Through the Pint Glass

KATHLEEN, a pretty middle aged woman, is in a small untidy living room and is sat awkwardly on the edge of her seat. A pint glass of cider is in front of her, in arms reach. It is night.

This changes me.

(Pause)

The smell is seductive; inviting.

(She closes her eyes)

I use to think it as a luxury, but now it has become a need.
I need it. I have to have it.

(Her eyes open)

It helps me cope; deal with life (She snorts) Or rather not deal with it.
It helps me grow a mask, it blinkers me to life.
It just... helps.
The kids poured it down the sink yesterday, I watched the elixir fizz on the metallic surface, the drink protesting as it was wasted.  
Interfering little buggers!
“Mommy you don’t need it”.

(She exhales and sits back slightly in her chair)

My kids avoid me when I have it now, not wanting me to be like that. That other person, not me.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

(She laughs)

But today I haven’t had it at all, ‘cos they came.
Social workers.
They’re interfering bastards too.

(She returns to her previous position)

Should I stop?
I don’t know. It helps me and hurts me.
I keep meaning to stop, but I never do!
Procrastinate is not even the word.
It’s just... hard.

(Pause)

There’s always a reason to have it.

Should I stop?
Should I prioritise?

(She sighs)

Yes, should be the answer. But I need to escape, I need time to myself.

I need it!

(She grasps the glass)

I feel a chill run down my spine. Is it guilt or excitement?

(She releases the glass, brushing the rim with her finger)

I can’t answer, maybe it’s both.
It lures me.
It sits there innocently, but it’s call is insistent; a cushioned trap.
I see the odd bubble rise as if with anticipation.
Waiting. Waiting for me to succumb.

I can already taste it; my taste buds drive my will power.
I feel the substance bathe my tongue with that sweet, sharp taste.
I need to drink.

(She visually recoils at the sound of her boys laughing upstairs)

That’s my three boys. They should be in bed now.
They’re probably play fighting. Kiddy stuff.
But they constantly have to play.
It’s essential to them.

(She glances at the drink and looks away from it)

My daughter is probably sleeping; dreaming of a day out with beautiful, sober Mommy.

(She sits the furthest back into chair)

They depend on me. What do I depend on? What should I depend on? This?

(She points to the glass of alcohol, almost with embarrassment)

Look at it on the table! A drink for god’s sake!

(Her hands are shaking)

Look at my hands! (She looks at her shaking hands palms down)
This bloody thing does this to me!

My self-control holds on by a hem.

I looked away from that glass, to infinitely less interesting things.
TV, no.
Radio, no.
Toy box, no.
Everything I see, I see through a pint glass, everything.

(She closes her eyes)

I still hear it calling me. I still hear it! I think I even feel it, the addiction forcing my hand – out of my control.

(She opens her eyes)

There was no escape, its still there – an unhealthy friend.

My doctor’s forbidden it.
Forbidden it!
Who is he to tell me what to do? He doesn’t know what it’s like a single mother with four kids, does he? I’d like to see him try it! I needed ‘me’ time. I always woke up with a bad head, but I still got my kids ready for school. I made them food, cleaned their clothes. Then the night was mine. My time. But now its become so much more. Night is not the only time I need it.

Do you know I started by thinking it would help me sleep? Well its certainly done it’s job then.

I should probably get a job, but its child benefits for me now. I wonder down the post office, collecting my wages..

(She laughs)

Wages. They are called child benefits, and I benefit from them. Feeding my addiction. I have tried to not use their money for drink now, but the booze aisle is...  
I just have to sometimes.

Now I have the means of getting free drink: the pub.
Grubby guys always want to buy me a drink. Morons.

“Wanna drink love?” (She says this in a deep voice, one said with distaste)
- Disgusting.
But I don’t refuse do I?...

I didn’t feel well yesterday. I just froze, collapsed on the kitchen floor. I shook violently. I was petrified. I couldn’t reach the phone so I was stuck on the cold floor, till I had the strength to get up.
Before the kids saw.

(She sits back in her chair)

Did this do that to me?
The simple drink on the table before me?

I left them one night last week, only for a few hours mind!
But I got home from the pub, and I was answerable to the police. The police!
The kids caused so much noise, the neighbors complained. The kids knew I left them at night.

(KATHLEEN crossed her arms as if she was suddenly cold)

The bloody neighbors... Nosy bastards! Judging me, looking down their noses at me as if I’m scum!

(She unfolds her arms and edges forward)

I am told that I’ll lose the kids if I am found like that again. How can I manage without it?
Surely it’s no contest? My kids or this drink?

I have wondered what it would be like without them.

(Pause)

But I would have no motivation would I? I often wonder if they are better off in care. Better for them to not have me as a mother, a mother who left them – a mother who would forever be a disappointment.

(She edges forward in easy reaching distance of the glass)

I need this.
I want my kids.
I shall decide.

(She lifts the glass and drinks deeply)


L. J. FIELDING