NANCY: Yes, it’s— [Trying to pull herself together] Look, we’ve got a problem. Barney’s just been in. The two of them have had some trouble at a pub—

OLIVE: Pub? What pub?

NANCY: I don’t know—the Melrose. Barney says there’s been a fight, and Roo was all mixed up in it.

OLIVE: One of his silly jokes. [Moving into the room] One of his silly rotten—

NANCY: No, it’s not. Military police are in on it. Barney said they could be here at any minute.

BUBBA makes a light-hearted appearance, wearing a paper party hat and carrying a basin, with a towel over her shoulder.

BUBBA: Towel and hot water. Where d’you want ’em?

She pauses, surprised, at the crashing sound of the men’s arrival on the back verandah. OLIVE shoves the disinfectant aside to make a move for the French windows, but NANCY restrains her.

NANCY: No no, don’t. Let Barney—

She breaks off as BARNEY and ROO appear at the French windows. A panting BARNEY is guiding and supporting the semi-conscious ROO, whose appearance is a mess, a startling contrast to his usual trimness, his face battered and bloodstained and his uniform torn.

ROO becomes aware of the women in the room and his face splits in a wondrous grin. He pulls himself free of BARNEY and roars a doggerel army greeting.

ROO: Shot ’n’ shell ’n’ hullaballoo, the Twenty-Fourth are comin’ through—!

He plunges into the room, but the effort is too much for him and brings him to a swaying halt. BARNEY follows him in and supports ROO as he starts to crumple.

BARNEY: Righto, soldier, home base. Easy does it. Come on—here’s your possie—

He positions ROO before a chair.

—that’s it, easy—troop dismissed.

ROO sags, and BARNEY lowers him into the chair. OLIVE seizes the towel from BUBBA, and hurries forward to minister to ROO, tagged by BUBBA with her bowl of water. BARNEY stands back, attempting breathless words of reassurance.

Don’t worry, looks a lot worse than it is. Not even his blood, most of it. Only thing that might be nasty is his head—

OLIVE: [furiously, attending to ROO] Don’t you talk to me!

NANCY: How the hell did it happen?

BARNEY: Can’t go into that now. We got to fix an alibi.

He grabs the duffel bags to haul them away and toss them under the stairs.

Work fast we can do it—but it has to be a tale we all agree on.

He returns, stripping off his own overcoat and slouch hat and tossing these aside, feverishly working out an imaginary programme of events.

The two of us came straight home here from Royal Park. Soon as we got our discharge. Didn’t go anywhere near the Melrose—

NANCY: And Roo? How d’you account for—?