Twenty-One Lucie
Twenty-One
LUCIE
I ’m exhausted.
It’s been the strangest week of my life for as long as I can remember, between the arrival of Theo, the rapidly building press attention following his official debut performance with us and the ongoing buzz that the press conference and our subsequent performances have caused.
The Theo Larkin Effect is already in full swing, with ticket bookings up almost twenty-five per cent on this time last year. It’s our busiest season, too, so Jake and the management team are delighted. Even maudlin Mona has had to admit Ophelia served a masterstroke bringing Theo on board.
Add to this my jobs at WhatNews? and Gonzalo’s and the challenge of learning the first of Ophelia’s Great Shakespearean Lovers series, and it’s no wonder my brain is fried.
‘ Juliet . Why does it have to be Juliet?’ I groan, as I help Cass load tubs of gelato into the ice cream bike.
‘Because it’s the most obvious love scene, isn’t it? Ophelia wants to start the series with a bang to cash in on the publicity while it’s at its height.’
I straighten the latest tub in the chiller cabinet within the bike and hold out my hand for the next. ‘You mean while it lasts?’
Cass gives a shrug. ‘Six weeks is a long time for an internet hit to last. But if the next Shakespeare couple you guys play are the greatest lovers of all, there’s a good chance that it’ll cause a fresh wave of interest.’ She passes me the last tub and swings the large freezer door closed. ‘She’s canny, your boss.’
‘Are you talking about Ophelia or you?’
‘Don’t be daft. I’m not your boss.’
I pat the pastel-striped ice cream bike. ‘You own this. And I’m working for you on my day off.’
My friend laughs. ‘Rub it in again, won’t you? The salt hasn’t quite made contact with my open wound.’
It’s okay, really it is. I am so tired I hardly know what day of the week it is, but today I need distraction. Serving perfect gelato on a warm July Sunday alongside my best friend will while away the hours I might have spent agonising. And I know what Cass is doing, offering me work. She knows how worried I’ve been about money this summer since Theo’s arrival in The Garden Players. This is her way of supporting me – and of not saying the thing I’m dreading I’ll hear soon: that I’m getting too old to live this precariously; that it’s time to surrender my dream.
Cass already made that decision when she stopped auditioning at Christmas and chose to concentrate on running Cheerily’s with her husband, Finn. I knew it was coming and I wasn’t surprised, but it suddenly made the prospect of my own retirement from the acting world scarily possible.
‘It’s going to be fun.’ I smile back, shelving the now familiar fear. Today is not the day to entertain it.
I take the brake off the bike and wheel it out of the stockroom into the sunlit courtyard beyond. The cobbles at my feet have a warm baked smell, the gentlest breeze making the light blue, green and pink ribbons dance on my black circle skirt. There’s a uniform for this job, of course, but for someone like me who wanted to act largely down to the amount of dressing up involved, it’s perfect. Another role.
I straighten my white T-shirt and fasten the buttons of my custom-made, striped waistcoat in pastel colours that look like the ice cream selection at Cheerily’s. Just the ribbon-edged straw boater hat to add and the look is complete.
‘Bit of a change from your Shakespearean wardrobe,’ Cass observes, pinning her own boater into place. The outfits are her idea – last summer we just wore jeans and Cheerily’s branded T-shirts. This is a far more striking look. ‘It works, though, doesn’t it?’
I grin back. ‘We look brilliant. We’ll have tourists flocking to us.’
It’s still early for Sunday trading, not yet 9 a.m., but it’s going to be a hot day, so it’s important we get to our first pitch as soon as we can. I push the bike – known affectionately as Betty by both of us – out into Church Street and across the road. We’ll be at the bottom of Sheep Street, near Waterside, until early afternoon, and then we’ll move up to Henley Street. It’ll be strange working so close to the Birthplace, especially after this week, but there are three very good reasons I’m looking forward to being there this afternoon.
‘Have you told the gang we’ll be there?’ Cass asks, as we pass early tourists gazing into still-closed shop windows.
‘I thought I’d surprise them.’ I smile. Lyle and our friends Dion and Bex think I’m at home cramming Juliet lines today. I’m looking forward to seeing their reaction when we arrive.
Especially as Dion won’t be able to move as a living statue and Lyle will be singing, with Bex on sound desk duties. Having weekend buskers as friends is one of the many bright spots of living here. They haven’t seen our new uniforms yet, either. That’s another surprise awaiting them.
We reach our first pitch and Cass positions the A-board menu on the pavement while I put up Betty’s mint green parasol. Then we set up the folding table that will hold the jars of sprinkles, flakes and fudge sticks currently stored in a cupboard beneath the chiller box.
