by James Graham
Smith Now listen here –
Anna Recently promoted Detective Sergeant Robert Daniel Smith.
Did you have a nice birthday?
Did your colleagues bring in a cake?
Smith I did not inform – . . . now, look. No one else needs to get hurt –
Anna We haven’t hurt anybody. Yet.
Smith You’re throwing your lives away, turn yourself in.
Anna What do you dream about? At night?
When the lights go out and the flicker and the buzz of all the spectacles are shut out, and you can return, almost, slightly, to a state of natural being . . . to a state of you . . . What do you learn about yourself in that deep, dark fall into the subconscious? What do you learn about yourself that you really, actually want . . .?
Smith Tell me what you want.
Anna I can hear it in your voice. A longing, contained. A longing for something else. A longing for something naughty . . .
Smith A . . . I . . .
Anna It’s alright, Robert Daniel. It’s human . . .
Smith Where are you?
Anna Look for me.
Smith I am looking –
Anna No, you’re searching, but you’re not seeing.
Smith This isn’t a game.
Anna No. It isn’t.
Hilary It’s wrong, that’s what it is, it’s, it’s, it’s cowardly! No. No, no, no.
John We don’t have any choice.
Hilary No. Shop owners aren’t our enemy, post offices aren’t our enemy, pubs aren’t our enemy –
John Oi, yes they are. Yes they are, Hil, they are, they’re complicit, they acquiesce, they’re architects of their own ignorance.
Hilary So you’re gonna rob them, balaclavas, knives, classy, really classy –
Jim Just stake ’em out, that’s all, see what the game is.
Hilary THUGS! Criminals, everything they say we are –
John We’re fucking hungry, that’s what we are. We have no funds.
Hilary Let’s keep doing the cheques. They’re just lying around, student halls, easy pickings, please –
John The cheques have left us vulnerable, they pulled in Albert cause of the cheques, Jake, Stuart, Ian – they can be traced, it’s stupid –
Jim We won’t hurt anyone.
Hilary You’re hurting me, I hate this.
Jim Anna?
Anna . . .
Jim What does that mean?
Anna It means you’re doing it anyway, so just don’t get caught and don’t get followed.
She has arranged some furniture. Put her kettle out, with a tea-set – children’s cups, almost like it’s a game. In a Wendy house . . .
Hilary is there.
Hilary Did you like, fucking –
Anna What?
Hilary Like, clean, or –
Anna No, just – not much, it was just a mess.
Hilary You’ve fixed your hair.
Anna It was in my face.
Hilar Ha.
Anna Are you laughing at me?
Hilary John and I, we’re going to Paris, we have to pick up more supplies.
Anna OK.
Hilary ‘And we expect our dinner on the table when we’re back!’
Anna Funny.
Hilary You’ll be OK, on your own?
Anna I won’t be on my own.
Hilary . . . ha. Right.
Anna What?
Hilary Jim.
Anna Yeah.
Hilary Is that what . . .?
Anna What?
Hilary . . . just be careful.
Smith (male, off) Smith.
Anna Having fun?
Smith . . . hello.
Anna I hope your wife isn’t a fan of Biba. Sorry if so.
Smith I’m glad that you called again.
Anna We’re getting closer.
Smith So are we, Hilary.
Pause.
Or is it Anna?
Anna Mendleson.
It’s Anna, isn’t it?
Anna No.
Smith I think it is.
Anna . . . we don’t have names.
Smith You did. Anna Mendelson from Stockport. Studied English at Essex University. Parents Maurice and Tina. Was Head Girl at school. Won a prize for drawing. Played in the school band.
You did have a name, Anna. You had a family. You had a life. You had a future –
Anna All meaningless. A spectacle –
Smith I can save you. You can live –
Anna What makes you think I want saving?
Smith – don’t let the others bring you down with them. Jim, John and Hilary.
Anna Ha. Bring me down.
