Nineteen Lucie
Nineteen
LUCIE
T his can’t be happening.
It just can’t .
I drop my head into my hands as Theo paces the floor.
‘You have to see it from my point of view, loves,’ Ced entreats, every word soaked in panicked apology. ‘Fifteen years I’ve been here and had nary a sniff of Hamlet . It’s my unrequited love. The one that got away. Ten auditions over the years for the Prince, and not even a callback. Some of them didn’t even let me read. Laughed out of the room for not looking right.’
‘We could have persuaded Ophelia to let you do it,’ I reply, my teeth gritted.
‘Well, you haven’t succeeded in four years, Lucie, so forgive me for doubting your powers.’
‘I didn’t know you wanted to play him!’
‘I realise that. Sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ Theo’s voice rises, echoing off the stainless steel sink. ‘You just threw us under the bus!’
‘I negotiated ,’ Ced returns, jutting out his chin. ‘Chances like that don’t come along often if, like me, you don’t have a fortuitous chest to flash.’
‘Ugh, what is it with my chest?’
‘Your chest, dear, is the reason we’re in this mess. That and Lu’s practically obscene stroking of it.’
I’m on my feet now. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘ That .’ Ced brandishes a tabloid and slams his finger against the zoomed-in hand-on-chest photo featured in the most lurid reports. ‘Ferdinand and Miranda are supposed to be innocent love personified. You two turned them into X-rated flirts. Touching and sweating and lusting your arses off like two randy rabbits. No wonder the crowd went doolally – it was like Shakespeare Does Fifty Shades .’
‘That’s completely unfair,’ I snap back, hurt by the insinuation. Is that what Ced saw when Theo and I were acting that scene yesterday? It was one of the most profound experiences I’ve had on stage, but was I the only one to feel it? Theo still hasn’t mentioned it, Ced just dismissed it, and even Ophelia has used it as an excuse for throwing us into a programme of romantic scenes neither of us want to perform.
Just when I thought I was settled about staying here, the ground has shifted again.
‘I need air,’ I say, pushing past Ced and hurrying out to the garden.
It’s overcast today, the bright sun and heat of yesterday gone. Visitors are milling around again but there isn’t the clamour for shade, meaning that the garden feels oddly empty. The only buzz is from the bees, and even they seem quiet. I wander to my favourite bench halfway down the garden, facing the small house where William Shakespeare was believed to be born. There’s a large trailing honeysuckle cascading over the wall behind the bench and I’m blessed by a constant waft of sweet perfume when I sit.
Cass says it’s not always about smelling roses, but appreciating the power of any scent to calm you, invigorate you and connect you to a place. I love her philosophy and today I feel it. The scent of the garden, even the air moving through it, grounds me. I could be dropped blindfolded here and instantly know where I was.
I remember the first time I came to the Birthplace, on one of the last school trips I led as a teacher. There was something immediately magical about it, but sad, too – a pull in my heart that suggested I’d been too long away and needed to return. My mum, who was born in Blaenavon, says that there’s a Welsh word for this feeling: hiraeth – a deep sense of longing for home that’s tinged with sadness, like something has been lost. I walked through the garden that day with my class and was shocked when tears filled my eyes. It was as if all my carefully shelved ambitions began to ache for home.
I feel it now, only it’s a fear of something about to be lost again. I have achieved so much here and have overcome so many hurdles in my career. But the foundations are suddenly uneven. I’m not used to fighting with Ced. I still can’t work Theo out. Everything has become uncertain since he invaded my stage.
‘Excuse me?’
I look up to see a lady standing beside my bench. I didn’t hear her arrive, so it takes me a moment to scramble up a smile. ‘Hi.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming over.’ She’s twisting the cross-body strap of her handbag, the red leather dancing between nervous fingers. ‘You’re the actress from The Garden Players, aren’t you? You did Katharina and Miranda in the show yesterday?’
I’m so surprised I just nod.
