Inside

You phone me, panicked. – ‘I can’t leave the house; I’m stuck here. I can’t leave the house!’ Okay, I’m coming round. Out of the door, over the bridge. Your house. ‘I can’t leave.’ The old, blind collie, eyes almost gone out. The Aga. The long dining room table.

They want you out, they’ve told you. They’re expecting you to leave. You’re already supposed to have left. But there’s a family celebration coming soon. Family coming from all over the country, and you’re not family, are you? A tenant, but not family, you know that. A tenant – you’ll have to leave, won’t you? But today you can’t even step out of the front door.

We’re in the house, the enormous house. So vast! A family house! A garden. The Aga. The old collie. The family are out. ‘I need to get to the bus stop’. – ‘Sure, let’s go.’ – ‘I can’t go, I can’t go anywhere.’ – ‘Come on, we’ll take it slowly. Let me open the door.’ Daylight streams in. – ‘I’m going to stay here, I think. I can’t go out today.’

You’ve been served notice. Served it in a friendly way, but they need the room, and you’ve got to go. But how can you move out when you can’t get out of the door? How when you are too sick to open the door and too sick for the open air? In streams the daylight.

‘They don’t want me here.’ – ‘They just want the space, that’s all.’ – ‘Where am I going to go?’ – ‘You’ll find somewhere. It’ll be okay.’ Drinking tea in the dining room. The long table – how many does it sit? The house around us – so vast.

‘Do you think either of us will have a place like this?’ – ‘No way.’ Not a chance, not for us. I look around – room for everyone. Everyone can come here, the whole family. The whole family, round the table. Everyone but us, round the table.