Alice by Laura Wade

together.
    OH, OK. Here we go. Hello.
    The POSTMAN doesn’t seem to see her.
    Hello?
    POSTMAN: Hello?
    ALICE: Hi.
    The POSTMAN smiles blandly and carries on.
    Haven’t you got anything for me? In there?
    The POSTMAN stops, looks at ALICE .
    POSTMAN: Don’t think so.
    ALICE: Um, sorry, could you – would you mind checking?
    Please.
    He opens the post box and starts to go through it.
    POSTMAN: I do have a round to do, you know.
    ALICE: Yes, thank you.
    POSTMAN: What’s the name?
    ALICE: Alice. You gave me a letter before.
    POSTMAN: Not ringing any bells, I’m afraid.
    He pulls out a bucket and spade and hands it to ALICE .
    This any good to you?
    ALICE: Um, not really.
    POSTMAN: How about this?
    He pulls out a pair of flip flops tied together.
    ALICE: No, I was thinking more like a –
    POSTMAN: What about this – lovely.
    He pulls out an ice cream and holds it towards ALICE .
    ALICE: For god’s sake I don’t want stupid knick-knacks I want something proper . What am I going to do with a bloody bucket and spade? I
need a letter or a postcard or I don’t know, a message written on a piece of bark I mean something useful that’ll tell me what to do cause I don’t know what to do.
    POSTMAN: Well.
    ALICE: Sorry.
    POSTMAN: Just trying to do my job.
    ALICE: I’m sorry.
    POSTMAN: Under trying circumstances.
    ALICE: I just want to go home. I saw you and I thought you must be coming to give me something.
    ALICE looks away. The POSTMAN softens.
    POSTMAN: Let’s have another look, shall we?
    He starts to go through the box again. He pulls out a plastic cricket bat, but thinks better of giving it to ALICE , and puts it back in.
    POSTMAN: Can’t see anything for an Alice, I’m afraid. What’s the surname?
    ALICE: Little.
    POSTMAN: Little. Nope.
    The POSTMAN pulls out a plastic wrapped skate shop catalogue.
    Got a Joseph Little, I’m guessing that’s not you.
    ALICE: Joe.
    The POSTMAN hands the catalogue to ALICE .
    He gets these all the time, this is the only kind of post he gets, this and guitar catalogues. We’ll have to cancel them.
    POSTMAN: Sorry, d’you know this person?
    ALICE: Yeah.
    POSTMAN: Don’t fancy delivering that for me, do you?
    ALICE hands the catalogue back.
    ALICE: He’s not here.
    POSTMAN: Ah well. Pop it back in. Never know when you might bump into someone.
    ALICE: No, I mean he’s gone.
    POSTMAN: Gone’s where I should be. These knick-knacks won’t deliver themselves, you know.
    ALICE: (To herself.) He’s gone.
    POSTMAN: Cheerio then.
    The POSTMAN leaves.
    ALICE: Gone for always. I’ll never get to tell him I –
    We’ll never have popcorn together and watch a dvd again. He’ll never do that funny face behind mum’s back when she’s being – We’ll never go
for a bike ride. He won’t be there to take me to the pub when I’m big enough. I was dreading him going to university next year but he won’t even be going to university now.
    The stupid – Why was he so stupid? He knows how to cross the road. He bloody taught me how to cross the road.
    ALICE hears a strain of the birthday song Joe wrote for her.
    Joe?
    She listens for a moment, then the song fades away.
    No no, don’t go – I can’t remember the words. Joe?
    Don’t cry – Don’t cry, Alice, don’t –
    She’s interrupted by a crying wail somewhere close by. She turns around, looking for where the sound came from.
    Two voices are heard approaching.
    MOCK TURTLE: Oh no. This is a disaster.
    GRYPHON: Now love, let me just – I just need to get hold of your hands and we’ll try to flip you, OK. We’ll get you upright in no
time.
    Hup hup heave !
    The GRYPHON and MOCK TURTLE appear – she’s flat on her back (as much as you can be with a tin bath strapped to
your back) and he is pulling on her hands to try to flip her over, but only succeeds in pulling her along the floor, closer to ALICE .
    MOCK TURTLE: It’s no good, you’ll never get me’t right way up again. I’ll have to spend’t rest of my life flat on