There are rumours that William refused to allow other doctors to see them; that he kept them to himself, as if they were prize exhibits that no-one else could look at. For twenty-four hours a day he lives and breathes them.

BETSHEB squats unselfconsciously and pisses.

They are not children, Francis, and they are not adults; they are a poor contaminated people.

FRANCIS: I think I can look after myself, Mrs Archer.

ELIZABETH: Can you? I see her early in the morning, from my window, lying on the lawn, stroking herself as if she has some invisible lover; and she talks to herself or to the sky, I don’t know which. At such times I doubt her sanity.

The piano starts again.

When the news of this group breaks I will lose William. They will be his, he will explain them, he will make us understand them. Best I go inside. Mr Turner becomes quite put off by Queenie Ayre’s snoring. [Looking at the temple, smiling] I remember the day before you and Peter left for your trip. I was Iphigenia bemoaning my fate. As I looked down from the temple steps I saw such an expression of horror on your face, a look of ‘What sort of world is Peter’s?’

She laughs. FRANCIS smiles.

They’ll change too. All the publicity, all the attention. Then we’ll lose them.

She exits. BETSHEB shivers.

FRANCIS: Cold? You shouldn’t be, it’s warm.

He takes off his jacket and puts it over her shoulders. They dance, contented and happy. She nuzzles into him. STEF crawls onto the table. He steals a spoon and puts it in his jacket. Sitting on the table, he rocks back and forth, ecstatically happy.

END OF ACT ONE

ACT TWO

SCENE ONE

The living room of a working-class house, morning. A coffin lies on a table surrounded by flowers. FRANCIS stands before it. MRS WITCOMBE, a neighbour, enters.

MRS WITCOMBE: They’ll be in in a moment.

FRANCIS: And what happens then?

MRS WITCOMBE: We follow them to the cemetery. [Pause.] So it’ll be only us and her mates from work?

FRANCIS nods.

No relatives?

FRANCIS: I think she had relations in the country—in New South Wales, I think—but they didn’t get on. Once Dad remarried, I was the only person she had.

MRS WITCOMBE: Your mum was always quiet. Kept to herself. Lived next door for twenty-odd years and… When I die, it’ll be the same. Some distant cousins in Perth, very distant cousins in England… But, of course, we don’t keep in touch. [Looking at the corpse] Never seen this dress before; it’s gorgeous.

FRANCIS: Her honeymoon dress.

MRS WITCOMBE: Looking so calm. [Pause.] At least it was quick.

PETER enters. MRS WITCOMBE doesn’t notice him.