Chapter 40
GOLDENWYCH, PRESENT DAY
Caitlin breathed in the familiar smell of the theatre.
The faint mustiness no amount of beeswax polish could eliminate, the fresh paint of the scenery, the greasepaint and the mingled perfumes of the women who bustled around backstage.
A buzz of excitement and anticipation filled the air, but there was an undercurrent of determination, a pride, a passionate desire that this would be the finest hour of the Goldenwych Players.
‘Hey, Moon, are you ready?’ asked Lee as he joined her in the wings.
‘I have my doctor’s bag,’ he said, but she shook her head.
‘You won’t need it,’ she said. ‘Tonight will be magical.’
A shout from the other side of the stage for Lee’s assistance with a polystyrene standing stone caused him to shrug, drop a kiss on her lips and hurry away.
Annie walked past and gave Caitlin an exaggerated wink. ‘I always hoped you two would find a happy ending,’ she said.
Caitlin smiled. When she and her sisters had asked George Glossop and Annie Jefferson to call an extraordinary meeting of the Players and all cast members a week after Larry’s disappearance during the storm, it was Caitlin who had taken the lead.
She had stepped onto the stage, accompanied by Gillian, Rachel and Sindy, but she was the one with the microphone, determined to overcome her fears of performing.
Waiting for the hum of conversation to fade away, gazing out at the auditorium, an unexpected electricity had flowed through her and for the first time since she was a child, she had felt the thrill of connecting with the audience.
The rush of adrenaline and excitement of the live performance had suffused her and she understood her parents’ endless joy at acting on this stage throughout their lives.
Familiar faces had gazed up at her and she had felt their love and concern.
‘Thank you all for coming this evening,’ she had begun and the last murmurs were silenced. ‘Thank you, too, for helping to find our dad when he went missing. You’ll all be relieved to know he is recovering well, he’s home from hospital and has moved in with Gillian and Alan on a permanent basis.’
She had paused as there was a ripple of applause, which Alan had acknowledged with a wave.
‘Dad, along with many of you, has been part of the driving force behind the Goldenwych Players since its inception,’ Caitlin had continued.
‘This place is more than a theatre to him, it’s his second home.
On occasions, Mum suggested he should make it his real home as he was here so often.
’ Caitlin had paused for the smattering of laughter, then she had taken a deep breath.
‘My sisters, Gillian, Rachel, Sindy and I’ – there was a gasp, but Caitlin had talked over it – ‘have recently discovered that Dad has Alzheimer’s disease.
It’s progressing faster than he expected and this is why his behaviour has been so erratic. ’
Gillian, Rachel and Sindy had stepped forward, lining up on either side of her. Gillian had held out a tentative hand to take the microphone and Caitlin had passed it over, her throat thick with emotion.
‘Dad suspected this might be his last show,’ Gillian had said, ‘and while we know he has upset a lot of people with his dictatorial manner, we hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive him now we know the reason.’
Rachel had then taken the microphone from Gillian.
‘We’re also aware the play is terrible,’ she had said and there were murmurs of agreement in the audience.
‘If you could be patient for a week or so, Caitlin has offered to rework the script to tell a different version of King Lear. Instead of the traditional line, following the king, she is going to adapt the play to be the story of his daughters. If we approach it from this angle, it takes the pressure off Lear – Dad – as the main character.’
‘Is there another version?’ a voice had called from the auditorium.
‘Caitlin will be working the original history from Geoffrey of Monmouth,’ Sindy had said. ‘The first version of Lear.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Ted had asked.
Caitlin had regained the microphone.
‘In the original tale, Cordelia lives and helps Lear to win back his throne,’ Caitlin had said. ‘When Lear dies, Cordelia becomes the first Queen of the Britons.’
‘Why did Shakespeare change it then?’ another voice had called.
Caitlin had stepped forward again. ‘It’s possible it was for political reasons,’ she had explained.
‘Shakespeare’s version of King Lear was written shortly after James I came to the throne.
He was king following a period of female rule starting with Lady Jane Grey, Mary I, then Elizabeth I.
In total, there had been a woman in charge for seventy years.
