MYRA [irritated]: I might have forgotten that you were expected home at four o’clock on Tuesday the 18th March, 1958, but I was expecting you. Otherwise, of course, I would have gone with Milly.
TONY: But Milly didn’t deny herself the pleasure on Sandy’s account. He could fend for himself.
MYRA: You talk as if … Sandy’s 22. He’s not a little boy who needs his mother to wipe his nose for him. He’s a man.
TONY [terribly hurt]: That must be nice for you. I’m so glad.
MYRA [between her teeth]: My God, Tony. [She moves angrily away.]
TONY: Where are you going?
MYRA: I’m going to demonstrate about the hydrogen bomb outside Parliament with a lot of other women. [as TONY laughs] Yes, laugh, do.
TONY: Oh, I’m not laughing. I do really admire you, I suppose. But what use do you suppose it’s going to be? What good is it?
MYRA [who has responded to his tone like a little girl who has been praised]: Oh, Tony, but of course it’s some good. Surely you think so?
TONY: You’ve been demonstrating for good causes all your life. So many I’ve lost count. And I’m sure you have … And where are we now?
MYRA: How do you know things mightn’t have been worse?
TONY: How could they possibly be worse? How could they?
[He sounds so forlorn, almost tearful, that she impulsively comes to him where he sits on the arm of the sofa, and holds his head against her shoulder, laying her cheek against it.]
One might almost think you were pleased to see me.
MYRA [amazed]: But of course I am. [He smiles, rather sadly.] Of course. [gaily, moving away from him] Tony, I must tell you about what I’m doing. You know we’ve got that big meeting the day after tomorrow.
TONY: Actually, not.
MYRA: We’ve advertised it in all the papers.
TONY: I never read newspapers.
MYRA: Oh. Well, it’s tomorrow. And I’ve worked out a simply marvellous … wait, I’ll show you. [She is fiddling about near the tape-machine.]
TONY: Do you have to? I thought you said you had to go to your demonstration?
MYRA: Yes, I must rush. I’ll just do the end bit. It’s a sort of symposium – you know, bits of idiotic speeches by politicians – like this … [switches on machine].
POMPOUS VOICE: People who object to the hydrogen bomb are simply neurotic!
MYRA: And this –
PULPIT VOICE: The hydrogen bomb must be regarded by true Christians as part of God’s plan for humanity.
MYRA: And then war effects, you know.
TONY: War effects?
MYRA: Listen. [puts on machine]
[Medley of war noises. Then machine-gun fire. Then the beginning of a scream – a conventional bomb falling.]
TONY: For God’s sake stop it.
MYRA [stopping machine]: What’s the matter? You see, the thing is, people have no imagination. You’ve got to rub their noses in it. [starts machine again]
[The scream begins and gathers strength. TONY stands rigid, trembling. At the explosion he flings himself down on the divan, his arms over his ears.]
[taking needle off] There. Not bad, is it? [turning] Where are you? Oh, there you are. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?
[TONY sits limp on the divan, hand dangling, staring in front of him. He wipes sweat off his forehead slowly.]
I’m really very pleased with it. [She stands, looking out of the window, starts to hum.] I must go and get dressed and go out.
I do wish you young people would join in these demonstrations. Why don’t you? – we’re such a middle-aged lot. Why do you leave it all to us? [hums] Well, I’ll finish the work on the tape tonight.
TONY: I forgot to tell you, there was a telephone message. From Philip. He says he wants you to put up Rosemary. Tonight.
MYRA: Who’s Rosemary?
TONY: Didn’t you know? He’s getting married. To Rosemary.
[MYRA slowly turns from the window. She looks as if she has been hit.]
MYRA: Philip is getting married?
TONY: So he said.
MYRA: And he wants me to put her up?
TONY [looking at her curiously]: Why not? You’re old friends, aren’t you?
MYRA: Old friends?
TONY: Well, aren’t you?
MYRA [laughing bitterly]: Of course. Old friends. As you know.
TONY [examining her, surprised]: But you surely don’t mind. It’s been years since …
MYRA: Since he threw me over – quite.
TONY: Threw you over? You’re getting very emotional all of a sudden, aren’t you – all these old-fashioned attitudes at the drop of a hat – I was under the impression that you parted because your fundamental psychological drives were not complementary! [with another look at her stricken face] Threw you over! I’ve never seen you like this.
MYRA [dry and bitter]: If you’ve lain in a man’s arms every night for five years and he’s thrown you over as if you were a tart he’d picked up in Brighton for the week-end, then the word friend has to be used with – a certain amount of irony, let’s say. [briskly] We’ve been good friends ever since, yes.
