Part of a house with front door facing audience. Onto the stage holding onto each other enter a completely sloshed MUM and DAD. They have been partying. They come to the doorstep. Mum, alarmingly swaying, focuses on the bell push, misses it twice with her finger and finally makes contact, leaning on it heavily.
Thunder of footsteps offstage and the door opens. Their furious fifteen year old daughter in nightdress and dressing gown stands on the doorstep with folded arms.
DAUGHTER: And what time do you call this?
MUM: (In drunken tones, holding onto the swaying porch) Go and make us a cuppa tea, duck.
DAUGHTER: No, Mum. It’s three o’ clock in the morning. You promised you’d be back at eleven. That was FOUR hours ago. (Thrusting four fingers at them) FOUR!!!
DAD: (Swaying backwards and forwards trying to focus half closed eyes) Sorry about that, pet. (Belches loudly) Oh, it was a grand party.
DAUGHTER: Huh! Smells like it, Dad. (Glares at them) Just look at the state of you both. You’re an absolute disgrace.
MUM: (Protesting) We only had a teeny weeny drinkie.
DAUGHTER: And the rest. I was worried to death. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know what had happened to you. You’d switched off your phone You never answered my text. I was just about to call the police.
DAD: But we’ve got another party Friday.
DAUGHTER: Well, you’re not going and that’s that. (Stands aside, arms akimbo)
MUM: (Horrified) You’re – you’re not grounding us?
MUM: (Trying to soft soap) Aw, go and put the kettle on, duck.
DAUGHTER: No. (Extending arm upwards towards stairs inside house) Go to your room.
With heads hung low, Mum and Dad slink past their daughter into the house. Daughter follows. Front door slams shut.