MEG and ANDREW stare at her.
TITANIA sits down again and tucks into her starter.
MEG and ANDREW are unable to eat.
Pause.
MEG: (In a strangled voice.) When… When is it due?
TITANIA: Early March.
ANDREW: Who is responsible?
TITANIA: Gearóid.
ANDREW: Garage?
TITANIA: I suppose you’d call him Gerry. Gerry Lee.
MEG: Dear God!
ANDREW: How on earth did this happen?
TITANIA: How do you think?
ANDREW: I mean, in this day and age…
Did neither of you know the first thing about…protection?
TITANIA: It wasn’t an accident.
I love him.
I wanted to have his baby.
Pause.
MEG: Are you going to get married?
TITANIA: There’s no need for that nowadays.
MEG: That’s good. I mean, marriage to a Catholic carries all sorts of complications.
They insist that children of mixed marriages are all brought up in their faith.
TITANIA: (Shrugs.) It’s all the same to me.
ANDREW: And what does…hm, Gerry have to say?
TITANIA: He wants me to move in with him.
ANDREW: Move in? Where?
TITANIA: In his cottage, where else?
MEG: That hovel?
TITANIA: I don’t mind.
MEG: But you have to think of the child.
What kind of life would it be?
TITANIA: Can’t be worse than the childhood I had.
ANDREW: There was nothing wrong with your childhood!
TITANIA: No? Being held here, in solitary confinement?
No friends, no one to play with.
You didn’t even let me go to school until I was eleven.
And then you sent me to England.
England – of all places!
MEG: What else could we do?
The local schools were run by nuns.
You wouldn’t have been accepted.
TITANIA: All I wanted was to be a normal kid, lead a normal life, with other normal kids…
Not be an outcast. A bloody freak.
ANDREW: You did have company from time to time.
We invited friends’ children to come and stay…
TITANIA: Yeah. Other Protty children, straight out of similar ivory towers. Timid, inhibited, hopeless little creatures. Not much fun.
Pause.
MEG is far away, lost in a memory.
MEG: (Softly.) Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed here with us?
We could do a lot to help you.
TITANIA: Gearóid wouldn’t like living here.
ANDREW: I should hope not.
MEG: You could still see each other.
I’m sure Gerry would understand that it would be in the best interest of the child.
TITANIA: His name is Gearóid.
ANDREW: I won’t call him Garage.
TITANIA: No you won’t. You won’t call him anything.
Because he’ll never set foot here. Do you think
I’d expose the man I love to the contempt you have for people like him?
MEG: We’d have nothing but respect for the father of our grandchild.
TITANIA: But he won’t want to mix with you.
You’re just too different.
And you’re quite right. It’s better that way.
For everyone.
TITANIA gets up and leaves.
Pause.
ANDREW: (Dejectly.) When this gets out… We’ll be the laughing stock.
MEG: (Suddenly aggressive.) That’s a silly thing to say!
ANDREW: It’s going to be tough, Meg.
MEG: Oh why can’t you be more like my grandfather?
He never let anything get to him.
ANDREW: We shall have to brace ourselves –
MEG: (Passionately.) ‘Never our spirit.’
ANDREW: What?
MEG: Don’t you remember? The words on his tombstone.
What he used to say, when the going got rough:
‘Whatever is done to us, they’ll never break our spirit.’
ANDREW: (After a moment’s reflection, lifting his glass to her.)
‘Never our spirit.’
MEG raises her glass. Their eyes meet, as they drink to it.
FADE OUT.
MUSIC: Lullaby.
SCENE 3A
LIGHTS UP on the dining-room: on the table a carry-cot with a sleeping baby. The room is full of baby and toddler paraphernalia. MEG, in tears, is busy packing all the children’s things into suitcases.
Enter ANDREW, looks at MEG.
ANDREW: (Tenderly.) Oh darling, not so glum!
Today we have every reason to be happy.
MEG: Of course.
I am pleased for Titania.
Really I am.
Delighted.
Relieved.
I if anyone knows what she’s been through.
ANDREW: I’ll give you a hand.
He helps her with the packing.
MEG: (Struggling against tears.) And yet…and yet…
Our life took on a new meaning that day when Gerry appeared on the doorstep… in the pouring rain, drenched…
Aoife in her buggy, encased in a plastic bubble;
Cathal in a sling under his anorak…
ANDREW: At least he was man enough to come to us.
Not too proud to admit that it was more than any man could manage to be both father and mother to a toddler and a newborn, whilst also having the farm and his stock to tend.
MEG: Poor Gerry, at his wits’ end.
Not knowing what had hit him.
ANDREW: Well I had never heard of post-natal depression until I was confronted with it.
It’s a devil of a thing to live with.
MEG: My case was different!
I had a valid reason.
Her eyes fall on the baby in the cot.
MEG: Andrew…have you noticed that Cathal looks just like our little boy?
ANDREW: (Looking at the baby.) Yes… I think you’re right.
MEG: When Gerry left him here, he was exactly the age our baby was when he was taken from us.
It was almost as if…
as if someone had brought him back.
