ALICE IBY
AMY CONROY
ALICE IAll rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to the Author c/o Oberon Books Ltd. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.
Written and directed by: Amy Conroy
Developed with: Clare Barrett
Cast: |
ALICE KINSELLA |
Amy Conroy |
|
ALICE SLATTERY |
Clare Barrett |
Additional credits listed below as applicable for each production.
2010 Dublin Fringe Festival
22–25 September 2010
Produced by: HotForTheatre
Venue: The New Theatre
RTÉ Radio 1
8pm on 22 May 2011
Presented by: Drama on One and HotForTheatre
Producer: Kevin Brew
Dublin Theatre Festival 2011 ReViewed
Autumn 2011
A showcase of successful Irish productions restaged in partnership with Culture Ireland and Irish Theatre Institute, touring venues around Dublin.
Designer: Ciarán O’Melia
Producer: Maria Fleming
Venues and Dates:
Civic Theatre 29 September–1 October
Project Arts Centre (Cube) 4–9 October
Draíocht Studio 10–12 October
Pavilion Theatre, Dún Laoghaire 14–15 October
Abbey Theatre
30 January–18 February 2012
Sound Designer: Jack Cawley
Set and Lighting Designer: Ciarán O’Melia
Producer: Maria Fleming
This show is fictional but presented as a documentary piece.
Both of the ‘Alices’ have been working with the director for nearly a year. They have been questioned and interviewed, directly and indirectly, alone and together. It has been a balancing act, keeping them happy and onboard. They are not actors, so performing live is a huge challenge for them. They are nervous and, at times, vaguely reluctant.
The ‘play’ between the actors portraying the Alices is the unwritten script. The little prompts, encouraging glances, reluctance to speak on some subjects, light bolstering touches, stuttering, getting lost, forgetting words, the undeniable nerves.
The director and set designer will try to make the Alices comfortable on stage. They will have a table and chairs from the Alices’ house centre stage, along with other bits and pieces (books, tea/coffee, cake, record player, postcards, photos, religious statue). There are obvious marks on the stage floor so the Alices know where their marks are.
The walls are covered with notes and transcripts from the interviews and the making of the show. There is a ‘map’ of the show, and a script, on the back wall… The Alices refer to it and can use it if they get lost or stuck.
Music plays: ‘I Only Want to Be with You’, Dusty Springfield.
ALICE SLATTERY and ALICE KINSELLA enter the stage. They are both nervous, this is obvious. They stand awkwardly on their downstage mark and look at the audience. Music fades.
A. SLATTERY: Walk on, and stand facing the audience.
A. KINSELLA: Look at the audience.
A. SLATTERY: Look left, look right. Take them all in.
A. KINSELLA: They are not your enemies, they are your friends.
A. SLATTERY: There is nothing to be nervous about.
A. KINSELLA: Breath. Smile. Relax. (They attempt this, look uncomfortable, and fail.)
A. SLATTERY: Just say the words as you said them to me. As we rehearsed them.
A. KINSELLA: If you get lost or stuck, stop, find your place on the map and carry on.
A. SLATTERY: Have fun.
A. KINSELLA: Enjoy yourself.
A. SLATTERY: Don’t panic.
A. KINSELLA: Have fun.
They glance at each other; one subtly nods at the other to start.
A. KINSELLA: She tuts loudly when people drop litter. (A. SLATTERY tuts.)
A. SLATTERY: She expects people to move out of her way.
A. KINSELLA: I often say, ‘ahh that’s bass.’
A. SLATTERY: I watch Nationwide, and I think Michael Ryan is handsome.
A. KINSELLA: I like Turkish Delight…and rice pudding.
A. SLATTERY: I like a crease down the middle of my slacks.
A. KINSELLA: She eats marmalade on cheddar cheese.
A. SLATTERY: I wear ‘stockings’, and call a ‘dint’ a ‘dint’… A ‘dent’ a ‘dint’ (Confuses herself.) …I say ‘dint’.
A. KINSELLA: I always finish the first layer before moving down to the second.
A. SLATTERY: She has a post office account.
A. KINSELLA: I boil tea towels on the cooker.
A. SLATTERY: I consider chocolate biscuits a luxury.
A. SLATTERY: I have never, and will never have my hair set. We don’t go for ‘spins’; we count our own change and carry our own bags. We shop for groceries, not ‘messages’.
A. KINSELLA: We normally go to Superquinn on Sundrive, better fresh fruit and veg. Failing that, Marks in Dundrum, but that’s really an excuse for two packets of Percy Pigs and maybe the cinema, provided we bought nothing frozen. I made that mistake once and had Ben and Jerry’s all over the boot. So I don’t really know why we ended up in Crumlin Shopping Centre.
A. SLATTERY: The phone rang.
A. KINSELLA: Oh yes, Alice said she had a headache and then I got a phone call from my niece, which delayed us. At that stage traffic would have been a nightmare, so we figured Crumlin Shopping Centre was closer. I was hungry and we had nothing nice.
A. SLATTERY: I had made spaghetti bolognese the night before, there was plenty left. It was raining and Who Do You Think You Are? was on at nine. I really didn’t want to go shopping.
A. KINSELLA: I don’t really like her spaghetti bolognese.
A. SLATTERY: I didn’t really have a headache.
A. KINSELLA: We were cranky.
A. SLATTERY: (Sharp look.) I very seldom lose my temper with her, but when she speaks for me it makes me very cross.
A. KINSELLA: (Sighs.) Well, I was cranky. Alice is not normally moody, so I knew her headache must have been a bad one. I was trying to ease the tension and make her laugh by deliberately mispronouncing things: fajitas, ‘Dolmyo’ sauce, salmon darnes…
Making Alice laugh is one of my favourite things; her eyes close up and sort of change colour, they go from green to turquoise…from matt to gloss. I always say she has ‘Dulux Weather Shield’ eyes…beautiful, but tough.
The ice melted when I put the (Mispronounce deliberately.) Jalapeno relish in the trolley…
A. SLATTERY: (Smirking/correcting.) Jalapeno… (Mispronounces it, both ALICEs laugh, she corrects herself.)
A. KINSELLA: …And she smiled, a real smile, warm. I love that, when she smiles in spite of herself.
I winked at her just to be cheeky and she laughed. There it was. I couldn’t help it, before I realized what I was doing… I kissed her, on the lips. By the marmalade.
A. SLATTERY: She kissed me! She kissed me in the soup and canned goods aisle in Tesco. Jesus Christ.
A. KINSELLA: I had a mild panic, I shocked myself. We’ve always been very discreet about things like that.
A. SLATTERY: Very, very discreet.
A. KINSELLA: It’s easier I suppose, safer that way. No backlash. We were always aware of what could happen, we could lose our jobs.
