An Inspector Calls and Other Plays

by J. B. Priestley

  ALAN [with cheerful modesty]: In a way it is, y’know. Yes, Kay, I’d take that as a compliment.

  KAY [with a sudden burst of affection]: Alan! And I loathe that coat you’re wearing. It doesn’t match the rest of you, does it?

  ALAN [stammering, apologetic]: No – well, you see – I just wear it in the house – an old coat – just as a house coat – it saves my other one – I oughtn’t to have put it on tonight. Just habit, y’know. I’ll change it before the others come …. Why were you so unhappy then – the last time you wrote?

  KAY [in broken painful phrases]: Something – that was always ending – really did come to an end just then. It had lasted ten years – off and on – and eating more of one’s life away when it was off than when it was on. He was married. There were children. It was the usual nasty muddle. [Breaks off.] Alan, you don’t know what day it is today?

  ALAN [chuckling]: But I do, I do. And, of course, Mother did, too. Look! [He pulls small package out of his pocket and holds it out to her.]

  KAY [after taking it and kissing him]: Alan, you’re an angel! I never thought I’d have another single birthday present. And you know how old I am now? Forty. Forty!

  ALAN [smiling]: I’m forty-four. And it’s all right, y’know. You’ll like it. [Front door bell rings.] Look at your present. I hope it’s all right. [Goes to front door.]

  [KAY hastily unwraps her parcel and takes out a hideous cheap little handbag. She looks at it and does not know whether to laugh or cry over the thing. Meanwhile ALAN has brought in JOAN, now Joan Conway, for she married ROBIN. Time has not been very kind to her. She is now a rather sloppy, querulous woman of forty-one. Her voice has a very irritating quality.]

  JOAN: Hello, Kay. I didn’t think you’d manage to be here – you hardly ever do come to Newlingham now, do you? And I must say I don’t blame you. [Breaks off because she notices the awful handbag.] Oh – what a –

  KAY [hastily]: Nice, isn’t it? Alan has just given it to me. How are the children?

  JOAN: Richard’s very well, but the doctor says Ann’s tonsils ought to come out – though he doesn’t tell me who’s going to pay for the operation, never thinks about that. They did enjoy those things you sent at Christmas, Kay – I don’t know what they’d have done without them, though I did my best.

  KAY: I’m sure you did, Joan.

  JOAN: Alan was very good to them, too, weren’t you, Alan? Though, of course, it’s not like their having a father. [Breaks off and looks miserably at KAY.] You know, I haven’t seen Robin for months. Some people say I ought to divorce him – but – I don’t know – [With sudden misery] Honestly, isn’t it awful? Oh – Kay. [Suddenly giggles.] Doesn’t that sound silly – Oh – Kay.

  KAY [wearily]: No, I’ve stopped noticing it.

  JOAN: Richard’s always saying Okay – he’s heard it at the pictures – and, of course, Ann copies him. [Breaks off, looks anxiously at them both.] Do you think it’s all right, my coming here tonight? It was Hazel who told me you were having a sort of family meeting, and she thought I ought to be here, and I think so too. But Granny Conway didn’t ask me –

  KAY [with a sudden laugh]: Joan, you don’t call mother Granny Conway?

  JOAN: Well, I got into the habit, y’know, with the children.

  KAY: She must loathe it.

  ALAN [apologetically, to JOAN]: I think she does, you know.

  JOAN: I must try and remember. Is she upstairs?

  ALAN: Yes. Madge is here, too.

  JOAN [nerving herself]: I think – I’ll go up and ask her if it’s all right – my staying – otherwise I’d feel such a fool.

  KAY: Yes, do. And tell her we think you ought to be here – if you want to be –

  JOAN: Well, it isn’t that – but – you see – if it’s about money – I must know something, mustn’t I? After all, I’m Robin’s wife – and Richard and Ann are his children –

  ALAN [kindly]: Yes, Joan, you tell mother that, if she objects. But she won’t, though.

  [JOAN looks at them a moment doubtfully, then goes. They watch her go, then look at one another.]

  KAY [lowering her voice a little]: I suppose Robin’s pretty hopeless – but really, Joan’s such a fool –

  ALAN: Yes, but the way Robin’s treated her has made her feel more of a fool than she really is. It’s taken away all her confidence in herself, you see, Kay. Otherwise she mightn’t have been so bad.

  KAY: You used to like Joan, didn’t you?

