Fifteen Lucie
Fifteen
LUCIE
‘T oday’s the day, then.’ Lyle grins. ‘Getting jiggy with the enemy.’
I should kick him for that. But at 5 a.m., as I’m packing my rucksack before heading to WhatNews?, I don’t have the energy or the inclination. I haven’t even had a coffee yet, the relentless butterflies in my stomach rendering any suggestion of food or drink unthinkable.
I’m always nervous before the first performance of new pieces, but this is off-the-chart scary. There’s just so much more at stake this time. I think Theo and I have come to an understanding – a truce, I suppose. Our last run-through yesterday was the best we’d managed.
But will it be enough?
I keep thinking about what Theo said when we argued in the garden:
They don’t know me. Clearly, neither do you.
And all that stuff about people judging him useless before he’s even started. Is that what scares him?
He changed when he said that. He was so unlike the Theo Larkin I’d seen before. I don’t know if I’m ready to think of him as vulnerable, though. He’s still the Comeback King – too ready with mocks and flippant remarks to really trust what he says.
I dreamed our scenes last night, my brain rolling the lines over and over. It’s a good sign: I need my head to be packed with the lines so I’m free to focus on my performance. The only troubling thing was that at the very end of the last rotation, Dream Theo ditched the stage directions entirely and moved in for a real kiss …
My hands lose their grip, my playbooks, coat and empty travel mug tumbling to the floor. Horatio, our grumpy rescue tabby cat, shrieks and scoots behind the bin, wide green eyes glaring up at me from the dusty gloom.
‘Whoa, Lu!’ Lyle yells, springing into action to rescue my things.
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking …’ I drop to my knees, but Lyle is faster at picking everything up. My body complains as I stand again.
He meets me halfway, his smile a balm. ‘You need caffeine.’
‘I couldn’t, I—’
‘No arguments. Sit .’
You can say many things about my housemate, but chief of them is that Lyle Robinson is a genius barista. While he was auditioning for jobs with opera companies ten years ago he found work in several coffee shops and the skills have never left him. Now that he works as a lighting technician at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre his coffee-making skills are enjoyed only by me, Cass and our close-knit group of friends who frequently crowd into our living room whenever they can.
Ten minutes later I’m sitting in the threadbare olive armchair (that was temporarily put in our kitchen on the day we moved in and inexplicably has never left), drinking the biggest mug of the strongest coffee. And while my stomach is still threatening to let me see it all again, I feel a little steadier.
‘You don’t need to worry,’ Lyle assures me, leaning against the kitchen counter, my rucksack safely packed and zipped on the floor beside him. ‘You’re brilliant at this. You know you are. Theo’s going to have to work hard to keep up with you.’
‘He’s brilliant, too.’
Lyle mocks my expression. ‘Which is such a hardship.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Tell that to your face.’ He grins.
‘Have you been talking to Dev?’ I ask, Lyle’s sudden use of my boss’s pet phrase telling. ‘He’s forever saying that to me.’
‘Maybe you just inspire it in us.’ His sheepish smile confirms it. ‘Ask yourself this: would you be any less nervous this morning if Theo was dreadful?’
I laugh. ‘No.’
‘Exactly. Maybe a bit of healthy rivalry on that stage could be a good thing. I mean, you never get that from Ced, do you?’
‘Oi, Ced is fantastic!’
Lyle chuckles. ‘Ced’s a ledge and everyone knows it. But you’re as comfortable as old boots with each other. And you rarely do a scene together – not like the potential love scenes you’re going to be doing with Theo. Sometimes it’s good to fight for space.’
‘I don’t want to fight him,’ I say, meaning it. ‘I’ve had more than enough of that.’
‘Okay, so think of it as battling for tips.’
Now that I can imagine … I know we’ve come to an understanding about Theo being in the company, but the thorny issue of income still exists. It’s a struggle even with what Ced and I usually make in tips: unless Theo makes good on his mission to bring in the crowds we could fall well short of any meaningful profit.
I feel better for Lyle’s coffee, but by the time I’ve done my shift at WhatNews? and reach the Birthplace entrance, my nerves are dancing a wild ceilidh inside me.
I find Ced alone in the crew room, a dog-eared copy of Coriolanus being wrung in his hands. Today isn’t just about new pieces for me: Ophelia has switched up Ced’s programme, too. His Act III, Scene 3 Coriolanus scene has the lead character at the moment where he falls from grace, watching the fame he has enjoyed crumble away as he is accused of treason. It isn’t a long speech, but Ced gets to show off so much more than just the comedy skills Ophelia usually asks him to display.
