If Only (NHB Modern Plays)

By David Edgar

An explosive, topical drama from one of the UK's top political playwrights.
It's 16th April 2010, the day after the UK's first ever televised prime ministerial debate. Stranded in Malaga Airport by a volcanic ash-cloud, a Labour special adviser, a Lib Dem staffer and a Tory candidate consider their options. Can their parties survive without them? How will they get back home? And who'll end up in government?
Fast forward to 4th August 2014. As the nation settles down to commemorate the outbreak of the First World War, the three politicians meet again. One of them knows something that could change the outcome of the 2015 election. Should they reveal it? And at what cost?
'funny, gripping and bang on the money' Telegraph
'fascinating... clearly meticulously researched' Guardian
'witty and very clever... hilarious' British Theatre Guide

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Release date: Aug 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781780012575

David Edgar

David Edgar is a leading UK playwright, author of many original plays and adaptations. He also pioneered the teaching of playwriting in the UK, founding the Playwriting Studies course at Birmingham University in 1989. His plays include: A Christmas Carol, adapted from the story by Charles Dickens (Royal Shakespeare Company, 2017); If Only (Minerva Theatre, Chichester, 2013); Written on the Heart (RSC, 2011); a version of Ibsen's The Master Builder (Minerva Theatre, Chichester, 2013); Arthur and George, adapted from the novel by Julian Barnes (Birmingham Rep & Nottingham Playhouse, 2010); Testing the Echo (Out of Joint, 2008); A Time to Keep, written with Stephanie Dale (Dorchester Community Players, 2007); Playing With Fire (National Theatre, 2005); Continental Divide (US, 2003); The Prisoner's Dilemma (RSC, 2001); Albert Speer, based on Gitta Sereny's biography of Hitler's architect (National Theatre, 2000); Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde (Birmingham Rep, 1996); Pentecost (RSC, 1994); The Shape of the Table (National Theatre, 1990); Maydays (1983); The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby (RSC, 1980); Destiny (1976); and The National Interest (1971). His work for television includes adaptations of Destiny, screened by the BBC in 1978, The Jail Diary of Albie Sachs, televised by the BBC in 1981, and The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby, televised by Channel 4 in 1982, as well as the plays Buying a Landslide (1992) and Vote for Them (1989). He is also the author of the radio plays Ecclesiastes (1977), A Movie Starring Me (1991), Talking to Mars (1996) and an adaptation of Eve Brook's novel The Secret Parts (2000). He wrote the screenplay for the film Lady Jane (1986). He is the author of How Plays Work (Nick Hern Books, 2009; revised 2021) and The Second Time as Farce: Reflections on the Drama of Mean Times (1988), and editor of The State of Play: Playwrights on Playwriting (2000). He was Resident Playwright at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre in 1974-5 (Board Member from 1985), Fellow in Creative Writing at Leeds Polytechnic, Bicentennial Arts Fellow (US) (1978-9) and was Literary Consultant for the RSC (1984-8, Honorary Associate Artist, 1989). He founded the University of Birmingham's MA in Playwriting Studies in 1989 and was its director until 1999. He was appointed Professor of Playwriting Studies in 1995.

Book preview

David Edgar

IF ONLY

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Dedication

Characters

If Only

Timeline

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

If Only was first performed at the Minerva Theatre, Chichester, on 20 June 2013 (previews from 14 June), with the following cast:

To Janelle Reinelt and Jerry Hewitt

Characters

PETER GREATOREX, Conservative, early forties

JO LAMBERT, Liberal Democrat, late thirties

SAM HUNT, Labour, around forty

HANNAH, seventeen

Setting

The play is set in Spain, France, England and Belgium, in the spring of 2010 and the summer of 2014.

Note on the Text

A dash (–) means that a character is interrupted. A forward slash (/) means that the next character to speak starts speaking at that point.

The second half of the play concerns the future of the coalition government. This ebook was created before the end of rehearsals and so may differ slightly from the play as performed.

ACT ONE

Scene One

Friday 16 April 2010. Mid-afternoon.

The landside of the departure building at Malaga Airport in Southern Spain. There is a cacophony of announcements in Spanish, with the occasional burst of English, confirming that all flights to all Central and Northern European destinations are cancelled, advising passengers to contact their airlines and not to leave their luggage unattended.

JO, wearing headphones and a bridesmaid’s outfit, is standing with her baggage trolley, with her laptop propped up on her luggage alongside a rather battered bridal bouquet, watching something on her computer. Beside her is some unaccompanied luggage without a trolley, on top of which rests a grey top hat.

PETER strides in, wearing morning dress, but with his tie loosed, his collar open and his waistcoat unbuttoned, carrying a sandwich. He is in great annoyance.

PETER. Well, it’s seven kinds of hell out there.

JO shrugs.

Displays are still announcing final calls for flights which didn’t leave five hours ago. There’s no information at information and there’s queues to join the queues. The loos are an affront to health and safety. And that’s not to mention the cafeteria, where they have run out of anything with chicken, proper ham or cheese and pickle and are only serving rolls shaped like torpedoes full of rocket and chorizo.

