Chris Bush Plays: One (NHB Modern Plays) E-Book

Chris Bush

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 386

Beschreibung

Since her play Steel opened in her native Sheffield in 2018, Chris Bush has rapidly become one of the UK's most successful and widely staged playwrights, with her plays on stage at the National Theatre, in the West End, and across Europe. Celebrated for her spirited dissections of power, female agency, and northern identity, her work is infused with wit, empathy, and a powerful sense of place and belonging. Included here are five of her plays, all first performed between 2018 and 2021, together with a revealing introduction in which she reflects on the tumultuous period from which they emerged. Steel (Sheffield Theatres, 2018) is a political epic constructed from minimal resources, a two-hander spanning three decades of women in politics. 'Sharp, witty and uncannily topical' The Stage Faustus: That Damned Woman (Headlong, 2020) is a radical reimagining of the classic tale, asking what women must sacrifice to achieve greatness. 'Original, ambitious and fantastically revisionist' Guardian Nine Lessons and Carols (Almeida Theatre, 2020) is a play, with songs by Maimuna Memon, about connection and isolation, forged during the Covid pandemic, exploring what we hold on to in troubled times. 'A reminder of the power of theatre and our need for it' Telegraph Hungry (Paines Plough, 2021) is a pithy two-hander about food, love, class, and grief in a world where there's little left to savour. 'Reconfirms Chris Bush as one of our greatest, most relevant contemporary playwrights' Broadway World (Not) the End of the World (Schaubühne, Berlin, 2021) is a daringly theatrical investigation of the climate crisis through the perspectives of class, patriarchy, and colonialism. 'Staggering… Bush's remarkable text melds a ruthless structural concept with exquisite lyricism' Guardian 'One of our most prolific and arresting writers' Evening Standard 'A writer of great wit and empathy' The Times

Leseprobe

CHRIS BUSH

Plays: One

Steel Faustus: That Damned Woman Nine Lessons and Carols HungryNot the End of the World

with an Introduction by the author

NICK HERN BOOKS

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Steel

Faustus: That Damned Woman

Nine Lessons and Carols

Hungry

Not the End of the World

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

For Roni, of course

Introduction

These plays were first performed in the three-year period between autumn 2018 and autumn 2021, a period which, I think we can all agree, was generally fairly quiet and uneventful on a global scale. They don’t represent the beginning of my writing career, but do mark the point where I was increasingly able to make the work I wanted to, pursue the ideas I found most interesting, and stretch my theatrical muscles in new and exciting directions.

I wrote my first play when I was thirteen. It is not included in this volume. I sincerely hope that no one will ever have to read it again. Even so, I knew pretty much from that point that I wanted to write theatre for a living, and started to plan accordingly. Growing up in Sheffield, theatre was never presented to me as something rarefied or inaccessible. The Crucible remains the best theatre anywhere on the planet, and there was nowhere better to fall in love with the form. I studied at the University of York, primarily because of the reputation of its drama society, and took my first show to the Edinburgh Fringe in 2006 (which spectacularly sank without a trace). I fared far better the following year with the none-too-subtle TONY! The Blair Musical, and graduated in 2007 fully convinced I was skyrocketing towards a glittering career. Then nothing happened for about five years.

Actually, that’s not quite true. I was writing lots, and continually sending scripts off into the void (occasionally trying to stage them myself, which was never the best idea), while working whatever minimum-wage/zero-hour/low-commitment jobs would pay my rent. Towards the end of 2012 I received a year-long attachment to the Crucible through the Pearson Playwrights’ Scheme (now the Peggy Ramsay/Film4 Awards), and a two-month residency at the National Theatre Studio. It was while on attachment in Sheffield that I was commissioned to write my first piece of large-scale community theatre (The Shef field Mysteries in 2014, directed by Daniel Evans), something that has formed a huge part of my practice over the last decade. It’s complete madness that big community plays are often entrusted to less-experienced, emerging writers, seeing as they’re just about the most technically challenging work there is, but I’m not complaining. These vast logistical undertakings taught me a huge amount about storytelling and practical theatre-making, as well as about community and purpose and audiences and collective ownership of work, and this grounding has informed just about everything I’ve written since.

So, by the time we reach Steel, the first play in this volume, I’d been writing theatre on and off for eighteen years. I think this is worth mentioning as a useful counter-narrative to all the overnight successes who get their debuts staged at the Royal Court before they can legally drink, and fame and fortune seems to follow immediately. 2018 was a real breakthrough year for me, and felt like it had been a long time coming. I made The Changing Room for National Theatre Connections, The Assassination of Katie Hopkins for Theatr Clwyd, my adaptation of Pericles in the Olivier (my first NT Public Acts project), and Steel for the Crucible Theatre Studio (now the Tanya Moiseiwitsch Playhouse). By this point I’d written three large-scale community shows for the Crucible, and was looking for a new challenge. Somehow, I managed to corner incoming Artistic Director Robert Hastie within his first couple of weeks on the job, and pitched him an ambitious political epic spanning several decades. He agreed to commission it just so long as I could make it work with two actors, and Steel was the result. I knew Rebecca Frecknall from some shared time together at the National Theatre Studio, and was delighted when she agreed to direct. Having made so many big and complex shows in the run-up to Steel, I found the whole process a joy, and a fairly straightforward prospect, although I remember at the time Rebecca saying it was the most stressful thing she’d ever done. In a two-hander there really is nowhere to hide, no bells and whistles or theatrical dazzle camouflage to distract an audience from anything that doesn’t quite work. Fortunately we were blessed with a superb cast and phenomenal team, and of course now everybody knows what a genius Frecks is. The themes contained within – those of power, female agency, northern identity, a sense of place and belonging, and good people fighting a flawed system – can be found throughout much of my work.

