WORMOLD   I don’t enjoy food, Mrs Forbes. I have no sense of taste, no sense of smell. I had German measles as a child.

MRS FORBES   A little more, Mr Wormold?

WORMOLD   There is no more, Mrs Forbes. I have eaten my ration.

MRS FORBES   We’re only human, Mr Wormold.

WORMOLD   My experience has been, Mrs Forbes, that when people say they’re only human it is because they have been making beasts of themselves. (Pause.) Do you make a beast of yourself, Mrs Forbes?

MRS FORBES   My husband is missing in Malaya, Mr Wormold. I live the life of a widow.

WORMOLD   I hope so, Mrs Forbes. (folding his napkin with meticulous care) I hope so.
She puts his plate on her tray.

MRS FORBES   I’ll get your sweet.
Mrs Forbes seems to linger.

WORMOLD   Yes, Mrs Forbes?

MRS FORBES   (reluctantly) I was talking to a woman who gets her meat from Mr Barraclough. She says she gets some lovely stuff, only …

WORMOLD   Only what, Mrs Forbes?

MRS FORBES   Well, she’s not always sure she’s not eating something that’s run in the 2.30. Know what I mean?

INT. MRS FORBES’S KITCHEN. NIGHT.

His ear cocked, Nuttall is biting the last of the meat off his chop. Mrs Forbes comes in and, putting her tray on the sink, reaches for something underneath it.

MRS FORBES   (whispered) I want this out of the house. Keep it somewhere else.

NUTTALL   Why?

MRS FORBES   He trusts me.
Mrs Forbes pulls a tightly rolled, dark-stained brown smock from under the sink. As she holds it out to Nuttall, it unravels from her hand, dumping Nuttall’s killing tackle on the floor. They freeze … the well-used knives, pig sticker, steel and hammer, on the floor between them.

EXT. BARRACLOUGH’S BUTCHER’S SHOP. DAY.

There is a queue outside, in which we notice Joyce and Mother, almost in the door. Mrs Forbes is at its head. Women are coming out with parcels, smiling and happy. Suddenly the queue is hushed as Wormold is seen to drive slowly by. Once he has gone on around the corner, they chatter expectantly again.

INT./EXT. WORMOLD’S CAR/BACK STREET. DAY.

Sitting with the window down, Wormold watches Mrs Forbes in the rear-view mirror, as she comes round the corner from Barraclough’s. As she comes up she quickly hands her parcel to him through the window.

MRS FORBES   They shaved women’s heads for this in France.
She walks on and doesn’t look back. Wormold opens the parcel in his lap. The steak is very red and fleshy.

INT. BARRACLOUGH’S SHOP. DAY.

Joyce and Mother have reached the counter. Joyce is taking her three ration books from her handbag.

JOYCE   I was registered with Mr Metcalf only he’s had to close.

BARRACLOUGH   (winking) I heard. Pork in the wardrobe. What would you like?