Amy never got over the death of her first baby, Gareth. Faced with mounting debts, she is reluctant to return to work after the birth of her daughter, Marion. John, her husband, sees things differently and insists that she does. Other women do, so why shouldn’t she go back to the office to help ease their financial worries? This is something Amy is firmly against, for she wishes to stay at home and look after Marion. John sees the timid Amy changing as she refuses to let her mother look after their daughter. Amy, always quiescent, never wants to question any decision, changes as she is determined to have her way no matter what the consequences are. I have included an extract  from the one-act play below.

 Amy throws her head to one side, listening to the crying of her baby, Marion, stage left. Trembling, she faces the audience.

 Amy:    I never used to like being on my own. Marion rarely cries. I have to stop this. To be alone with this doubt is making me ill. I wanted things to be just as they were. John and my mother can think what they want! They belittle me! I will not stand for it anymore. I know my own mind. How can I leave my little girl and return to work? The touch of Marion’s hand is all I want to feel in the morning.  Her innocent eyes see so little. (Amy stares around the stage, eyes filled with remorse). I am still cold even though the heating is on. I never held our baby boy when he was born.  Gareth died a few hours later. There were the usual condolences from the hospital staff. They were negligent, the bastards!  None of the nurses would even glance my way. The grief never left me. How can you defeat the arrogant doctors and nurses? Friends’ mumbled words of sympathy, even though they were well meant, did little for John or me. The consensus was that we were young and would get over Gareth’s death. (Laughs bitterly). I should have said something and I didn’t. I was shy and could barely look people in the eye. That changed months later and I found my demeanour improving. Why did I feel other people were better than I was? Should my parents have taught me how to respond to horrible people who say and do what they like? Their eyes are filled with enjoyment when they humiliate someone who is weaker and will not respond because they have been brought up properly. Jessie, my next-door neighbour, is a lovely woman and I speak to her quite often. She swears quite a lot and I am never embarrassed. She lived during the last war and enjoyed herself. She told me that there are only two or three people that you can call true friends during a lifetime. Jessie doesn’t stop talking once she has a glass of Q.C. in her hand.  (Amy glances towards the imaginary fireplace behind her, staring at the clock). John will be home soon and he will be annoyed because I have not done the housework. He rarely says much and reads the paper for most of the evening before the television comes on. I have never been one for watching much television. I would rather read a book or have a good conversation. That seems to be on the way out today because people are always looking at their bloody mobile phones. . .