She picks up the baby.
MEG: I’ve never known such a good baby.
Hardly ever cries, feeds well, sleeps through the night…
ANDREW: They are both great kids.
MEG: Aoife certainly has you wrapped around her little finger: larking about, playing the fool.
I never thought you had it in you.
ANDREW: It’s been good having the children here.
A bit like the life we once aspired to – but never quite achieved.
MEG: Well it wasn’t easy to play happy families after we buried our baby boy.
And Titania was such a difficult child: cross, wilful, demanding, insisting on always having her way.
ANDREW: What she needed was a firm hand – right from the start.
MEG: I know I was too lenient.
But being ill for so long…
And then I felt bad for having neglected her…
Pause.
Oh Andrew – what’s to become of her?
Of the children?
ANDREW: Don’t worry, Meg.
She’s being discharged, she’s had all the right treatment.
From now on, things will be different.
MEG: Let’s hope so.
I am pleased for her.
Really I am.
Delighted.
(Clutching the baby, struggling against tears.) And yet… and yet…
The thought of these little ones going back
to the squalor of Gerry’s cottage…
She looks despairingly at ANDREW.
ANDREW: I know, dear.
I know.
BLAC
K OUT.
SCENE 3B
LIGHTS UP on the room.
The baby is back in his carrier, the children’s things are packed up, ready to go.
TITANIA is standing by the fire-place.
MEG, now collected, enters with a tea tray, serves tea and cake.
MEG: We’re so glad you’re well again.
TITANIA: Better, anyhow.
Enough to get out of that terrible place.
MEG: But the therapist was good, wasn’t she?
American, I believe.
TITANIA: Yeah. From California.
MEG: She told us you’ve done very well.
Unearthed a lot about yourself.
TITANIA: Not all of it good.
MEG: No?
TITANIA: It appears I have a major problem.
I don’t exist.
MEG: What?
TITANIA: Not in my own eyes.
I’m just an empty shell…
without a place in the world.
MEG: But you have your place here.
With us.
TITANIA: Yeah. That’s just it.
Pause.
TITANIA: (Looking round.) Mother – don’t you ever feel…trapped?
MEG: Trapped?
TITANIA: By this weird situation we’re in.
Through no fault – or choice – of our own.
MEG: We can’t do much about that.
TITANIA: Exactly!
Pause.
TITANIA: I suppose you can live with it. I couldn’t.
I felt claustrophobic.
Pause.
TITANIA: That’s why I made my desperate bid for freedom.
But now I realize, all I did was trade one prison cell for another.
Geraóid has his good points, but –
We have absolutely nothing in common.
Other than the children.
And, I suppose, sex.
MEG: Well that’s a fair amount to be going on with.
TITANIA: (Tearfully.) It may be enough for some women.
But it’s not enough for me.
Pause.
MEG goes up, puts her arms around her.
TITANIA weeps.
MEG: (Softly.) So what do you intend to do?
TITANIA: I’m not going back to Geraóid.
Is it okay if I stay here for a while?
MEG: Of course. You’re always welcome.
TITANIA: My therapist says that, thanks to my early breakdown,
I have a head start. It’s left me with no option but to rebuild my life entirely on my own terms.
Become a person in my own right.
MEG: That makes a lot of sense.
TITANIA: The only problem is the children.
MEG: But they are happy here.
TITANIA: Would you be prepared to keep them a little longer?
While I sort myself out?
MEG: (Warmly.) Dear Titania. We’ll be only too pleased to help.
FADE OUT.
ACT II (1997 – 2001)
SCENE 1
Same room, dimly lit, now with wireless, comfortable arm-chairs, occasional tables, a large sofa. Untidy, much evidence of the presence of young school-age children.
MEG and ANDREW have changed: though six years older, they seem if anything more youthful, happy and light-hearted, filled with a new energy.
MEG is seated, knitting a child’s Aran sweater.
SPOT on ANDREW, casually dressed, a whistle around his neck, standing down stage, outside the set.
ANDREW: (Upbeat, addressing the audience, as if they were a crowd of children.) So, boys and girls… That’s all for today… (Responding to protest from the children.) All right, all right, one last race before you go… What’s it going to be? Relay, potato, sack, wheel-barrow? (Responding to shouts.) No, no, hang on. We’ll keep it simple. Girls against boys. Go on everyone, line up neatly. No cheating, Cathal, back behind the line! Now, anyone aged over seven, take three steps back – that’s your handicap. Right. In your places, until you hear the whistle. Ready…st – Fergal, you’ve done it again! Go back! So, once more. Ready, steady (Blows his whistle, watches the race, laughing.) Go on, lads, you can do better than that! Don’t let them beat you… Well done, girls! You are the winners! Are you okay, Sinéad? Didn’t hurt yourself? Good girl, pick yourself up. Now, I can hear parents coming to collect you, so hurry up, don’t keep them waiting. We’ll see you same time tomorrow. And boys, remember to bring your football boots – it’s rugby training. Rounders for the girls. Till then – slán. (Waves them off.) Cathal and Aoife – you’re covered in mud. Go straight upstairs and clean yourselves up! Change your clothes.
