by Keziah Warner
In the campaign office, Sara and Annie are stress-eating bread and olive oil. Sara is tugging nervously at her trench coat.
The phone rings. Annie answers it.
ANNIE: Yes.
Yes.
Thank you.
She hangs up.
SARA: How much now?
ANNIE: Eighty percent.
SARA: And still behind by/…?
ANNIE: A lot. Yes.
SARA: Fuck.
ANNIE: It’s only eighty.
SARA: How good is your maths?
ANNIE: What?
SARA: Numbers.
ANNIE: Ok.
SARA: It’s been five days.
ANNIE: It’s not impossible.
SARA: But not probable.
ANNIE: It’s a lot to take in.
SARA: Concedere.
ANNIE: Consider…?
SARA: The Latin. Con, completely. Cedere, yield.
ANNIE: It’s not over till it’s over.
SARA: You’ll be ok. I expect you’ve had phone calls already.
ANNIE: I haven’t.
SARA: I’ve heard your phone ringing.
ANNIE: I have a job.
SARA: We’re going to need some more bread.
ANNIE: Yes.
Annie gets up. She stops at the door.
We still think every community matters, don’t we?
SARA: Maybe some more than others.
ANNIE: Latin, really?
SARA: Yes.
ANNIE: Don’t be such a wanker.
Annie leaves the room.
Sara sits for a second then takes a few sharp breaths in, like when you’re trying not to cry.
She composes herself.
She picks up the phone and dials.
SARA: Hi, it’s mum.
I’ll be home soon, darling. Is Dad home?
Ok can you tell him I’ll be there in half an hour?
Thanks darling. I love you too.
Bye. Bye.
She hangs up. Dials again.
Hello?
Hi. It’s Sara.
Yes. May I speak with/
Thank you.
Hi. It’s Sara.
I’m calling to say… congratulations.
The Campaign & After Plays 