2nd May 1997 (NHB Modern Plays)

By Jack Thorne

A smouldering play about escaping the past, seizing the present and owning the future.

2nd May 1997. An historic victory. The Tories, eighteen years in power, are defeated as New Labour sweeps into government. From the euphoria and despair, three deeply personal stories emerge.

Tory MP Robert prepares to attend the count. With defeat looming large, he fears becoming a forgotten man, while his wife Marie counts the cost of her own sacrifice to politics. Lib Dem footsoldier Ian is no hero, but party-crasher Sarah is determined to make him one. Best mates Jake and Will wake up with a new world order to memorise before their A-level Politics class. Jake dreams of Number 10. Will dreams of Jake.

'rising playwright Jack Thorne takes us back in time with such quiet profundity and verve you get a burst of inspiration to match the uplift of those distant days' - Telegraph<

'richly rewarding... playwright Jack Thorne elegantly refracts the early hours of Blair through three very different relationships... A superb 90 minutes' -Evening Standard

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Release date: Oct 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781780013329

Jack Thorne

Jack Thorne is a playwright and BAFTA-winning screenwriter. His plays for the stage include: When Winston Went to War with the Wireless (Donmar Warehouse, 2023); The Motive and the Cue (National Theatre and West End, 2023); After Life, an adaptation of a film by Hirokazu Kore-eda (National Theatre, 2021); the end of history... (Royal Court, London, 2019); an adaptation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol (Old Vic, London, 2017); an adaptation of Büchner's Woyzeck (Old Vic, London, 2017); Junkyard (Headlong, Bristol Old Vic, Rose Theatre Kingston and Theatr Clwyd, 2017); Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (Palace Theatre, London, 2016); The Solid Life of Sugar Water (Graeae and Theatre Royal Plymouth, 2015); Hope (Royal Court, London, 2015); adaptations of Let the Right One In (National Theatre of Scotland at Dundee Rep, the Royal Court and the Apollo Theatre, London, 2013/14) and Stuart: A Life Backwards (Underbelly, Edinburgh and tour, 2013); Mydidae (Soho, 2012; Trafalgar Studios, 2013); an adaptation of Friedrich Dürrenmatt's The Physicists (Donmar Warehouse, 2012); Bunny (Underbelly, Edinburgh, 2010; Soho, 2011); 2nd May 1997 (Bush, 2009); When You Cure Me (Bush, 2005; Radio 3's Drama on Three, 2006); Fanny and Faggot (Pleasance, Edinburgh, 2004 and 2007; Finborough, 2007; English Theatre of Bruges, 2007; Trafalgar Studios, 2007); and Stacy (Tron, 2006; Arcola, 2007; Trafalgar Studios, 2007). His television work includes His Dark Materials, Then Barbara Met Alan (with Genevieve Barr), The Eddy, Help, The Accident, Kiri, National Treasure and This is England ’86/’88/’90. His films include The Swimmers (with Sally El Hosaini), Enola Holmes, Radioactive, The Aeronauts and Wonder. He was the recipient of the Writers' Guild of Great Britain Award for Outstanding Contribution to Writing in 2022.

Book preview

PART ONE

11.38 p.m.

The simple yet textured bedroom of a cultured older couple.

ROBERT sits up in a slightly grand bed, looking at a small packet of photos; seventy-ish and handsome, he is wearing reading glasses. There is an oxygen cylinder beside his bed. He’s calling offstage.

ROBERT. So which one’s this and why’s she in a bikini?

He flicks to another photo.

And this one – this one’s new. I recognise him. But I don’t know where from. He’s not the new one, is he?

He continues to flick.

MARIE (from off). No. The new one wasn’t with her. They were all just friends…

ROBERT. They seem to have – well, he’s certainly touching her, not – I’m never sure what touching is friendly any more. But that I wouldn’t say was…

If I’d have touched Mary Watson like that, I’d have been slapped.

MARIE is in the ensuite bathroom. She is making quite a lot of noise in there, working her new electric toothbrush.

MARIE (she stays off). Mary Watson?

ROBERT. Mary? I must have told you. Mary? First – well, first something. She let me hold hands with her once, and then said I was too clammy – said my hands felt like goose grease. I realised then – if she could afford goose in her house – well, no chance for me. I don’t know why I’m remembering her.

Mary? Do I mean Mary Watson? Maybe it was Phillips. You’d remember her name better than I, and I’d have surely told you… Maybe it wasn’t Mary.

Do you hear that? The bells of Alzheimer’s. The bells. The bells. Remembering –

Bikini.

Bikini.

MARIE. You do not have Alzheimer’s…

ROBERT. There’s about twenty shots of this girl in a bikini. Same – bikini – well, some – no, same bikini, just different angle. More of a – bottom one –

Bikini.

Bikini.

MARIE. She’s just trying to keep us involved, darling…

ROBERT. Funny way to stay involved, to show us lots of shots of this girl’s bottom.

He turns a photo through ninety degrees in his hands – he raises his eyebrow in surprise.

MARIE. She thought we’d want to see them.

ROBERT. But they’re not of anything, well, not of –

MARIE. Then put them back in the envelope and finish your speech.

He thinks, and then continues flicking through.

ROBERT. A few landscapes. A spot of nature wouldn’t be… People on a beach in their pants – touching each other… and ‘clubbing’. There are some of ‘clubbing’. Did I tell you about the ‘clubbing ones’? Most of them seem to be wearing bikinis in those too – bikinis and sunglasses indoors.

MARIE. It was a holiday, Robert. Not a fact-finding mission.

ROBERT. Oh. Yes. Not that – facts. I firmly disagree with the notion that facts and entertainment are somehow different entities.

He turns over to another picture.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee called from the office.

MARIE. What did they want?

ROBERT. And they’re hideously small. These photos.

MARIE. You buy an extra packet for a pound. It’s one of those you send off for. But they come in that size.

ROBERT. Well. They’re very small.

MARIE enters the room and smiles at her husband. She is sixty-ish, stylish, careful; she’s wearing a face mask.

MARIE. Large enough for you to make out a bikini, though…

ROBERT looks at her and smiles.

ROBERT. Yes.

MARIE. Which is surprising because it is not a large bikini.

She smiles and exits for the bathroom again.

He puts down the photos. He picks up a pad and a pen. He looks at them.

ROBERT. They said there’s a race on. Tweedlewotsits. The office did. First to declare. Sunderland. Hamilton. Somewhere else. They thought they’d have the first results within the hour.

MARIE (she stays off). Maybe we should have the goggleometer on then.

ROBERT. No. No. We’ll have quite enough of that later.

He coughs, touches his chest, and then looks around regally.

He puts down the pad and the paper with