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Even before the word ‘dementia’ is finally said in Jennifer Lunn’s play, the life-imploding effects of the disease are indisputable. Es and Flo have secretly been together for nearly 40 years, having met at Greenham Peace Camp in the 1980s. They’ve built their home, life and identity to become a union. But now at 71, Es is not how she used to be. There’s mental blanks here and repeated chit-chat there until she at last admits that she’s ‘forgetting a lot’. It is a blunt and savage drawing of memory loss and its copious horrors, but what makes Lunn’s play more emotionally piercing is its portrayal of long-lasting, lesbian love.
It is a story that is fuelled by the remembrances of their relationship forming. Sounds from the protests at Greenham trickle in and out, like flowing water, between scenes. They recall, with agonising fondness, their first meeting at the camp, the excitement of new connection and the sparks of fresh intimacy. But with every tale from the past comes the knowledge that their history is starting to slip away.
What Lunn does with refreshing expertise is balance the shame Es feels about her sexuality with her evident adoration for her partner. As a retired headteacher, she once feared losing her profession due to the laws of Section 28, and so couldn’t risk revealing her relationship with Flo. Es never attended pride marches. Even now, despite their lives being wholly integrated, she refuses to tell her absent son, Peter, about their partnership. With no public acknowledgment of their bond, Flo has to push hard to have the right to hold Es close. When the threat of the outside, unknowing world arrives in the form of a carer, paid for by Peter, their sanctuary starts to feel unstable.
Staged on a glorious sliced open house set, designed intricately by Libby Watson, there’s the sense we’re peering into the couple’s domestic existence. Stuffed full of relics from their years of affection; photographs from their youths, bookshelves bursting with well-thumbed classics, and souvenirs picked up from their travels, it is a cherished picture of their dual identity. But, with Es’s mind becoming progressively hazy, their home grows into a stark reminder of everything they’re about to lose. Under the careful direction of Susie McKenna, the tragedy that aging and illness can bring feels inevitable.
With dementia, there is no resolution. By that token, Lunn’s play ultimately feels a little too neat. Everything is tied up, satisfactorily – but with it, comes a nagging sense of inauthenticity. But, if it eases the pain of dementia – maybe it is what we need? ‘Es & Flo’ is a rich and rare tale of two women sharing their lives – in love, loss and contentment.