A. SLATTERY: Public displays of affection. Our niece calls them PDAs.
A. KINSELLA: I kind of stunned myself; I didn’t realize that I was doing it till I had done it. I scanned the aisle for stares or blushes, there were none. The place was fairly quiet and it looked like we got away with it. We skitted and laughed for ten minutes, with panic and relief. Alice was puce. We felt kind of liberated so I put a chocolate gateau into the trolley.
A. SLATTERY: I lost the car keys; I’m always losing things. There’s a little tear in the lining of my handbag, and they had slipped inside. I found fifty euro in there once so I should have thought to look, but I wasn’t thinking straight, I was flustered and a little all over the place. I was sure I left them on the deli counter. Alice said she’d wait for me by the door; I’m always amazed at her patience.
A. KINSELLA: I was still thinking about the kiss, so I told Alice I’d meet her at the exit.
A. SLATTERY: The two ladies that cut the ham looked for them, I searched the flat fridge with all the ‘fancy’ cheese, anything other than Kilmeadan is fancy these days apparently, and a manager humoured me and checked to see if I had dropped them by the tills.
I didn’t recognize the woman Alice was talking to when I came back, but they seemed to be having a serious conversation, she wrote her number down, and was off before I reached them.
A. KINSELLA: ‘Please don’t panic,’ she said, ‘but I saw you two in Tesco. I saw your kiss and it was beautiful,’ Oh dear God I thought! ‘Bear with me, I’m not being weird, I’m an actor and a writer, I’ve wanted to make a show for a long time and you are exactly what I’ve been looking for. Can we sit and talk? I’d love to invite you to lunch or coffee? Here’s my number, please think it over. I’m not mocking you, there’s no ulterior motive, I promise.’
She saw us, I was mortified. Alice was going to kill me.
A. SLATTERY: Alice was flushed and her eyes were kind of electric, I can always tell when something has caught her attention. She was distracted, I told her that someone had handed the keys in to customer service; I don’t know why I lied.
A. KINSELLA: I tried to explain the encounter, the conversation, to Alice in the car on the way home, I think I was rambling; I couldn’t articulate what I was thinking… I didn’t really know what I was thinking. At first I thought the girl was having me on. Obviously she wanted something, but I couldn’t figure out what her angle was? Where was the catch, what was she up to? If I’m honest… something about her, something about what she said caught my attention. I believed her, I think?
Both ALICEs move back, ALICE SLATTERY prompts ALICE KINSELLA subtly; they check the ‘map’ on the wall. They give each other a reassuring glance.
A. KINSELLA: I’m Alice, and this is Alice.
A. SLATTERY: I’m Alice, and this is Alice.
A. KINSELLA: She’s Alice Slattery.
A. SLATTERY: I’m Alice Slattery, and she’s Alice Kinsella.
A. KINSELLA: I’m Alice Kinsella.
A. SLATTERY: I was born on the 27th of May 1948.
A. KINSELLA: I was born on the 20th of October 1946.
A. SLATTERY: She’s two years older.
A. KINSELLA: I’m one year and seven months older. This doesn’t really bother me.
A. SLATTERY: (Pleased.) It bothered her when she turned forty.
A. KINSELLA: It bothered me when I turned forty.
A. SLATTERY: And fifty.
A. KINSELLA: And fifty.
A. SLATTERY: And sixty.
A. KINSELLA: And sixty.
A. SLATTERY: And other times in between. It annoys her.
A. KINSELLA: It doesn’t annoy me.
They both sit.
A. SLATTERY: (Discreetly nods head, as if to say it does bother her.) We threw her a surprise party for her sixtieth, I invited all our family, friends and extended family. They were all really excited about it and made a huge effort, decorating the restaurant, blowing up balloons, Mary even made the cake. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that Alice already knew about it. I told her what we were planning. I knew she’d be irritated with the idea of it, but that she’d love it in the long run. And I wanted her to seem pleased after all the effort that was put in. So I gave her a month’s notice, four weeks, to come around to the idea and work on her ‘surprised’ look. We had a great night, and Alice was spoiled rotten. She cried at the speeches, it was adorable.
A. KINSELLA: Alice doesn’t seem to mind getting older, she’s always been way more philosophical than me. Even when we were younger she had an old head on young shoulders, she was an old soul, sensible. Or so she’d have you believe. I think I’m a little rash, and can seem a little impetuous next to her. She can be very cautious and considered. We had to sit down for a week with pen and paper to weigh out the pros and cons of ‘making the big switch’… From electricity to Airtricity. Lists, pros and cons…that’s how all her decisions are made. It makes total sense, but… Lord almighty.
A. SLATTERY: Alice makes me move more than I would naturally, if that makes sense? She forces me to act fast and do things that, given the chance to think about, I probably wouldn’t dare. Shouldn’t dare. She is adventurous. She organises our holidays so they are jam-packed, fun from start to finish. Travelling is our luxury, our extravagance. I think my favourite trip was Greece, the scenery, the relaxed way of life, the food, the retsina, and the sandy beaches. No one bothering us, it was like pressing pause on the world. My least favourite trip was India, India, of all places. I really didn’t like it. I don’t understand why anyone would go on holidays to the third world. I needed a holiday to recover from my holiday.
A. KINSELLA: Alice fell off a camel years ago in Rajasthan, India. She wanted to go to Bali, but I wanted adventure. So it was kind of my fault. That day she wanted to see some palace but I wanted to do the camel ride across the sand dunes, I was having a Lawrence of Arabia moment. I had bought a blue scarf and one of the guides had tied it for me… Alice tied her scarf herself and she looked like a pirate. It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. Anyway, we were given brief camel riding instructions and then we were off. Something must have spooked Alice’s camel because he took off like a shot, the saddle yoke came undone and she started to slide down the side of the camel, it looked like she was sitting horizontally. She landed with a thump and a billow of sand. The poor thing. There were about ten Americans sniggering into their sleeves… I’m embarrassed to admit that I laughed too. It was the look on her face that was funniest, total panic and absolute mortification. She laughed it off and got straight back on, I was so proud of her. She had to sit on a cushion for the next two weeks. We only went to palaces after that.
A. SLATTERY: I worked in the bank.
A. KINSELLA: I was a clerk in the National Gallery.
A. SLATTERY/KINSELLA: Both retired.
A. SLATTERY: I could tell that Alice was quietly intrigued by the girl from the shopping centre. I was less convinced. She didn’t say much about it but it was obviously on her mind. I can read her like a book. I kept catching her watching me doing mundane things. I finally cracked while doing dishes…
‘Stop staring at me Alice.’
