss my personal opinions.
MERYL: Never?
MEG: Well hardly ever.
[Pause. Meg looks for a way out.]
MERYL: How’s Ray?
MEG: Who?
MERYL: Ray. Your husband, Ray.
MEG: My God, you ask how, I ask where?
MERYL: Is he missing then?
MEG: My little ray of sunshine...
MERYL: Sun shines brightest.
MEG: When? MERYL: When what? MEG: What do you mean? When does the sun shine brightest? MERYL: Just before dawn, I heard. MEG: The sun shines brightest just before the dawn? You’re having me on, you really are. MERYL: I’m not...Another cuppa? have another cuppa. MEG: You’re pulling my leg. MERYL: I wouldn’t do that – MEG: You are. MERYL: unless invited – MEG: You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. MERYL: As if I would want to. [Pause. Meryl sits. Meg rises. Meryl rises. Meg sits. Back and forth.] MEG: I have the distinct feeling that my leg is being pulled. MERYL: Perhaps just a little. MEG: That’s all right then. [Pause. Kettle whistles furiously. They stare at it.] MERYL: I’m being ironical...So nice to have a little chat. MEG: A proverb. MERYL: A bit of a cliché. MEG: Over a pot. MERYL: Discussing the ins and outs. MEG: Various possibilities. MERYL: My God! Where’s the – what’s it called? – where’s the kettle gone? I’ve lost the word for kettle again, where did I put it? This is the end, Den’ll kill me if I’ve lost another word, kill me I tell you, it’s... MEG: It’s all right dear, there it is. MERYL: Where? MEG: It’s on.
[Pause. They look at the kettle. Meg holds one of the tea cups up to the light.] MERYL: Thank cripey for that...Too much to hope for – I’m always
losing the –
MEG: Milk?
MERYL: Just a dollop.
[Meryl fetches the milk from the fridge. Sniffs it. Recoils. Stares
at it.]
It’s curdled. Gorn orf. Never mind. There’s more in the –
in the – what’s that object?
MEG: Fridge?
MERYL: That’s it.
MEG: Good lass.
[She returns the milk to the fridge. Slams it shut.]
MERYL: Sugar or shit?
MEG: I beg your pardon?
MERYL: Something Den says.
MEG: He says that?
MERYL: Not very often.
MEG: It’s a handy saying all the same.
[Pause. They both stare into space. Wind.]
MERYL: I often think about nothing at all.
MEG: Mmm...
MERYL: It’s a vacuum.
MEG: Lovely china Meryl, it’s just lovely.
MERYL: A wedding present.
MEG: Love the rabbits.
MERYL: Forget whose wedding it was now.
MEG: Never mind love, it’s the memory.
MERYL: The enzymes.
MEG: The addling of the grey matter.
MERYL: The cruelty.
MEG: The twilight years.
MERYL: You do go on.
MEG: The trials and tributaries.
[Pause.]
Think I will have a little sugar.
[Pause.]
Given the state of the milk.
[Pause.]
Sugar or shit, hey?
[Pause.]
Ha ha.
[Pause.]
Cistercians.
[Pause.]
Nice cups but. Chunky. Nice...Tell me Meryl, what is your
stance on the predilection for putting the milk in first or
afterwards?
MERYL: After what?
MEG: After you’ve poured.
MERYL: Sorry, I was back in the past. I thought you might have
meant after you’d drunk it.
MEG: No no no...
[Pause.]
That’d be silly.
MERYL: Well Meg, I have formed no opinion on the matter of milk
whatsoever, apart from the usual.
MEG: The usual?
MERYL: Opinion.
MEG: Did you say onion?
MERYL: Ear of the beholder.
MEG: I’m a Wedgwood girl myself...Her Highness over
the road doesn’t put the milk in first.
[They both sniff disdainfully.]
MERYL: Go on...
MEG: Well hardly ever...
