Twenty-Seven Lucie
Twenty-Seven
LUCIE
O f course it works.
We’ve put hours into making this one scene a success. But experiencing its effect on our audience is a total rush.
I love it!
I want to squeal out loud and dance around the stage, but I can’t break the moment. So I stuff my excitement deep within my chest and maintain Juliet’s focus on the man who’s just kissed her. I don’t want to lose a second of her response – and with the energy of the audience willing me on, I find the stillness I need.
Theo is battling it, too, I can tell. There’s a perfect line of pink along his cheekbones, a telltale flush at his throat. We’re equals in everything, from our performance to our response as actors, and I’m struck by how much this means to me. I’m under no illusions that I’m the main draw for the audience today. But in this scene, in this moment, they are as much in the palm of my hand as they are in Theo’s. That feels incredible.
And we’re not finished yet …
‘… Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ’
‘… Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again …’
There are a few muffled giggles from the audience as the anticipation mounts for our second kiss, but the moment Juliet runs back into Romeo’s arms they hush again.
I’m not going to pretend we don’t milk this kiss for all its worth. Maybe it’s the experience of a real audience watching instead of just Ced and Ophelia, or maybe it’s our own nerves playing out, but our kiss seems to take an age. I lean into it, remembering everything we’ve built into this second kiss, but then forgetting it. Instead of words and directions and critique, I follow my instincts. Thrilled, I sense Theo responding.
And suddenly we’re in another place entirely; where two young star-crossed lovers dance across the line between strangers and friends to seal their fate. Theo’s lips are soft and insistent; mine brave and bold. I can’t hear the audience now, or the sounds of the garden: there could be roars of laughter or a sudden storm and I wouldn’t hear a thing.
And then I’m aware of Ophelia beside us, her sudden appearance as Juliet’s nurse breaking more than just her charge’s illicit kiss …
‘… Madam, your mother craves a word with you …’
A little disoriented, I jump back from Theo and, with a cheeky smile, watch him leave the stage.
There’s a moment of silence as our scene ends.
And then the garden shakes with applause, cheers and stamping feet. I stand to receive it, shocked and relieved and a little shaken. Ophelia beckons Theo back on the stage to join us and I catch his wink as he reaches my side. We join hands and bow together, applause swelling again as we do. There’s still Ced’s main Coriolanus monologue and our Tempest scene to come, but this feels like the culmination of an age of work.
Our audience are still whooping and clapping as we run off stage to the safety of the space behind the rose trellis flat. Ced is waiting there, hands on hips, his biggest smile our reward.
‘Job well done, beauties,’ he stage-whispers, throwing his arms around us in a velvet, leather and lace-clad group hug.
‘Thanks to your direction, maestro ,’ Theo replies against Ced’s black leather doublet sleeve.
‘No, that was all you two,’ he replies, rolling his eyes at us as the hug ends. ‘I just lit the blue touch-paper and watched you both rocket off!’
The audience begin to quieten beyond our hiding place and Ced straightens his spine, rolling the tension from his neck. ‘Wish us luck, loves,’ he says. ‘Not a bloody clue how I’m going to follow that …’
‘… Please welcome back to the stage to give his Coriolanus , the wonderful Cedric Millington-Harvey!’
‘Knock their socks off.’ Theo grins.
‘Oh, I intend to.’ With a flourish of his cloak, Ced strides out to the stage.
Alone, we’re left in a haze of post-performance adrenaline. We don’t look at each other as the crowd hushes beyond our hiding place and Ced’s voice booms his opening lines.
‘… I’ll give my reasons,
More worthier than their voices …’
‘We did okay,’ Theo says, nudging my arm with his.
‘We did.’
I want to say something profound here, something that matches the rush of emotion I feel now that we’re hidden from the audience who blessed us with that reaction. But none of my words seem adequate. We still have so far to go: five more weeks of new and ever more challenging love scenes to navigate. It would be so easy to be swept up by the relief and emotion of this moment. I can’t let that happen.
So I keep my smile centre-stage and say nothing more, too aware of my breath and the pinkness of my cheeks. Theo does the same, a weird air settling between us as we stand together, a careful distance kept from one another.
And then I hear Ced moving into the final part of his speech and suddenly remember my costume change for Miranda. It isn’t much, just removing the string of pearls from my neck and draping a lace shawl around my shoulders, but I have to be ready on time. I reach for the clasp at the back of my neck, my fingers fumbling with the stubborn fastening.
‘… Then they were chosen: in a better hour …’
Ced is two lines away from the end. The clasp won’t budge. It never did this in rehearsal – why is it sticking now?
And then I’m aware of warm fingers closing around mine, easing them away from the clasp.
‘Hold still.’
Theo is right beside me, his red-and-white-striped velvet Romeo doublet half shrugged off. Flushed, I return my focus to the rose trellis flat.
Gentle waves of his breath brush across my skin as he concentrates on the clasp. I can sense him, millimetres away. Instinctively, I turn my head, Theo’s gaze meeting mine. Startlingly close.
For a moment, his hands stop moving. And we’re alone.
His lips move, but words refuse to leave them. My heart thunders in my ears, all noise from beyond the flat retreating. His gaze dips, I close my eyes, and …
… I inhale shakily as the pearls slacken at my throat, my fingers catching them as Theo’s hand moves away.
‘Thanks,’ I manage, grabbing my shawl and hastily arranging it, while Theo steps back, pulling his shirt over his head.
