Thursday 23 May

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.


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.


Hi. It’s Sara.

Yes. May I speak with/

Thank you.

Hi. It’s Sara.

I’m calling to say… congratulations.


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