2019 was another full year, with the inaugural production of Standing at the Sky’s Edge in Sheffield and The Last Noël for Attic Theatre. I was also busy working on a string of other projects, including Faustus: That Damned Woman for Headlong, which was commissioned in late 2018. I had been wanting to put my own spin on the Faust myth for years, but initially struggled to get going. I got it into my head that I wasn’t just writing a play this time, but proper literature – this was to be big, serious, grown-up work for an internationally renowned company, and it had to be just right. The self-imposed pressure to create something great – or even worse, important – is a terrible thing for a first draft. But I persevered, first developing the script with the brilliant Amy Hodge, and later with Caroline Byrne once she was attached to direct. We opened at the Lyric Hammersmith in January 2020, before embarking on a small UK tour. Far beyond anything else I’d written, I was convinced this was the show that would make my career.

Then the world fell apart.

Faustus was playing at the Bristol Old Vic in March 2020 when theatres across the country closed. By chance, I ended up catching what would be the penultimate performance of the run, and I’m so glad I did. Faustus wasn’t an easy make and took some critical flak along the way, never quite making the splash in London that I’d hoped for. Still, by this point in the tour it felt like it had really found its feet. Jodie McNee and Danny Lee Wynter were firing on all cylinders, and the whole production had gained the confidence and propulsion it always needed. The Bristol Old Vic is an exceptionally beautiful theatre, which wears the scars of its history for all to see. Sometimes plays reveal their true nature to you very late in the day. My Faustus is about morality, religion, patriarchy, ambition, gender, vengeance, and many other things besides, but sitting in that ancient auditorium that afternoon, it fully struck me how much the piece is about disease – not just the great plague of 1665 in which the action starts, but sickness and medicine and mortality are at its core. Because theatre is a live art form, our understanding of a text will always be influenced by the circumstances under which we experience it. At a recent student revival I attended, themes of AI and technology felt particularly prevalent. In future productions, should I be fortunate enough to have them, who knows what will leap to the fore? Still, on that strange day in March, this was a show about plague. On the train back to London I got a call from one of the producers – the theatres were closing, but this was just a temporary measure. With a bit of luck we’d be off for no longer than a fortnight, and able to finish the run in Leeds as planned. It turns out everything took a little longer.

I’m not sure I’ve made a ‘normal’ show since Covid, by which I mean a show not in some way impacted, curtailed, postponed, reimagined or somehow interfered with as a result of the pandemic. Maybe that just is what ‘normal’ looks like now. In October 2020, while everything was still extraordinarily uncertain, I got a call from Rebecca Frecknall to make a show with her for the Almeida. A week later we met actors, and a week after that we were in rehearsals for what became Nine Lessons and Carols: Stories for a Long Winter. The idea wasn’t to make a show about the pandemic as such, but to make something of a response piece to the year we’d all been through, fully aware of the fact that we were still in the eye of the storm, with no clear end in sight. Everyone involved had experienced their own unique lockdown, but common themes soon emerged. We wanted something that touched on ideas of isolation and loneliness, of loss and resilience, of gathering together in the darkest part of the winter in some sort of collective act of defiance, at a time when any collective act felt nigh-on impossible. It is the most truly collaborative piece in this collection. While the words are mine, they came from conversation, reflection, improvisation, devising exercises and writing prompts with our brilliant and brave company (augmented with the beautiful songs of Maimuna Memon). We ran a socially distanced rehearsal room, where infrared scanners checked our temperatures on the door and health professionals regularly visited to stick swabs up our noses (this was before the days of self-testing). We were all, I think, immensely grateful to be given the chance to make anything, but it was a deeply surreal process. The resulting piece was strange and fragmentary, funny, sad, dreamlike, born of courage and vulnerability and holding our nerves through eleventh-hour rewrites and ever-changing government policy. What we ended up with was remarkable, and contains some of my very favourite writing. After a monumental effort, we were closed the day after press night, when London was bumped up into a different tier and all the theatres shut again. It was an immense privilege to be able to make it, and in a strange way, and despite everything, one of my happiest rehearsal-room experiences.

Of all the plays here, Hungry had the longest journey to the stage. I wrote a very different version of the show back in 2013 while still on attachment in Sheffield; another big, sprawling piece that played out over the course of a single day but raced through a range of settings, characters and food hierarchies. It was entirely reconceived as a two-hander when Katie Posner and Charlotte Bennett asked me to write something for Paines Plough’s Roundabout venue, but retained its core themes of food, class and grief, and the queer relationship at its heart. Hungry was due to open in 2020 as part of Katie and Charlotte’s first season as Artistic Directors, but naturally that production was delayed. The Roundabout got back up and touring in 2021, with Hungry returning for a longer run at Soho Theatre and the Edinburgh Fringe in 2022. Katie’s production of Hungry is one of those very rare, very happy occasions where everything just seemed to click, and I genuinely wouldn’t change a thing about it. In retrospect, I think it also helped that the germ of the idea for the piece had been rattling around my head for so long. As much as I always want everything to happen straight away, the chance to sit with these characters for the best part of a decade, and then to further refine and redraft every element due to production delays, really enabled the script to be the best it could be.

