Fourteen-year-old Steph has gone missing. The frayed lives of those left behind are quietly unravelling. Her divorced mum, who left Steph at home alone while she went on the razzle, can't deal with the guilt. Steph's dad, who lives with his new wife and daughter, has his own reasons for feeling bad. And Steve, the 34-year-old loner next door, is attracting the attention of the local vigilantes, quick to cast him as a paedophile and murderer. There are stones through the window and wee on the sofa, and if he wants to go out, he has to disguise himself in a Scooby Doo costume.
Set in a small northern town, James Pearson's debut play is like a jigsaw that you have to piece together yourself. The whole picture only emerges gradually, and some of the pieces are a bit wonky and don't quite fit. Who cares! I certainly don't. It may be ragged and not fully formed, but this is promising stuff, delicate and unsentimental in its examination of the pain of loss, and clear-eyed in its excavations of the complications of family relationships, the good things as well as the bad. "I know what this looks like. But it innit!" protests Steve after admitting to kissing Steph. This understated play innit what it appears either. It is always more complex, even if Pearson's inexperience means that he doesn't always gather the threads together entirely satisfactorily.
January is a month of monologues and few risks, so all power to the Union for staging this with a cast of nine. Elgiva Field's confident production lends style to Pearson's script without giving it unnecessary polish, and there are some very nice performances in this quiet and commendably unflashy drama.
· Until February 10. Box office: 020-7261 9876.
