Geoffrey's Monologue

Geoffrey is a reasonably short man serenely sat at the dining room table, he is conversationally tilted forward in a friendly manner, his hands hugging a cup of tea. In the background an open window lets in daylight and he sound of birds, while the clock on the wall reads the time 1'o'clock.

The service went as planned. A few hiccups obviously. I sometimes look up, peer over my glasses during the service. Just to check. It throws me off but I can't help it. I fret that I might be left in the empty church alone, unaware everyone grew bored and left half an hour ago (laughs awkwardly) I can't help it. I can't give a speech halfheartedly, it will not do. After today’s service I was confronted with praise and given the usual congratulatory pat on the back from those who attended. (Geoffrey’s voice becomes more animated) Roger said it was his favorite service in a long time and Diane asked whether I would be able to read a sermon at- (His speech is cut off by the sound of a door and footsteps from upstairs, he coughs awkwardly) That should be Susan awake. She couldn't make it today. Said it was her head – not that I blame her, of course. Susan’s not feeling up to scratch, you know. Going through a rough patch. Says its stress. I told her to lay off the flower arranging for awhile – she just laughed. 

(Geoffrey gets up from his seat and walks over to the open window staring out)

I've tried to help her, it's not as if I don't care. Like the other day, we were sat on the settee, I was reading – she was pretending to. I confronted her, asked her what's troubling her. She just opened her mouth as though to speak being shutting it again, laughing coldly, knowing I wouldn't understand. (He reaches over to the window, shutting it and cutting off the outside noise, leaving silence)

What can I do? Ask too much? I'm interrogating. Ask too little? I'm uncaring. I'm trapped.