the end of history...

Jack Thorne

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9781848428362
• eBook ISBN: 9781788501958
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

'No talent at all when it comes to cooking – as you will discover – but when it comes to pissing off my children – immense talent – Olympian talent.'

Newbury, 1997. Sal is attempting to cook dinner for the family. She and husband David have pulled off a coup and gathered their brood back home for the weekend. Eldest son Carl is bringing his new girlfriend to meet everyone for the first time; middle daughter Polly is back from Cambridge University for the occasion; and youngest Tom will hopefully make it out of detention in time for dinner.

Sal and David would rather feed their kids with leftist ideals and welfarism than fancy cuisine. When you've named each of your offspring after your socialist heroes, you've given them a lot to live up to…

Jack Thorne's play the end of history… premiered in the Jerwood Theatre Downstairs at the Royal Court Theatre, London, in June 2019, in a production directed by John Tiffany.

ACT ONE

1997.

A slightly overstuffed dining room–kitchen. There are family pictures on every wall and artefacts from Sierra Leone, Hong Kong and Indonesia.

There are casually treated and well-read books everywhere as well as the occasional stack of correspondence or the odd interesting ripped-out article from a newspaper.

There’s also some dust.

POLLY is dressed in black, SAL is in a plastic checkered apron.

POLLY. What I resent is being given no choice in the matter.

SAL. You have a choice. You can sleep on the sofa, or on your brother’s floor.

POLLY. I just don’t see why I…

SAL. It’s the nicest room.

POLLY. It’s the nicest room because I made it the nicest room.

SAL. We want her to feel comfortable.

POLLY. And you’re happy for your daughter to feel uncomfortable?

Beat.

SAL. If it was up to us, they’d share a bed, we don’t care if they want to fool around…

POLLY laughs.

POLLY. Fool around?

SAL. Fuck. We don’t care if they want to fuck. But both of them gave their words to her parents and feel obliged to stick to those words.

POLLY. Religious?

SAL. Catholic.

POLLY. Really?

SAL. Ya-huh.

POLLY. And just to be clear – you would have them betray her parents’ trust?

SAL. All the best children do I’ve heard. Besides, I believe their parents’ beliefs are based on a false construct that might ultimately damage her.

POLLY. Beware false idols.

Beat. SAL isn’t sure if that’s a dig.

Why can’t she sleep in Tom’s room?

SAL. Because it smells of dirty socks and dirty magazines and I can’t seem to be able to eradicate either.

POLLY. Why can’t she sleep in Carl’s room and he sleep on the sofa?

SAL. Because then she’ll get embarrassed and insist she sleep on the sofa and your father will walk through with nothing on for his morning coffee and cause her a fright.

POLLY. I don’t want to sleep on the sofa.

SAL. And if she hasn’t seen the male naked form before then I’d rather the first not be your father’s. It might put her off for life. You can share with us if you’d like?

POLLY. What?

SAL. Me. Share with me. I could kick David out – make him sleep on the sofa – and we could share a bed. You and I, I mean.

POLLY. No.

SAL. It’s a new mattress. We just got a new mattress. It’s wonderful, it’s like sleeping on a – what would be the appropriate metaphor?

POLLY. I don’t know.

SAL. We never have sex any more because we don’t want to damage the springs and sleeping is too nice.

POLLY looks at her.

Nothing makes me happier than oversharing with you. Your lip literally disappears inside yourself it gets so thin.

Beat.

You left home.

POLLY. I went to university.

SAL. The room is no longer your possession. It’s ours. And we want your brother’s girlfriend to be comfortable. If you had brought home a boyfriend and your brother didn’t have anyone –

POLLY. Didn’t have anyone. Nice.

SAL. I would say that he should be kicked out so your – imaginary boyfriend – could have his room.

She smiles at her daughter, who reluctantly smiles back.

POLLY. Thanks.

SAL. Oh darling, I’m kidding you, you’ll have plenty of boyfriends, you probably have one now, you just won’t want to tell me because I’ll embarrass you with over-intrusive questions.

POLLY. You’re right, I have several.

SAL. Long as they’re not economics students.

POLLY. They’re not.

SAL. I’ve no problem with their intellectual aspirations – if they want to be economists – let them be economists – but, in my experience, they tend to be perverts.

POLLY. Yup. You’ve already said.

SAL. I dated two – I think out of an anthropological desire to understand economists if not economics – and it was the age of Keynes as king so not quite so – you know, neither were driven by money – most of them want to be in the city I imagine in your year – anyway, I digress, both tried for anal sex. Both of them. And they were really affronted when I wouldn’t let them.

POLLY is just staring at her mum.

You see – lovely curled lip again – you actually have lovely lips – you take after David’s mum. I’d love lovely lips like you’ve got.

POLLY. I’m going to get dressed for dinner.

SAL. I try to teach all my students about – when we do Dickens – about the price mechanism – never accept a cinema ticket from a boy unless you’re prepared to, I don’t know, wank them off after – nothing’s free in this world – perhaps I let them buy me too many drinks. The economists.

POLLY. Perhaps. Okay. Dressed.

SAL. You’re not wearing that?

POLLY. No.

SAL. But you look really nice.

POLLY. I have no idea how your students survive your Dickens class.

SAL. No.

POLLY. You don’t really talk about wanking?

SAL. I’d be fired if I talked about wanking. I imply wanking. And I’m doing them a favour, aren’t I? They need to learn about patriarchal capitalism from someone. It’s surprisingly low-cut for daywear. If you have a different outfit for – nightwear.

Beat.

POLLY. Don’t worry, Mum, for dinner, I’m wearing a blouse with buttons all the way up to my mouth. I don’t want to scare her with unnecessary skin. Okay. See you.

SAL. You know her parents own most of Hampshire.

POLLY. Oh, I see…

SAL. You don’t.

POLLY. That is why you’ve given her the best room. Deference.

SAL. No. Come on.

POLLY. And here was I worrying you were going to upset her by saying something political, now I’m worrying that you’ll embarrass her through bowing too deep. And they don’t own most of Hampshire, they own a series of hotels, the largest of which is in Hampshire.

SAL. I’m just excited he’s found someone so interesting.

POLLY. And they’re big in service stations apparently. Your fascination with...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Contents
• Original Production
• Dedication
• Epigraph
• Characters
• the end of history…
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information