A. KINSELLA: One of us will die,
A. SLATTERY: she said.
A. KINSELLA: …and then where will we be? When we’re gone we’re gone, that’s it. What will we have actually achieved?
A. SLATTERY: I’ve never really wanted to bang drums, cause a scene or draw attention. I just wanted to live in peace, quietly. I thought that’s what Al wanted too.
Fine, ring the girl; see what she has to say.
A. KINSELLA: She said.
A. KINSELLA: (Stands.) Pros
Fun.
Exciting.
Challenging.
Insightful.
Triumphant.
Beautiful.
A testimonial, we will be seen. (Sits.)
A. SLATTERY: (Stands.) Cons
Damaging.
Boring.
Indulgent.
Frightening.
Invasive.
Insidious.
Dangerous, we will be seen. (Sits.)
A. KINSELLA: I rang her and she invited us to lunch. Alice sulked.
A. SLATTERY: She went all out, very posh.
A. KINSELLA: She made antipasti of mozzarella, chilli and lemon crostini, aubergine and mint bruschette and a cous cous salad.
A. SLATTERY: I was impressed.
A. KINSELLA: We knew she meant business, we were expecting a ham sandwich.
A. SLATTERY: For afters we had lemon drizzle cake and espresso (Mispronounced ‘expresso’). I love cake, any cake.
A. KINSELLA: She explained what she wanted to do; she wanted to make a show. She was a little unsure about the whole thing herself, she was only discovering it, but she wanted to make it with us.
There was a lot of fun, flattery and attention. By the end of lunch I felt important, like our story mattered.
We didn’t commit to anything but discussing it and that we’d ring her in a day or two.
A. SLATTERY: She proposed that we should meet every week, sometimes together, sometimes separately, and she would ask us a series of questions. She was interested in memories, opinions and stories. A ‘getting to know you’ kind of a thing. She promised that there would be no judgement, and that if we didn’t want to discuss something then we wouldn’t have to.
A. KINSELLA: ‘The more mundane the better’…
A. SLATTERY: …she said.
Well, why in God’s name would we want to do that? I’d be mortified. Making myself vulnerable, ridiculous, God, the embarrassment? What would people say?
I’ve always cherished what Alice and I have, talking about it would feel cheap. Like we’re belittling it or giving it away. Who in their right minds would want to know about this?
Anonymity. I used to crave it.
She stands and moves to her mark downstage right.
When Alice and I first started seeing each other, the anonymity and illicitness was delicious, it was our private world, our utopia. Unfortunately that can’t be sustained, eventually you have to start letting people in, that’s life. Then come the questions. Are you gay now? But you were married? Are you sure, maybe you’re just lonely? Aren’t you two just best friends?
A. KINSELLA: ‘Isn’t it nice for them to have each other,’ ‘You’d never think it by looking at them.’
A. SLATTERY: With every person I meet I have to decide, will I remain invisible or will I tell them? How do I tell them? Do I need to tell them? I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve lied about us regularly over the years. It’s a horrible guilt, denying the person you love, denying the life you’ve built together.
We don’t fly the rainbow flag; we’ve never publicly danced or kissed…well, not until that day in Tesco’s.
We seem to blend.
I decided not to be a part of the show, the interviews or the process. If Alice wanted to do it she had to do it without me.
A. KINSELLA: (Stands.) I was really disappointed in Alice when she said no, but it was her choice.
So I began without her. Coffees, meetings, tape recorders and cameras, ‘what have I gotten myself into?’
I wanted to back out, but I didn’t want to give Alice the soot of it.
She kept asking me what we were talking about, afraid we were talking about her. Well of course we were, we were talking about me, my life, my past and she’s a big part of that.
I wouldn’t give her any details. If you’re in you’re in, if you’re not you’re not, simple as that. I knew that would drive her mad. (Sits.)
A. SLATTERY: The secrecy of it, I think Alice thought she was changing the world. I was annoyed at her, for doing this, for wanting to do it. We didn’t talk properly for about a week, it was the elephant in the room. I finally gave in about a month into it and got involved, primarily to keep an eye on what she was saying. I’m still not sure that it was the right choice.
A. KINSELLA: She left the process three times. Once over the title.
A. SLATTERY: It was almost called, Old People Don’t Smell. That’s just insulting.
A. KINSELLA: It was a joke, t’was never going to be called that. Being called ‘old’ didn’t sit well with me though. I never really feel old. Sometimes I give myself a fright. When I see me accidentally, like in the window of a passing car, or in a mirror in a shop, one of those mirrors at a funny angle…where you look into one and look for yourself in another. And it takes my breath away. Is that me? Is that what people see? An old lady? An older lady?
A. SLATTERY: People don’t see the life I’ve lived. They don’t know that I’ve breathed in the misty air overlooking Niagara Falls. They don’t know that I’ve been kissed in a hot air balloon, the type of kiss that made me blush. They don’t see the ‘me’ that buried my husband. They just see an unassuming older lady. Well, I don’t like scones, and I don’t drink tea. I wonder would that shock them?
A. KINSELLA: (Stands and moves to her mark downstage left.) I am two years older than my sister, Mary, and we are polar opposites. I adore her and her family, we’re very close. But when we were young it was a different story. She was always around, annoying me. I think that is a prerequisite for younger sisters.
A. SLATTERY un-pins an old photo from the set and passes it to the audience.
She and her little friend used to follow me everywhere. I remember making them laugh, especially Mary’s friend, she was a quiet yet giddy girl…but once she started laughing that was the end if it, she was off, Mary was off and sure then I was off…
She was a small, skinny girl with big eyes. She was quick to flush, her hands were always pink and she was prone to cold sores.
She lived one street over, and was a constant in our house, part of the family. Her name was Alice Connolly, now Alice Slattery. I have known her all my life and, in some way, shape, or form I have loved her all my life.
A. SLATTERY: No. 44, The Kinsella’s. A home away from home.
Music fades in, The Kinks, ‘Sunny Afternoon’. A. KINSELLA acknowledges the music.
A. KINSELLA: I left Ireland for London when I was twenty. I was running away really.
Running away from myself. The funny thing about running away is that you bring yourself with you. I had done a secretarial course here and I had dreams of becoming a journalist. I wanted to write, I wanted excitement, I wanted to live. I really believed that I was going to pen ‘the great novel of our times’. Not really something I’d easily confess to.
A. SLATTERY: She was tall, cheeky and funny.
A. KINSELLA: I moved into horrible digs in Kilburn, into a house that smelled of boiled cabbage and damp sofa.
A. SLATTERY: Bossy, I remember her being very bossy.
A. KINSELLA: I always remember Dublin seeming black and white and London was in Technicolor. I started as a receptionist in a doctor’s office and after a few months I saw an advertisement for a secretarial position in a prominent London newspaper.
