Charles    You’re sure, Raymond?

Raymond    Positive. Drink it.

Charles    I don’t know.

Raymond    There is absolutely nothing to know.

Charles takes a sip of the whisky and pulls a sour face.

Raymond    It’s less – take it back in one – it’s less harsh if you take it back in one.

Charles knocks the whisky back and coughs. Raymond has another ready for him.

Charles    My word . . .

Bert returns from the bathroom, climbs up on his bed and lies down. Charles eyes Bert suspiciously.

Bert    Wake me up during the credits.

The door slowly opens. Bert sits up, Charles and Raymond turn and stare.

Philomena, early twenties, smartly dressed – holding her outsized case – peeks her head round the door like a frightened rabbit.

Raymond    . . . Yes? Can we . . .?

Philomena (furtively closing the door on herself)     . . . I must have the wrong . . .

Bert (laughing, shouting after her)     Hey, wait a minute, honey, I got a itch needs scratching.

Bert lies back and laughs to himself. Raymond shakes his head and pours Charles another shot.

Raymond    Here.

Charles    No, really.

Raymond    My dear boy, you’re going to have to develop a taste for whisky if you wish to hold on to your sanity.

Charles    Really?

Raymond    Oh yes.

Charles    Oh dear.

Raymond    Major productions are very stressful.

Charles    I feel a little . . . I feel queasy.

Raymond (handing him the glass)     You will, you will feel a little queasy. It’s an acquired taste and you will feel a little . . . drink it.

Charles reluctantly knocks the whisky back and grimaces. Raymond looks over at Bert, sleeping, and shakes his head.

Raymond (quietly)     Just look at him, Charles, all the self-esteem of a sewer rat. Be sure to keep an eye on your valuables until I can arrange for his removal.

Charles    You’ll be having words with Mer— Mr LeRoy?

Raymond    Strong words.

Charles    Yes?

Raymond    Oh yes. Very strong words.

Charles    About Mr – about Bert?

Raymond    Definitely, I’ll definitely be having strong words in Mervyn’s ear.

Charles (holding his stomach)     I can’t see me acquiring a taste for it, Raymond.

Raymond (pouring another glass)     Nonsense, Charles . . . here.

Charles    No, no, I feel . . . I feel really . . .

The door opens. Philomena sheepishly stands at the threshold, crying as a voice mocks:

Booming male voice (off)     No mistakes, no mix-ups, honey, this is home. Don’t worry, those little guys won’t bother you. Hey, Harry, those little bastards got it made! Broads and everything . . .

Bert groans in his sleep. Charles rushes into the bathroom, cupping his hands over his mouth. Raymond approaches Philomena.

Raymond    Whatever seems to be the matter, young lady?

Philomena    . . . They . . . I . . . they say I’ve . . .

Philomena breaks down. Raymond puts his arm around her and helps her in with her case.

Raymond    What? They said what to you?

Philomena    . . . they say . . .

Raymond    The desk?

Philomena    . . . they say I’ve got to share this room . . .

Raymond    The desk said you’ve got to share this room?