‘A girl walks into a house. She’s sixteen,’ she starts. Natasha returns and takes the microphone out of Lucy’s hand. Lucy can’t be heard. She starts crying, tears moving down her face. After ten minutes, when Lucy is finished, when her mouth has stopped moving, Natasha walks back onstage with Lucy’s cigarette and glass of wine. She readjusts the microphone stand for Lucy’s exact height. She puts her arm around Lucy’s shoulder before she exits.

Lucy steps up to the microphone.

‘For several months, when I was sixteen, I thought I was going to die.’ Lucy takes a slow drag. The smoke rises upwards. ‘But when I was twenty I sat on a balcony in Spain. A storm was starting, but I didn’t move. I could hear the thunder. The rain came down and soaked the paper I was working on. Some of the words ran. And I was so happy.’ Lucy pauses. ‘For several months when I was sixteen I thought I was going to die.’ She smiles, a huge, broad smile. ‘But I didn’t die.’ She stubs out her cigarette. ‘And that’s it from me tonight, ladies and gentlemen.’ She bows. ‘That’s it from me. It feels so good to be back. Honestly, you have no idea.’

As Lucy exits, Natasha walks onstage holding a wooden desk. She is wearing a school uniform, a blue jumper and tiny, tight blue skirt. She sets the desk down. She puts her feet up. She fixes her hair. She writes something on a sheet of paper.

Lucy glides onstage in a nun’s costume. She is wearing a pair of tiny spectacles. She holds a bucket in each hand. She stands still like a statue behind Natasha. She wears an expression of absolute beatification.

‘Don’t let me stir you from your slumber, my child,’ she says, quietly.

Natasha jumps.

‘Take your feet down off that desk.’

Natasha puts her feet on the floor.

‘Now, my sweet child, you know why I’ve brought you here today.’

‘I think so.’

‘You’ve been accepted into the most elite college. A place apart.’

‘I have.’

‘Have a sweet in celebration.’ Lucy takes a sweet out of her pocket and offers it to Natasha.

Natasha eats the sweet.

‘It’s an achievement. That’s why I gave you a sweet,’ Lucy-as-nun explains.

‘It is delicious.’

‘You’re the only girl in your year to go to this elite college. Do you feel any pressure?’

‘Not really,’ Natasha says.

‘Don’t tell lies.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘Maybe you should,’ Lucy-as-nun says, thoughtfully. ‘Maybe you should feel some pressure. Hold up the paper. Show everyone your results in the examinations.’

Natasha holds up the paper to the audience.

‘Now, my dearest child, those are great marks but don’t get ahead of yourself.’

‘No,’ Natasha says, seriously.

‘Don’t lose the run of yourself.’

‘I won’t.’