The Scratch Card.

[She sits down and sighs. He arrives a minute later and holds out a piece of paper.]

Him: E’are, a Christmas box for yer. I wan’ ‘alf if you win!

[She takes the scratch card.]

Her: Bobby, put that bag down!

Him: I’ll get a seat now.

[He sits down.]

Her: Where’s that one goin’?

[He stands back up again to look at the train.]

Him: It’s goin’ nowhere. Eight minutes.

[He sits down again.]

Her: Put that in the bag.

[She passes him a paper bag. He drops it into the shopping bag he’s holding.]

Him: What is it?

Her: A sausage an’ bean thing fer our Susie. That kettle was an okay price.

Him: Yeah.

[He unfolds his newspaper and begins to read.]

Her: Two or three quid dearer than the last one though.

Him: It’ll be made in China. Look at this.

[He shows her the paper. She looks past it.]

Her: The prices of trains an’ busses these days is terrible. Nothing on it.

[He looks up, momentarily lost, then down to the scratch card in her lap. She has been quietly scratching it.]

Him: You sure?

Her: Yeah.

Him: Oh well. One of these days…

 

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