Her shy smile beams. ‘I just wanted to say I loved it. Both pieces you did. The chemistry between you and the other chap was … incredible .’ She breathes out the last word as if she’s been holding it in for too long.
Hang on – the other chap ? So she isn’t a Theo Larkin groupie?
‘Oh, wow. Um, thank you.’
The lady smiles again, bolder this time. ‘Do you mind if I sit?’
‘Of course not, please do. I’m Lucie, by the way. Lucie Hart.’
‘Oh, I know who you are. I’m a fan. I’m Rachel. Rachel Vincent.’ She perches on the bench beside me. ‘I’ve been coming here for years and I always try to book a day when I know you and Cedric Millington-Harvey will be performing.’
Now that she mentions it, she does look familiar. We get so many visitors returning to the Birthplace that I often think I recognise people in the audience. ‘Ced will be overjoyed to hear that.’
‘I love him. Why he isn’t on the main stage is a mystery to me. He’s equal to any actor I’ve seen at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre or The Swan. I wish he’d get some meatier scenes, though. I suspect there’s a lot more to him than the comedy roles.’
Had it not been for the standoff in the crew room, I would invite Rachel in to say this to Ced herself. But until we’re all being civil to one another it wouldn’t be fair on anyone. ‘Just between you and me, he will be. Starting next week.’
‘Wonderful! I’ll be back next week, then.’
We share smiles. From the side of the building I see Theo emerge from the crew room door, eyeing the garden before wandering around the periphery. I’ll have to talk to him soon, try to smooth the ground before the TV crew arrives. I’m not looking forward to that …
‘I see your co-star is enjoying the garden, too,’ Rachel observes. ‘Forgive me, I know he’s well-known and the papers are obsessed with him but yesterday I couldn’t take my eyes off you.’
If I could hug this kind stranger right now, I would. I don’t, of course, not wanting to terrify her. ‘That means so much, thank you.’
‘I mean it. I’m an English teacher and The Tempest is my favourite play. I must have seen it thirty times in various forms over the years. Your interpretation of Miranda was so fresh and engaging. She can come across as a bit of a sap, sometimes, being as young and innocent of the world as she’s written. But you played her with the wonder of a young woman discovering her own desire, shocked by the power of instant attraction. It was marvellous. I had to see it again. Will there be a performance today?’
I don’t know what to say to her high praise. ‘Yes, just one today, at two o’clock.’
‘Excellent. I’ll be there.’ Rachel’s gaze drifts across the garden. ‘Ah, I think you’re wanted. That’s my cue to leave you in peace.’
I follow her line of sight to see Theo stalking slowly across the grass towards us. ‘Don’t leave on Theo’s account. Stay – say hello to him.’
Rachel’s eyes twinkle with unexpected mischief. ‘Oh, I think he’ll have more than enough praise coming his way. It was you I wanted to congratulate.’ She gives my arm a brief squeeze and hurries away.
I’m amazed by what she said. And hugely flattered. After Ced’s disparaging summation of my performance I’d begun to doubt my own instincts that were so powerful yesterday.
I don’t want to think about Theo but the lift Rachel’s words gave my spirits is already ebbing as his shadow nears.
‘We need to talk,’ he states, not asking for an invitation to sit beside me.
‘Please, take a seat,’ I say, sliding as far away from his body as I can.
He groans. I stiffen. And the melancholic pull of the garden is back.
‘Can we not? I’ve only just cleared the air with Ced.’ He looks tired, as if the events of the past hour have sapped his strength.
I don’t want to fight. There’s no point. Ophelia’s already decided the programme, the management team has already approved it and we are one step closer to securing the future of The Garden Players for years to come. If we bring more visitors in then the clear link between what we do and our value to this place will be established. We can’t afford for anything to jeopardise that.
I stare out at the garden, too aware of Theo by my side. I should say something, but I don’t have the words.
Finally, he does it for me. ‘I’m sorry you got cropped out of the photo.’
What?
I look at him, incredulous. ‘That’s what you think I’m upset about?’
