Cafe Amnesia

[EXTERIOR. FIONA, EMMA AND SUSAN ARE SITTING AT A TABLE OUTSIDE A CAFE. EMMA IS HEAVILY PREGNANT AND READING A MAGAZINE, AND FIONA HAS A VERY TALL POT PLANT STANDING NEXT TO HER]


FIONA: I don’t believe it. I can’t remember why I left the house this morning but I’ve bought a rubber plant.

SUSAN: If you can’t remember why you came out, how do you know it wasn’t to buy the rubber plant?

FIONA: Because I definitely remember I didn’t come out to buy a rubber plant.

SUSAN: So, your memory’s not that bad then. It’s just a case of trying to remember everything else you didn’t come out for.

FIONA: Would you like me to start with a list of exotic plants or just name things at random?

SUSAN: No, seriously. It’s a memory technique. I teach amnesia. Eliminate all the main items it can’t possibly be.

FIONA: Pampas grass, road-mending equipment, vibrators…. no, hang on, I’ll start again…. what do you mean you “teach” amnesia?

EMMA: Amnesia! That would be such a nice name for girl. It’s so annoying. There are so many beautiful words out there for girls’ names, and you just can’t use them because they have negative connotations.

[FIONA AND SUSAN LOOK BLANKLY AT EMMA FOR A MOMENT]

SUSAN: Well, it’s not so much amnesiacs I help. More people who’ve reached middle age whose memories are starting to go. You know, like people who think they’ve left the gas on.

FIONA: And what do you tell them?

SUSAN: Who?

FIONA: People who think they’ve left the gas on.

SUSAN: Just forget it. It’s nearly always a false alarm. Anyway, it’s not my fault if some semi-geriatric fuckwit can’t remember to flick a switch and comes home to find their house has exploded into a pile of smouldering rubble. Jesus! People have to take some responsibility for their own lives.

EMMA: Placenta.

FIONA: No, I definitely didn’t have that on my shopping list. Placenta Fry? Isn’t that a recipe for post-natal depression?

EMMA: Damn.

FIONA: So, have you got any other useful tips?

SUSAN: Word association is good. Say you can’t remember the word “pizza”. Think of Louis Prima.

FIONA: Who’s Louis Prima?

SUSAN: Jazz singer in the Fifties. Did a song called “Angelina” [BEGINS SINGING] “waitress at the pizzeria”. Pizzeria equals pizza. What could be simpler than that?

FIONA: Right. But then what about all the toppings? I mean, you want me to stand in front of the freezers at Sainsburys trying to picture a selection 1950s jazz musicians?

SUSAN: You could use actors for the toppings. Pepperoni, Errol Flynn. Ham, Ben Affleck. It’s not rocket science. What’s the first word comes to mind when you think of your husband?

EMMA: Bolas.

FIONA: Toilet paper. He’s got this habit of folding back the ends of a new roll, like they do in those posh hotels.

SUSAN: And what do you think of when I say “unfaithful”?

EMMA: Guacamole.

FIONA: Profumo.

SUSAN: Right. So, if I said to you that your toilet paper had been Profumo to you for seven months….

FIONA: Eh? What are you telling me, Susan? All this “I teach amnesia” crap, you’ve just invented, haven’t you….. to tell me my husband’s seeing another woman…. is that right?

SUSAN: I’m sorry to break it to you like this. Particularly as you have to carry that six-foot rubber plant back home.

FIONA: Who with? It’s you, you bitch, isn’t it. You’ve been shagging my husband behind by back.

SUSAN: No, not me, Fiona. But it is someone quite close to you. At the moment.

[FIONA AND SUSAN TURN TO EMMA]

EMMA [POINTING FIRSTLY TO THE LEFT SIDE OF HER BELLY AND THEN TO THE RIGHT]. I’ve decided girls! Nicotine and Chlamydia.