Man, 65, enters hotel lobby from stairwell, with raincoat over his arm, and stops beside a an old woman, 70. Across the lobby sits a young, blond woman, 35, who is busy reading a book.
Man: (to old woman) There’s talk of rain this evening. (He receives no reply.) I thought I had better take my raincoat anyway; one doesn’t like to be caught out, after all. (No reply again. Louder this time, he bends over towards her.) I said there’s talk of rain. (Pause.) I thought I had…
Young Woman: (Without looking up) I think she’s dead.
Man: Good god! What did you say? (He looks back and forth between the two women, trying to unfathom the situation.) You think she’s…? I mean, how can you…? Did she…? I just can’t…
Young Woman: (Still reading, her voice betraying far more interest in the book than events in the lobby, she cuts through his stutter) I think you’ll find she’s dead.
Man: (Throws down his coat and kneels on the floor, grabbing the old lady’s wrist and holding her hand. Her hand falls back down again, cold and lifeless. He stays on the ground.) I think she’s dead.
Young Woman: Uh huh. No kidding. (Turns a page, with a sigh.)
Man: Well what are we going to do? We’ve got to call somebody! Anybody! Why is there no one in reception? Help me! Are you listening? Help me, will you? (He paces around, edgily, seeking decisiveness which eludes him.) Put your bloody book down and help me, will you?!
Young Woman: (Looks up, momentarily) I really don’t think there’s any need to swear.
Man: Yes, but I…
Young Woman: (Looking at her book again) You don’t even know me, and you talk to me like that?
Man: I know, but I…
Young Woman: Reckon you lost sight of your manners for a moment there, don’t you?
Man: I know. I’m sorry, but I…
Young Woman: Someone will be along soon enough. In the meantime, if you’re set on staying, I’d sit over this side – away from the smell. (The man is stunned to silence) It’s up to you, but that’s what I would do. Did do. Am still doing now… (Silently, he follows her suggestion and comes and sits beside her.) There. That feels better, doesn’t it?
Man: Not really. (Fidgetting, and shuffling constantly in his seat) How can you stay so calm?
Young Woman: I’ve had a long time to get used to it.
Man: What do you mean? Get used to what?
Young Woman: She had it coming for a long time.
Man: I’m sorry, did you know her? Did you know this woman?
Young Woman: Not really. Although I thought I did once. I thought I saw her cry once. When I was seventeen and we were just leaving dad’s funeral. But turns out she had a bit of smut in her eye.
Man: You mean she’s…? I mean, you’re her…? Aren’t you…?
Young Woman: (Still giving the appearance of someone engrossed in her book.) I suppose you want to know how I did it?
Man: Did what? I don’t think I…
Young Woman: Rat poison. Sugar cubes. She always did have a sweet tooth. (The man is dumbstruck. He stands; walks over to the old woman; walks back again. He sits down, puts his head in his hands, and begins to sob.) What’s the matter? Something in your eye too?
Man: I just can’t… You’re… What did…? I just can’t…
(There is a snort – and a splutter of coughing – from across the lobby. The old woman shivers sharply and sits up; looks at her watch.)
Old Woman: (Furious; shouting) I told you to wake me! Come on: we’re leaving. (She stands and marches out of the hotel.)
Young Woman: Yes, mother. (She follows swiftly afterwards, turning to smile at the old man before she exits. The man runs his hand through his hair; picks up his coat; sits down heavily in the old woman’s chair.)
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