The final text in this collection, Not the End of the World, has yet to be performed in English, but opened as Kein Weltuntergang at the Schaubühne in Berlin in 2021, directed by Katie Mitchell and translated by the wonderful Gerhild Steinbuch. I first met Katie in early 2020, and we talked at length about how to make meaningful work about the climate crisis. As we hurtled into lockdown our ideas started to shift. At one point, what eventually became Kein Weltuntergang was going to be a multi-part, mixed-media project, consisting of a series of short films shot remotely and a live stage show acting as a companion piece. Our plans simplified over time, although what remains is still one of the most formally ambitious scripts I’ve attempted.1 As it transpires, making a production entirely remotely from a different country in a language you don’t speak during a global pandemic isn’t the most straightforward prospect, but we more or less got there. I loved the chance to do something unapologetically strange which could couple complex science and dense imagery with a really bold sense of theatricality. I still very much hope I’ll get to make an English-language version of it some time soon.

I’ve had a remarkably productive few years, and am well aware that I’m incredibly fortunate to be in the position I am today. I write theatre for a living, which is something very few people are able to say. I take on a lot of work because I genuinely love what I do, but also because I live with the constant fear that if I turn any project down, I’ll never work again. Perhaps one day I’ll find a somewhat healthier life/work balance, but realistically that’s not happening any time soon. As long as people keep offering me opportunities, I’ll keep finding stories to tell, so I hope this volume might ultimately prove to be the first of many.

Of course, a script is all but useless without the people who bring it to life. While I hope there’s still merit to encountering these plays on the page, I’m a fundamental believer that playtexts are not art by themselves, but rather the instruction manuals (or perhaps recipe books) from which the art gets made. Looking back at this selection, I’m struck by just how spoilt I’ve been with my directors – Katie Mitchell, Katie Posner, Caroline Byrne and a Rebecca Frecknall double-bill – it simply doesn’t get any better than that.2 In each of these extraordinary women I found true visionaries, brilliant minds, creative problem-solvers, and above all else, generous and open collaborators. A good director will give you the version of the play that you had in your head from the start, but a great director will give you something better. If making theatre was a simple act of assembly – take what’s written, and put it on its feet – you might as well do it yourself, but that way madness (and egomania) lies. Surround yourself with excellence, and you will be constantly surprised and delighted by the different angles, nuances and additional dimensions other artists will find in your work. If I could offer one piece of rock-solid advice to an emerging writer, it would be to find fellow creatives who you trust and admire, and to put your faith in them. As long as you’re all fundamentally trying to make the same show (not always a given!), it’s critical that you can hold your nerve and give them the breathing space they require to excel. This doesn’t mean you hand over your work carte blanche – I think it’s equally important to stay present and approachable throughout the rehearsal process, checking in, making changes, learning the things you’ll only learn once the work is on its feet – but a truly great piece of theatre is born of a shared vision, not just a bunch of hired hands trying to deliver yours. This is why I have little patience for ‘auteurs’ in the theatre industry who want to do everything themselves (and why 95% of writer-directors are sociopaths). A plurality of voices always have more to say than a singular one. Let good people make your work better. Anyway, all this is to say I’m incredibly fortunate to have worked with a string of wonderful people, and hope I never take their contributions for granted. As well as the directors listed above, I’m hugely grateful to the plethora of actors, designers, composers, creatives, producers, stage management, and anyone else who has ever helped my words find a third dimension. Huge thanks too to Matt and Alex, my fantastic agents, and the brilliant team at Nick Hern Books for allowing this volume to exist at all.

Telling stories for a living can feel like a very silly thing to do, especially when it also feels like the world is ending. The urge to retrain as a doctor or climatologist or human-rights lawyer can be strong, but there’s one thing (or two things, if you count my complete absence of transferable skills) that keeps me going. I do think that stories matter. In fact, I think that stories are extraordinarily important. We tell stories to be understood and to understand others, to explain the place we’ve come from and to imagine where we might go next. The right story, told well, can change the world, because a story is the very best tool we have to change someone’s mind. This book is full of stories, waiting to be brought to life. I hope you enjoy them.

Chris Bush January 2024

_________________

1. ‘Don’t worry, the Germans like weird,’ Katie would often tell me.

2. It also feels remiss not to mention two of my most frequent collaborators here, not represented in this volume for purely logistical reasons. Rob Hastie, I wouldn’t have this career without you, you are a glorious leader, a wonderful human and a brilliant friend. Emily Lim, you are the very best of us.

STEEL

Steel was first performed at the Crucible Theatre Studio, Sheffield, on 13 September 2018. The cast was as follows:

IAN/DAI

Nigel Betts

VANESSA/JOSIE

Rebecca Scroggs

Director

Rebecca Frecknall

Designer

Madeleine Girling

Lighting Designer

Jack Knowles

Sound Designer

James Frewer

Casting Director

Anna Cooper CDG

Dialect Coach

Michaela Kennen

Characters

1988

DAI GRIFFITHS, fifties/sixties. Welsh. Seasoned Labour councillor. Member of cabinet for Business and Economy.

JOSIE KIRKWOOD, thirties. Local. Junior engineer at a local steelworks and Women’s Officer for her union.

2018

VANESSA GALLACHER, thirties. Labour candidate for Metro Mayor. Born here, but has mostly lived in London. A former MP who lost her seat in 2017. Southern accent.

