Forty-Two Theo
Forty-Two
THEO
I want to talk to Lucie.
I want to take her out into the garden now and beg her to listen to me.
It’s all I’ve thought of since she walked away yesterday. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I’ve made a total idiot of myself leaving so many messages on Lucie’s voicemail. I have never been like this about anyone before – and I hate it. I hate that I’m in this mess and that I could have stopped it happening.
But today she’s defiant, unreachable. And while Ced and Ophelia are working hard to put me at ease, I sense them closing ranks around her. I can’t expect anything else, of course. I just wish I wasn’t here.
After today, I won’t be.
‘Theo.’
Ophelia is standing beside me, Romeo’s shirt in hand. ‘It’s time to get ready.’
‘Should we run lines?’ I look over to the props trunk, where Lucie and Ced are deep in conversation. ‘Or mark it through?’
‘There’s no time.’ Her tone is kind, her eyes sad. ‘First performance is in fifteen minutes. Get yourself ready, quick as you can. I want to talk to you three before we begin.’
We’ve three performances remaining, but I feel I’ve been dismissed already.
When I’m dressed, I join Lucie and Ced in the centre of the crew room. Ophelia joins us, her smile noticeably tight.
‘Darlings, this is it. The final day of summer season. I want to express my eternal thanks and gratitude for what you’ve all done for this company. We have funding secured. We have cemented our role at the Birthplace. More than that, we have – you have – brought the most wonderful words from our most wonderful Bard to legions of people. For that, I will be forever in your debt.’
Ced reaches for her hand as tears glisten in Ophelia’s eyes. ‘Your programme too, darling. Utter genius. Those crowds saw your vision as much as Shakespeare’s brilliance.’
Ophelia nods her thanks, her gaze meeting each of us in turn.
‘I wanted to say something,’ I rush, before I can think better of it.
I see panic register to my left and right, but I’m here now so I have to do it.
‘I’ve loved these six weeks. I know they haven’t always been easy—’ my eyes meet Lucie’s. I can’t stop them. She looks away and my heart kicks me. ‘—I know it might still be difficult. But I wanted to thank you, for making me part of this. I’ve learned so much, been pushed in ways I could never imagine, fallen in love …’ My voice breaks. Panicked, I push on, ‘… with this place and with these works. So – yeah – that’s all I wanted to say.’
There’s a moment of stunned silence that feels like it might drag me to oblivion. Then Ced rescues me, as I realise he’s done many times this summer.
‘Much appreciated, Theo. You’ve done a bloody good job. Not bad for an It Boy , at least.’
I slap a hand on his shoulder, a sudden ache of loss almost knocking me over. I have to focus. Three shows and then I’m out of here.
No longer a Garden Player.
Out of Lucie’s life for good.
It isn’t the relief I imagined feeling six weeks ago.
It feels like a death.
At the door to the garden, I let Ced stand between us. I don’t try to get close to Lucie. Not yet. There will be a moment behind the rose trellis flat while Ced performs his welcome piece. Even as we walk out into the heat of the garden, I have no idea what I’ll say to her, only that I have to say something before we go on stage.
Nervous, I follow my fellow Garden Players to our starting positions, careful not to make eye contact as Ophelia calls us one by one onto the stage. When I’m introduced, I jog up there as I always have, struck for a moment when I see the crowd. It’s huge today, the Birthplace releasing a load of extra tickets to meet demand for our final shows. Whatever else happens, this is remarkable. It will stay with me wherever I go.
Their applause and cheers kick energy into my aching body, fuelling my smile as I greet Ced with a back-slap hug and take Lucie’s hand to kiss it. The audience sees our eyes meet: in reality her gaze is determinedly fixed at a point just beyond my right shoulder. That’s okay. I expected it. I’m lucky she even gave me her hand.
And then Ophelia gives us a nod and Lucie and I run off stage to our makeshift wings behind the flat. The audience hushes and Ced begins.
‘… A hundred thousand welcomes:—I could weep …’
‘Can I just say something?’ I ask, not daring to look at Lucie.
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘… A curse begin at very root on’s heart,
That is not glad to see thee! ’
‘I don’t want to make excuses. I should have stopped Greg sending those texts but I was too scared to …’
‘Theo, please! Let’s just get on with this …’
‘Can we talk later? When we’re done?’
‘No.’
‘Please? I’m going out of my mind …’ This is all wrong. It isn’t how I wanted to use this fast-disappearing moment to talk to her. What the hell am I doing?
‘… Yet welcome, warriors …’
Ced’s reaching his final line: I have one last shot before we’re on.
‘You’re going to be amazing.’
It’s what we’ve both said before every performance, regardless of whether we liked or loathed each other at the time. It’s tradition now, one more superstition to add to our cache.
Her shoulders drop. She knows it, too. We can’t jinx our final shows.
‘ We’re going to be amazing.’
She looks at me for the smallest moment when she says it. It’s nowhere near enough. But I’ll take it, as applause rings out in the garden and our stage beckons.
Ced appears behind the flat, gathering us both into a hug without warning.
‘You two are blessings to me. Bloody treasures . Never forget that.’ He releases us. ‘No matter what, you’ve earned that stage. On that stage you’re united. Beat the crap out of each other all you like after we’re done, okay? Not now.’
I love the man. I’m going to miss him.
We both nod – because what could either of us say? And then Lucie runs out to huge applause. I wait a beat – as I always have – and follow her.