“Sometimes we have to take care of things we’re frightened of. Sometimes we’re stuck with things we don’t like. How do you know you have what it takes?”

Our New Girl – or We Need To Talk About Daniel, as I like to call it – is the new play by Irish playwright Nancy Harris (No Romance, The Kreutzer Sonata, Love In A Glass Jar). The comparison might be a little flippant, but certainly the play shares a few themes with Lionel Shriver’s novel, recently made into a film by Lynne Ramsay: a mother whose maternal instincts fail to kick in, an occasionally demonic little shit of a child and dangerous factions in a household where the husband trusts his son before his wife. Charlotte Gwinner’s excellent production takes a provocative, brutally honest look at parenthood.

There will be some who will rail against Hazel (a tense and tight-faced Kate Fleetwood), the high-flying lawyer turned stressed-out mother who once absent-mindedly left her son in the supermarket when she got a call from an important client. Some people will agree with Annie, the young nanny who turns up unannounced on Hazel’s doorstep, who thinks Hazel is ‘not right in the head’. Others will empathise with this high-achieving woman struggling to cope with the pressures of motherhood, with little help from her predominantly absent cosmetic surgeon husband, Richard.

As the couple’s blank-eyed son Daniel, young Jude Willoughby gives a capable, still and focused performance. Called ‘mate’ and ‘big D’ by the dad he worships and caught between his warring parents, Daniel is far too grown-up for his eight years: he’s on first name terms with his mum and dad; he talks about ‘perineal tears’ and episiotomies, for God’s sake.

Denise Gough is his forthright young nanny from County Sligo who turns up to her plush new home with the dangerous combination of a crush on her employer and a fervent desire to escape her social stratum. But instead of taking her at face value as a sly social climber, Gough plays Annie as a well-meaning, earnest, fatally naive young girl. And, given that Annie is accustomed to playing the mother figure, Gough exposes her childishness marvellously.

Harris’ characters are well-rounded and human. They aren’t bad people. Selfish, oh yes, but not cruel-hearted. You can’t loathe anyone in this play. Not even the manipulative, condescending Richard (a fantastically arrogant Mark Bazeley), entirely lacking in empathy for his put-upon wife, undermining and humiliating her in front of their child and the nanny – whom he fucks, by the way. Okay, so Richard is probably the character it’s easiest to dislike, but he isn’t all bad: he… he does a LOT of charity work. My point is nothing is black and white in the world Harris creates; all of her characters are strong, standalone creations with credible motives.

And that’s what makes this play interesting. You can see the full story. And it will divide audiences, depending on their own experiences and prejudices. But maybe there isn’t a right side and a wrong side. In Harris’ play, each side, each character’s individual experience is valid. It’s hard to moralise once you know what’s causing the behaviour you deem unacceptable. It’s a reminder not to be so quick to judge, that the world could do with a little more kindness and consideration. Perhaps most people are just trying to do their best, struggling along in their search for happiness. Even Richard.

Rating 4/5

Our New Girl runs until 11 February at the Bush Theatre, 7 Uxbridge Road, London W12 8LJ. To book tickets, click here or call the box office on 020 8743 5050.

by Victoria Rudland