‘… And throw their power i’the dust …’
Applause swells around the stage. Our cue to be ready.
I’m shaken, but I have to focus. When I go back out there, I’m sweet, innocent Miranda. All trace of Juliet gone, like the troublesome necklace I’ve just dropped into the props basket at my feet.
I can’t think of what almost happened …
So Theo and I head out onto the stage and replay our carefully choreographed dance around one another. He’s glowing as I feel I am, our familiar movements and reactions carrying an extra charge this time, our appreciative crowd’s reaction lifting the scene to a new level.
And then it’s over and we’re doing our final bows and dashing back behind the rose trellis flat, exhilarated and in shock.
‘They want autographs,’ Ophelia says in a rush, appearing around the flat. ‘And selfies too! Come out, come out!’
It’s extraordinary. And all thoughts of the necklace – and the moment it summoned – are blown from my mind.
For the first few minutes, all three of us are bombarded by eagerly thrust pieces of paper and pens, excitedly poised phones and squeals of delight. But then the crowd begins to edge Ced and me out of the way, closing us out of our own stage as they converge around Theo.
Laughing, Ced steps back, his hands raised in surrender.
‘Ah well, ’twas good while it lasted.’ He grins at me, the edge of his smile slackening just a little when my own doesn’t quite match. ‘Don’t know about you, Lu, love, but I could murder a coffee.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Shall we?’
I accept and we turn our backs on the adoring acolytes, stepping off the stage and heading back to the blessed sanctuary of the crew room.
Its cool calm welcomes us back but my mood flattens as soon as the door closes us in.
I don’t know why.
Ced busies himself in the cupboard kitchen as I take off my shawl and pull the silk kimono back over my costume. I huddle on the props trunk, my hands suddenly cold.
It’s okay. It’s what we knew would happen. So why does Theo’s still being out there feel like a snub?
‘You were divine ,’ Ced says, pressing a warm mug into my hands.
‘As were you,’ I reply.
He brushes off my compliment but he’s beaming as he sits beside me. ‘Now stop it , Lu.’
‘Stop what? Complimenting you?’
‘Raking over the performance with a fine-toothed comb, looking for split ends.’ By his knowing look I know I’m rumbled.
‘I’m trying not to.’ I watch the swirls of steam dance over the surface of my drink. ‘I just … I wasn’t prepared … For that …’
‘None of us were, dear. Did you see Theo’s expression? Eyes like blessed saucers for the first half of your piece.’
My blush is fierce, as if Ced has guessed what else happened with Theo and me. ‘No, they weren’t.’
Ced’s having none of it. ‘Trust me, Lu, our Mr Larkin is far less certain of his own success than anyone else.’
‘Oh yeah, I noticed that when he was posing for cheeky selfies and cuddling adoring fans …’
‘Didn’t realise you were watching so closely.’
‘I couldn’t miss it.’ The moment I look at Ced I realise the trap I’ve danced into. ‘Oh, okay, maybe it annoys me.’
‘Because his fans are here for him?’
It’s ridiculous, I know it is. But now we’re away from the crowd – and what happened out of their view – reality is biting. Whatever our audience’s reaction to our performance was, they aren’t here for us. They never were. It was only ever about Theo. And this whole summer will be filled with more of the same. Like it or not, this will be the response after every performance while Theo is part of our company.
‘But we all deserve recognition,’ I argue back. ‘We all made that happen …’
‘ That being?’
‘The performance. The response.’
‘ That scene?’
‘All of it.’
If Ced has an opinion on this, he doesn’t give it voice. Instead he throws a comradely arm around my shoulders. ‘Well, I think we were brilliant. And you know we were brilliant. And when push comes to shove, duckie, what else matters?’
Twenty minutes later our missing third returns to the crew room, a delighted Director of Garden Performance wafting along in his wake.
‘Well,’ Ophelia exclaims, leaning against the door with an Oscar-worthy sigh, ‘that was remarkable. My darlings, you were marvellous. And we’re only just beginning!’
‘To the victor the spoils!’ Ced replies, delivering coffee to Ophelia and Theo.
‘Ced, man, your Coriolanus was on point ,’ Theo says, offering a fist-bump which Ced hesitantly returns. ‘Malice and fury and indignation … So good.’
Ced beams back. ‘The old dog’s not just a one-trick comedy pony it would seem.’
His mixed metaphors make me smile despite the weirdness of my mood.
‘And you …’ Theo is looking straight at me. ‘Lucie, thank you.’
I raise my mug in reply, not really knowing what his comment means. I don’t want to analyse it. Like Ced said, if we know we were brilliant, anyone else’s opinion doesn’t matter.
Ophelia claps her hands. ‘Right, rest now, all of you. Food will be arriving shortly.’ Seeing our surprise, she raises a perfectly poised hand. ‘Opening day celebration. My treat.’
The mention of food – and its appearance five minutes later – pushes all other considerations from my mind. Ophelia has outdone herself: a gorgeous buffet spread of sandwiches, fruit, salads and cheese from her favourite deli in Sheep Street. We fall on it happily, all thoughts of today’s remaining performance held at bay while we enjoy the rare feast.
Ced’s right: we should be celebrating. Everything we worked so hard to create landed brilliantly with the audience. And it seems the word is already out: as we enjoy our surprise lunch I see my colleagues checking their phones, smiles lighting up around the room as their screens confirm what we hoped would happen.
Our audience prove true to our best expectations: within an hour, social media is buzzing with photos and videos of that kiss …