We Anchor in Hope

Anna Jordan

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9781848429031
• eBook ISBN: 9781788502634
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

'This is a locals' pub. And what's the problem with locals? They die.'
'Inconsiderate bastards.'

All over London, public houses become private flats. Tomorrow The Anchor closes for good. It's the end of an era, but Kenny and the gang are going out with a bang. There's a blow-up sheep, karaoke and a lot of Campari. There's secrets and grudges and forgotten dreams. As the front doors are locked and the bar is drunk dry, there's a lot more to lose than just a pub.

Anna Jordan's play We Anchor in Hope premiered at The Bunker, London, in 2019, produced by The Bunker and W14 Productions in association with the Royal Court Theatre, and directed by Artistic Director Chris Sonnex.

ACT ONE

Late summer 2016. A dark and empty pub. It’s an absolute shit state – the debris of last night not cleared up yet: glasses, crisp packets, a couple of stalls turned over, a rather deflated blow-up sheep in the corner. There are also some paper plates with some remnants of a buffet, the odd stray Wotsit, a lone sausage roll lies under a chair. During the early sections the pub is tidied and put in order. There’s always something to do. For now, there is just the hum of the fridges. It’s a bit spooky. PEARL enters. Dressed in trackie bottoms, a crop top and jacket. She switches the light on. Looks at the mess.

PEARL. Oh what??

She takes her jacket off. She opens the back door, which leads up to the flat and down to the cellar, and calls.

LADS!

Kenny! Bill?

She listens.

Nothing. She looks out over the pub. Quietly:

Taking the fucking piss.

She goes into a corner to collect glasses. The corner is spotlit momentarily. She speaks to the audience. The memory is fleeting but vivid and the text is delivered with rhythm and pace.

Late summer. 2003. Mum; hoop earrings and a G&T. Shaggy on the jukebox: ‘It Wasn’t Me’. Patches of sweat under the arms of her top. Well, it is fucking hot. Feels like summer got fat and it’s about to burst. We’re coming back from Nanny’s but we’ve popped in here first.

Mum basks in the weight of the male gaze. Laughing. Posing. Pouting. Smoking; working her looks. And I’m in the corner with an ice pop and Disney Princess colouring book. I want hair down to my bum and a tiny waist – like Mum. What I’ve got is puppy fat and a lopsided bob that Auntie Shell did after seven pints.

Mum’s with a boyfriend. Ricky, or Webster, or Steve? Yep, it’s Steve, defo. Looking like the cat that got the cream. Back rod-straight, hackles up, he scans the pub. Does these jerky movements with his chin. Wants everyone to know that Fi’s with him. He’s set to pride for his first four drinks. Fifth one turns the dial to jealous rage.

My ice pop’s melted on the page and my lips are blue. I’ve had jelly sweets at Nanny’s too and I’m coming down off a sugar high. I want to go home. And sit on Mum’s bed; copy her as she takes off her make-up and puts on all her creams and goo. It’s my favourite thing to do. Princess Jasmine’s got nothing on my mum. She shits all over Mulan and Belle. But Steve’s coming back with us – I can tell. There’s a sheen of sweat on the both of them. He hooks spindly fingers under bra straps, creeps them up her skirt like tarantula’s legs. Her lips are parted, he whispers something in her ear and she throws her head back and laughs.

She moves so she is not visible to BILBO, who enters from the stairs and floats around the bar area.

I’m six. But already I think – what does it feel like when a man touches you?

She gets lost in the thought. BILBO looks mournfully at the pub – then suddenly and spontaneously shouts into the empty space:

BILBO. CHEL-SEE-/EEEEA!

PEARL. Fucking HELL, Bilbo!

BILBO. Oh my God!

PEARL. Idiot, man!

BILBO. You scared me!

PEARL. You scared me, you twat.

BILBO. What you doing here?

PEARL. What does it look like, dick-face? I’m cleaning up!

BILBO. Why?

PEARL. Cos you didn’t do it last night!

BILBO. I mean why bother? Let the brewery do it!

He grabs an abandoned plate of food and chucks it over the floor.

PEARL. KEN’S OPENING UP. Tonight.

Beat. Confused.

BILBO. I thought he weren’t gonna bother.

PEARL. ‘Business as usual. One more night. Do me proud.’ Check your phone.

BILBO. Why would he text me? He lives with me.

She looks at him. He checks it.

Oh yeah.

PEARL. BILL. MOVE YOURSELF.

PEARL goes back to tidying, BILBO helps.

BILBO. He ain’t come out of his room all day.

PEARL. Hungover.

BILBO. I left a latte and a sausage sandwich outside his door. ’S still there.

Beat. PEARL works on.

I would have thought he was fucking dead if he hadn’t left a massive floater in the toilet.

PEARL. BILL!

BILBO. Sorry. But it was like an arm reaching for me.

He shudders with the memory. PEARL’s phone rings: Amy Winehouse – ‘Rehab’. She checks it and rejects it quickly.

PEARL. You’re a mug. You hungover?

BILBO. Nah I’m alright. I was sick.

PEARL. It was a good night. Loads of people we haven’t seen for ages.

BILBO. Yeah.

PEARL. Can’t believe Cathy Morris has got a new face.

BILBO. Yeah.

PEARL. They paid for it with their PPI. Tony must wake up every morning and be like WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

BILBO. Tony ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title page
• Contents
• Original Production
• Dedication
• A Note About this Play
• Acknowledgements
• Characters
• Note on Text
• We Anchor in Hope
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information