Betty is an ingenious bit of engineering, dreamt up by Finn. He may co-own an ice cream and pancake parlour with Cass now but his degree was in mechanical engineering and he’s a keen inventor. Betty runs from a small battery that can be topped up by one of us sitting on the bike and pedalling. When we apply the brake to the unit it lifts the wheels so we don’t cycle off down the street while we’re charging the battery. It’s brilliant and bonkers, a little bit of street theatre with the added bonus of Stratford-upon-Avon’s best gelato.
Over the winter Finn’s been tinkering with the design, while Cass designed the uniforms and new branding for Betty and her parasol. It feels like we’ve been talking about this for months: being here at last, ready to trade, is the best feeling.
And it works, too. Within ten minutes of setting up we have our first customers, a retired couple from Wyoming, USA, who are here on a trip of a lifetime.
‘We’ve dreamed of Stratford-upon-Avon for years,’ Mae Montgomery tells me, her eyes twinkling behind thick Jackie O shades.
‘And now we’re here we might never leave,’ says her husband Rex, chuckling and accepting his newly scooped gelato cone from Cass. ‘Mae’s found the realtor offices so we’re in trouble!’
As the morning passes we meet and chat with people from many different countries, cultures and walks of life. It’s the thing about this very English Warwickshire market town – it’s familiar and loved by so many people because of its famous inhabitant and the theatres built in his honour. There’s a welcome here that’s impossible to ignore. I always felt at home in Stratford before I came to live in the town: I know Cass did, too. Some people feel called to London, to the big cities around the world: but this is the place that called to me.
As the sun rises higher, bringing summer heat with it, our queue lengthens along Waterside. Cass and I take turns cycling Betty, both of us serving when the demand becomes greatest. It’s busy and tiring but it makes the morning pass in a flash.
By twelve-thirty I realise I haven’t once thought about Theo or the scene we start rehearsing tomorrow. I’ll need to cram my lines tonight so I’m ready to go script-free, but having most of the day without it hanging over me feels wonderful.
We’re just about to think of moving when a group of people hurry over.
‘Are we too late? Please tell me we’re not too late,’ exclaims a young woman wearing an orange-and-white-striped T-shirt and bright yellow Lucy & Yak dungarees. Her blonde curly hair bounces around her flushed face as she talks. ‘We only just got out of rehearsals and we need ice cream.’
As soon as her friends reach Betty, it’s obvious that our latest customers are actors. Two tall, lanky guys in grey sweatpants and trainers, one with a designer T-shirt and the other in a faded purple vest, plus another two girls in dungarees, Docs and brightly coloured tees.
‘We’ll make an exception for you.’ Cass grins. ‘Seeing as there’s one of your own here.’ She pats my shoulder lovingly. It’s weird that she no longer counts herself among the acting community.
‘Oh, so you know ,’ the bubble-curled girl breathes. ‘What are you working on at the moment?’
‘Juliet in Romeo and Juliet ,’ I reply.
As one, our thespian customers wince.
‘Toughie. Godspeed on that one.’
‘Cheers,’ I reply, loving being part of the conversation, even if our respective stages are likely worlds apart.
‘We’re doing As You Like It ,’ one of the guys says, in between grateful mouthfuls of gelato. ‘Bloody nightmare. Director’s a total knob.’
His fellow actors giggle and shush him.
‘Ah yeah, good point,’ he replies. ‘He’s probably bugged us and is listening to every word.’
They accept their cones and wish us well before dashing off in the direction of The Swan Theatre.
‘Bloody luvvies.’ Cass nudges me. ‘Always late.’
We share smiles.
‘Do you miss it?’ I ask, as we begin packing Betty down to move to our afternoon pitch.
She pauses with the table in mid-fold. ‘Sometimes. It still hurts a little when Finn and I go to the theatre. He wanted me to carry on, but once I’d made the decision I knew it was the right time to stop. I don’t miss the uncertainty, that’s for sure. I like not having to worry so much about where the next job is coming from. And I like not having to gird myself for rejection all the time.’
‘Or bad reviews,’ I point out.
‘Actually, those are still with me. Tripadvisor is far worse than any jumped-up theatre critic. Brutal, that lot are.’ She folds the legs of the table and places it beside the folded A-board. ‘How about you, Lu? How long do you think you’ll do it for?’
It’s the first time she’s voiced the question. Is that a sign?
‘I don’t know. I think I’m in it for the long run.’
‘Even if it means you have to snog Theo Larkin?’
My smile vanishes. ‘Ugh, don’t .’
She’s unrepentant as we start walking back up Sheep Street towards our next pitch. ‘It’s got to happen. Can’t have Shakespeare’s greatest lovers without a bit of serious lip action.’
‘Can we just not think about that, please?’
‘Okay, sorry.’ She isn’t sorry at all, clearly enjoying my discomfort. ‘ Then have my lips the sin that they have took …’
‘Cass!’
