Leonie enters. Orton has been going through the dressing-table drawers. He holds his hand out to Leonie. In it are his mother’s false teeth.

LEONIE   Chuck them away.

ORTON   I want something to remember her by.
He puts them in his pocket.

LEONIE   You’ve no feeling at all, you.
She is clearing out another drawer.
I’ve started night school now. Modern English Literature.
Pause.
It’s amazing how many writers are queer.
Orton doesn’t react. She goes on clearing out the drawer, whilst Orton sits in front of his mother’s dressing table and alters the mirrors so that he can see himself three ways.
Do you think Mum was why you liked lads?

ORTON   Lay off.
He goes downstairs. She follows him.

INT. FAYHURST ROAD. SITTING ROOM. DAY. 1967.

LEONIE   You do look at lads. I’ve seen you.

ORTON   I’ve had a better time than they had (in heavy inverted commas) ‘sexually’.

WILLIAM   We had no time at all.
Pause.

LEONIE   There must have been times when you were happy.

WILLIAM   Oh yes. Several.
Pause before the cut to next morning.

EXT. FAYHURST ROAD. DAY. 1967.

Leonie and Orton go out to the garden gate.

ORTON   I don’t expect it’ll be long before I’m back.

LEONIE   Why?

ORTON   He’s not going to last long, is he?
He kisses her. She smiles.

LEONIE   You kiss now. You never used to kiss. That’s London.
He walks down the street, turns and calls back.

ORTON   I never told you. I met Paul McCartney.

EXT. LEICESTER BUS STOP. DAY. 1967.

Orton waits at a bus stop. A labourer comes by. Not a dish. He looks at Orton. Orton notes the look.

INT./EXT. DERELICT HOUSE. LEICESTER. DAY. 1967.

Orton and the labourer are crossing a piece of waste ground towards some derelict houses. They go into one of them. No door. No windows. Surrounded by a bleak landscape of cleared sites and distant factories.

LABOURER   Thought you were a bobby at first. Black tie.

ORTON   Funeral.

LABOURER   Who died?
Orton has undone his trousers and let them fall.

ORTON   Mother and two sisters. Dead in the fire that consumed our home.

LABOURER   You must be heartbroken.

ORTON   I am. Handle my balls.
The labourer does so, then goes out of shot. Orton lifts his arms above his head and stretches. He yawns. It should be very bleak.

INT. CRITERION THEATRE, WINGS. NIGHT. 1967.

We hear the actors doing Loot on the stage, and Simon Ward is waiting to make his entrance when Orton appears.

SIMON WARD   Sorry.

ORTON   What about?

SIMON WARD   Your mother.

ORTON   Have you got to the prop teeth?
Simon Ward takes them out. Orton takes them.

SIMON WARD   Don’t mess about. I’m on.
Orton takes out his mother’s teeth and gives them to Simon Ward. He looks at them.

ORTON   My mum’s teeth.

SIMON WARD   Jesus Christ.