PEGGY   (who hadn’t known) Well, he moves in that world. We shall see each other later.
Orton makes a small face.

ORTON   I hope people come.

PEGGY   They will. I’ve put out a three-line whip.

ORTON   (gratefully) Peggy.

PEGGY   How is he?

ORTON   Fine. He’s fine.

EXT. NOEL ROAD. DUSK. 1967.

Orton walks down the street.

INT. STAIRS TO ORTON AND HALLIWELL’S FLAT, 25 NOEL ROAD. DUSK. 1967.

Orton goes up slowly.

INT. ORTON AND HALLIWELL’S FLAT. DUSK. 1967.

The walls of the flat are covered in a collage made up of illustrations from art books, colour magazines, etc. The effect is claustrophobic.

Orton enters. Halliwell, without his wig, is oppressively silent. Orton, still in his coat, opens his letters which are on his glossy, white desk.

Orton is seemingly oblivious of the silence.

ORTON   (showing him the coat) Well?

HALLIWELL   It is five o’clock. It’s a quarter past five.

ORTON   Only fourteen pounds. Peggy hates it.

HALLIWELL   That’s where you’ve been.

ORTON   She likes you. Peggy is one of your few fans.
Orton gets a pan from the stove, sniffs the contents, then starts eating them with a spoon while looking at the letters on his desk.

ORTON   Any calls?

HALLIWELL   (hands him a note of the calls) I was worried stiff.

ORTON   Why? It doesn’t start till nine.

HALLIWELL   The point about irrational behaviour is that it is irrational. I don’t worry about anything. I just worry.
Halliwell sits on the bed, head against the wall. Orton sits down beside him, similarly. Orton puts one leg over Halliwell’s.
Stop that.

ORTON   You stop being such a bilious queen.

HALLIWELL   I ought to be there by eight to check all the arrangements. I’m frightened nobody’s going to come.

ORTON   They’ll come. (Pause.)

HALLIWELL   ‘What sort of day have you had, Kenneth?’

ORTON   What sort of day have you had, Kenneth?

HALLIWELL   Well, not unproductive, Joe, actually. I caught up on a big backlog of dusting. Then I slipped out to the end of the road to replenish our stock of cornflakes. When I got back I rinsed a selection of your soiled underclothes by which time it was four o’clock, the hour of your scheduled return. When you failed to appear I redeemed the shining hour by cutting my toenails. What do you expect me to fucking do, shag the Dimplex?

ORTON   You can still be quite funny.

HALLIWELL   ‘Still.’
Orton opens a drawer of his desk to put in a letter and sees his diary there. There is a slight suggestion in his face that it is not where he remembers leaving it.

ORTON   You’ve been reading my diary?

HALLIWELL   No.