IAN DARWENT, fifties/sixties. Local. Deputy Leader of the Council. Vanessa’s election officer.

Actor playing Dai and Ian is white. Actor playing Josie and Vanessa is Black.

Note on Text

A forward slash (/) indicates an overlap in dialogue where the next character starts speaking.

Author’s Note

The piece takes place in a city unquestionably modelled on Sheffield, and references various real-world events, but the story is entirely fictional. No characters are based on any specific individuals.

ACT ONE

Scene One

2018. Outside the local Labour Party headquarters. IAN waits. VANESSA enters. There’s a certain forced joviality on both parts.

IAN. Vanessa!

VANESSA. Ian – hi!

IAN extends a hand, but VANESSA is going for the hug. A shuffling moment of awkwardness.

Hah. Okay.

IAN. Sorry.

VANESSA. How about – ?

She goes for a kiss on the cheek instead. That’s fine. IAN doesn’t anticipate the second.

Well. Um.

IAN. Very continental.

VANESSA. Thank God that’s over.

IAN. You found us alright?

VANESSA (a little surprised by the question). I’ve been here before.

IAN. You have?

VANESSA. Of course I have.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. Must’ve been, I don’t know, half a dozen times in the last –

IAN. I wasn’t suggesting –

VANESSA. You know it’s actually not far from… I used to do Woodcraft Folk, just round the corner, well, just down the –

IAN. Oh.

VANESSA. Back in the day.

IAN. Woodcraft Folk?

VANESSA. Yes.

IAN. That the one that’s like hippy Scouts?

VANESSA. Something like that.

IAN. Very good.

VANESSA. Never really my… A bit too Kumbaya for my liking, but…

IAN. And you’re well? You look well. Very –

VANESSA. Thanks.

IAN. Nice to see some people still make an effort.

VANESSA. Um. Thank you. I wasn’t really… I just –

IAN. Nervous?

VANESSA (surprised  ). Nervous?

IAN. Don’t be.

VANESSA. Oh, I’m not.

IAN. Right. Good.

VANESSA. I mean this is –

IAN. Yes.

VANESSA. Isn’t it?

IAN. Hmm?

VANESSA. This is all… Look, I don’t want to imply this is a foregone conclusion, I don’t want to be presumptive, but I am… I have been the, um, the presumptive candidate, in fact, for a while, if we used that term, haven’t I? So –

IAN. Indeed.

VANESSA. And nothing’s happened to…? Do you know something?

IAN. Rarely.

VANESSA. Right. (Beat.) But just to be clear, the situation hasn’t…? You’re not expecting any nasty surprises?

IAN. Not at all.

VANESSA. So why should I be nervous?

IAN. Sometimes people just get nervous.

VANESSA. Right.

IAN. But I can see you’re not.

VANESSA. I wasn’t.

IAN. My apologies.

VANESSA. It’s fine. I’m fine. Sorry. You just gave me a little… Because I don’t want to sound dismissive. Obviously the other candidates are both –

IAN. Obviously.

VANESSA. So I’m not –

IAN. Don’t want to insult your sisters.

VANESSA (forcing a laugh). Hah. No.

IAN. And the sisters are particularly good at getting insulted. Carol practically makes a living from it.

VANESSA (biting her tongue). Hmm.

IAN. Sure everything’s alright?

VANESSA. Yes. Yes, everything’s… Actually no, sorry. Sorry, can I be an arsehole?

IAN. Uh…

VANESSSA. Sorry, but… No, actually, I’m not sorry and I’m not being an arsehole, this is actually a very… And I know you’re one of the good guys –

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. But if you could not… That word. Can you not use that word, please?

IAN. Beg pardon?

VANESSA. The S word.

IAN. I’m not –

VANESSA. ‘Sisters’ – with that inflection, and that general… Because look, it’s bad enough when a woman says ‘sisters’ about a group who aren’t actually… I genuinely feel my ovaries cringe every time I hear it, but when a man – and I know you’re not a… and look, hashtag-not-all-men and so on, but when you refer to me and my fellow democratically selected candidates as ‘the sisters’ it sort of makes me want to put my fist through something.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. Sorry.

IAN. Don’t be.

VANESSA. No. Right. I’m not.

IAN. I’m sorry to –

VANESSA. As you should be. (Beat.) Joking – that was joking. Only not really –

IAN. Understood.

VANESSA. Because we are… We’re not a sorority, we’re serious political operatives, and it is a big deal, actually – to have an all… And not an ‘All-Women Shortlist’ by design, not because it was enforced, but a shortlist which happens to be only –

IAN. Yes.

VANESSA. Because the best three candidates just happened to be –

IAN. Absolutely.

VANESSA. Which is what happened.

IAN. No argument from me.

VANESSA. Each of us here on merit, each with our own… Carol can moan, but her business record is exemplary, and Deborah, well, Debbie is… the heart of the community, isn’t she? The backbone of… Salt of the earth –

IAN. Both got a lot going for them.

VANESSA. And when I heard… I think we were all thrilled, weren’t we? All so excited, because –

IAN. You knew you could beat them?

VANESSA. No! (Beat.) Well yes, but –

IAN laughs.

But not only because of that, because it represented a real… It shouldn’t be remarkable, it shouldn’t be remotely surprising, but these are milestones, they are, and they need to be celebrated, not derided, not treated with suspicion, or undermined by… I get enough of that from elsewhere.