A. SLATTERY: When Alice was in London she worked for The Times. She won’t tell you that.
A. KINSELLA: It paid the bills, but really it could have been in any office, anywhere…
A. SLATTERY: The Times.
A. KINSELLA: …At the time I believed that it was my big break. I submitted an idea or two over my years there, but they really weren’t having any of me. It makes me feel a bit foolish or naive now when I think about it.
A. SLATTERY: ‘But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.’
She had her spirit crushed a little, or bruised maybe. She still writes though.
A. KINSELLA: It was there that I met Louise. She was a secretary too. She was one of the funniest people I had ever encountered. For some bizarre reason she ‘adopted’ me, so to speak. Maybe she recognised herself in me, I can’t see any other reason. If there was a party or a shindig happening anywhere in London, she and her pals knew about it, and we were there.
A. SLATTERY: (Making herself busy. Self-conscious.) Coffee?
A. KINSELLA: Please. Decaff. Thanks.
They were kind of an arty, eccentric crowd, and I adored them. Mrs. Murphy, my landlady, detested them; she said they were ‘dirty pagans’ and that I should ‘stay well clear of them.’ Of course Louise was delighted when I told her this, and it was her idea for us to take a flat together. Louise, Jen, another friend of hers, and I shared a two-bedroom flat, a disgusting communal loo, and all our clothes.
Louise was different, she wore her skirts too short, she smoked too much, she never really ate, she drank vodka neat…and she went to bed with women.
I was shocked, amazed by this. I had never heard anybody say this; admit to it, like it was a real thing. No pretending or denying, she was a free spirit.
You see, I was always on the outside, looking in at life, trying to figure out how to be a part of it. Frantically grabbing at every new thought or idea, thinking that it must hold the answer, but never really understanding the question. I think of it as a ‘wanting’, I wanted something but I had no idea what that ‘something’ was.
One wet and thundery Friday night, Louise and I straggled home from the pub. We had drunk too much vodka on empty stomachs. We listened to ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ over and over, and I finally figured it out. I figured out the question and the answer in one fell swoop.
Louise and I went to bed together that night. It felt natural, it felt right.
A. SLATTERY: Cake?
A. KINSELLA: Thanks.
It sounds idyllic, but believe me, it wasn’t. It was a bloody soap opera.
Visibly gathering herself, drawing a big breath.
Louise and I were lovers, but Jen and Louise used to be lovers and were still occasional lovers. Jen had a boyfriend who loved her, she loved Louise, and she liked me. Louise had other lovers; I was unaware of this and believed we were exclusive. Jen and I, in a bid to hurt Louise became lovers. Louise was hurt. Then Jen and I actually started to have feelings for each other, but she still had a boyfriend who loved her. He was hurt. Louise slept with him. Jen was hurt. Jen and Louise were sleeping together. I was hurt. This went on for the best part of two years, and in that time there were other lovers. Eventually Jen and I agreed to make a go of it, Jen broke up with the boy, I broke up with Louise, Jen broke up with Louise. Louise was…fine actually. She began seeing Fran. Fran used to go out with Jen’s ex-boyfriend. It was all very incestuous really.
I only agreed to keep this section in the show if I could say it really fast and not have to elaborate on it.
A. SLATTERY: I only agreed to keep that section in the show if she said it really fast and did not elaborate on it. (She passes cake to audience.)
A. KINSELLA: I still hear from Louise occasionally, (A. SLAT-TERY rolls her eyes.) but I have no idea where Jen is. Last I remember hearing she had moved to the States. We lived together for two years, fought incessantly and never managed to trust each other. I think she was still sleeping with Louise. So was I.
(Sits relieved at table).
A. SLATTERY: (Moves to her downstage right mark.)
In 1974 Alice came home from London to nurse her mother, she was too thin (A. KINSELLA, still eating her biscuit laughs an ‘if you can believe it’ laugh). It looked like London had worn her down, but she swore that she was having a ball. She didn’t look like she was having a ball, she looked sick. Liam and I were married for four years at that stage, we were happy but complacent. She regaled us with stories of her life, parties and people in England; we were avid letter writers so I felt I knew the people she was talking about from her letters over the years.
She moved in with her Mother and threw herself into caring for her. I think she felt guilty for not being there over the years, she also took a part-time job in a shop. I know now that she was punishing herself, making herself too tired to think.
The day we buried her Mam was awful, Alice took care of everyone, Mary, Declan and Jack, her brothers, and all their young families. Teas, coffees, sandwiches…porter and whiskeys later.
When everyone had left I looked for her to say goodbye, she was smoking down the garden, a habit she picked up in London. I walked down to her and found her sobbing. She looked like a child; she looked like the Alice I remembered from years ago. I threw my arms around her and held her, for ages. It felt like I was the only thing holding her up.
A. KINSELLA: Some time after my mother died, I told Alice about Louise and Jen…well about me really. I told her and didn’t really give her an option to be shocked or appalled. I was in bad shape at the time, and it seemed trivial to me, incidental. Alice didn’t bat an eyelid.
A. SLATTERY: I knew about Alice. I knew before she told me, Mary said it one night we were out. It wasn’t something often spoken about in our circle, so Mary was kind of sheepish admitting it, worried more like. There was a fella’ I’d see at mass said to be ‘light on his feet’. People would snigger, roll their eyes behind his back, but they were nice to his face. It’s easy to laugh when you don’t really know the person, but I knew Alice, she was my friend, and there was nothing to laugh at.
(Sits down at the table).
A. KINSELLA: (The Angelus bells ring softly, to prompt the women. Places a religious statue on the table)
I refused to receive communion at a wedding, years ago. We didn’t speak for about a week. I wasn’t trying to upset her, I just… I just couldn’t do it any more. I couldn’t pretend to go along with something that offends me for posterity’s sake. I had just had enough.
Alice prays. I don’t understand why. Over the years I’ve seen enough to make me realize what a futile act it is. I’ll do midnight mass at Christmas… I love the singing. People singing together moves me more than any ‘miracle’. But that’s it. I know it bothers her, deep down inside, I think she feels I need to come back to God so we can be together in heaven. I’m not so sure about that. Over recent years I’ve come to think that when you die you die. That’s it. The end. This upsets Al, so we don’t talk about it anymore; there are few things we don’t talk about…
A. SLATTERY: ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.’
A. KINSELLA: …But this is a big thing.
She calls me an ‘atheist’, joking…but only kind of.
I try to tell her it’s not God, but the church that I have a problem with, but I think somewhere along the way they both got mixed up, intermingled in her eyes.
She goes to mass on Sunday mornings and always complains about getting up, especially when it’s raining! Anyway, that’s not the point.
