CARLY is sat in front of the washing machine watching, waiting for it to finish. ANTHONY enters, drying his hair with a towel. He stops, looks at her, frowns. She notices him.
CARLY: I think I put something red in with your white shirts.
CARLY: Sorry. It should be okay. Those socks have been washed a hundred times before now.
He watches the washing machine with her. It stops.
She pulls the shirts out, they are pink.
Fuck I’m sorry.
ANTHONY: It’s fine baby. You’re a total fucking idiot, but it’s fine.
CARLY: I just didn’t think I didn’t think to check inside your trousers in your sleeves they must have crept in by themselves.
ANTHONY: It’s totally fine, calm down. I mean, crept in? Socks don’t have any kind of, you know, autonomy, but
CARLY: What’s autonomy?
He hits her with the towel.
That hurt, why did you do that?
ANTHONY: So that you’d remember. Autonomy is control of your own actions, your own will. Right? What’s autonomy?
He hits her again. She recoils.
He prepares the towel again.
CARLY: Control of your own will. Your own actions.
ANTHONY: Well done, baby.
He kisses her forehead.
Might as well throw those shirts in the bin. I’ll buy new ones tomorrow.
CARLY: I can pick some up for you? I’ll take your measurements from these ones so that they’re perfect.
ANTHONY: Thank you, sweetheart. Love you lots, okay?
He kisses her on the mouth. She holds him, desperately. He lets her go, slaps her playfully with the towel and leaves.