Bert    . . . Bet you spent a lotta time in the tub back in Ireland washing all that nun pussy. What a fucken job! If there’s any vacancies in that line of work, you be sure to vouch for your old buddy Bert Kowalski, you hear.

Philomena ignores him. Bert kicks off his shoes. He takes another long pull on the whisky.

Bert (looking over at Charles’s drawer)     . . . the hell’s Charlie gone, you freaky fucken leprechaun?

Bert lights a cigarette. Philomena heads to the door, exiting, just as Raymond furtively enters, obviously unnerved a little by her abrupt departure. He closes the door and surveys the room.

Raymond    No doubt you’ve been upsetting her again. Where’s she gone?

Bert    Little witch was treatin me like I was fucken invisible.

Raymond    A highly understandable strategy, sadly deployed a little too late . . . (Looks around the room in disgust.) . . . This really isn’t on. Just look at this room. It’s a pigsty. There’d be hell, hell to pay if the desk saw this room.

Bert    All I care the desk can go fuck itself.

Raymond winces in distaste as he goes to his bed, takes off his hat and undoes his jacket. He picks up an empty bottle of whisky and shoots a glance at Bert.

Raymond (picking up a glass)     Um, could I? I mean, would you mind?

Bert (offering him the bottle)     Why change the routine, uh?

Raymond    Thank you.

Raymond pours himself a large glass of whisky and keeps a hold of the bottle. Bert clicks his fingers and makes a gesture. Raymond reluctantly hands Bert the bottle back.

Bert    You see Charlie on your way in?

Raymond    Charles?

Bert    Yeah, Charlie. You see him?

Raymond    No, why?

Bert    Why, why because he’s got fucken cabin fever, that’s why.

Raymond    Oh . . . ?

Raymond climbs up on to a chair and starts to take off his boots.

Bert    Kid wants to go home. Told him to hang in. He sure is edgy.

Raymond    Edgy?

Bert    You know . . .

Raymond    It happens.

Raymond sighs heavily and takes another measured sip of whisky.

Bert    How’s army life?

Raymond    You won’t . . . look: oversight, OK? I keep telling you it was a simple mistake. A slip-up in casting: some scatterbrain secretary making a hash of the call sheets and you won’t let it . . . I’ve told you, I won’t add to Mr LeRoy’s hectic work schedule. I value our friendship too much to have him worrying about one little oversight.

Bert    You’re all fucken heart, Ray. You know that? All heart. When it comes time for burying you, Ray, when that day comes they’re gonna put you in a specimen jar, gonna bury you in a specimen jar cos you’re all heart, Ray.