While she’s at mass I buy newspapers and breakfast bits. I always rush the shopping, I have about twenty minutes to get it done, so I can be back in bed when she gets in the door. She crawls back into bed and we have a ‘re-morning’, that’s what we like to call it; I ask her if she’s been ‘saved’. I suppose it sounds silly. We never discuss it…but this reclaims us, if you know what I mean, like the religion is a divide and this ritual brings us back together, you know? (Sits.)
A. SLATTERY: I came in one Sunday morning and she was still ‘asleep’. I cajoled her like I always do, then I realised that she really was asleep, she hadn’t been out to the shops, this was not part of the game. She was so tired; I had serious difficulty rousing her. She was cranky and off form, which was really not like her. After a week she suggested the doctor herself. She hates doctors and hospitals; the doctor said it was probably just a virus but while he had her there he’d give her the full overhaul, that’s when she found the lump.
A. KINSELLA: My life did flash before my eyes. And it seemed very small. A small life, a small existence.
A. SLATTERY: Breast cancer. (Moves to mark, downstage right.) I thought I had lost her when she was diagnosed. I had never felt so low. When Liam died, I was devastated, I lost my beautiful friend, my lovely husband. I had no idea how to pick up the pieces, or where to even find the pieces. I loved him dearly, I always will. But I was never in love with him; I know it’s a bit of a cliché but…what can you do? Now here I was faced with it again, but this time… I was furious with her for about a month, angrier than I had ever been. I couldn’t believe she would do this to me, get sick, that she might leave me here alone. I started playing this horrible, sick game in my head, I would navigate the house and imagine she was gone; I’d see the gaps in every room. I’d look around thinking…this is where she used to sit, this is where she threw her car keys every evening, this is where she scratched the paint on the banister getting a new headboard up the stairs.
I would think of her in the past tense for an hour every day, it sounds crazy I know, but I had to see what it would feel like. I was pushing her away, and I did it at the worst possible time. She ended up comforting me. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She…
A. KINSELLA: Had I done enough? Had I seen enough? Had I sat on the sidelines, or played a full match? It made me re-evaluate my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
(Stands and moves to mark downstage left.)
In the mid-Eighties ‘Ann’, not her real name, started interning in the gallery. An American student living and working in Ireland, she was ten years younger than me. She was funny, smart, athletic, and very obviously gay. She was like a breath of fresh air, full of American idealism. It was the Eighties, when American idealism was popular. I had sort of adopted an ‘eyes down, hands in your pockets’ policy, and her openness was infectious. She made me laugh, we’d have lunch together and on Wednesday evenings I’d have a drink in Peter’s with her and her friends. I felt alive, more alive than I had in ages, almost celebratory. Ann was flirtatious and charming, she knew I had a partner, and she didn’t care, in fact I think that was what she found most attractive. She was bold and irreverent. I fooled myself into believing we were just friends but, truth be told, I knew what she was doing, and I knew what I was doing. We had an affair that lasted about six months. There are few things in my life that I regret, that I am ashamed of, this is one of them.
A. SLATTERY: I was collecting Alice from town one evening, it was pouring with rain and I wanted to surprise her with a lift. They walked out together, laughing, gesturing wildly, and then Ann brushed Alice’s cheek with her hand. I knew then. My mouth went dry, and I sat there unable to move. Alice passed by, unaware, and got the bus home.
I was in shock, I was livid. How could she do this to me, to us? Ann was everything I wasn’t; I wondered if that was why Alice liked her. I drove to Sandymount and walked for hours, thinking and thinking. I knew I had to talk to her, confront her.
‘I saw you. How long? Do you love her?’
Alice cried. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, ‘six months,’ she said, and ‘no, I don’t love her.’ ‘But I love how she looks at me, I love that she likes who she is…that she likes who I am. You don’t Alice, you’re ashamed of yourself, and you’re ashamed of me. I’m not asking you to live differently, just to think differently.’ I was so hurt; she had never said this before.
I have always been uncomfortable with anything too ‘overtly gay’. I used to deem it unnecessary; I thought that ‘people like that’ gave us all a bad name. I never stopped to think that we are all just responsible for ourselves, moreover that ‘people like that’ are a celebration. Kenneth Williams and Graham Norton used to make me cringe; now they annoy me simply because they’re annoying. I’m not ashamed any more, but I was then. It took a long time to work things out, to trust her again, to fix things, but we did.
A. KINSELLA: We got through it, somehow. I was an absolute idiot.
An obvious shift here, both move to downstage centre. A little look and touch, as if to say, ‘we got through that bit’, a connection.
A. SLATTERY: Do we argue! That’s gas. Yes, we argue. Not as much as we used to, but we pick at small silly things. I’m terrible at recycling, which really annoys her, when I hear her cry…
A. KINSELLA: How hard can it be…?
A. SLATTERY: I know I’ve put the plastic in the wrong place. And what’s worse is it always makes me laugh…that she gets so upset.
A. KINSELLA: I’m not big on birthdays. I always say I don’t want anything, just get me a card.
She says I’m impossible to buy for but I always know she’ll get me something anyway. Five years ago she got me a lawn mower. A lawn mower…for my birthday. I think I sulked for a week. I would have preferred a watch.
A. SLATTERY: In my defence, she was looking at them in Woodies.
A. KINSELLA: She was looking at paintbrushes. I did not ‘surprise you’ with an extendable roller!
A. SLATTERY: (Laughs.) Menopause, that was intense. Imagine two moody hairy women in one room, a recipe for disaster.
They move the two chairs from the table to downstage centre, like two car seats.
A. KINSELLA: I hate to be a passenger when Alice is driving.
(Swap sides so A. KINSELLA is driver side).
She makes me nauseous. Sorry Al, but you do.
She can’t seem to maintain her speed; she’s constantly accelerating and decelerating, faster, slower. It drives me crazy…literally.
She also drives way too close to the driver in front and it makes me really nervous. I keep saying (Both together.), ‘If he brakes it’s your fault.’
She fiddles with the radio, she’s too hot, she’s too cold, window down, window up, she talks, and talks, and talks and I’m sitting there thinking, ‘we’re going to die, we’re going to die here on the Tallaght bypass!’ By the time we get where we’re going, I’m stressed and cross. I tend to do most of the driving.
A. SLATTERY: We argue about this a lot, it’s not a real fight, it’s kind of jokey…but serious at the same time. Passive aggressive is the term I’d use. (Big inhale from A. KINSELLA.) I think her real problem is lack of control; she hates not being in charge. I think it’s being in the passenger seat that gets to her most, not my driving.