Instantly, I feel terrible. I haven’t even asked him how he’s finding it all.
‘How are the lines?’
He looks weary when he replies. ‘Just about in. But making them work …’
‘You’ll do it.’
‘Will I? We’ve been so—’ he searches for the word ‘— preoccupied with our latest arrival that there’s hardly been time for this.’ He rubs his brow. ‘Problem is, I can’t focus, Lu. All I can think of is what’s at stake. If we don’t attract enough tips this summer I don’t know what’ll happen. I need them to make this gig viable. With significantly less …’
He doesn’t have to complete the sentence. I’m scared to think of that outcome, too. ‘We’ll make it work. And so will Theo. And if the audiences don’t respond to these pieces, we’ll change them.’
‘Back to Falstaff,’ Ced harrumphs as I sit beside him on the old trunk.
‘No! Shylock. Henry V, the Scottish laird …’ I don’t dare say Macbeth – despite this not being a theatre it’s close enough to a stage to count. The old theatre superstitions are strong and must be observed. With everything else so uncertain, we definitely don’t need to tempt fate. ‘Or Malvolio, or Oberon, or Jaques from As You Like It .’
‘I do do a rather splendidly melancholic Jaques,’ he says, brightening.
I nudge his elbow. ‘You said doo-doo .’
‘Child!’ He groans but he’s smiling. ‘But today …’
‘Today is a first performance. A preview. The garden might not even be that busy – we’re only just into the school holidays.’
‘But Theo …’
‘Theo said he’s going to shock people. You saw what happened with the Not My Gabriel thing. Point is, he’s a spectacle wherever he goes.’
‘Even if people don’t remember his name?’
That’s more worrying, I’ll admit. ‘Okay, so worst-case scenario is that people think Gabriel Marley is moonlighting with The Garden Players. So what? All publicity’s useful, right?’
‘What’s that about publicity?’ Theo is standing in the doorway. How long has he been there?
‘I’m just saying, if we make a splash today it could start something,’ I lie, hoping he didn’t hear me before.
‘Yeah. About that …’
‘Darlings! Cometh the hour!’ Ophelia sweeps magnificently into the crew room, a vision in lilac and cream. ‘Are we all prepared?’
Our collective mumbles don’t exactly inspire confidence.
Her smile flickers. ‘Well – good. Cedric, dear, how is our Caius Marcius Coriolanus?’
‘Not exactly firing on all cylinders,’ Ced replies. ‘But as ready as he’s going to be.’
‘The audience will love it,’ Ophelia states, with just a hint of militancy in her tone. ‘The boards are out with performance times and, just for this week, we’re arranging chairs to encourage them over.’
‘How did you swing that?’ I ask, genuinely impressed. Ophelia’s line manager, Mona Stamford, is famously protective of her event chairs. It’s a constant source of frustration to Ophelia and a topic that we as a company get to hear a lot about, in great detail.
Our Director of Garden Performance gives a sly smile as she moves to Theo’s side. ‘ This young man.’ When Theo looks shocked, she gives a titter of amusement and pats his bicep that, in his costume’s shirt, is considerably more noticeable than before. ‘Your reputation, that is. I just happened to mention to Mona that the closer the audience can be, the better the phone pictures we can share.’
‘Ophelia Henry, you social media marketing genius,’ I say, the gentle banter a momentary release from my nerves. At least we’re all united this morning – after the past few days I wasn’t certain we could be again. And even if what unites us is severe stage-fright and anxiety, it’s still a coming together. We need this.
‘Oh shush ,’ she giggles. ‘Costumes, please, everyone. Half an hour to curtain up.’
‘And the beard?’ Ced asks, hopefully. I get the feeling a tussle with his fake-hair nemesis might be one battle too many this morning.
Ophelia sparkles. ‘No beard today, maestro.’
Ced acknowledges this act of grace with a grateful bow. The familiarity of it calms me. Grabbing my costume from the small rickety wardrobe, I head into the curtained changing area. As I leave, I catch Theo watching me. I can’t make out his expression.
My dress for Miranda and Kate is different today. My usual blue gown is with Purdy, our elderly wardrobe mistress. The tear that was visible last week has become too noticeable to ignore, so she’s repairing it. By rights Purdy should have been allowed to retire years ago, but as a former costumier for the RSC (and a self-confessed fan of The Garden Players) her experience is invaluable. She made many of the costumes we use and knows them like her own children. Besides, I think she loves still being close to this world, even if it is as an enthusiastic volunteer. I understand that – I can’t ever imagine leaving the theatre world, even if one day I can no longer work in it.
