Who Paid the Piper?

(Harry is on stage.
Barry enters, his mobile starts ringing)

Barry:
Harry?

Harry:
Barry?

Barry:
(answering his ‘phone)
Mum?

Harry:
Hello.

Barry:
Hello
(Smells lilies, then sneezes massively)

Harry:
(sees an accident about to happen off stage)
…Got to go!
(exits)

Barry:
(into ‘phone)
It’s fine, mum. They’ve just arrived. The City Chambers never said we wouldn’t be able to drive the cake up to the front, so somebody’s waiting for them to open the door down on Cockburn Street.

(Harry, who has wandered back-on to speak to Barry, sees another imminent accident off the other side and rushes off to help)

Barry:
Naw, mum, I telt ye, it’s fine… (seeing Barry, off) …look, mum, I’ve got to go. Harry’s in a pickle and the bridesmaid’s dress is torn.
(runs off to help)

Harry:
(Backing onto stage, speaking off)
Okay, sorry. Look, I didn’t know the photographer was there, okay?
(He sighs, turns and steps into lilies: sneezes)
(sotto voce) fucking Susan… Fucking fannying aboot…

Barry:
(entering, but speaking over shoulder) Aye well, love, the ladies is doon the hall there. Let’s know how you get oan.

Harry:
Barry…
(Barry’s ‘phone starts ringing.
Harry sneezes again, does a dance of frustration and takes a manky tissue from his sporran)

Barry:
Harry… Sorry… (answers) …hi? Oh aye, that’s barry! Haud oan a second. Harry? Gie’s a pen. (into ‘phone) Aye, I’ve got one… (looks to hand then, realising, for paper) Haud on a second… Harry!
(Harry looks around, then offers tissue. Barry gives him a ‘really?’ look but is then forced to take it, there being nothing else.
Into ‘phone) Aye, go on, mate. 236 7031. that’s great, mate. See you later.

Harry:
Barry…

Barry:
(dialling new number from tissue)
Haud on, Harry! (Someone answers). Hi, yeah, is that Stevie McMorrison? Aye, hello, it’s Barry Monterelli here … aye, the Monterelli wedding. Aye, aye? Oh, that’s magic mate. So, we’ll see you at eight then? By the clubhouse. Aye, sunset’s when? Oh great. Aye, cheers.
(He takes-out a hip flask and toasts himself as he hangs-up)
That’s the guy with the balloon…
(Harry sneezes violently and knocks Barry’s flask. The contents splash on him)
Oooh, ya fucker! That’s Premium Grade…

Harry:
Sorry, Barry…

Barry:
…Premium Grade…

Harry:
…Sorry, Barry…

Barry:
…Premium Grsde, 18 year old Laphroaig, that is.

Harry:
That shit stinks tae high Heaven!

Barry:
Aye, well, it’s the good stuff. It’s my wedding day, so ah thoat ah’d treat maself.

Harry:
…naw, man: they lilies… (sneezes)

Barry:
Fuck’s sakes. Quit that, ye radge. (he sneezes from lilies too, sending Harry’s pint over himself) …‘n now ah’m smellin’ like a brewery an aw.
(He turns back to mirror, avoiding lilies, dabbing at himself with Harry’s manky tissue.
Mandy enters, in wedding dress)

Mandy:
Barry?

Harry:
(turning)
Mandy?
(sneezes as he gets too close to flowers) What’re you doing here?

Mandy:
Ah’m pure excited, Harry. It’s ma wedding day.

Harry:
(something’s wrang)
Mandy?

Mandy:
Ah’m gettin’ marrit!!!