Twenty-Nine Lucie
Twenty-Nine
LUCIE
‘ S o? ’
Lyle meets me at the front door, the sweetest wide-eyed barrier to our house.
‘It went well.’ I shrug, attempting to pass him.
‘Define well ,’ he replies, arms folding across his chest. ‘Because I saw the videos currently burning up social media and well wasn’t the first word to spring to mind.’
‘Lyle …’
‘ Hot was my first thought.’
‘We did what we planned, that’s all.’
‘ Shocking is a better word,’ Lyle continues, the joke obviously too entertaining to hear me. That impish smirk of his is annoyingly endearing. ‘Sensual. Risqué. Eye-opening …’
‘Good, great, can you move?’
‘Eye- watering , actually.’
‘Okay, okay, thank you,’ I shoot back, my own traitorous smile siding with my unapologetic housemate. ‘Can I come in now?’
Lyle blocks the open doorway. ‘Not yet, Lu.’
I groan. ‘Really? Aren’t you done?’
‘Done? We aren’t even started.’ Lyle takes my hand, resting it over his arm. ‘You’re due a full and intricate post-premiere post-mortem, Lucie-Lu, and that can mean only one thing…’
‘Pizza!’ I turn to see Cass and Dev sneaking into the courtyard behind me.
‘What are you both doing here?’ I giggle. ‘Don’t you have businesses to run?’
‘I left the Aunties in charge,’ Dev grins. ‘I couldn’t miss this.’
Cass plants a kiss on my cheek. ‘Finn sends his love. He told me to have an extra slice of pizza for him.’
I should have seen this coming, but the events of today have removed all my usual rationality. I don’t know how to feel about any of it. I’m tired and wrung out and emotionally overwhelmed, and although I love these three, the absolute last thing I want to do is pick over the details of my performance with them. Even if it is accompanied by the best pizza in Stratford-upon-Avon and my stomach is already rumbling.
‘Can we do it tomorrow? Or Saturday? I just want a pot of tea and a few hours’ kip …’
‘Absolutely not,’ Lyle snaps. ‘We haven’t celebrated an opening performance with you for three years and that performance needs celebrating. Both of them. Immediately. No exceptions.’
‘No exceptions,’ Cass and Dev chorus.
There’s little point in arguing, so I let them propel me back out of the courtyard and into the late afternoon sun.
Portia’s is hands-down the greatest pizza place in town, if not the whole of Warwickshire. Hidden away from the main drag where the tourists roam, it’s a haven for locals and a secret passed between visiting thesps like contraband gold.
From the street it’s unremarkable: a simple counter glimpsed through the glass door and illuminated sign overhead the only indicators of its purpose. But hidden well behind its modest frontage is the most perfect vine-covered pizza garden with a hand-painted mural of the Ponte Vecchio bridge in Florence, and a funky little basement dining area decorated with posters of past RSC productions that look as if they’re dancing across the walls. Nobody really knows what Portia’s opening hours are, possibly not even the owners. We’ve been known to find it serving pizza at 9 a.m. on a Monday morning and closed at midday on a Saturday. But the not knowing is part of the fun. If you’re passing and Portia’s is open, you’re eating pizza today.
Gianni, the splendidly mustachioed head chef, greets us like long-lost children when we enter, lifting the hatch in the front counter and sweeping through to plant three generous kisses on each of us. Lyle was only here two days ago but that’s immaterial: to Gianni Riche every returning customer is famiglia .
‘ Benvenuti, amici ! Where will it be today?’
‘The garden – er, il giardino, per favore ,’ Lyle replies, his full-voiced attempt at Italian making Gianni sparkle with delight.
I hide my smile, knowing how much Lyle has to wing languages when he’s singing opera, often learning arias phonetically to get the inflection right. At least in my job I only have to be able to remember my pieces in one language, even if Shakespeare’s English differs sometimes from our own.
Gianni leads us out to the garden, and over to a table beneath a bower of lush green vine leaves. It’s cooler here and the other tables aren’t yet filled, so it feels like we have Portia’s garden all to ourselves.
We place our orders (that is, Gianni recommends his dishes of the day and we accept) and settle in. I’m so tired, the adrenaline of the garden performances beginning to ebb and my evening shift at Gonzalo’s looming on the horizon. But now I’m here, surrounded by my best friends – and definitely ready for food – everything feels right.
‘I didn’t want to say it, but Theo Larkin is bloody good,’ Lyle says, holding up a hand as if shocked at his own admission. ‘I know, I know, I thought I’d be the last person likely to sign up to his fan army.’
‘ Fan army ,’ Cass sniggers. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m just saying, from the video clips he seems a worthy opponent for our Lu.’
‘Nobody is worthy of our Lu,’ Dev corrects. ‘But he’s probably the closest I’ve seen.’
‘He did well,’ I say. And I wonder if I should have told Theo that before I fled the crew room after our second performance. At least I didn’t raid the Bard Biscuits from the gift shop this time. After the uncertainty leading to today, that’s definitely progress.
‘You burned up the stage,’ Lyle says.
‘Maybe.’
