On a lonely, deserted beach, a motley crew of pink-cheeked characters dressed in rudimentary costumes made from pillow-cases and belts play out some unfamiliar End Game. Their obligatory shouts of victory and cries of laughter are drowned out by an immense silence. Christina Hayes’ paintings of intense blank faces stare defiantly at us. We want to laugh at these all-too-serious pictures, to ease our discomfort at being voyeur to this theatre of the absurd, but there is the unnerving sense that the world Hayes paints is our world, that her players are just like us.