I pull on the replacement dress Purdy provided for me – a primrose silk dupion gown with a deep-green velvet striped bodice and puffed sleeves that are slashed with cream satin. Purdy has worked her magic on this costume so that the velvet over-sleeves detach with cleverly hidden Velcro. When I play Miranda, I just pop them off and wrap a pearl-encrusted shawl across the bodice of the gown, tying it at the back. Theatre magic, in one costume change.
I debated what to do with my hair last night and tried several different options, but I’m going with two side plaits looped and pinned at the back of my head, with the rest of my hair left loose beneath them. It makes me look younger and is a softer style. Bit more Juliet, to be honest, but I think it will work. Slipping on the pair of spring green satin ballet pumps Purdy has expertly dyed, I collect my Miranda shawl from the hanger and pull back the curtain.
I’m suddenly face to face with someone – or, to be exact, face to chest .
‘Bloody hell! Sorry!’ Theo jumps back from me as if I’ve just jabbed him with an electric cattle prod.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I needed a belt from the box.’ He gestures at the costume accessories box – known lovingly as the Odds ’n’ Sods – that lives beside the changing area. ‘I thought you’d be in there for ages …’
‘Lu changes at Wonder Woman speed.’ Ced chuckles behind him. ‘First important lesson of this company.’
‘Usually because I’m running late from my first job,’ I offer, amused by how flushed my co-star is.
‘Your first job?’ he repeats.
‘She has three … Four, is it now, Lu?’
‘Four next week when the ice cream bike starts,’ I say, edging past Theo’s red velvet doublet and his very recently encountered chest.
‘Wow. How do you find the time?’
‘I just do.’
I wish I hadn’t mentioned it now. Especially as my other jobs are nothing to do with acting. Does it look like this is just a hobby? That I’m not serious?
‘She doesn’t sleep,’ Ced continues, unaware of my second thoughts. ‘Just really slow blinks, like a swallow in flight.’
Theo fastens his belt, staring over at me. I wonder what other jobs he’s worked before, between acting roles. Or is that so far in his past now that he’s blotted it from memory?
I’m not ashamed of my jobs, or of working as hard as I do. They’re proof I haven’t given up yet; that I’m standing on my own, making it work. Even if I’m tired all the time. Even if the money isn’t enough. Even if the question of how long it can continue hovers ever more menacingly in the wings.
‘Ten minutes!’ Ophelia calls, ducking back out of the crew room as soon as she’s informed us. She’ll be pacing the stage, straightening chairs and blessing visitors with her beatific smile.
Yes, I am with the acting company … Yes, they’ll be starting shortly … Why don’t you take a seat? We have a wonderful programme today … Yes, it is actual Shakespeare …
Theo joins Ced and me by the door to the garden. In the cramped space, we huddle, closer than any other job would demand, our closeness a signal of unity. We draw strength from this, I remind myself. No matter what’s happened in the crew room, when we walk out into the garden we are a team.
‘Yellow’s your shade, Lu,’ Ced whispers to me.
‘And that purple looks great on you,’ I whisper back.
Theo coughs. ‘You look amazing. Um – both of you.’
I look up at him and see the nerves dancing in his jaw. ‘You look great. You’re going to be amazing. Stop worrying.’
It’s what I say to Ced before every performance, said as much to me as to him, so it feels right to extend it to Theo.
He stares back as if I’ve stolen his words.
‘ Where did you study all this goodly speech? ’ I ask, using the Shrew lines we’ve rehearsed endlessly.
‘… It is extempore, from my mother-wit …’ he replies, a smile blossoming when he works out what I’ve just done.
‘See?’ I pat his chest, the red velvet warm beneath my fingers. ‘You’ll be okay.’
His hand is suddenly over mine, pressing it close. ‘I won’t let you down.’ He releases it quickly and grins at Ced. ‘Either of you.’
‘Bloody relieved to hear it,’ Ced replies, straightening his doublet. ‘We’re counting on you to wow the crowds, love.’
And then, it’s time.
Ced taps his left shoulder three times with his right hand. I click my fingers in three sets of five. Beside me, I notice Theo trace the outline of his jaw from ear to chin with his thumb.
We are all the same.
Terrified.
Buzzing.
Repeating our rituals to bring success.
Ced opens the door. Sunlight and noise burst in from the garden. And we walk out to a swell of applause.
It’s time.