[Pause. Meryl rises, fetches the kettle off the stove, brings it to the table.] It’s a philosophical objection. [Pause.] She refuses. I think her curlers are too tight. The people she has in and out of there. All hours of the day and night. It’s a disgrace. I think she’s up to something. Somebody ought to do something about it. MERYL: Calm down Meg. It’s only a little milk.
[She looks at the saucepan.] Evaporated. MEG: Poor folk the like of us dear, real people, always put the milk in first. MERYL: Do we? MEG: It’s a sign, see? MERYL: Is it? MEG: An anthropological signifier. MERYL: I thought it had to do with the taste. MEG: Bugger the taste. MERYL: Ah. [Pause. She pours water pours into the pot.] Why’s that? MEG: The milk of course – Don’t forget to twirl it three times. MERYL: I won’t. MEG: Can’t stand to drink it unless the pot has been twirled three times. Rotated in an anti-clockwise orbit. MERYL: I won’t for God’s sake. Why the milk? Speak English will
you? You’ll drive me bonkers with your prattling. MEG: The milk, see, cools the hot.
[Pause.] The hot water. [Pause.] To the requisite temperature. [Pause.] The spoon has to be able to stand up in it. Posh nobs on the other hand like Her Highness over the road – [They both sniff disdainfully.] care little for such conventions. They refuse to put the milk in first, because they are fully confident of the ability of their cups to withstand the temperature of the – MERYL: Boiling water! MEG: Exactly. Which, if poured into a poor person’s cup
of inferior quality will burst the thing into - MERYL: Smithereens! MEG: Yes. Fucking smithereens, if you must know. MERYL: Ah...I always thought it was the other way around. MEG: No no no.
[Meryl twirls the pot three times.] MERYL: One, two, er, three...And one for luck. MEG: No no no. MERYL: Here goes. [Meryl pours.] MEG: Use the strainer for God’s sake! MERYL: Sorry. [Meryl uses the strainer. Tea cup shatters.] MEG: Oh dear. Cheap, see. MERYL: Never mind, plenty more fish in the cake shop. MEG: But the last bunny. MERYL: Are you casting Cistercians towards my crockery? MEG: No no no. It’s Her over the road what does that.
[They both sniff disdainfully.] MERYL: A shame. Yes. But there you have it. MEG: It’s because you twirled it too many times. MERYL: Rubbish. MEG: Her Highness told me that.
[They both sniff disdainfully.] MERYL: I see now what you mean by the cracks. MEG: She speaks to the wrong sort of people. MERYL: Perhaps she’s being friendly? MEG: I wouldn’t spit on her. MERYL: It’d be a waste of spit. MEG: We’ll iron out our differences. With irons. [Pause.] I think I’m having a sugar high. MERYL: Twelve cups this morning and I’m flying. MEG: Three before I get out of bed. MERYL: Who puts the kettle on? MEG: Plays havoc with the bladder something fierce. MERYL: Who puts the kettle on, damn you? MEG: Kettle’s always on in our house. Everybody
welcome. Come in, wipe your feet. Rain or shine. Cool your heels. Pull up a pew. Welcome mat’s always dirty...Funny word, hob. MERYL: I don’t believe this. MEG: What a pair of giggling Gerties. MERYL: Now I suppose I’ll have to sweep it up. MEG: That would be the tidy thing to do. MERYL: Do you know what? I don’t think I will. I think I’ll just
leave it there for a bit. That’ll teach him. MEG: I think I’m having a coronary occlusion. MERYL: Would a scone fix it? MEG: A scone? No no, I couldn’t. MERYL: Yes you could. With jam and cream. MEG: I just had three with Her Highness over the road. MERYL: Go on... MEG: If I must. MERYL: Yes, yes. You must. MEG: Then that would be – that would be – just – lovely. MERYL: Yes. I know.
[Meryl proffers the tea pot again. Tableau. Lights fade.]
Mark O’Flynn