IAN. Won’t happen again.

VANESSA. Thanks. Thank you. (Breathing, calming slightly.) Look, let’s just get through tonight, let’s just… And it will be easier then, won’t it?

IAN. How do you mean?

VANESSA. Once I’m… Presuming I’m… Once they’re stuck with me. Because I can win over the public – I know how to do that, but it’s you bastards who’re the real… Sorry.

IAN. That’s alright.

VANESSA. And I’m all for healthy debate, I am, and a rigorous, forthright… But it’s exhausting – this has all just been very draining, actually, day after day, the three of us continually having to justify our collective existence, so after this evening I would really like to just be able to say, ‘Look, this is who you’ve got, so fall in line.’

IAN. And I think people will. I think yes, to an extent…

VANESSA. Good. And I know – I do realise with all the… Tonight might not feel exactly like a coronation. I’m prepared for that.

IAN. You saw the email then?

VANESSA. What email?

IAN. The… Never mind.

VANESSA. What email?

IAN. Not important – we can talk about it later.

VANESSA. Ian –

IAN. It’s nothing, it’s… It’s just a new email chain with a few idiots blowing off some steam.

VANESSA. Right.

IAN. Honestly –

VANESSA. Can I see it?

IAN. I’ll show you after.

VANESSA. That bad?

IAN. No! (Beat.) Fine. Hang on.

IAN starts trying to find the email on his phone.

VANESSA. Because this is exactly the… It’s embarrassing – I’m actually just embarrassed by all of it – the pettiness, the squabbling, the continual –

IAN. Now just bear in mind –

VANESSA. I’m a big girl – please.

IAN (passing his phone to VANESSA). Alright.

VANESSA. Alright then. (Scrolling through.) ‘…high-handed interference from the NEC, forcing upon us…’ well, naturally – ‘a sordid selection process swaddled in scandal, secrecy and scurrilous self-interest…’ You know that’s Brian, he’s the one who writes his own poetry.

IAN. Christ, don’t remind me.

VANESSA. Oh, and here it is: ‘instead of representing the true interests and values of the local party, we have become a Petri dish for political correctness and social engineering.’ Jesus. It’s not a dog whistle, it’s an air-raid siren.

IAN. You’ve got to remember this is just a vocal minority.

VANESSA (passing the phone back). Who are these people? How do they think this is helping?

IAN. They’re just a little stuck in their ways.

VANESSA. Unbelievable. Infants. That they’re so threatened by… They need me. Do you have any idea how much they need me up here?

IAN. Everyone appreciates –

VANESSA. They don’t! Ungrateful fuckers. They don’t make it easy.

IAN. Alright, let’s try not to –

VANESSA. Yes, yes, you’re right. Okay then – let’s get this shit-show over with.

VANESSA leaves and IAN follows. We hear (but needn’t see) the returning Officer announcing the results of the candidate vote.

OFFICER. The total number of votes cast was four thousand, five hundred and eighty-five, representing a sixty-four-point-three-per-cent turnout. Two hundred and twenty-one votes were found to be invalid or spoilt, bringing the total number of eligible votes to four thousand, three hundred and sixty-four. They were cast as follows: In the first round, Gallacher, Vanessa: one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-three votes. Henshaw, Carol: one thousand, five hundred and forty-two votes. Lister, Deborah: eight hundred and eighty-nine votes. As there is no overall winner, Debbie’s votes went to second preference. Four hundred and seventy-four of those went to Vanessa Gallacher, bringing her total to two thousand, four hundred and seven, and four hundred and fifteen to Carol Henshaw, coming to one thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven. Therefore Vanessa Gallacher is duly elected as the Labour candidate for Metro Mayor.

The sound of applause, perhaps not exactly deafening. Scene ends.

Scene Two

1988. We’re now inside a small meeting hall, where a CLP meeting has just finished. DAI, a seasoned councillor, is with JOSIE, the evening’s guest speaker.

DAI. Can I just stop you there?

JOSIE. I didn’t say anything.

DAI. But before you do –

JOSIE. I should… My bus is…

DAI. Can I just explain what I think happened?

JOSIE. Um…

DAI. Just to… Just because –

JOSIE. I was there, so –

DAI. Yes. No. Absolutely. But what I think is, I think you may have misinterpreted the, uh, the intent of –

JOSIE. It’s fine.

DAI. You’re upset.

JOSIE. I’m not.

DAI. It’s fine to be upset, but I think if I just explained –

JOSIE. I’m really not.

DAI. Because it was a joke.

JOSIE. I know.

DAI. But I’m not sure you understood the… the… If I could just take a moment – please – if you’d indulge me?

JOSIE (still somewhat reluctantly). Of course.

DAI. Good. Excellent. Thank you. So the first thing to say is that we don’t even have a tea lady.

JOSIE. Right.

DAI. We… So there could be no, no one was genuinely mistaking you for – nobody thought you were actually –

JOSIE. No.

DAI. Because we just sort ourselves out, you see? There isn’t a… We have a biscuit rota. Sometimes one of the women bakes. (Then immediately worried.) And that isn’t to say – not that… I do believe it is only the women who bake – in my experience of these particular meetings – but that isn’t a… a… that’s not a matter of policy. There’s no expectation.

JOSIE. Of course.

DAI. Always very welcome, but –

JOSIE. Got it.

DAI. But – but yes – but my point is everyone did know who you were. You were on the agenda. Josie Kirkwood: British Steel.

