Love is a drug. So is smack. When shy working-class single-mother Leigh falls for black dope-dealer Angel she is soon addicted to both. "I'd eat glass for you," she tells the over-educated and under-employed Angel as she jumps feet first into a helter skelter of self-destruction. This is a woman who has selflessly held her life together for years against the odds, worked in local government, brought up her children with love and diligence, been a leading light in the PTA. No wonder she is so bloody exhausted, no wonder love and dependency sneak up and mug her from behind.
Georgia Fitch's two-hander of inner-city angst is nothing much. But it is definitely something to shout about. It is small and loud, full of stylistic skips and jumps, and the writing is as sharp and lethal as a needle full of heroin. I found myself getting quite addicted to it. It is one of those plays that leaves you with a smile on your face even as your heart lurches towards despair.
Its observations about the way vulnerable men and women in love behave are merciless. Yet it is all done with the lightest of touches: there is something about this play that gets under your skin. It is 70 minutes that understands the unexpected prick of tears that comes to your eyes when you hear a snatch of song in the supermarket, the urge to jump that you have to fight when you peer over a clifftop, the mother who wants out and in, the everyday cuddle of her kids and smacked-out bliss.
Not everything adds up or is explained quite as neatly as one might like, and this is very definitely state-of-the-heart rather than state-of-the-nation stuff. But the writing is so fearless, the performances of Fiona Bell and Mark Monero so touching and tough, and Mike Bradwell's production so unassuming yet deft, that you leave the theatre on a definite high.
· Until April 3. Box office: 020-7610 4224.