Smith You’re different from them. I know it. You want out. You want a normal life, free. Family. Children. Love. I can tell –
Anna You can’t tell that.
Smith I can.
Anna How?
Smith Because you’re the one that keeps calling me.
Anna puts the phone down.
John appears as the child psychologist, sat on tiny chairs. He gestures for Anna to join him . . .
John ‘Hello again, Anna.’
Anna What?
John ‘So your teachers say you’re still lashing out in class.’
Anna Do they?
John (pause) ‘Anna, tell me. What does . . . what does it feel like. When you’re angry?
What does that “anger” feel like, for you?’
Anna I don’t know.
John ‘Say some words, any words. They don’t have to be good words, or the right words, just words. Hot? Does it feel hot?’
Anna I suppose –
John ‘Does it feel . . . fast, or slow?’
Anna Fast?
John ‘Do you like it, or do you dislike it?’
Anna Dislike.
John ‘Why?’
Anna Because . . . it, like hurts.
John ‘Anger “hurts”, does it?’
Anna I don’t know.
John ‘Would you prefer to be. . . calmer? Happier?
What makes you angry? If you fixed those things, you could fix your anger –’
Anna Lots of things.
John ‘Lots of things. When . . . when people say something that hurts you?’
Anna Yes.
John ‘When something unfair happens?’
Anna Yes.
John ‘When you feel “powerless”, or like you’re backed into a corner? When you feel hopeless, like you can’t change anything. When you feel stuck.’
Anna Yes . . . yes . . .
John (Beat. Puts his notepad away. Beat.) ‘I have this quote, that I like. Do you know what a quote is?’
Anna Yes.
John ‘It’s a Buddhist quote, now Buddhists, Anna, are very peaceful people. They’re calm, and, reflective.
The quote is this: “Holding on to anger . . . is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it, at someone else” – yes? – “but it’s you, who are the one who gets burned”.’
Do you see?
Anna, anger, and hate, and rage, at other people . . . will only ever destroy you, not them. You have to face what is making you so angry, in the world . . . and you have to let it go. Forgive it. Forgive them . . . and let it go . . .’
Anna But –
John ‘But?’
Anna But –
John ‘Yes?’
Anna What if it isn’t fair? What if it isn’t fair . . .
John ‘Anna –’
Jim (off) Anna?
Jim is calling off, from the entrance.
Anna leaps up and makes the final preparation for laying the dinner table.
Sticks some music on the record player, lights some candles.
There are plates, and wine glasses now, and the suggestion o
f walls, and furniture, something solid, which has been growing . . .
Jim enters.
Jim Anna, I’m home.
Anna Surprise.
Jim What’s this?
Anna Nothing, just threw something together.
Jim I’m not hungry, I ate a couple of hours ago.
Anna A couple of hours ago, what kind of eating time is that – you’ve invented a new meal time, Jim.
Jim Eh?
Looks different. In here.
Anna I thought we could have an evening in.
Jim ‘An evening in’, what does that even mean?
Anna I just want to talk. Please.
Jim (beat; sits) What’s this?
Anna A napkin.
Jim A . . . a fucking . . . is this . . . what the –
Anna It’s only a fucking napkin, Jim, in case you spill something, I got ’em cheap –
Jim takes some food and smears it down his clothes.
They stare at each other.
Anna You once had doubts. You said.
Jim No. You said that about me –
Anna About the no-going-backness.
Jim What’s wrong?
Anna I’m not sure.
Jim You’re tired.
Anna I’m not tired, I love you, it – it obviously just looks the same as tiredness but I’m not tired.
Do you love me?
Jim How can you ask me that? If you have to ask –
Anna Because . . . because sometimes, when things are hard, it helps to know that someone else cares – I don’t think that’s all that strange, do you?
Jim You need that affirmation, do you, the fake affirmation of someone else telling you that you’re worth something –
Anna SOMETIMES. YES.
Jim . . .