‘What? I just remembered Juliet’s line before she snogs Romeo’s face off. Sorry, your line. For tomorrow.’ She taps her temple. ‘I still have a lot of words bouncing about up here. Call it a post -occupational hazard.’
Whether it’s her casual mention of a key feature of the scene Theo and I have to rehearse tomorrow or just tiredness creeping in, by the time we reach Henley Street my nerves are on edge. Seeing the Birthplace sends my stomach butterflies whirling wild waltzes.
I can’t think about it today. If I do I’ll talk myself out of it before we even start to rehearse.
And then I see my friends – and the butterflies leave me.
Cass grins as we push Betty around the edge of a small crowd, huddled in a semi-circle. At their centre, the warmest, most velvety-smooth baritone voice is dancing effortlessly for their aural pleasure.
Lyle’s eyes widen as he spots us, and he raises his hand as the melody of the aria lifts into the uppermost regions of his magnificent voice. I wave back as we reach our pitch. As I wheel Betty into place I swear I see a tall, grey statue of a classical Greek water-bearer positioned in front of the all-year-round Christmas shop almost move.
‘Dion looks incredible,’ Cass says, putting out the table. ‘Aren’t they sweltering in that costume?’
‘Probably,’ I say, setting up the gelato chiller. ‘I’ll try and sneak them a cone in a bit.’
‘That’ll be the sweetest torture having to hold an ice cream cone without moving.’
‘You’d think,’ I grin, having seen this in action before, ‘but Dion has a fab way of dealing with it.’
When we’re set up and have served our first customers, I fill a cone with our vegan special, Cymbeline’s Delight – a mandarin and vanilla swirled coconut milk gelato – and head over to my friend. I see Dion’s eyes give the tiniest flash as I fix the cone in their hands, and then I reach down to the plinth they’re standing on and click a hidden button. Music begins to play, a slow orchestral rendition of Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’ from the film Titanic – and to the delight of the crowd, Dion begins to move. Each slow movement of their arms allows for a lick of gelato, finishing the cone bang on the last note of the music to loud applause from the crowd. The last thing Dion does before returning to stone is to send me a grateful wink.
I love my friends so much.
Just then, Lyle’s silky smooth tones switch from the proper lyrics of O sole mio to ‘just one gelato’, much to the amusement of his audience. Cass and I mime being confused by his request as he ups the ante and manages to work his ice cream order into the song. The people watching cheer as I hold the cone aloft and clap when I pretend he’s finally convinced me to bring it across to him. He finishes his performance with the correct lyrics, gives me a twirl and plants a kiss on my cheek as the song ends. The swell of happy applause is our reward as we bow and when I walk back to a giggling Cass I can hear a shower of coins landing in Lyle’s proffered hat.
‘You lot are completely nuts.’ Cass laughs, waving at Lyle who blows her a kiss, too.
‘One of the joys of knowing each other so well.’ I smile back.
I’ve often joined them on Sundays during the rest of the year, particularly at Christmas when the town fills with festive shoppers, so I know how they work. It’s made this afternoon so much easier than it might have been and all thoughts of what tomorrow holds have vanished from my mind.
Our stunt with Dion and Lyle ensures a good line of enthusiastic customers for the next hour, which means we’re likely to have a great first day’s trading for Betty. It’s good to see it working, better still to see the dream Cass and Finn have invested so much in bearing fruit. I like being part of it. It feels like I’m making a difference.
When there’s a lull in trade, Cass fills a maple waffle cone with two scoops of Two Bees flavour gelato and garnishes it with a fudge stick and white chocolate flakes. ‘Bex missed out on the free cones, so it’s only fair she gets one now.’
She heads off to deliver it and I take the opportunity to refill the Kilner jar of rainbow sprinkles. This is the most popular topping by far today – the jar is two-thirds empty.
‘Great outfit.’
‘Cheers.’ I smile, tipping out the last of the refill bag before looking up.
When I do, I wish I hadn’t.
Duncan Harrow is standing by Betty and there’s a tall, blonde-haired woman by his side. She’s chewing gum and taking in my ice cream bike uniform with blatant amusement.
‘Dunc, hi,’ I say, the smile I always use for meetings with my ex hastily applied.
‘Sorry the Tempest gig didn’t work out,’ he says, his words as oily and insincere as his smile.
‘There are other plays, other parts,’ I reply.
‘It’s what we have to tell ourselves, isn’t it? Although, hey, I see you got to do a bit of Miranda in the garden.’
Of course he will have seen it. Even if I was cropped out of the video and photos from our first performance, the press conference footage is still doing the rounds online, especially Theo’s Lucie is my Juliet line.
‘It’s going down a storm,’ I reply, feeling my spine straighten. He’ll hate that, I know.