‘She’s so adorable when she blushes,’ Cass teases, joined in a chorus of aww by Dev and Lyle.
I’m tempted to instantly hide my burning face behind a menu but a different response unexpectedly presents itself. Perhaps it’s the influence of the Shakespearean heroines I’ve just played, a little of their spirit remaining with me. Leaving the menu where it rests against a candle-stuffed bottle beaded with melted wax, I summon the moxie of Kate from The Taming of the Shrew . ‘If you think I’m blushing, you should see the state of Theo after I kissed him.’
They can’t hide their surprise, Lyle yelling, ‘Mic drop!’ as Dev and Cass drum their hands on the table to applaud me.
And I love it. Despite probably thinking better of my response later, when I’ve had time to process everything. It’s new for me: a braver, bolder Lucie Hart, ready to take on the world. Or, at least, hold my own when my friends are teasing me.
Our food arrives which, unsurprisingly for Gianni, is utterly gorgeous. Pizzas piled high with porcini mushrooms, chicken, artichoke hearts and still-bubbling fontina and fresh mozzarella cheeses, plates of antipasti and oven-warmed grissini with bowls of olive oil for dipping. We fall on it happily, our conversation bubbling between hearty bites.
Just as we’re admitting the meal might have defeated us, leaning back in our seats cradling full bellies, Lyle looks across the pizza garden and nudges my elbow. Cass and Dev follow the line of his sight and our table falls quiet as I follow suit.
The two tables nearest the Ponte Vecchio mural are now occupied, one with a group of hair-flicking teens, the other with a party of four adults. One of the teens is leaning across the gap between the two tables, brandishing a phone, while her fellow diners giggle and point. At us.
No – at me .
‘You’re a star,’ Lyle mutters low beside me.
‘Oh shush,’ I say, but one of the women is waving and – oh my life – leaving her seat …
Cass and Dev hunker down, their amusement badly concealed behind their hastily grabbed bottles of Peroni.
‘Excuse me,’ the lady says, reaching our table, another lady joining her. ‘But this is you, isn’t it?’
She turns her phone to face me but I already know what will be on the screen before a lip-locked screenshot of Theo and me is revealed.
‘Er, yes it is.’ I smile back.
Delight fills the woman’s face. ‘We saw you – in the garden? I’m Melanie Giles – hi – and this is my friend, Charlotte King. We heard about what was happening at the Birthplace and managed to get walk-in tickets for your second performance today. I mean, when we saw the video on Instagram we just had to see it in person.’
‘Oh, well, that’s lovely … Thanks … I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ I’m babbling now, completely flustered and fighting the urge to kick the shins of my friends who are barely holding their laughter in around me.
‘ Enjoyed doesn’t come close! You were wonderful …’
‘Thank you, I …’
‘He’s very handsome, isn’t he?’ Melanie rushes. ‘Theo Larkin, I mean. When he took off his shirt for your Tempest piece – well! Charlotte and I were … Toned . He’s very toned, isn’t he? Did he have to do much … physical training for the part?’
There’s a squeak from Cass, who takes a swift swig of lager to mask it.
‘We prepared for it as best we could,’ I reply as calmly as I can.
‘And when you kissed …’ Charlotte clamps her phone to her heart. ‘Forgive me for asking, but you are a couple in real life, right?’
‘Ah, no, we …’
She’s undeterred, leaning in conspiratorially. ‘I realise you can’t say. Integrity of the production and all that. But it’s impossible to fake that kind of chemistry. I just wanted to thank you – for your honesty on the stage. To everyone watching you both, those kisses were real.’
What am I supposed to say to that? Just as I’m frantically trying to grasp a suitable answer, Lyle finally leaps to my aid.
‘It takes years of careful study to make art look like life. Lucie is a past master.’
‘Of course,’ Melanie breathes. ‘And you do it so well.’
‘So well,’ Charlotte echoes. ‘Can we have your autograph?’
It’s such a surprise after all their Theo adulation that I stare back, saved when Cass slides two napkins over to me and produces a biro from her pocket. Stunned, I scribble my name on them and hand one each to Charlotte and Melanie, who thank me and skip back to their goggle-eyed friends.
My friends squeal and reach across our table to squeeze my hands. Bewildered, I sit in the middle of their celebration, not really sure what just happened. I’ve never been asked for an autograph in all my years as a professional actor. Nobody’s ever bothered before.
‘I told you,’ Cass exclaims, her smile filled with pride. ‘This is going to change everything, Lu. No more hiding in the shadow of someone else.’
It’s sweet, but two autographs in a pizza place only a select few people in this town know about hardly constitutes a major career break.
‘They were being polite,’ I say.
‘They loved your performance.’
‘And Theo’s chest.’
Lyle shrugs. ‘It’s hard not to love that chest. Believe me, I’ve tried.’
‘Not helpful.’ Cass glares at him, before turning back to me. ‘ You made that happen, Lu, as much as Theo did. You can’t have one-sided chemistry. You just signed your first autographs. Don’t question what happened: just enjoy the ride.’
‘Exactly.’ Dev smirks. ‘Especially if the ride is Theo …’