Mother’s Day Mrs Pearson. Don’t go soft on ’em again, else it’ll all have been wasted... MRS PEARSON: I’ll try not to, Mrs Fitzgerald. MRS FITZGERALD: They’ve not had as long as I’d like to have given ’em — another hour or two’s rough treatment might have made it certain...
MRS PEARSON: I’m sure they’ll do better now — though I don’t know how I’m going to explain... MRS FITZGERALD: [severely] Don’t you start any explaining or apologising — or you’re done for. MRS PEARSON: [with spirit] It’s all right for you, Mrs Fitzgerald. After all, they aren’t your husband and children...
MRS FITZGERALD: [impressively] Now you listen to me. You admitted yourself you were spoiling ’em — and they didn’t appreciate you. Any apologies — any explanations — an’ you’ll be straight back where you were. I’m warning you, dear.
Just give ’em a look — a tone of voice — now an’ again, to suggest you might be tough with ’em if you wanted to be — an’ it ought to work. Anyhow, we can test it. MRS PEARSON: How? MRS FITZGERALD: Well, what is it you’d like ’em to do that they don’t do?
Stop at home for once? MRS PEARSON: Yes — and give me a hand with supper... MRS FITZGERALD: Anything you’d like ’em to do — that you enjoy whether they do or not? MRS PEARSON: [hesitating] Well—yes.
I— like a nice game of rummy — but, of course, I hardly ever have one — except at Christmas... MRS FITZGERALD: [getting up] That’ll do then. [She moves towards the door left then turns] But remember — keep firm — or you’ve had it. [She opens the door.
Calling] Hoy! You can come in now. [Coming away from the door, and moving right slightly. Quietly] But remember — remember — a firm hand.
[George, Doris and Cyril file in through the doorway, looking apprehensively at Mrs Pearson.] I’m just off. To let you enjoy yourself. -