Seven Dials Playhouse – until 15 November 2025
Reviewed by Claire Roderick
4****
Kathleen is nervously waiting for a visitor, anxiously checking herself in the mirror, gently touching a small paper package. The visitor is the son she last saw 30 years ago, and Mark Wilson’s tender and moving portrayal of an adoption explores the feelings of all involved.
Kathleen recalls the shock and anger of her mother – mortified at the perceived shame of her fifteen-year-old daughter having a baby. The path that she is convinced to follow – for the best – is all arranged as neighbours are told she is going on holiday and she is sent away to have her baby. Her father, Will’s reaction is less vitriolic, but his quiet disappointment in his little girl stings even more. His gentle, conciliatory tone appears well practiced as his role in the home seems to be to placate his more incendiary wife and keep things running smoothly with no fuss. James Dangerfield is heartbreaking in a brilliantly written late scene where Will realises that he missed a chance to see his grandson, capturing his regret and loss before he pushes it aside to be able to cope with keeping the peace at home.
Mark Wilson’s empathetic writing allows devastating moments to settle and creates a non-judgemental picture of people just doing their best to deal with the situation. The father of Kathleen’s child – just some army lad – describes their brief flirtation while he is on leave, making it clear that he has no idea about the consequences of his actions. The couple who adopts Kathleen’s child, and their reasons for adopting, are drawn beautifully, not shying away from the grief of miscarriage. The long-term effect on Vanessa’s mental health of these losses is laid bare as her now adult son sits tenderly next to her as she repeatedly relives the moment she first held him, crying and panicking about feeling true connection and belonging.
Rosie Snell directs with a gentle touch as Sarita Plowman and James Dangerfield switch between characters with deft and obvious changes in body language and voice, effortlessly conveying their emotional trauma amid scattered glimmers of love and hope. Plowman is captivating as young Kathleen – the joy and innocence as she dances with carefree abandon, enchanting her army lad, slowly disappearing as she arrives at the morning she last sees her son. Greg Spong’s simple but emotive set design has stacks of vintage suitcases as symbols of the characters’ search for belonging and Andrew Stuart-Buttle’s music is atmospheric, creating magical moments.
The interwoven stories hit hard in their unsensational, recognisable truth. The performances are glorious in the intimate space, telling this beautiful, reflective play that deserves a wider audience.