Play With a Tiger and Other Plays

MYRA [has an impulse to make a maternal protective gesture, suppresses it at the last moment. Says quietly, but between her teeth]: All the same, get out of those clothes.

TONY [angry, because he knows he has sounded like a child]: All right – but what do you suppose you look like?

MYRA [cheerfully]: Oh, the char, I know. But I’ve been cleaning the stairs. If I’d known you were coming …

TONY: Oh, I know, you’d have changed your trousers.

MYRA: I might even have worn a dress.

TONY [languidly charming]: Really, Mother, when you look so charming when you try, do you have to look like that?

MYRA [cheerfully impatient]: Oh, don’t be such a little – no one can look charming cleaning the stairs.

TONY [unpleasantly]: So you were cleaning the stairs. And who did you expect to find sitting here?

MYRA: Why, no one.

TONY: You came creeping down. Were you going to put your hands over my eyes and say: ‘Peekaboo’? [gives a young, aggressive, unhappy laugh]

MYRA: It was dark. I couldn’t see who it was. It might have been anybody.

TONY: Of course, anybody. Why don’t you put your hands over my eyes now and say ‘Peekaboo’? How do you know? – I might rather like it. Then you could bite my ear, or something like that. [gives the same laugh]

MYRA [quietly]: Tony, you’ve just come home.

TONY: Well, and why did you come creeping down the stairs?

MYRA: I came down because the telephone was ringing earlier. I came to see. Did you take it?

TONY: So it was. Yes. I forgot.

MYRA [cheerfully]: You’re a bloody bore, Tony.

TONY [wincing]: Do you have to swear?

MYRA: Well, now you’re home I suppose I’ll have to stop. [in a refined voice] There are times, dear, when you do rather irritate me.

TONY [stiffly]: I’ve already said that I’m quite prepared to go somewhere else if it’s inconvenient for you to have me at such short notice. [MYRA watches him: she is on the defensive.] Well? Who is that you’ve got upstairs with you? Who is it this time?

MYRA: How do you know I’ve got anyone upstairs with me?

TONY: Who is it upstairs?

MYRA [offhand]: Sandy.

TONY: Sandy who?

MYRA: Don’t be silly. Sandy Boles.

TONY [staring]: But he’s my age.

MYRA: What of it?

TONY: He’s my age. He’s 22.

MYRA: I didn’t ask to see his birth certificate when I engaged him.

TONY: Engaged him?

MYRA [briskly]: He’s at a loose end. I wanted someone to help me. He’s here for a while.

TONY [slowly]: He’s staying here?

MYRA: Why not? This empty house … when you’re not here it’s so empty.

TONY: He’s in my room?

MYRA: Yes. He can move out.

TONY: Thanks. [They stare at each other like enemies.]

MYRA: Well, what is it?

TONY: Perhaps you’d rather I moved out.

MYRA: Tony, mind your own bloody business. I’ve never interfered with anything you did.

TONY: No [half-bitter, half-sad]. No, you never did. You never had time.

MYRA [hurt]: That’s unfair.

TONY: And where’s dear Sandy’s mamma?

MYRA: Milly is in Japan.

TONY: And what is dear Sandy’s errant mamma doing in Japan?

MYRA: She’s gone with a delegation of women.

TONY [laughing]: Oh I see. They are conveying the greetings of the British nation, with an apology because our Government uses their part of the world for H-bomb tests.

MYRA [wistfully]: Is it really so funny?

TONY [not laughing]: Hilarious. And why aren’t you with them?

MYRA: Because I was expecting you.

TONY [plaintively]: But you’d forgotten I was coming.