Anna So the thing is. What if maybe you we didn’t just be all random and flexible and open about this – whatever this is –
Jim Please, don’t define it –
Anna I’m not, just . . . well actually, yes, I think that would help I think that would help it feel real –
Jim Well, I’m sorry that you need this, this crutch, because its been drilled into you that none of us are enough just us on our own, we need to be in a partnership to be strong, cause that’s bollocks and I’m here to tell you that you are enough without me, Anna.
Anna I absolutely agree with all of that, and I want you to know that I’m listening and that I hear you, but so here’s the thing, here’s what I want to say, if you’ll let me.
I know, OK, that I’m enough, on my own, without you. And I don’t want to possess you to give my life meaning or myself self-esteem. But I just think. I just think actually that there is a sort of . . . loveliness. And brilliantness. Sometimes. To knowing that there is someone else in the world who thinks of you and only you in a certain way, and you think of them and only them in a certain way, and that it’s something beautiful that you share and part of the beauty is that it’s only you two that share it. And that when things are tough for you or tough for them, or happy for you or happy for them, that by having that someone, the happiness is sort of multiplied, by being shared, and that the toughness is halved, by being shared. And I don’t mean in like a Valentine’s Day card way, or Hollywood movie way or a Church of England way, I just mean that, outside of the horror that is normal relationships, with the house and the car and the routine and the ‘you wash, I’ll dry’ violence of the whole thing . . . that in there, somewhere, messy and dirty and hidden as it is, is something possibly real, and wonderful. And I guess I’m saying if I was going to have that real thing, messy and complicated and violent as it is – totally agree – that I would be really chuffed if it was with you.
Jim . . . You’re tired. Get some sleep.
He stands, and exits.
Anna is left on her own for a bit. She takes a letter out of her pocket, staring at it. She licks it, sealing it and places a postage stamp on it, standing –
Suddenly . . . the walls begin to shake.
The sound of helicopters? She looks up.
Blue flashing lights. Sirens in the distance.
The others could run in.
John SHIT!
Hilary Can we run? Should we run? John, should we run?
John Jim, you have the rifle, you’re the best shot! Fuck them! FUCK THEM! COME AND GET US!
The walls shake – an explosion – boots on the ground, men and guns and torchlight and shouting . . .
A torchlight hits Anna. She covers her eyes. As it’s lowered, she sees Smith facing her.
They stare at each other.
Blackout.
ANNA MENDELSON, JIM GREENFIELD, JOHN BARKER AND HILARY CREEK WERE CHARGED AND FOUND GUILTY OF CONSPIRACY TO CAUSE EXPLOSIONS AND OF POSSESSION.
THEY WERE EACH SENTENCED TO TEN YEARS IN PRISON.
ANNA, JOHN AND HILARY REPRESENTED THEMSELVES IN COURT . . .
. . . ONLY JIM DID NOT.
ANNA’S DEFENCE WAS THAT THEY HAD BEEN ‘WORKING TOGETHER, FOR A HAPPIER AND MORE PEACEFUL WORLD’ . . .
IT BECAME THE LONGEST CRIMINAL TRIAL IN ENGLISH LEGAL HISTORY.
The Vote
The Vote was created by James Graham and Josie Rourke and was first performed at the Donmar Warehouse, London, on 24 April 2015 with the following cast and creatives:
Fisayo Akinade
Madalena Alberto
Jade Anouka
Eddie Arnold
Rita Balogun
MyAnna Buring
Nicholas Burns
Paul Chahidi
Jackie Clune
Pandora Colin
Rosalie Craig
Heather Craney
Stavros Demetraki
Judi Dench
Rachel Denning
Hadley Fraser
Tommy French
Mark Gatiss
Llewella Gideon
Joanna Griffin
Alice Hewkin
Gerard Horan
Chukwudi Iwuji
Stephen Kennedy
Kadiff Kirwan
Aïcha Kossoko
Beverley Longhurst
Andrew McDonald
Wanda Opalinska
Bhasker Patel
Bill Paterson
Prasanna Puwanarajah
Penny Ryder
Michael Shaeffer
Nina Sosanya
Catherine Tate
Yusra Warsama
Timothy West
Finty Williams
Director Josie Rourke
Designer Robert Jones
Lighting Designer Oliver Fenwick
Sound Designer Nick Lidster
Composer Michael Bruce
Movement Stephen Mear
The day of the General Election, 7 May 2015. 8.30pm – 10pm. A polling station at a Primary School, the Borough of Lambeth.