  ALAN [looking at her, then slowly smiling]: You remember when she and Robin told us they were engaged? I was in love with her then. It was the only time I ever fell in love with anybody. And I remember – quite suddenly hating Robin – yes, really hating him. None of this loving and hating lasted, of course – it was just silly stuff. But I remember it quite well.

  KAY: Suppose it had been you instead of Robin?

  ALAN [hastily]: Oh – no, that wouldn’t have done at all. Really it wouldn’t. Most unsuitable!

  [KAY laughs in affectionate amusement at his bachelor’s horror. MADGE enters. She is very different from the girl of Act One. She has short greyish hair, wears glasses, and is neatly but severely dressed. She speaks with a dry precision, but underneath her assured schoolmistress manner is a suggestion of the neurotic woman.]

  MADGE [very decisively, as she bustles about the room, finding an envelope and filling her fountain-pen]: I’ve just told mother that if I hadn’t happened to be in the neighbourhood today – I’ve applied for a headship at Borderton, you know, Kay, and had my interview there this afternoon – nothing would have induced me to be here tonight.

  KAY: Well, I don’t know why you bothered telling her, Madge. You are here, that’s all that matters.

  MADGE: No it isn’t. I want her to understand quite clearly that I’ve no further interest in these family muddles, financial or otherwise. Also, that I would have thought it unnecessary to ask for a day away from my work at Collingfield in order to attend one of these ridiculous hysterical conferences.

  KAY: You talk as if you’d been dragged here every few weeks.

  MADGE: No I haven’t. But I’ve had a great many more of these silly discussions than you have – please remember, Kay. Mother and Gerald Thornton seem to imagine that the time of a woman journalist in London is far more precious than that of a senior mistress at a large girls’ public school. Why – I can’t think. But the result is, I’ve been dragged in often when you haven’t.

  KAY [rather wearily]: All right. But seeing we’re both here now, let’s make the best of it.

  ALAN: Yes, of course.

  MADGE: Joan’s here. I hope there’s no chance of Robin coming too. That’s something you’ve missed so far, I think, Kay. I’ve had one experience of their suddenly meeting here – Robin half drunk, ready to insult everybody. Joan weeping and resentful – the pair of them discussing every unpleasant detail of their private life – and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.

  KAY [lightly, but serious underneath]: I don’t blame you, Madge. But for the Lord’s sake be human tonight. You’re not talking to the Collingfield common room now. This is your nice brother, Alan. I’m your nice sister Kay. We know all about you –

  MADGE: That’s just where you’re wrong. You know hardly anything about me, any of you. The life you don’t see – call it the Collingfield common room if that amuses you – is my real life. It represents exactly the sort of person I am now, and what you and Alan and mother remember – and trust mother not to forget anything foolish and embarrassing – is no longer of any importance at all.

  KAY: I’d hate to think that, Madge.

  ALAN [shyly, earnestly]: And it isn’t true. It really isn’t. Because – [Hesitates, and is lost.]

  MADGE: I heard your extraordinary views the last time I was here, Alan. I also discussed them with Herrickson – our senior Maths mistress and a most brilliant woman – and she demolished them very thoroughly.

  KAY [to cheer him up]: You tell me, Alan, if there�
��s time later on. We’re not going to be trampled on by any of Madge’s Miss What’s-her-names. And we don’t care how brilliant they are, do we, Alan?

  [ALAN grins and rubs his hands. MADGE deliberately changes the subject.]

  MADGE: I hope you’re doing something besides this popular journalism now, Kay. Have you begun another book?

  KAY: No.

  MADGE: Pity, isn’t it?

  KAY [after a pause, looking steadily at her]: What about you, Madge? Are you building Jerusalem – in England’s green and pleasant land?

  MADGE: Possibly not. But I’m trying to put a little knowledge of history and a little sense into the heads of a hundred and fifty middle-class girls. It’s hard work and useful work. Certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

  KAY [looking hard, speaking very quietly]: Then – why be ashamed?

  MADGE [instantly, loudly]: I’m not.

  [HAZEL enters, from outside. She is extremely well dressed, the best dressed of them all, and has not lost her looks, but there is something noticeably subdued, fearful, about her.]

  HAZEL: Hello, Madge! [Sees KAY.] Kay! [Kisses her.]

  KAY: Hazel, my dear, you’re grander every time I see you.

