“I told you he was a manky old mank!” booms Lillian into her handset.
“Yes, yes you did,” said Amy.
"How many days has it been…?"
The two ladies back up against each other in, what looks like, a hospital corridor.
"Since the email?" Amy turns to look behind her.
"Yes… since the email." Lillian stops and looks behind her.
"I believe it has been four days…” says Amy into her handset.
"With a weekend. Don’t forget the weekend,” Lillian says directly to Amy.
"Not that he works much now.” Amy pushes the off button on her phone. “One day a week, I do believe."
"Chardonnay swilling, touchy feely club.” Lillian slides her phone into her bag. “Over qualified and under achieving."
"University is not just for the bright kids any more," says Amy. She opens her purse and puts her phone away. They both turn in the same direction and take a few steps to a kitchen, with what looks like, morning tea spread out on two tables.
Lillian looks at Amy. Amy looks at Lillian. Lillian looks at her watch. Lillian looks back at the table.
"Scone?" asks Lillian.
"Don’t mind if I do."
There is a teapot with a teapot cosie pulled over it. "Tea?" Lillian asks, as she sets up two plates.
"Oh, I shouldn’t, but perhaps just one."
Lillian places two scones on two plates. She pushes one plate towards the jam and cream, pointing to it with her chin. Lillian sets up two teacups. Lillian swishes the teapot around in her hands. “I like a strong cup,” says Lillian.
“Oh, you know I do,” says Amy. She laughs.
Lillian pours the tea.
There are magazines spread out in a fan shape on the table. "Something to read?"
Amy shakes her head in the negative.
Lillian pours the milk into the tea.
“New Idea?”
Amy clutches her pearls. The teacup rattles in the saucer in Lillian’s hand. Amy audibly shivers. They turn silently to read the list of recent deaths pinned to the noticeboard, like they had suddenly become more feline and had just spotted their prey. Lips of string. Eyes like slits. Amy Clutches her throat. Lillian is eerily still, teacup in hand.
You could have heard a pin drop.
Their husband’s names didn’t appear.
"He’s a mank!" said Lillian.
"Of the worst kind," says Amy. Lillian hands her the cup. "That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!"
(Guttural chuckle. Amy has three chins, rather than just the double) I guess there would be no chance of any one thinking he was sweet.
"Sugar? No!" (She makes sucking kissing sounds)
"Two."
"Shall I mull or should you?"
"Oh you Lillian, you." Amy gazes at the bay window. "I see him with a foreskin fungus… something that itches constantly. Can’t get rid of it."
Lillian produces pre-rolled from her bag.
“Oh you, LILlian!”
"If he had a foreskin at all," they carol together.
"Like that’s a surprise. Jam?" asks Lillian.
"No surprise here. Yes."
"Cream?"
"Don’t mind if I do." Amy chuckles. "Remember, when it was always the cream, when we always got the cream?"
"Oh I do," says Lillian. "I do."
"Tea."
"Lovely.
“Do you think they’ll notice?” says Amy.
“Why?” Chuckle. “Because we said we were going to the toilet?”
“It is the best visit ever, for me,” says Amy.
"Come on Carl," booms the nurse's voice. "Drink up." She puts the beaker to Carl's mouth, before Amy gets a chance to.
"Come on Dennis." The nurse straightens Dennis in his chair before Lillian gets a chance to move.
“Carl,” says Amy.
“Denis,” says Lillian.
“That’s lovely spread you put out,” says Lillian.
“Oh yes,” says Nurse Racket. “The Premier is coming, you know, the election. Kiss a baby, get photographed with the elderly.”
“See you dad,” says Amy. “Dad. See you.”
“Bi bi Den Den,” coos Lillian. “Same time next week.”
“It’s been a lovely visit,” says Amy.
The two ladies turn from the buffet and make their way to the exit.
"Do you think there are more lesbian's amongst this crop of nurses?" asks Lillian.
"I do Lillian, I do," says Amy. "There are some big strapping girl's amongst them."
"If I was 30 years younger." Lillian makes a deep, guttural longing sound from deep in her throat, as she watches one of the younger nurses pass by.
Amy laughs. "Only 30 years younger, dear? Some of those dykes have got big strap-ons.”
“Shanghai…"
“1982.” Amy explodes with laughter. “I just knew you were going to say that.”
“Good times, Aim, good times.”
“The prince with that goat.” Amy shakes her head.
“Those stable boys and their enthusiasm.” Lillian made an “oomph” sound, not a high pitched squeak sound, but a deep from within her souliplexes kind of oomph.
“Still, you can’t beat 30 good years of marriage, darl.”
“30 good years,” says Lillian.
They both wave as their husbands are wheeled away.
Lillian steps on the sensor opens the sliding doors with a wishhhh.”
“I’m not paying that mank one cent more for this place,” says Amy as she gingerly steps over the threshold. “What a dump.”
“Me either, Aim, me either.” Lillian gushes down the walkway in her silk kaftan billowing.
“Fancy him trying to increase the fees by email,” says Lillian. “If he can’t tell me to my face, they are not going up! That’s all there is to it.”
“It’s not as though they would throw them out.”
Lillian produces a smart phone from under her flounces. She shows the screen to Amy.
“Swipe right on him,” says Amy. “Swipe right. Swipe right.”
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