A. KINSELLA: You can’t fake nausea Al.
A. SLATTERY: I think it’s psychosomatic.
A. KINSELLA: Which is brought on by stress…
A. SLATTERY: The stress of not being in control…
A. KINSELLA: The stress of sudden braking at eighty miles an hour.
A. SLATTERY: Kilometres, see…you drive too fast.
A. KINSELLA: (Both women pull the cushions from behind their backs.) There are ten cushions on our couch. Ten. They range from oversized to small, like undersized…too small to have any purpose at all. In order to sit on the couch, you have to remove at least seven of them.
This drives me insane, totally insane.
I just don’t see the point, don’t get me wrong, I’m not aesthetically dim. I know what looks good and what does not. Ten cushions on a couch look daft, but apparently I have no taste, so the cushions stay. We cannot go to bed at night if they are left on the floor; I think she would have an anxiety attack.
A. SLATTERY: Alice has a painting of the ‘mother and child’. It’s a religious painting that she bought at a market in London years ago.
A. KINSELLA: Fifteen pounds, haggled down from twenty.
A. SLATTERY: It looks it. I had it reframed a few years ago; to try to make it less garish, but there is no saving it. It’s appalling. It has pride of place in our sitting room, and clashes with our couch. When I walk into the room I feel it mocking me. Alice talks to it just to drive me mad.
A. KINSELLA: ‘Hello Mary. Are you still holding the baby, you must be exhausted? Why don’t you have a seat and put your feet up, but put the cushions back when you’re finished, you know what she’s like.’
A. SLATTERY: (Trying not to smile.)
Framing it cost me 180 euro, and I keep trying to move it to the upstairs landing.
A. KINSELLA: (Discreetly shakes her head.)
A. SLATTERY: She’s not religious, and it’s awfully ugly. I think she keeps it to annoy me.
A. KINSELLA: I know she thinks I keep that picture just to annoy her, but it’s really not like that. I do love it, in all its tacky splendour, but I suppose I think of it as a totem, an anchor or link to another time and place.
Alice Slattery showed me what it felt like to breathe, to stop. That it’s OK to stop and be still. She brings me a sense of calm and peace. I had never felt that before, I didn’t know it was possible, or that I deserved it.
That picture brings me back, back to swinging London; back to the ‘me’ I was then, the girl who kissed Dusty Springfield at a party in an upstairs flat in Ealing.
A. SLATTERY: Allegedly.
A. KINSELLA: I did. It compounds all the choices I’ve made, because none of that compares to what I have now. None of it. I think Alice is gorgeous, I always have.
A. SLATTERY: I worried. At the beginning I worried. Am I gay now, is that what I am? But I had been married, was it even possible? Are there rules, was I allowed to be gay? I didn’t feel ‘gay’, but I loved Alice, so what, did that make me? I prayed about it often. I prayed for answers. I never told Alice this, but sometimes I prayed for forgiveness. I thought I was weak, that I couldn’t resist this. Maybe feeling this kind of love, this kind of attraction was common enough. Perhaps acting on these feelings was the thing we needed to control? I was scared that we were going to hell.
‘Follow the way of love.’ Corinthians chapter 14 verse 1. I’ve made peace with myself. I know God loves me, as I am.
A. KINSELLA: For me, the shift in our relationship happened that year after my mother died. Alice was a true friend, so supportive. We spent loads of time together and over the year became closer and closer. Liam was supportive too, in his own quiet way. I spent a lot of time in their house, sitting at their table. He always welcomed me and never made me feel like I was in the way.
Liam was such a lovely, lovely man. I couldn’t figure out why I disliked him so much.
One evening we were sitting up late listening to The Temptations, she was singing along and looking at me, everything in me wanted to kiss her, to hold her close and dance with her. Liam had gone to bed earlier, as he left he kissed her on the lips and I had to turn away I was blushing so badly.
‘The Dutchman’ by Makem and Clancy fades up slowly on onstage speaker. This is obviously one of Liam’s songs; both ALICEs acknowledge it subtly.
A. SLATTERY: My maiden name is Alice Connelly; I married Liam Slattery in 1970.
I had wanted to stay in that night but Mary dragged me along to a dance organizing committee meeting. I was reading Wuthering Heights, and wanted to stay put, I was quite shy back then, Mary was mad, sure where would she be got! When we arrived in the hall we were swallowed up by a boisterous crowd, Mary got stuck straight in and was put on ‘decorations’; I was put firmly in the background on ‘sandwiches’.
Ham and cheese, and egg mayonnaise.
Liam was the other lost soul on sambos. He entered the kitchen looking shell-shocked and vaguely panicked; he blushed when I spoke to him.
I put him on egg mayonnaise as the smell was turning my tummy, and the onion was making me cry. We courted;
I suppose that is the word you would use, for a few years after that. It’s difficult to explain my relationship with Liam; I’m always terrified to sound dismissive of it, of him. I loved him. I didn’t realise at the time that I was operating at half speed, that life is supposed to be faster and more passion filled. I thought that this is what love is supposed to be, sure how would I have known? He died of a massive heart attack, aged 31. That was fairly unheard of back then. I have a lot of guilt when I think about Liam, I feel I let him down, that I never loved him in the way that he loved me. He had a beautiful soul, and was a beautiful friend. That’s all I have to say about that.
Shift, A. KINSELLA squeezes A. SLATTERY’s hand and A. SLATTERY gets up to put on a record…and to move off the difficult topic.
A. KINSELLA: We always have music on in our house. Motown music is a favourite. I love it and so does Alice. I used to send records home from London to Mary and the boys, and Al used to write to me and tell me which was her favourite, she loved ‘Forever Came Today’ by Diana Ross and the Supremes. We saw Stevie Wonder last year, I was totally overwhelmed.
We listen to Stevie, The Temptations, The Supremes, Gladys Knight… Most meals are prepared on ‘the midnight train to Georgia’.
Alice does most of the cooking and I love to watch her. There is something about how she moves in that space, her control and command that I find compelling and very attractive. She chops in time to the Pips!
She has great patience; I always rush and end up with lumps and under-cooked food. I’m more of a lunchtime cook, sandwiches, salads, soups…that kind of thing. She cooks; I do spiders, hoovering, and laundry. The laundry is a necessity as she refuses to separate colours and whites. I could wallpaper the house with pink and grey colour catchers.
Marvin gaye, ‘Sexual Healing’, is faded in, and this next section is a pre-recorded audio. Presumably because neither ALICE would agree to do it live. Both ALICEs look terrified, nervous and giddy. They shoot glances at each other, and try to contain the nervous laugh that is close to the surface. They both pick up books/newspapers, sit at the table and hide behind them. It is clear that these props are only used to give both women something to do while this uncomfortable section is played. Their discomfort is still obvious from behind their papers; we hear them have a ‘sneaky’ whisper. There is a great sense of giddy fun, giddy nerves, and even a little flirting in the audio.