‘But they did. Even the video of us was zoomed in so only your hand was visible. They should have given you equal billing and I’m sorry.’
I close my eyes and groan. ‘I couldn’t care less. That publicity was only ever supposed to be about you. They were only ever going to mention your name. What does it matter to the national press who your fellow players were?’
‘But you and Ced … I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘Too right you couldn’t. Despite the fact you lost your shirt.’
‘Not this again …’
‘Yes, actually. I get why you did it, but you could’ve warned us. It upstaged us, like you upstaged me before.’
‘I wasn’t trying to upstage anyone.’
I glare at him. ‘But you did. Both times. You didn’t think about who you were sharing the stage with. We aren’t three solo performers, Theo, we’re a company . A team. That means something. You have to respect that first.’
‘I was trying to grab the crowd’s attention.’
‘You did that all right.’ He’s looking at me like a sick puppy, like I’m attacking him unnecessarily. I’m not having that. ‘We work together, or not at all. Imagine what we could have done if we’d known about the shirt: if it had been a joint agreement. Imagine how powerful the performance could have been if we’d all been in on the plan.’
‘You made it pretty powerful as it was.’ He dips his head, his gaze falling away.
I wanted him to say something about our performance and now he has. But not like this. It’s an accusation, not a compliment. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
‘No, you don’t get to do that. What do you mean?’
His stare meets mine. ‘We were incredible. I wasn’t expecting us to be.’
What am I supposed to say to that? I can’t say anything: I just keep staring at him instead.
‘You were incredible,’ he says, an edge of nerves sounding in his voice. ‘Us. Something happened on the stage between you and me yesterday and I’m still trying to get my head around it.’
I can’t avoid it now, can I? ‘Me too.’
We observe one another as if inspecting unexploded dynamite.
‘We have to do it again in an hour.’
‘I know.’ After our row and the media scrum, can it be the same?
‘I can’t wait,’ he says.
I feel the breeze drop in the garden, as if a breath is being held. Theo is searching my expression and I’m scared to think of what he’ll find there.
‘It might not be the same.’
‘If you’re there with me it will be. It might be better.’
‘Theo …’
He moves a little closer. ‘I’m losing the shirt again. I think I have to. But this time you know. This time I’m not upstaging anyone.’
It’s what I asked for. But everything around us is achingly uncertain: still precarious in the light of Ophelia’s summer plan.
‘And the rest? The great lovers?’
‘You want the truth?’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m crapping myself.’
It’s so unexpected that I snort with laughter. Theo watches me carefully as a tide of mirth sweeps me up. It’s such a release, the tension of the last twenty-four hours finally leaving my body. I laugh and I wipe tears from my eyes and around me the garden gives a grateful exhale.
I look back at Theo to find him smiling.
‘Thanks for that,’ I manage.
‘You’re welcome – I think.’ He leans back against the oak bench. ‘I’ve never had to do those scenes before. Romeo, way back at drama school, but the others? Not a Scooby.’
‘Scooby?’ I ask.
‘Oh, come on, you know – Scooby-Doo, clue? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard that before?’
‘Not here I haven’t.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s just one of the many side benefits of having me in your acting company.’ He side-glances at me. ‘I know it’s a company, by the way. I just haven’t done much ensemble stuff lately. TV, films, a lot of it is isolated so you don’t get the same feeling as you do on stage. I’ve got to relearn how to do it. I’ll probably screw up again.’
‘Probably.’ I shake my head. ‘We just need to get on with it. Learn the pieces. Rehearse them with Ced. Perform them. Scene by scene, one week’s programme at a time.’
‘You think we can?’
His smile has gone. There’s something different about the way he’s carefully observing me. Something I’m not prepared to investigate. I’m suddenly uncomfortable, the need to move away overwhelming.
‘We’ll have to,’ I say, standing. ‘We need to get back to Ced. Clear the air before the press conference and the afternoon show.’
‘Yes,’ he says, quickly vacating the bench. ‘Of course. After you.’