JOSIE. I saw.

DAI. So. So. And here’s where I think things got… The joke, as I understand it – and it was a joke – was look, here you are, guest speaker at your first constituency meeting, brilliant, um, brilliant mind, young blood, sister in solidarity and all that, and then, ‘Oh no, what’s this? Everyone thinks I’m the tea lady!’

JOSIE. Right.

DAI. Which is, yes, in itself isn’t funny – unkind, maybe – but then, then it would become clear that was all just ribbing, just pulling your leg, and that would, you see, would put you at ease, funny because it’s so ridiculous, the idea that any of us would… Shows we’re all on the same side.

JOSIE. I see.

DAI. You do?

JOSIE. I do. I did. Honestly.

DAI. So it really was all just a… It is, I believe, it’s just how they show their affection around here – it took me a while to get used to it.

JOSIE. Oh, I know. We give as good as we get.

DAI. Yes. Yes of course, and when I said… Yes, of course you’re the local, not me – I didn’t want to imply anything otherwise.

JOSIE. It’s really fine.

DAI. Good. That’s good. I’m glad.

JOSIE. You can’t be a woman in steel without developing something of a thick skin.

DAI. I can imagine.

JOSIE. But I should probably –

DAI. I would just really hate to think of you leaving with the wrong impression.

JOSIE. Mr Griffiths –

DAI. Dai, please.

JOSIE. Dai – can I tell you what they said to me – what the foreman said to me on my very first day at the steelworks?

DAI. Please.

JOSIE. He said, ‘Steel? Face that colour, I thought you’d come straight out of the mines.’

DAI. Oh. Oh, I…

JOSIE. So as first impressions go –

DAI. And that is… Believe me, I would never –

JOSIE. I’m saying it’s fine. I’m saying jokes about being the tea lady pale in comparison.

DAI. Right.

JOSIE. No pun intended.

DAI. Hmm?

JOSIE. ‘Pale’, because… Doesn’t matter.

DAI. Ah.

Pause.

Anyway… Anyway your talk was very… Truly powerful. Challenging but powerful. It was just what we needed.

JOSIE (very much summing up). My pleasure.

DAI. No, all mine, really. (Beat.) Sorry, there was just… There is one other thing, if you have the time.

JOSIE. Um –

DAI. It won’t take a minute.

JOSIE. Sure.

DAI. Excellent. Yes, so again, tonight was really… A very different, a very exciting energy, I thought, in the room. And we are always looking for… young blood, fresh perspectives. I don’t know if you heard, but there is an opening coming up here, shortly – locally.

JOSIE. An opening?

DAI. You do live in this ward, don’t you? I know your father, his shop is –

JOSIE. Yes.

DAI. Is it something you’d given any thought to?

JOSIE. I’m sorry, is what something?

DAI. Standing – when Bill retires.

JOSIE. For the council?

DAI. And of course my seat’s here too, so I’d be happy to talk you through any of the… the… I’d be in your corner.

JOSIE. Um… Right. Er…

DAI. You hadn’t considered – ?

JOSIE. No. No, I genuinely… Not for a second.

DAI. But you are a Party member – and you’re active in your union?

JOSIE. Yeah.

DAI. You have things to say, obviously.

JOSIE. I suppose, but… Yeah, on certain… But I’m not sure this is my natural –

DAI. How would you know?

JOSIE. Because I… Um, I guess I don’t, really, but the impression I get is… I want to say this carefully because I don’t want to cause offence and I’m sure – I know – what you do here is, is… it does matter, it does have some impact –

DAI. But?

JOSIE. But… Yeah, I guess the ‘but’ is just whether this environment is… uh…

DAI. Not quite your scene?

JOSIE. I’m very flattered.

DAI. It’s alright.

JOSIE. But is this somewhere where I – where someone like me…?

DAI. Yes. I’m afraid we are a little… pale, male and stale, I believe the phrase is.

JOSIE. I didn’t mean that.

DAI. No, I understand. Well, I thought at least I’d… Worth a shot, anyway.

JOSIE. But it’s so nice that you’d… Thank you, honestly.

DAI. Not at all. (Beat.) Who knows how we change that though.

JOSIE. Sorry?

DAI. Sorry – you needed to get off.

JOSIE. Yeah, I… (Checking watch.) Doesn’t matter, it’s not far to walk.

DAI. Oh no, have I – ?

JOSIE. It’s fine, really.

DAI. I do go on.

JOSIE. But you were saying? Change what?

DAI. Oh, it’s… Yes, well it’s the problem I’ve been struggling with – that a number of us – of the more enlightened… How do you make this a more appealing environment to begin with for those people who will, ultimately through their very presence, make the environment more appealing? And, and yes, there is a school of thought that says decisions are made by the people who show up, and we shouldn’t be going out of our way to… If they’re not interested, that’s their loss. But I don’t think that’s fair. I don’t think it’s accurate. I don’t think they’re uninterested, I think they’re put off by, by, by the very design of places like this – the smoke-filled backrooms and sticky floors. And that will change – it will change as our make-up changes – but the question, the challenge, is how can we coax those first few people through the doors?

Beat.

JOSIE. Right.

DAI. Anyway. Not to worry.

JOSIE. Sure.

DAI. I have my car – can I drop you somewhere? Where are you heading?

JOSIE. What would I need to do?

DAI. I’m not… I don’t want petrol money or anything.

JOSIE. To stand – if I was interested in standing?