Polling Station staff & observers
Kirsty Henderson, Poll Clerk
Laura Williams, Poll Clerk
Stephen Crosswell, Presiding Officer
Alan Walker, Polling Agent
Voters
Grace Botchway, 50s, female, Jamaican-origin, takes a tumble
Pravin Shah, 40-50s, male, Indian shopkeeper
Fred Norris, 80s, male, has Alzheimer’s
Jonathan Clarke, 17, male, underage voter
Jerome Hanikie, 20s, male, take-away delivery driver
Alastair Swift, 40s, male, takes his ballot paper away
Alia Aminu, 40s, female, local Labour party worker
Alexandra Peters, 40s, female, Russian, first-time voter
Rochena Peters, 40s, female, married to Alexandra
Tom Baird, 30s, male, musician
Tilde Larson, 30s, female, Swedish journalist
Jasmine Lennon, 18, female, first-time voter
Carla Wu, 18, female, first-time voter
Paul Alleyne, 30s, warehouse worker
G
erry Henderson, 40s, Kirsty’s husband
Lucas Henderson, 18, Kirsty’s son
Kenneth Robson, 40s, financier, husband of Louisa
Louisa Robson, 40s, wife of Kenneth
Colin Henderson, 40s, Kirsty’s brother-in-law
Chika Devan, 20s, female, police officer
Howard Roberts, 40s, male, independent candidate
Stuart Coghlan, 50s, male, kid goes to this school
Christine Metcalf, 70s, mother of Lola
Lola Parkes, 40s, daughter of Christine
Maria Ferreira, 20s, female, Portuguese
Adeyami Abudu, 40s, male, Tory candidate
Simon Featherstone, 50s/ 60s, male, caretaker
Claire Dunn, 30s, female, has restricted growth
Maggie Tann, 50s, Kirsty’s neighbour
Terri Fletcher, 40s, female, white, intimidates Hanni
Hanni Yonis, 20s, female, Somali origin
Part One
Thursday 7th May, 2015. 8.30pm.
A primary school hall, set up today as a local polling station.
Grace Botchway a voter, is lying on the floor, holding her ankle. Her groceries are scattered.
Grace I’m alright.
Stephen Everybody back, it’s OK!
Kirsty, a poll clerk, moves to pick up Grace’s dropped ballot paper.
Grace Don’t you touch my vote, don’t look!
Laura, the other clerk, has already leapt forward to help. Stephen, the Presiding Officer, takes command of the space.
Fred Norris, a voter, looks on from the booths, clutching his paper.
Stephen Madam?
Pravin Shah, another voter, is frozen midway through dropping his ballot inside the ballot box.
Pravin Should I not –?
Stephen Sir, just remain where you are for a moment.
Grace is stretching, trying to reach her ballot paper on the floor nearby, and can’t.
Grace Ow. Get away from my slip, don’t look.
Kirsty No one’s looking.
Grace It’s face up, I can see the cross.
Jonathan Clarke, 17, enters in school uniform, looking around. Surprised to see –
Laura Oh, hi, the school’s closed, for the election, it’s a polling station today –
Jonathan This isn’t my school, it’s a primary school. Jesus, I’m not 8.
Grace Just – gimme a second, get my leg round, oh God . . .
Jonathan I was just – looking for my mates, they said . . .
Grace (pointing at Fred) You there. My slip.
Stephen Yes that’s right, you slipped, that’s right.