At two in the morning, Ruth's husband catches her coming in from the car on the drive, where she has been sitting most nights since March. She never starts the engine.
Casting
woman, 30 to 50
Duration
About 107 seconds
Difficulty
advanced
Setting
The front hallway of a family house at two in the morning, school bags on the stairs, car keys still in her hand.
Scene heading
INT. FRONT HALL - NIGHT
Content notes
Exhaustion in family life & Marriage, no conflict shown
Ruth closes the front door behind her as softly as she can. Her husband is on the stairs in the dark, his phone lit in his hand. She raises a hand before he can reach the light switch.
Ruth
Don't put the big light on. Leave it. I know you saw me. You don't have to stand like that, with your phone, like you're going to ring someone. Who would you ring?
Since March. Most nights. Not every night. When the house goes quiet, I go and sit in the car. On the drive. I don't go anywhere. That's the bit I need you to hear. I never start it. I turn the key just far enough for the radio, and there's a station that does the weather for the boats all night. A man reading out wind speeds for places I'll never go. And I sit there.
Forty minutes. An hour. Then I come in and put my feet on your side and you say 'where've you been' in your sleep and I say 'loo'.
You want to know what's wrong. Nothing's wrong. That's what I can't make you understand. I've looked for the wrong thing. It isn't you. It isn't the girls. It's that from half past six in the morning there's always someone saying 'Mum', or 'have you seen', or 'can you just'. And the car is the only room in this house where nobody can find the door.
Don't take the keys. I can see you thinking about the keys.
Go back to bed, if you want. Or. There's a blanket on the back seat, under the football kit. You could bring it. You could sit on the passenger side and not say anything, and we could find out where the wind is tonight.