House

'Pelvic floor: thirty-four.'

Nobody shouts out the word 'house.'

'Prince Harry: fifty-five.'

Nobody.

Old Miss does a little cackle, wipes the cackle-dribble off his bare knee and says, 'I'm a lucky boy. It's my lucky day.'

'Shut up, cunt-rot. Outdoor latrine: seventeen.'

Nobody.

'Saint Augustine: seventeen.'

'You done that one.'

'An' I'll do it again you godless gob of spunk.'

The Caller adjusts his headgear: he is wearing a pristine white apiarist's suit. The Old People are getting restless. The Caller calls.

'A girt big pair o'Bristols: number three. The number three, anybody?'

Nobody.

'Old Miss has got a girt big pair of Bristols alright,' says Sir James Hollyoak. ''Specially since he had his dick cut off.'

'He's just a fat fucker,' says the Au Pair, jealous.

'I'll have none of that language, slut. Cheese and chive: thirty-five.'

Nobody.

The Au Pair gets up off the floor and removes her underwear, as if to prove a point. Old Miss gurgles as if he has vomit in his throat. The Au Pair sniffs her briefs and folds them into an equilateral triangle. The Caller, ever-patient, lift his mask and sets to work with a toothpick. He removes and savours a fibrous scrap of Bressingham duck breast.

The Au Pair pleads to the dimness of the room. 'Swap cards with me, swap cards with me, I haven't got any numbers yet.'

'I'll swap cards with you if you let me put my balls in your mouth for twenty-five minutes.' This is probably Sir James' proposition.

'Twenty minutes.'

'Twenty-three.'

'Twenty-two, starting now.'

'How do you know she won't bite 'em off?' The voice comes from the back of the room and almost certainly belongs to Jacques Derrida.

'Because she knows I might have AIDS in my blood. She may be a whore but she's not totally stupid.'

'Attila the Hun: twenty-one,' calls the Caller.

'Just my age,' says the Au Pair.

'You can't get AIDS from drinking bollocks-blood, any fucking idiot knows that. She'll bite 'em off, I tell you. Don't do it man.'

'She won't bite 'em off. She sucks bals all the time and I've never seen her bite any off. It wouldn't be worth her while. She wouldn't be able to swap cards with me.'

'Hey, did you hear me? When he said 'Attila the Hun: twenty-one,' I said 'Just my age.' It could mean that I am twenty-one or it could mean that I'm as old as Attila the Hun, whoever he is.'

'Shut up, slut,' says Derrida. 'We're talking about you, not to you.'

'In any case, she couldn't bite them off if she tried. She's got no teeth. She'd be there all day. That's why I like putting my balls in her mouth, not yours. It's the gums I like, see.'

'You're a pervert, man.'

'You can talk, Frenchy.'

Jacques Derrida blinks slowly and says, 'I do not like racism. We should not have to tolerate it in a place like this. All day long I listen to you vulgar bastards talk about balls and cunts and how much you hate the French. Well let me tell you I hate the English and I hate the Irish and I don't care which you are.' He throws his bingo card to the floor and says, 'In the absence of anything resembling a glove, consider that an invitation to duel, you spastic peasant.'

'I'll think about it,' says Hollyoak. 'In the meantime I've only got eighteen minutes left and the balls are not yet in the mouth. You'll have to wait, Pushkin. I've got my priorities.'

'Jailbait: number eight,' calls the Caller.

Hollyoak with his balls poised by the Au Pair's mouth shouts, 'House.'

'Go to hell, Hollyoak, you lying prick. You do that every time. You haven't even got your card.'

Derrida recedes. Old Miss rubs himself against a wall.

The Caller removes his headgear completely.

'That, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of this evening's entertainment. It looks like we have another rollover. That means each and every one of you shitbags has to stay here until next time.'

He leaves the room and locks the door behind him. Once outside, he flicks a switch and the room he has just left is flooded with a calming blue light and once more the Old People, at least the ones with eyes, can see each other.