  HAZEL [preening]: Do you like it?

  KAY: Yes – and you didn’t get that in Newlingham. At the Bon Marché. Do you remember when we used to think the Bon Marché marvellous?

  HAZEL [brightening up at this]: Yes – and now they seem ghastly. Well, that’s something, isn’t it? [Realizes that this gives her away, so hastily asks] Is Joan here?

  ALAN: Yes. She’s upstairs with mother. Is Ernest coming tonight?

  HAZEL [hesitating]: I – don’t – know.

  MADGE: I thought it was understood he was coming. Mother thinks he is. I believe she’s rather counting on him.

  HAZEL [hastily]: Well, she mustn’t. I’ve told her not to. I don’t even know yet if he’ll be here at all.

  MADGE [annoyed]: But this is ridiculous. We’re told that things are desperate. Kay and I have to leave our work, travel miles and miles, stop thinking about anything else, and now you don’t even know if your own husband will walk down the road to be here.

  HAZEL: But you know what Ernest is. He said he might come tonight. I asked him again only at lunch time today – and he said he didn’t know – and then I didn’t like –

  MADGE [cutting in sharply]: Didn’t like! You mean you daren’t. That miserable little –

  HAZEL: Madge! Please stop.

  [MADGE looks at her in contempt, then walks off. HAZEL looks very miserable.]

  KAY: How are the children?

  HAZEL: Peter has a cold again – poor lamb – he’s always getting colds. Margaret’s all right. Never any trouble with her. She’s been doing some ballet dancing, y’know, and the teacher thinks she’s marvellous for her age. Oh – you forgot her last birthday, Kay. The child was so disappointed.

  KAY: I’m sorry. Tell her I’ll make up for it at Christmas. I must have been away on a job or something –

  HAZEL [eagerly]: I read your article on Glyrna Foss – you know, about three months ago – when she came over from Hollywood. Did she really say all those things to you, Kay, or did you make them up?

  KAY: She said some of them. The rest I made up.

  HAZEL [eagerly]: Did she say anything about Leo Frobisher – her husband, y’know, and they’d just separated?

  KAY: Yes, but I didn’t print it.

  HAZEL [all eagerness now]: What did she say?

  KAY: She said [imitating very bad type of American voice], ‘I’ll bet that God-forgotten left-over ham husband of mine gets himself poured out o’ the next boat.’ [Normal voice, dryly] You’d like her, Hazel. She’s a sweet child.

  HAZEL: She sounds awful, but I suppose you can’t judge by the way they talk, using all that slang. And I know you don’t think you’re very lucky, Kay –

  KAY: I vary. Sometimes when I manage to remember what most women go through, all kinds of women all over the world, I don’t think, I know I’m lucky. But usually – I feel clean out of luck.

  HAZEL: I know, that’s what I say. But I think you’re very lucky, meeting all these people, and being in London and all that. Look at me, still in Newlingham, and I loathe Newlingham, and it gets worse and worse. Doesn’t it, Alan – though I don’t suppose you notice?

  ALAN: I think it’s about the same – perhaps we get worse, that’s all.

  HAZEL [looking at him in a sort of impersonal fashion]: Somebody was saying to me only the other day how queer they thought you were, Alan, and you are – really, aren’t you? I mean you don’t seem to bother about everything as most people do. I’ve often wondered whether you’re happy inside or just dull. But I often wonder about people like that – [to KAY] don’t you? Though I suppose being so clever now, and a writer and everything, you know about them. But I don’t. And I simply can’t tell from what people look like. We had a maid, y’know, Jessie, and she seemed such a cheerful little thing – always smiling and humming – Ernest used to get quite cross with her – she was too cheerful really – and then suddenly she took over twenty aspirins all at once, we had to have the doctor and everything, and she said it was simply because she couldn’t bear it any longer – she’d had enough of everything, she said. Isn’t it strange?

  KAY: But you must feel like that sometimes, don’t you?

  HAZEL: Yes, I do. But I’m always surprised when other people do, because somehow they never look it. Oh – [gets up and lowers her voice] Robin rang me up yesterday – he’s living in Leicester just now, you know – and I told him about tonight – and he said he might look in because he wouldn’t be far away.

  ALAN: I hope he doesn’t.

  KAY: What’s he doing now, Hazel?

  HAZEL: I don’t know really – he’s always changing, y’know – but it’s something to do with commission. Shall I tell Joan he might be coming here?

