Red Bus Londinium Life

Dreams, despair and fried dumplings: Caribbean roots and broken systems collide in this rich, heartfelt study of a psychological care system creaking at the seams. The Bush Theatre and Belgrade Theatre in Coventry are co-producers in the world premiere of After Sunday, the debut of Bush Writers’ Group alum Sophia Griffin.

Directed by Corey Campbell, Daniel (Darrel Bailey), Ty (Corey Weekes) and Leroy (David Webber) are three Black men, each carrying layers of trauma and trying to rebuild themselves within the confines of a secure unit. Their latest diversion, a Caribbean cooking group, is only partly about a passion for dumplings and roti but also about quietly paving a path toward a less secure setting. Leading them is Naomi (Aimée Powell), an occupational therapist bursting with optimism and a fierce belief in the healing power of food. She’s intent on conjuring the comfort of Sunday dinners and family kitchens, hoping that chopping, stirring and sharing will open up conversations long buried. But her idealism crashes into reality: the men’s deep wounds, relentless budget cuts and the unseen yet ever-pressing weight of management, felt only through her anxious responses.

All four actors skilfully inhabit these damaged, complicated lives, shifting between moments of humour, vulnerability and anger with real depth. Each performance captures a different shade of survival, and together they create a dynamic that feels lived-in and volatile. The writing is sharp, compassionate and well observed and the interplay between them taut, unpredictable and the pain often painfully recognisable.

The set design (Claire Winfield), coupled with lighting by Ali Hunter and sound and music by Xana, does a great job of conjuring both the sterileness of a working kitchen and the chill of a psychological hospital. The stainless-steel trolleys and labelled cupboards give the convincing feel of a commercial space, while the patient files and text books tucked under the stage itself quietly nod to a world of patient records and therapy sessions. But the design also means that some details are inevitably lost to anyone sitting to the side: you can see the chopping and prep work, but not much of the actual cooking or what’s happening beyond the kitchen door. The tally of sessions on the wall and the corridors leading off are also hidden from that angle, something I only realised as I was leaving the theatre. Still, what’s visible is rich in texture, and the atmosphere of heat, care and quiet tension comes through clearly.

The story of Ty, Leroy and Daniel hits harder when you remember the numbers behind it. Leroy struggles with reading and writing, hardly surprising given that fewer than half of male prisoners in 2023 had literacy at the level expected of an 11‑year‑old. That year’s figures also show that Black people were 3.5 times as likely as White people to be detained under the Mental Health Act (228 per 100,000 compared with 64 per 100,000), and Black men made up around 12 % of the prison population while only 4 % of the general population, a stark reminder of systemic disproportionality.

But After Sunday is more than statistics, we are invited into lives too often hidden behind closed doors. The play insists that we bear witness to these stories: damaged men and hard-pressed staff navigating a system that struggles to care for any of them. Yet in this kitchen, over plantains and chopped peppers, moments of understanding and fragile connection emerge. There are no tidy endings here, no simple victories, but glimmers of hope flicker between the four of them, reminding us of the human lives and struggles behind the numbers.

Raw, challenging, funny and tender – this is theatre that refuses to look away.

[Thank you to Bush Theatre for a gifted ticket for an honest review].