He waves his sandwich as JO takes off her headphones.

JO. Sorry?

PETER. I was saying they’ve run out of cheese and pickle sandwiches.

JO. You should have done what I did, and nicked a stash from breakfast. (Hunting in her hand luggage.) Do you want a croissant, or a pain au chocolat. Or – I think, yes, a piece of cake.

PETER. Cake would be nice.

She hands over a piece of cake wrapped in napkin.

Thanks very much.

JO. Don’t mention it.

PETER takes a bite.

PETER. Mm.

JO. It was thrust into my shoulder bag by the best man as we left. In lieu of – whatever best men traditionally do to bridesmaids.

PETER. Ah. And you got the bouquet.

JO. Clearly, misdirected.

PETER. Like the volcanic ash. Is there any news on British airspace?

JO. I’m watching something else.

PETER (taking out his phone and dialling). What, you’re taking in a movie?

JO. A historic moment. The first prime ministerial debate.

PETER. I thought it was last night.

JO (obvious). So I’m watching it on iPlayer.

PETER. In that case, I will try to call our airline and find out what the hell is going on.

PETER listens to the phone ring.

JO. Oh, by the way. David Cameron has met a black man in Plymouth.

PETER (on phone). Hallo, is that…? Oh, bloody hell.

JO (putting her headphones back in). And he thinks we’re not locking burglars up enough. Hold the front page.

PETER. Oh, why not. (Dictating to a voice-recognition machine.) Malaga.

JO. Ooh, and Gordon Brown cracked a joke.

PETER (on phone). Yes.

JO. ‘It’s not question time, it’s answer time.’

PETER (on phone, scrabbling for documentation). FR213.

JO. And he agrees with Nick.

PETER (on phone). Yes. What?

JO. On everything it seems.

PETER (on phone). Hallo?

JO. And, hey. Nick used my line.

PETER’s line’s gone. He ends the call. JO pulls off her headphones. During this, SAM appears with his luggage. He’s tieless, but wearing a lightweight suit.

I bet you’re all kicking yourselves now.

PETER. Oh, what about?

JO (taps the screen). Agreeing to debate.

PETER. You should conserve your battery.

JO. What about your phone?

PETER. I am using it for an urgent purpose which touches directly on both our lives.

JO. Me too. And I have an European adaptor.

PETER. There’s queues for wall sockets. Longer than the queues for the cafeteria.

JO. That’ll be because of the torpedoes.

SAM has recognised JO.

PETER. What line?

JO. I’m sorry?

PETER. You said ‘he used my line’.

JO. ‘The more they attack each other, the more they sound the same.’

SAM. And do you think that’s true?

JO. Oh, gosh.

PETER. Um…

JO. Sam.

SAM. So, what are you…?

JO. I might ask you the same question.

SAM. Well, I’m not dressed as a debutante.

JO (gesturing at the bouquet). Try and work it out.

SAM. And shouldn’t you be back at Cowley Street ironing out the kinks in your Pet Passport policy?

JO. And shouldn’t you be back in Downing Street running the country even further into the ground?

SAM. No, actually, when they call a general election –

JO. My sister’s wedding. Mijas Costa, a little way along the coast. They’d just cut the cake when we heard a rumour that French airspace was going to be reopened in an hour for an hour. And you?

SAM. A post-Copenhagen pre-Mexico climate-change briefing in Kolkata. Diverted to Tbilisi, Istanbul and here. When you say ‘we’?

JO. Uh – this is Peter.

SAM (registering PETER). Best man?

JO. Bridegroom’s cousin.

PETER. Uncle, but thank you. And when you…

SAM. A Family Connection?

JO. Merely geographical.

PETER. When you say –

SAM. Yeovil?

JO. Well, congratulations.

SAM. And everybody else?

JO. Is ‘making a weekend of it’.

PETER. When you say ‘Downing Street’?

Slight pause.

JO. Sam advises Gordon Brown.

PETER. So why were you at a climate-change event in India?

SAM. We multitask.

PETER. In the middle of a general election?

Pause.

SAM (turning to JO, changing the subject). So, apart from being your childhood chum…

JO. Sam Hunt, Peter Greatorex. Peter was a big wheel in the ’05 Conservative campaign.

SAM. Ah, the Victor Meldrew Manifesto?

PETER. That’s the one.

SAM. ‘How hard is it to clean a hospital?’

PETER. Indeed indeed.

SAM. ‘It isn’t racist to talk about immigration.’

PETER. Yes, well –

SAM. But it helps.

JO. And ‘are you thinking what we’re thinking?’

SAM. Answer ‘no’, as I remember.

JO. Since when, he became MP for –

SAM. Wiltshire South-West?

PETER. South-East.

SAM. A by-election in… ’08?

PETER. Correct.

SAM. And the Telegraph got you for flipping, right?

PETER. The Telegraph