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15INT. HANNA’S APARTMENT. DAY

The flat is without decoration, an enfilade of small rooms. A stove, a sink, a tub, a boiler, a table, a few wooden chairs. There is no window, just a balcony door to let light into the room. HANNA carries on ironing.

MICHAEL

I brought you these flowers. To say

thank you.

HANNA

Put them down there.

MICHAEL puts them beside the sink. HANNA has a blanket and a cloth over the table : nothing disturbs her rhythm, as she irons one piece of laundry after another, then folds it and puts it over one of the chairs.

MICHAEL

I would have come earlier, but I’ve

been in bed for three months.

HANNA

You’re better now?

MICHAEL

Thank you.

HANNA

Have you always been weak?

MICHAEL

Oh no. I’d never been ill before.

It’s incredibly boring. There’s

nothing to do. I couldn’t even be

bothered to read.

HANNA carries on ironing. He is becoming as comfortable with the silence as she is. She starts ironing a pair of knickers. He watches her bare arms moving back and forth. She looks broad-planed, strong. She is at peace with being watched. She puts one pair of knickers down, then does another. Then she upends the iron.

HANNA

I have to go to work. I’ll walk

with you. Wait in the hall while I

change.

MICHAEL goes out into the hall. The kitchen door is slightly open. HANNA takes off her smock and stands in a green slip. Her stockings are hanging over the back of a chair.

She picks one up, rolls it, smooths it up over her calf and knee, then attaches it to her suspender. She reaches for the