[MEG and STEPHEN sit in their cosy one-bedroom flat. MEG reads a paper. STEPHEN is looking through old CDs. He suddenly pulls one out of the case and puts it on.]
-This is possibly the best album in the world. Listen to this.
-Can you hear that?
-Did you hear that?
-No, just there
-What is it? The lyrics
-No, the trumpet. Soaring in the middle of the arrangement, flying slowly up the scale. Can you hear it?
-And a saxophone?
-That’s a bassoon
-And the bass?
-It’s drums. Can you hear that banging? That relentless pursuit in search of the fulfillment . Asking for you to keep up and love it, cherish it? Can you feel that tugging on your heartstrings, begging you for forgiveness?
[MEG continues to read her paper.]
-You’re a fucking pretentious twat
-No, seriously, just enjoy it. Listen. Soak it up.
-I’m enjoying it
-Just in your own unsophisticated way
-I can’t hear all the things you hear
-Open your mind to all the possibilities
[MEG reads further into the words between the lines.]
-And here it builds, they add the strings. Can you hear that vibrato on the violin? Oh my gosh, that’s just perfect. And then it resolves itself, falls onto the next note. Magnificent.
-Oh wow. Pure joy.
[MEG suddenly stands.]
-I’m going to make some tea
-Wait! Just listen this bit
-Meg… I get it. You don’t like me when I’m like this
-It’s not that. Do you want to make a pot?
-I’ll turn it off
-It’s not that. I want you to enjoy it
-But you can’t
-Do you want milk? Or not?