DAI. Oh.

JOSIE. Not saying that I am.

DAI. Right.

JOSIE. Not necessarily. But just out of –

DAI. Right. Right, yes. Well it’s all very straightforward, very simple. There’s a form – I can talk you through it – then a little chat – just to make sure you don’t have any particularly ghastly skeletons in your closet. All very informal. In fact I recommend not taking any of it too seriously. Not unseriously, but just to keep it all quite light, actually, show them you can have a laugh – you have a sense of humour –

JOSIE. That I can take a joke?

DAI. I… Yes. And again I will apologise about earlier if you did feel –

JOSIE. Please don’t.

DAI. But yes, people respond to… If you show you can play nicely with others –

JOSIE. Got it. I can do that. And I can be funny. I can do jokes.

DAI. Great stuff.

JOSIE. I can… Not that I’m committing – but I will have a think – I will give it some serious thought, and – not too serious, mind, but I will… Yeah. I’ve got a lot to – it’s a lot to process, but… Yeah. No. Good. That’s all good.

DAI. Smashing.

JOSIE. But right now I should –

DAI. Of course. Sure you don’t want a lift somewhere?

JOSIE. No, I’ll be fine, thank you. I think some air would…

DAI. As you wish. Well then. (Offers his hand, slightly awkwardly.) Miss Kirkwood, welcome to the council.

Scene ends.

Scene Three

2018. IAN greets VANESSA. She has with her a large refillable coffee cup.

IAN. Madam Mayor!

VANESSA. Alright, let’s not get… One step at a time.

IAN. Absolutely. Still, got what we needed – and all without too much unpleasantness.

VANESSA. And only two hundred spoilt ballots.

IAN. Don’t worry about that. Onwards and upwards.

VANESSA. Exactly. Next step – top of the agenda – crush the saboteurs.

Beat.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. I’m joking – Jesus!

IAN. Alright.

VANESSA. Your face.

IAN. I just think… even in private we should avoid drawing any comparison between –

VANESSA. Oh really?

IAN. I just –

VANESSA. That wouldn’t be a vote-winner?

IAN. Maybe not.

VANESSA. And that’s a comparison a lot of people have been drawing, is it?

IAN. I didn’t say that.

VANESSA. I mean I do still intend to crush them – if they’re not suitably crushed already.

IAN. Let’s not get –

VANESSA. Because seriously, the constant infighting within the various enclaves of the Judean People’s Front that is the Labour Party does make me want to open up a vein, but now I’ve actually won, I say let’s nail the fuckers.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. That’s a Monty Python reference, just for the record, not antisemitism.

IAN. Yes.

VANESSA. Because you can’t be too careful these days, can you?

IAN (gesturing to the coffee). Not your first of the morning?

VANESSA. Hmm? No, no. No, I’m full of beans. I’ve got one of the, the little – the pod machines, y’know? The capsules – the automatic – godsend. Because I’m not being funny, but half the places you go into here, you ask for a soya latte and they look at you like you’ve pissed on their parkin, so…

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. You know what I mean?

IAN. I’m more of a Yorkshire Tea man myself.

VANESSA. Ah yes, of course, very on-brand.

IAN. Anyway –

VANESSA. Sorry, that was really obnoxious.

IAN. No –

VANESSA. No, it was, and here’s the thing – let London have its wanky coffee. I want the tea. I want the pies. I want the chips cooked in dripping. That’s who I really am – that’s what I was brought up on.

IAN. Yes.

VANESSA. That is… You should be writing that down actually, because that’s my narrative. This is my homecoming.

IAN. Yes. (Beat.) Only the issue is –

VANESSA. Perception. It’s about perception, that’s all. And this is where we – where I – we’ve all failed to… They don’t realise I’m one of them.

IAN. Now there’s a little truth in… But you are, to be fair, a relatively new addition to, to the landscape –

VANESSA. I was born here.

IAN. The political landscape.

VANESSA. Just because my parents were dirty southerners, that doesn’t mean –

IAN. No.

VANESSA. Or are you getting at something else?

IAN. All I mean is –

VANESSA. Jerry Allen turned his back on me when they announced the vote. He literally turned his back.

IAN. Most I’ve seen him move in years.

VANESSA. A former Party Treasurer.

IAN. It’s… Yes. Disappointing.

VANESSA. One word for it.

IAN. Jerry is… passionate. A bit of a hothead, but his commitment –

VANESSA. Jerry Allen is a crybaby and a bully who doesn’t like being told no.

IAN. He only wants what’s best – what he considers to be best for the party.

VANESSA (reading from her phone). ‘@Vanessa4MetroMayor needs to get back to where she came from.’

IAN. Jerry’s not – ?

VANESSA. No. (Checks.) ‘EricTheRed66’. Anonymous Twitter troll. Actually far more polite than most.

IAN. And that is unacceptable, and we will –

VANESSA. Where do you think they mean, exactly?

IAN. I’m sorry?

VANESSA. That I should be getting back to? I mean are we just talking Islington, or are they going full Bongo-Bongo Land?

IAN. It sickens me, it does, and anything I can do to –

VANESSA. You can challenge the narrative.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. That I don’t belong here. That this isn’t home.

IAN. Yes, I do see that, only –

VANESSA. That this can’t be home for people like me.

IAN. No, and it isn’t… I honestly don’t think it’s a race thing, not for the vast majority of… I think entirely separately, some people have qualms about your, your route here –

VANESSA. Qualms?

