Prick Up Your Ears Page #7

Its this room. You've lived here too long.

So?

I keep finding places.

You won't even go look.

"Two bedrooms, two reception rooms,

bathroom, and patio.

"This well-proportioned accommodation

can be easily maintained...

"with minimum effort,

leaving more time for leisure pursuits."

- Where?

- East Croydon.

I won't live in East Croydon.

You're so unadventurous. I love the country.

Itll be nice

to see the occasional green field.

- East Croydon?

- Anywhere! Not you.

You'd be having a troll up and down

till your balls dropped off.

What did the doctor say?

He's already talking about hospital.

I haven't even seen the psychiatrist.

Still, he's a very good doctor.

He treats cabinet ministers.

What happens if we split up?

How would that help me?

We're talking about me.

We can't go on like this.

Ive given you everything. I made you.

Listen to the dialogue, dear.

Im not Eliza f***ing Doolittle.

I made myself.

- Those are my books.

- Id see you all right.

- I taught you.

- I taught you, too.

What? How to go into a public lavatory?

Anyway...

if it hadn't been you,

it would have been someone else.

- Sleep on it.

- How?

I could give you a wank.

- What do you want?

- Joe.

John.

Im not John.

John's dead.

If you change your mind about the wank,

don't wake me up.

I don't understand my life.

I was an only child.

I lost both my parents.

By the time I was 20, I was going bald.

Im a homosexual.

In the way of circumstances

and background...

I had everything

an artist could possibly want.

It was practically a blueprint.

I was programmed to be a novelist

or a playwright.

But Im not and you are.

Joe?

You do everything better than me!

You even sleep better than me!

I should have used this.

More theatrical.

But you'd have spotted that straight away.

I loved him.

I must have loved him.

I chose him to kill me.

I was scheduled to pick him up at 12:00.

A private lunch.

He leads an increasingly glamorous life.

Is he a heavy sleeper?

I know nothing about his personal life.

Idle curiosity has never been

my strong point.

Try looking through the letterbox.

Hello, Mr. Orton.

Personally, Ive driven in the firm's car,

but different destinations.

Has the other got a bald head?

No, he wears a wig.

Can you break down this door?

Clifford!

Can we break down the door?

Certainly not.

If there's damage to be done, call the police.

That's their job.

If he hadn't murdered Joe,

nobody would ever have known his name.

Ken was the first wife.

Did all the work and the waiting, and then...

First wives don't usually

beat their husbands' heads in.

No, though why, I can't think.

So what does that make you?

The second wife?

Better than that, dear.

The widow.

There were two ceremonies.

Joe's at Golder Green.

Everybody there. House fall.

Ken's at Enfidle.

You couldnt give tickets away.

Three people.

That's sad.

Well...

they fetched up together at the end.

Strictly speaking,

we would have preferred it...

if both the deceased

had been cremated on the premises.

Intermingling would then have been

carried out by experienced personnel...

under controlled conditions.

I think Im putting in more of Joe

than I am of Kenneth.

Its a gesture, dear, not a recipe.

I hope nobody gets to hear about this

in Leicester.

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