There was also another potential queen who could challenge James’s throne – the Lady Arbella Stuart.
Shakespeare probably felt it was wise to make the king triumphant rather than end on another queen’s rule. ’
‘We’ll also endeavour for there to be no disasters on stage this year – no collapsing scenery, vomiting children or costume malfunctions,’ said Sindy.
‘So, we, the daughters of Larry King, the daughters of Goldenwych’s King Lear, would like to ask for your help.
Will you assist us in taking our dad’s play – King Lear – The Musical – and creating the show he has always dreamed about performing? ’
For a moment, there had been silence, then a murmur swelled, followed by clapping and shouts of, ‘I will…’ ‘We’re in…’ ‘We’ll be there…’
‘Alan should direct,’ Barbara had called. ‘He’s been doing most of it anyway.’
There had been more shouts of approval.
‘Please, if you’re willing to help, a show of hands?’ Rachel had said.
A forest of arms had shot into the air.
‘Thank you,’ Caitlin had said. ‘Let’s do this for Dad.’
The audience had responded with a cheer.
‘For Larry!’
In the weeks that followed, the theatre had buzzed with activity.
Caitlin had set up a base in the café, with members of the Players dropping by to help.
Her own asthmatic collapse at the stone circle had shocked people, but her burgeoning romance with Lee was giving the village plenty to discuss.
Her engagement to Stan had been a cause for much speculation when it was first announced, after they had separated and he had left with Daphne Hawthorne, the gossip level had risen ever further.
Lee was a village boy, so his return and the ensuing romance was a story that was entertaining the inhabitants of Goldenwych for happy reasons.
‘You might have told us about Lee first, dear,’ Annie had said one Friday morning as she and Barbara ordered their usual.
‘We’re practically family, after all,’ Barbara had said. Then, in a stage-whisper, ‘And I promise we knew nothing about Daphne’s carry-on with Stan. What a shocker! If we’d have had even an inkling, we’d have said.’
Caitlin had not replied, but as she turned to go, Annie had said with a kind smile, ‘We always suspected Sindy was Larry’s girl. She and Gillian are very alike. I’m glad you’re all friends again.’
With the show scheduled for the week before Christmas, Caitlin’s version of Cordelia’s Tale had taken shape.
She had felt as though her hand was being guided by generations of women.
Cordelia appeared in her dreams at least twice a week and the detail of the story grew with each rehearsal.
She had also noticed that since her final dream about the three sisters and their quest, the silver lines on her arms were fading, and in her dream the previous evening, Cordelia had held up her own arms to show the last of her strange marks had vanished too.
The Players practised with enthusiasm; dance routines were polished, scenery was built and costumes were fitted.
Alan had come home one evening to recount an incident to Larry, Caitlin and Gillian while Lee had squirmed with embarrassment.
‘I was at the café, looking for Caitlin, and I let myself in the back room to find Annie kneeling in front of Lee, who was draped in red satin, while Barbara measured his bicep,’ he had regaled roaring with laughter.
‘It was quite a sight. Barbara turned around to me and said, “You’re next, Alan, strip to your boxer shorts, please,” and gave me a roguish wink. I ran for my life.’
‘Coward,’ Lee had snorted.
‘Don’t you find it strange that you’re their GP now, even though you know both of them must have changed your nappies?’ Gillian had added and Lee had buried his head in his hands to avoid the gales of laughter.
* * *
The week of the play had finally arrived and before she left for the theatre, Caitlin had visited the bees. She had whispered her father’s diagnosis to them when she had awoken the dawn after the storm in the stone circle, but this morning she told them about the play.
‘Please use your bee magic to ensure it’s a success. Corycia, Kleodora, Melaina, the Bee Maidens Three, I ask for your blessing,’ she had whispered.
A single bee had flown out of the hive, danced a figure of eight, then vanished back inside. Caitlin had felt the many layers of the story she had been drawn into were coming together in a harmonious and final ending.
Now, as she breathed in the silence of the theatre, enjoying the moment of respite before the noise and drama ahead, she wondered how the future would unfold.
Was this play, the story of Cordelia’s life, the charm to break Angarad’s curse or had she convinced herself of this to make her sorrows easier to bear?