Shift.
There’s a storm, the sound of rain.
Jonny and Sophie are kissing. Then as the sexuality escalates, Sophie disentangles herself, pushes Jonny gently away from her. Beat of them still, then:
Jonny: Where’s the baby?
Sophie: In his cot — I’m sorry, Jonny —
Jonny: No, no?
Sophie: The doctor said . . . not to.
Jonny nods.
Beat.
Then, scuffing the floor:
Jonny: The floor’s turned to mud.
Beat.
It’ll give you pain?
Sophie nods.
It will?
Sophie: It might, but that’s not . . .
Jonny: For how long?
Sophie: I think the doctor meant a while.
Jonny: A month?
Beat.
A year?
Sophie: He told me I had insides quite exhausted and he dearly hoped I didn’t have any more children.
Beat.
He said I should not have more children, / Jonny, so . . .
Jonny: I — I — yes.
Beat. Jonny realizes.
No more?
Sophie: We have the two?
Jonny: No more . . . ? No more children . . . ? No more . . . ? No more?
Sophie: That’s what he said.
Jonny: Did you ask him . . . what that meant, how to . . . ?
Sophie: I said, “How do I prevent it?” He didn’t answer, only said it would weaken my health, and could . . . cost my life.
Jonny: He did?
Sophie: Yes, and a child would get no nourishment from my womb, he said.
Beat.
I’ll ask him again. I was nervous to . . . say what I wanted to: that it would be hard not to — to have no . . .
Beat.
I’m sorry, Jonny — ?
Jonny: No, no. We have the two.
Jonny nods to himself and gets up.
Sophie turns back to the audience.