Philomena    I thought you might. You men are all the same. It feels nice, doesn’t it?

Charles    Yes.

She starts to caress him, his head, shoulders and arms.

Philomena    You know what I used to do to men back home, to men I liked? Men that were kind to me?

Charles    Big men?

Philomena    Men of all sizes, Charles. All sizes. I used to be able to make them feel nice. Wouldn’t you like to feel nice, Charles?

She moves down his body, slowly kissing his chest, then moving under the sheets. He is in increasing discomfort as she kisses his stomach, pulling aside the towel.

Charles    NO! STOP IT!

Philomena stops, pulls back, raising her head. She looks up at him in shock.

Philomena    Jaysus! Where’s . . . what happened to your boy thing, Charlie!

Charles squeals, jumps out of the bed with the towel around him and pulls on his clothes.

Philomena    Charlie –

Charles    Why do people always touch me? . . . WHY CAN’T YOU ALL LEAVE ME ALONE?!

Philomena gets up from the bed with her gown fastened.

Philomena    I’m going to get a doctor. You’re not right, Charles Merryweather, all I wanted to do was make you feel better –

Charles    NO! I’LL NEVER BE BETTER!

He runs out, slamming the door behind him. Philomena climbs up to the phone and picks it up, dialling the desk.

Philomena    Hello . . . it’s room two-two-four. It’s Charles . . . Mr Charles Merryweather in two-two-four. He’s . . . there’s blood coming out of . . . he’s . . . not right . . . he needs a doctor. (Pause.) But where is the doctor? (Pause.) Room two-two-four. (Pause.) No, he’s not in the room now, no, he just left. (Pause.) I don’t know . . . (Pause.) I’ll go and find him then call you back.

She climbs down and takes her clothes into the bathroom to get dressed. Seconds later, Bert enters holding a bottle of whisky in a brown bag. He is barely in the door before he starts to screw off the top of the bottle. He kicks the door shut and looks around, seeing Philomena’s shoes on the bed.

Bert    You hiding somewhere, Charlie, uh?

He hears noises coming from the bathroom.

Still in the fucken tub! I don’t believe this shit!

He crashes on his bed and unscrews the bottle again, taking a slug.

Jesus fucken Christ. You must be the cleanest leprechaun that ever lived . . . either that or the dirtiest one, huh? You washin’ your sins away, Philomeany?

Philomena comes into the room with a hateful expression on her face, pointedly ignoring Bert. She locates her shoes and sits on the bed, focusing on lacing them up. Bert shrugs and takes another long pull on the whisky. He savours the taste.