A. SLATTERY: (Laughing and grimacing.) I thought you said we wouldn’t do this till next week?
Oh dear lord, right so, go on. You start Alice.
A. KINSELLA: (Laughing incredulously.) You start! I’ll be in the kitchen. Opening more wine.
A. SLATTERY: You will in your eye. Sit down there.
A. KINSELLA: I’m just getting more wine.
A. SLATTERY: Are you now?
A. KINSELLA: Well…
A. SLATTERY: Well?
A. KINSELLA: Well, yes. Our first…time.
A. SLATTERY: It was arranged, like we had talked about it.
A. KINSELLA: No we didn’t!
A. SLATTERY: Not talked about that, but we talked about the arrangements.
A. KINSELLA: Ahh, yes, Al is a planner.
A. SLATTERY: Well somebody had to take charge.
A. KINSELLA: I was invited to dinner.
A. SLATTERY: Dinner.
A. KINSELLA: ‘Civilized’.
A. SLATTERY: I didn’t call it civilized.
A. KINSELLA: Yes you did, you invited me over for a ‘civilized dinner’…
A. SLATTERY: Oh God, did I say that?
A. KINSELLA: A civilized dinner, and I was to stay the night.
A. SLATTERY: I was petrified.
A. KINSELLA: You were drunk!
A. SLATTERY: I was not drunk!
A. KINSELLA: Well I was. Not ‘drunk’ drunk, but ‘calm the nerves drunk’. I had somehow managed to get my hands on a bottle of…what was that horrible wine Al?
A. SLATTERY: God knows.
A. KINSELLA: Ahh, you know it… Blue Nun, that was it.
A. SLATTERY: Oh yes, that was it, in the dark bottle.
A. KINSELLA: We struggled through it over dinner. It was horrible, nobody drank wine at the time, but I was trying to impress. I was petrified too.
A. SLATTERY: I made quiche lorraine. I was also trying to impress, which was ridiculous, I had been cooking for Alice for years. I was flustered all day; I burned the first pastry base I made.
A. KINSELLA: She had made Victoria sponge-cake for dessert. My favourite.
A. SLATTERY: I know, it’s hilarious now when I think about the whole thing.
A. KINSELLA: Ahh Alice, it’s sweet.
A. SLATTERY: I kept telling myself to stop panicking, that nothing had to happen if we didn’t want it to. It’s difficult, if you have been friends before lovers.
A. KINSELLA: Yes, like, you already have an intimate relationship anyway…
A. SLATTERY: And you have to change those old dynamics.
A. KINSELLA: Well, you want to change those dynamics.
A. SLATTERY: I just keep thinking that you had done this before, I was so green. I hadn’t a clue.
A. KINSELLA: But I had no experience with men, I didn’t really know what I was up against.
A. SLATTERY: God bless poor Liam, but you really shouldn’t have worried.
A. KINSELLA: Anyway…
A. SLATTERY: Anyway…
A. KINSELLA: The time came, for bed.
A. SLATTERY: We had been talking for hours…
A. KINSELLA: We had been kissing for hours…
A. SLATTERY: Alice!
A. KINSELLA: Well, we had.
A. SLATTERY: Don’t be so graphic
A. KINSELLA: (Laughing.) I would hardly call that graphic. Considering the subject.
A. SLATTERY: I’m watching you.
A. KINSELLA: (Laughing.)
A. SLATTERY: We decided it was time for bed; Alice had brought over her toothbrush and a nighty.
A. KINSELLA: A nighty!
A. SLATTERY: I remember thinking how sweet that was. We both got into bed and…
A. KINSELLA: And we lay there in the dark, for what felt like an eternity.
A. SLATTERY: I was shivering.
A. KINSELLA: I thought she was freezing.
A. KINSELLA: Alice got a fit of the giggles.
A. SLATTERY: I couldn’t help it; I just kept thinking how funny it was, like in the greater scheme of things. Here I was ‘in bed’ with Alice Kinsella, and I loved her. Like ‘loved’ her loved her.
A. KINSELLA: That broke the ice, I kissed her and she stopped laughing. We stayed in bed for two days; we survived on cold quiche and coffee.
A. SLATTERY: It was fantastic…what were we so worried about?
A. KINSELLA: It was incredibly romantic.
Fade out chatter and laughter… ‘That wasn’t as bad as I had thought… Why did we put off that conversation for so long… Twice… Can I get the wine now boss…’
Marvin Gay fades back up and out.
The women put down their books/papers. Laughing at themselves, they share a glance. Look at the audience, they are both a little shy, but giddy.
A. SLATTERY: (Blushing.) Six months. It took us six months to work up to that conversation.
A. KINSELLA: It took a lot of convincing, and a lot of wine. We even had a toast around the table with a bottle of Blue Nun recording it. It’s still terrible stuff.
ALICE SLATTERY takes out a laundry basket, sits at the table and begins to fold the clothes, she folds a bra and this is ALICE KINSELLA’s cue.
A. KINSELLA: (Move to mark downstage right) Stage-two breast cancer. One modified radical mastectomy, one round of radiation therapy, three rounds of chemotherapy.
I don’t think I have ever heard more terrifying words. I still wake panicked from nightmares…the cancer is back and spreading, I think the fear must have breathing-room in my dreams…because I don’t feel it when I’m awake. I must suppress it.
I kept trying to figure out what I had done, what could I have done better, is there any way I could have avoided this? But in reality, this is what took my mother, so it was always a danger for me. I was totally numb, in shock I suppose, I felt nothing.
Alice felt it for both of us. I’ve never seen her so angry. She was mad at God, mad at the world, mad at me. She stopped going to mass and followed me from room to room, she watched me as if, at any moment, I would evaporate. I didn’t have the energy to tell her it would be OK, I didn’t have the energy for a brave face and hopeful lies.
One day I found her sitting on the bed, crying. She had just gotten off the phone with Mary and they were discussing my ‘affairs’. I was outraged, I shouted at her…
A. SLATTERY: ‘What are you doing that for? I’m not going anywhere.’
A. KINSELLA: At that very moment I knew I would be fine, I can’t describe how or why, I just knew.
I think we both felt the shift. We both cried, then we went out and had a celebratory bag of chips. I figured if I were fighting cancer then a single of chips wouldn’t kill me. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy, there were some awful days…
A. SLATTERY: Some awful days.
A. KINSELLA: …days when I could barely lift my head off the pillow, days when I just didn’t want to talk to anyone, days filled with anger, with ‘why mes’. Even now I find it hard to talk about, to think about. I was almost run over by a bus trying to make the lights on Parnell Street once, and I get the same feeling when I think about that.
