Steven Hevey's play, which transfers to this West End studio space after a sell-out run at the Old Red Lion in Angel, North London, is fiercely topical, not only in its subject matter but in its timing. Set on July 7, 2005, it coincides with the third anniversary of the London bombings today.

Moreover, its opening night was given extra potency by an impassioned post-show speech in which the actor Ray Panthaki, the boyfriend of Brooke Kinsella, dedicated the performance to her brother Ben, who was recently murdered. His words hit home, coming after a drama in which alienation and insularity are highlighted, even if Hevey's writing occupies some very familiar territory.

Outside, in the immediate aftermath of the terrorist attacks, London is in horrified shock. Holed up in his squalid home, the supermarket shelf-stacker Grim (James Alexandrou, best known as Martin Fowler from EastEnders) is more concerned with his personal problems. He has a hangover, his ex-girlfriend won't return his calls and thanks to his negligent landlord, Mohammed, there's been no hot water in his flat for weeks. He's also saddled himself with a new flatmate, a volatile ex-squaddie called Egg (Kevin Watt); so the last thing he needs is a visit from his excitable, street-talking co-worker Royal (Panthaki). When they order an Indian takeaway, events take an unexpectedly shocking and violent turn; and the conflict they habitually switch TV channels to ignore bursts into Grim's grotty living room.

Hevey covers plenty of ground during the play's punchy 80 minutes - interrupted, unfortunately, by a needless, tension-sapping interval. The Union Jack on Grim's wall heralds the introduction of themes of Britishness and identity, with the Asian Royal feeling that the northerner Egg is an interloper in London, and Egg nurturing a suspicion of anyone who isn't white. The widespread faithlessness of British society is set against the burning certainties of religious fundamentalism and Egg's right-wing diatribes. And Royal's misogynist banter and voyeuristic take on the bombings suggest a horrible sense of social and psychological dislocation.

It's nothing, really, that we haven't heard before, but Hevey executes it with blackly comic panache, and the performances in Julia Stubbs's production are excellent. Panthaki in particular is engrossing as the boyish Royal, a thoughtless urban poseur who learns the hard way that attitudes and actions have far-reaching consequences. And there's a glimmer of optimism in Hevey's dark vision: “It's in all of us,” says Alexandrou's badly shaken Grim, “to do the right thing. It's in all of us to do the good thing.” It may not offer any revelations, but this play is a stylish small explosion.

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