Work Text:
Sunday afternoon, near school. Dakin is met by Irwin. They set off in silence, neither closely nor briskly though Dakin occasionally strays ahead as though he knows the way. The silence is broken once, outside Age Concern where Irwin pauses.
Dakin It’s closed, it's a Sunday.
A while later
You know, I've sometimes wondered where you live. I used to think a neat little flat, some kind of studio, every corner made your own; but there aren't any flats near here so it must be one of these god-awful boxes...
Irwin It's a bungalow, actually.
Dakin (Shaking his head) And a place for everything and everything in its place?
Irwin ...You might say that
Dakin I have. (At the door) Let's see.
There is not quite enough time for hesitation, as Dakin steps in after Irwin, into a room quite sparsely but neatly furnished. There is little to provide much insight into Irwin’'s interests, but a low table, perhaps a desk, is set towards one corner; towards the other, a piano.
Dakin Why do you never play the one at school?
Irwin Who's to say I don’t?
Pause.
Dakin What do you play?
Irwin All sorts. Some classical, some jazz... The last owners left it. Arthritic.
Dakin keys out the opening bars of Moonlight Sonata with little technique and awkward fingering.
Irwin ...Piano sonata number fourteen, C Sharp minor, 'Quasi una Fantasia', Opus 27, Nummer Zwei Adagio Sostenuto - Beethoven.
Dakin . . . Come again?
Irwin Moonlight Sonata, Dakin
Dakin So they told me. Only thing I heard them play worth learning...
Dakin frowns at the keys. Pause, as Irwin considers joining him to play the left hand.
Irwin (Quietly) Again?
Dakin (Glancing slightly) Alright.
Dakin continues to stumble through the sonata before crunching the keys, frustrated.
You're hopeless you are. I didn't come here to play dead, boring composers! In class, I thought you were just coming round to it - "a better offer" - and then I turn up and I've lost you again! Crawled back into your shell... I mean for God's sake, I even thought about what I was going to wear for more than two minutes!
Irwin (Hardly glancing from the keys) It's nice.
Dakin Nice? My parents thought I was going to church!
Irwin (Beat) I didn't— (Appeasing) I didn't write it- in the diary... (Glances swiftly up, then back) You told me to keep it in my head or— (Visibly trembling)
Dakin (Softened, a little; still exasperated) You have ‘Handle with Care’ written all over, don’t you?
Irwin —Here. (Sudden. He touches Dakin's shirt. He still cannot meet his eyes)
Pause.
Dakin Sir?
Pause.
A cliché:
Irwin (Barely perceptible) Oh?
Dakin Put your money where your mouth is. (He kisses him resolutely)