A. SLATTERY: The ‘what could have happened’ panic.
I took Alice on a holiday when she was given the all clear, we went to Florida. Alice joked that that was where all the old people go, but I know she was excited.
We flew into Orlando International Airport and stayed in a posh hotel for three nights.
A. KINSELLA: We stayed in the Gaylord Palms Hotel! I laughed about that for the entire seven-hour flight. It was gorgeous and enormous. There was a massive indoor pond with alligators…real alligators. And a massive out-door pool…with no alligators obviously.
A. SLATTERY: Al wouldn’t swim… She said she wasn’t in the mood, that there was too much to see.
A. KINSELLA: We went to Sea World, I know it’s for kids… but I loved it. Dolphins, penguins, sharks, sea lions, killer whales, and horses. I don’t know why they have horses in Sea World. We reckon they’re secretly feeding them to the orcas.
A. SLATTERY: She hadn’t worn her swimming togs in public since her operation; I knew she was embarrassed and probably scared.
A. KINSELLA: We hired a car and headed for Boca Raton, we have friends who live there in a beautiful condominium. I’m still unclear as to the difference between an apartment and a condominium.
Anyway, theirs is a ‘condo’, apparently.
A. SLATTERY: We hired a car and headed for the Keys…
A. KINSELLA: I drove. We listened to Dusty Springfield on satellite radio.
A. SLATTERY: I don’t care for Dusty Springfield.
The scenery was stunning, turquoise water, small squat palm trees, big old oak trees with hanging Spanish moss swaying in the occasional breeze. History seemed palpable the further south we went, we left plastic Florida behind and entered quaint, still and stifling Florida. Tennessee Williams Florida. We ate key lime pie in Key West. Alice swears she saw Kelly McGillis in a restaurant.
A. KINSELLA: We stayed in a stunning guesthouse with a wooden veranda and overhead fans. We drank gin and tonic in rocking chairs and we met Kelly McGillis, the girl from that film, Top Gun, in a restaurant.
A. SLATTERY: I did not see Kelly McGillis.
A. KINSELLA: You did Alice, she was lovely.
They both fold a sheet together.
A. SLATTERY: Alice finally swam in the Gulf of Mexico. She was beautiful. The trip was wonderful; it was exactly what we needed. I think it took about five years off us…
A. KINSELLA: And put about five pounds on us!
A. SLATTERY: (Move to mark downstage left.)
It really got me thinking, about my life, my future. Seeing Alice sick, really sick, scared me, it shook me to my core, the fragility of life. The emphasis we place on stupid silly things.
We met Frank and Jim on a cruise years ago, two beautiful men. Jim was a florist and Frank imported and sold antiques. I always considered them ‘shiny’, they sparkled. We struck up a genuine and easy friendship that deepened over twenty years. We visited them in Berlin once a year, and they stayed with us in Dublin. We used to meet for weekends in London, have dinner in Kettner’s and see a show. They were full of fun, life, and extravagance, you were assured to drink too much and laugh too loud in their company. They died in an autobahn accident six years ago, wiped out in seconds. The paper reported…
A. KINSELLA has been putting the laundry basket away and moves back to her downstage right mark.
A. KINSELLA: ‘Two men, in their fifties, were killed in a road accident.’ That was it, no details.
They could have been strangers. When a husband and wife die you are immediately struck by the tragedy of the loss. A family lost. Their extended family and friends are interviewed in the paper, their funerals are covered on the news, their community grieves.
Frank and Jim were just ‘two men in their fifties’.
A. SLATTERY: There are no words to express the sadness. I was devastated, I still am. We put a dozen white roses on their grave every summer, they were Jim’s favourite.
What would happen if one of us died? We have no children, no legal binds between us, only a joint bank account and a co-owned house.
What would I do if I lost her? It took me so long to find her, it took me so long to realise I was looking for her. When she left for London all those years ago, I cried for days, I felt a sadness beyond the measure of the situation. The night before she left we all gathered for a drink in town, Bowes, I think it was. She was excited and nervous. Her friends from home and the girls from the secretarial college were all in flying form. Her mammy had given her twenty pounds for London; my mother gave her a fiver, which was a lot of money back then. I gave her a card and a hug on Fleet Street that lasted just a second too long. I promised I’d keep in touch. I lost her once. I couldn’t lose her again.
We walked down Duval Street holding hands, that’s the main drag in Key West. It’s full of bars and restaurants that spill out onto the street, people eating al fresco and laughing over glasses of wine. Nobody gave us a second glance, except a young man with an arm full of tattoos who smiled at us. We walked away from the crowd and stood on this wooden walkway that overlooked the beach. We watched the sun set where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Gulf of Mexico. It was warm and still, almost dreamlike. I asked Alice to marry me. She said yes.
They move downstage centre, stand at the end of the table, and hold hands.
A. SLATTERY: We watched our first Gay Pride parade this year, under duress. I really didn’t want to but it was for the good of the show apparently.
A. KINSELLA: All the colour, the costumes, the noise.
A. SLATTERY: A young man at the parade called us cute, we were holding hands. I swung around and was just about to tell him: ‘I’m a grown woman, I’m not cute. Babies are cute, puppies are cute. I am not. Don’t patronize me you arrogant idiot,’ when I realised he was talking to his friend on the opposite footpath. I was mortified. He looked at me like I was mad. Alice thought it was hilarious. He wished me a happy pride. It was nice.
A. KINSELLA: There were all types of people there, young, old, gay, straight. With families and without. I realized that we all have a place, we all belong. We are all just people and we all just do our best. I’m sixty-four and I have a lot to learn.
A. SLATTERY: In making this show we have argued, cried, shouted, sulked, talked, remembered, smiled and laughed. We laughed a lot. Several times it begged the question, ‘what in God’s name are we doing this for?’ It took me a long time but I finally figured it out, I don’t want to hide anymore. I am proud of me, I am proud of us. We have been together for twenty-eight years. We plan to be married on our thirtieth anniversary, not a civil partnership, a marriage.
A. KINSELLA: We are here, we were here all along. Somebody has to do this, to stand up and be seen. We can’t, in good conscience, always leave it to others. So here we are, warts and all. We have lived, lived well; we have loved, loved well. Alice, will you dance?
A. SLATTERY: I will.
The music fades up, ‘Endless Love’ by Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross. The lights dim and flicker off a rotating mirror ball and the ALICEs dance… They kiss as ‘my endless love’ is sung.
Lights fade up.
A. SLATTERY: Fun.
Exciting.
Challenging.
Insightful.
Triumphant.
Beautiful. A testimonial.
TOGETHER: We will be seen.
Slowly the wigs come off and the actors reveal themselves.