‘So I hear. Tourists love that sort of thing though, don’t they?’ It isn’t said like a compliment.
‘Bookings are up twenty-five per cent already.’ I smile back, gritting my teeth. Why won’t he just get the message and leave?
‘And Theo Larkin’s fans will no doubt be flooding the booking lines. Interesting dynamic between the two of you, apparently.’
‘We’re very proud of the response.’
Just go away, Duncan …
His smile tightens just a little and he turns to the relentlessly chewing blonde. ‘Actually, you know Theo, don’t you?’
‘You could say that,’ she replies. Her smile is lopsided, rising more to the right than the left. It’s self-satisfied, like she knows something scandalous. ‘Has he kissed you yet?’
What?
Now I really don’t want to be here. What’s taking Cass so long? Is she staying to watch Bex eat?
‘I’m sorry?’
‘For the play, obviously. Word to the wise when he does: he’ll say you’re the best kisser he’s ever worked with. It’s flattering as hell, but it’s a line. Works on every co-star he’s had, I heard.’ She smirks again. ‘Worked on me.’
Okay, that’s it. ‘Do you want something from the menu?’ I ask Duncan, blanking the wonky-grinned, gum-chewing, but still annoyingly good-looking woman beside him. ‘Only there’s a queue.’
Duncan glances behind him. The four people waiting eyeball him back.
‘Oh no, can’t stomach the stuff. Unless you eat gelato at Vivoli in Florence, it isn’t worth bothering with.’ He slides an arm around blonde woman’s waist. ‘But hey, best of luck with it all, Luce. At least there’s this job to fall back on. Very wise. Theatre is a fickle business, after all, especially for older actors …’
They walk away like the world owes them something. Bristling, I turn back to my customers.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Ignore them, bab. They looked like proper divs,’ the sympathetic bloke replies, his fulsome Brummie accent soothing in its familiarity. That’s what Dad would have called them. The sting of his memory makes me look down quickly at the colourful swirls of gelato.
‘Hey, hey, sorry,’ Cass huffs, appearing by my side. ‘I got chatting with Lyle. Everything okay?’
‘Yep,’ I reply, biting the inside of my lip to prevent tears.
Cass observes me for a moment before looking over at the queue. ‘Right, who’s next?’
It’s almost 7 p.m. by the time we return Betty to Cheerily’s and Cass has paid me. Our takings were great – a real boost considering I surrendered my only rest day of the week to work on the ice cream bike.
‘I’ve popped an extra thirty in there as well,’ Cass says, shaking her head when I start to protest. ‘No, Luce, just take it. You and the gang helped bring people over this afternoon. It was genius. Call this an on-the-spot marketing bonus.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I reply, relieved I don’t have to turn it down. My finances are looking slightly more promising with next week’s increased performance days but every extra bit of money makes life easier.
‘Are you still upset about Dunc?’
‘No.’ It’s a lie, but I don’t have the energy to talk about it. ‘He was just point-scoring, that’s all. I didn’t let him win.’
‘Good.’ She hugs me. ‘Now go home and get some sleep.’
‘Can’t.’ I shrug as I unlock my own bike and push it across the cobbled courtyard. ‘I have lines to learn.’
‘Bloody thesps!’ she calls back with a smile.
The ride home will clear my head, I think. I opt for my favourite route, following the riverside bike trail that skirts the town centre and eventually emerges on the road that will take me home. It’s longer, but I need it. All around me people are out enjoying the warm summer evening, the gardens of the bars and pubs I pass filled with laughter and happy conversation. The River Avon sparkles in the early evening sun. Birds sing their goodnights and a calm air settles over everything.
But Dunc’s companion’s words refuse to leave. Why say that if not to get at me? Has Dunc told her about us? Did he rope her into his endless mission to belittle me at every turn?
Probably.
He probably hired her to push his little power trip.
She’s probably never even met Theo Larkin.
You kiss by th’ book …
That’s what Juliet says to Romeo, gently mocking him, shortly after she’s kissed him back, taking the initiative and showing she’s his equal. That’s what I have to say to Theo tomorrow.
After we’ve kissed …
He’ll say you’re the best kisser he’s ever worked with. It’s flattering as hell, but it’s a line.
Kicking speed into my pedals, I race along the riverside until the cycle path turns onto the road and home is in sight.
I’m not going to give that woman’s words any more notice, I decide, kicking the memory of what she said to the dustiest corner of my mind.
It’s just a stage direction in a scene I’m acting. It’s not a big deal. We probably won’t even do it tomorrow, just mark it all out so we know where we’re supposed to be and how we’re meant to move.
And even though I’m dreading it as I grab my playbook from the living room and head upstairs to cram Juliet’s lines, I make myself focus on the task at hand.
Theo and I are professional actors. We will do what’s required of us.
And nothing more.