IAN. And I’m not saying they’re justified –

VANESSA. I wasn’t dropped in. This isn’t parachuting.

IAN. No.

VANESSA. I am a prodigal daughter. Yes, I moved away. In order to, to… to gain experience, to seek my fortune in the big city, and that is why, actually – that’s why I beat Carol, who’s never set foot inside Westminster, and Debbie, bless her, who’s never been south of Derby. That’s critical.

IAN. I agree.

VANESSA. And actually, actually losing my seat in the Commons last year, that was – it was tough, yes, it was character-building, it was a learning experience – but it was in truth the best thing that could’ve happened to me, because it meant I got to come back here – I got to do this – I got to come home.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. Because this is where I need to be. It’s not a back-up plan, it’s not my consolation prize, it’s bigger than any… The Metro Mayors are a fundamental shift in the power dynamic. This is a grassroots revolution in local governance.

IAN. Yes, I think I got that memo too.

VANESSA. I mean it. And I’ve got plans – big plans for this city – plans like you wouldn’t believe. When I’m Mayor –

IAN. Now who’s getting carried away?

VANESSA. Okay, okay, but I am the Labour Party candidate and look at where we are, so hello! I am the Labour Party candidate whether Jerry Allen and all his little gammon-faced, pin-dick friends like it or not.

IAN. And seeing as you are, perhaps you could extend an olive branch to –

VANESSA. And seeing as I am, perhaps they could form an orderly queue to kiss my arse.

IAN. Have you given much thought to decaf?

VANESSA. I am the Labour Party candidate. Now ask me why.

IAN. Why?

VANESSA. Because I am the best damn person for the job. Now ask me why again.

IAN. Why?

VANESSA. Because I belong here.

IAN. Right.

VANESSA. I belong here, and we are going to make sure everybody knows it. No one’s going to make me look like an idiot.

Scene ends.

Scene Four

1988. JOSIE has just come from her selection interview. For some reason she wears an apron and hairnet akin to Mrs Overall from Acorn Antiques and holds a tea tray. She is clearly upset, and DAI is trying to calm her.

DAI. So. So okay. So that was… I’m not entirely sure what that was, but –

JOSIE. Don’t.

DAI. But a very spirited, uh –

JOSIE. Your idea.

DAI. I’m sorry?

JOSIE. This – all this – this was your –

DAI. Uh –

JOSIE. Show them you’re a laugh. Show a sense of humour.

DAI. I’m not sure I followed –

She rattles the tray, impersonating Julie Walters.

JOSIE. ‘Two soups!’

DAI. Who is it again?

JOSIE. Mrs Overall!

DAI (still blank). Right.

JOSIE. Julie Walters!

DAI. Okay.

JOSIE. Tea lady. She’s a funny tea lady, that’s her thing, so after the whole… I was referencing – I was playing on their… I was being in on the joke.

DAI. I see.

JOSIE. Like you told me.

DAI. You did make quite a mess.

JOSIE. That’s what she does!

DAI. Right.

JOSIE. That’s why it’s funny!

DAI. Understood.

JOSIE. She does this walk with the… She… She has this tray, and…

DAI. And she’s on the television, is she?

JOSIE lets out a moan.

I’m just trying to –

JOSIE. Yes! Yes, she’s a funny tea lady off the telly, so I thought – I thought it would be a nice idea to… I had a speech and everything, I’d planned a… After I’d, I’d broken the ice, I’d won them over –

DAI. Right.

JOSIE. I was going to talk about tea – about how tea is the most quintessentially English thing you can imagine, right? Except it isn’t – it’s from China, it’s from India, it’s from the Orient, it’s fuelled empires and trade wars and sparked revolution, and, and… but it is, it still is the most quintessentially English thing, because we made it ours. Because we – we British are at our best not as colonisers but as magpies – this tiny island that takes the best the world has to offer and finds a new home for it – makes it our own. And that is what we must keep doing, because that is what we’ve always done – that’s how we got here. A cup of tea was at one point the most unusual, most exotic, the most foreign thing I could’ve shown you, and now it’s the very emblem of our nation – something we cannot live without. So I am proud to be your tea lady, because tea ladies are the harbingers of the revolution!

DAI. Right. Golly. Well that’s –

JOSIE. In closing – in closing, gentlemen, I’d say – I’d like to quote Eleanor Roosevelt. Eleanor Roosevelt said ‘A woman is like a tea bag: you can’t tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.’ Well, I’m more than used to a bit of heat, and I’m confident I’m strong enough for anything this role can throw at me.

Pause.

You hate it.

DAI. No! No, I imagine if you’d said any of that it would’ve gone down rather well.

JOSIE. Ugh!

DAI. It’s alright.

JOSIE. No it isn’t.

DAI. I don’t think it was as bad as you think it was.

JOSIE. Forget it. No – you’re right – we should forget all about it.

DAI. I didn’t say that.

JOSIE. I never wanted this anyway – this was your idea. And I told you, I told you it wasn’t for me, but you pushed and you pushed and –

DAI. Josie –

JOSIE. And you got in my head –

DAI. Please –

JOSIE. And you told me it would be straightforward.

DAI. And – yes, and just to… In my defence I do believe you might’ve overcomplicated things.

JOSIE. I like to plan ahead.

DAI. Yes.

JOSIE. I put a lot of thought into this.

DAI. I can tell.

JOSIE. Please don’t make fun of me.