He exits. LIGHTS UP on drawing-room and MEG.
ANDREW enters, slumps in an arm-chair, out of breath.
ANDREW: (Loosening his tie.) Phew! It’s like being back in the army.
MEG: Darling – you mustn’t overdo it.
ANDREW: (Grinning.) I’m having a great time.
Why did I never do things like this with Titania when she was growing up?
MEG: You were too busy then, building up the fishery.
ANDREW: Yeah. Proving my worth to everyone.
Making myself indispensable.
Only to discover in the end that they manage perfectly well without me.
MEG: You are eminently suited to retirement.
Pause.
ANDREW: Now – the meeting tonight.
Will you be able to take the minutes?
MEG: Of course. What’s on the agenda?
ANDREW: Mainly logistics. Getting the field ready.
Arranging access, parking the horse-boxes.
We have over sixty entries already.
MEG: Guess what? Tommy Walsh has promised to take Aoife into the lead-rein class.
ANDREW: She’ll love that.
MEG: And Cathal wants to enter Hercules for the dog show.
ANDREW: We’d better add a class so – for geriatric lap-dogs.
They laugh.
The telephone rings.
MEG answers, receives a brief message, puts the receiver down.
MEG: Andrew – what is all this about goats?
ANDREW: Goats?
MEG: There was a hoarse voice hissing: ‘Tell himself that his goats have been delivered.’
ANDREW: (Laughing.) Oh that.
MEG: Goats are the last thing we want. They stink, and they’ll devour every single thing in the garden…
ANDREW: You know the old shepherds’ hut at the top of our land?
I hadn’t been in it for years, but the other day I was up there mending a fence, when I was caught in a downpour.
So I sheltered inside – and what did I find?
A great big still. Of a highly illegal kind.
MEG: Pot’een?
ANDREW: (Nodding.) I kept an eye on it after that, and sure enough, the next day three of our neighbours turned up, armed with large plastic containers.
I gave them a real fright.
They fully expected me to report them.
MEG: So what did you do?
ANDREW: I told them I’d turn a blind eye. In return they promised to leave me a bottle of their best brew as soon it was ready.
‘Goats’, they said, is their secret code for pot’een.
MEG: Well I much prefer criminal activity to marauding animals on the land.
As long as you don’t expect me to drink it.
ANDREW: Apparently, mixed with vanilla ice cream, it’s quite palatable.
Pause.
MEG returns to her knitting, concentrating hard.
ANDREW: (Watching her.) How is the knitting?
MEG: The intricacies of an Aran sweater!
If I’d known what I let myself in for…
I shall have to go back to Bridget Nee for more lessons.
ANDREW: Perhaps we should have a craft section at the show?
MEG: That’s a wonderful idea! Spinning, weaving, knitting…
All these traditi
onal skills in danger of dying out.
ANDREW: You may even get a prize for your Aran sweater.
MEG: (Laughing.) That would be the day.
Pause.
She glances out the window.
MEG: Now who is this coming up?
ANDREW: (Looking out.) It’s Gerry.
A bit round under the feet.
MEG: Not again!
ANDREW: It’s not as if we hadn’t made ourselves clear…
MEG: The children mustn’t see him like that!
ANDREW: (Goes towards the door.) I’ll deal with him.
MEG: Don’t be too rough.
ANDREW: It’s in his own interest.
He leaves.
MEG listens intently to the sounds from the front door.
ANDREW: (Off, sternly.) Now Gerry, you know you’re welcome here, anytime, to see the children.
But not when you’re in this state.
Come back when you’re sober.
No – absolutely not!
Off you go – or I call the guards!
There is the sound of a scuffle, then the door slams and ANDREW returns, somewhat shattered. He fixes himself a stiff drink.
ANDREW: Thank goodness Titania is out of all that!
MEG: (Looking out the window.) Poor man.
ANDREW: Fancy having her tied to a drunken sot like that.
MEG: In fairness – he only took to the bottle after she left him.
ANDREW: We can’t have him turning up here like this.
MEG: It’s the second time this week.
ANDREW: We may have to take out a barring order against him.
MEG: Still…he is their father.
ANDREW: Well that should be incentive enough for him to stay sober.
Pause.
MEG: Andrew – is there any way he could cause…trouble?
Take them away from us?
ANDREW: Oh no. They were registered in Titania’s name at birth. Under Irish law, unmarried fathers have no legal rights at all.
MEG: It’s not as if the children miss him.
ANDREW: We’ve become more like their parents, haven’t we?
MEG: Even Titania is more like a big sister:
welcome and loved, when she visits –
but not a part of their daily life.
ANDREW: It’s worked out very well.
Pause.
MEG: (Picking up a school-bag, reading a note it contains.)
Another parents’ meeting…money for a school trip…
This whole regime is still new to me.
Satchels and lunch-boxes…
homework that needs to be done…
ANDREW: Do you know what I enjoy most of all?
Walking them to school in the morning and collecting them in the afternoon.
Only Our Own Page 4