  KAY: No. Risk it.

  [Doesn’t say any more because MRS CONWAY comes in now, followed by JOAN. MRS CONWAY is now a woman of sixty-five, and has not gone neat and modern, but kept to her full-blown Edwardian type.]

  MRS C [who is still very brisk]: Now then, Hazel, haven’t you brought Ernest with you?

  HAZEL: No, Mother. I hope – he’ll be here soon.

  MRS C: Of course he will. Well, we can’t do anything until Gerald arrives. He knows how things are – exactly. Where’s Madge?

  KAY: I thought she went upstairs.

  MRS C [as she goes to turn on more lights]: She’s probably taking something in the bathroom. I’ve never known anybody who took so many things as poor Madge. She’s given herself so many lotions and gargles and sprays that no man has ever looked twice at her – poor thing. Alan, I think we ought to have both port and whisky out, don’t you? I told the girl to leave it all ready in the dining-room. Better bring it in. [ALAN goes out, returning, during following dialogue, carrying a tray, with port and small glasses, whisky and soda and tumblers.] Now what I’m wondering is this – should we all sit round looking very stiff and formal – y’know, make it a proper business affair, because, after all, it is a business affair – or should we make everybody comfortable and cosy? What do you think?

  KAY: I think – Mother – you’re enjoying this.

  MRS C: Well, after all, why shouldn’t I? It’s nice to see all you children at home again. Even Madge. [MADGE enters. MRS C probably saw her before, but undoubtedly sees her now.] I say it’s nice to see all you children home again – even you, Madge.

  MADGE: I’m not a child and this is no longer my home.

  MRS C [sharply]: You were a child once – and a very troublesome one too – and for twenty years this was your home – and please don’t talk in that tone to me. You’re not in a classroom now, remember.

  HAZEL: Now – Mother – please – it’s not going to be easy tonight – and –

  MADGE [coldly]: Don’t worry, Hazel. Mother enjoys things not being easy. [She sits down.]

  [MRS
C observes her maliciously, then turns to KAY.]

  MRS C: Kay, who was the man the Philipsons saw you dining with at the – what’s the name of that restaurant?

  KAY: The Ivy, Mother. And the man is a man called Hugo Steel. I’ve told you already.

  MRS C [smoothly]: Yes, dear, but you didn’t tell me much. The Philipsons said you seemed awfully friendly together. I suppose he’s an old friend?

  KAY [sharply]: Yes.

  MRS C [same technique]: Isn’t it a pity – you couldn’t – I mean, if he’s a really nice man.

  KAY [trying to cut it short]: Yes, a great pity.

  MRS C: I’ve so often hoped you’d be settled with some nice man – and when the Philipsons told me –

  KAY [harshly]: Mother, I’m forty today. Had you forgotten?

  MRS C [taking it well]: Of course I hadn’t. A mother always remembers. Joan –

  JOAN [whose attention has been elsewhere, turning]: Yes, Grannie Conway?

  MRS C [crossly]: Don’t call me that ridiculous name.

  JOAN: I forgot, I’m sorry.

  MRS C: Didn’t I tell you it was Kay’s birthday? I’ve something for you too –

  KAY: No, Mother, you mustn’t – really –

  MRS C [producing small diamond brooch]: There! Your father gave me that, the second Christmas after we were married, and it’s a charming little brooch. Brazilian diamonds. It was an old piece then. Look at the colour in the stones. You always get that in the old South American diamonds. There now!

  KAY [gently]: It’s very sweet of you, Mother, but really I’d rather not take this from you.

  MRS C: Don’t be absurd. It’s mine and now I give it to you. Take it or I’ll be cross. And many happy returns, of course. [KAY takes the brooch, then, suddenly rather moved, kisses her mother.] When you were younger, I never liked you as much as I did Hazel, but now I think I was wrong.

  HAZEL: Oh – Mother!

  MRS C: I know, Hazel dear, but you’re such a fool with that little husband of yours. Why, if he were mine –

  HAZEL [sharply for her]: Well he isn’t – and you really know very little about him.

  MRS C [as she looks about her]: It’s time the men were here. I’ve always hated seeing a lot of women sitting about, with no men. They always look silly, and then I feel silly myself. I don’t know why. [Notices ALAN. With some malice] Of course you’re here, Alan. I was forgetting you. Or forgetting you were a man.