Forty-Six Theo
Forty-Six
THEO
B y the time I return to the Birthplace, I’ve calmed down. I was angry with myself more than anyone else. More than Lucie, who has every right to hate me.
I shouldn’t have told her I loved her. It wasn’t fair.
She’s right: we need to get through the performances today. I need to leave everything else beyond the walls of the Birthplace and get on with my job. Six weeks ago I was desperate for a chance to get on a stage. My position is still precarious, despite the new crowd of people I can see already claiming their seats in the garden. After today, everything could change.
It’s a week until I begin rehearsals for Hamlet , but Barry reckons Greg might bring that forward to give us as much time as possible to prepare the show. It makes sense: we’re all in town now, anyway. Personally, I hope he grants us one day before we begin, so I have a hope of grabbing some rest – and return to the Herculean task of learning my lines, which I abandoned when Lucie and I got together. I can’t afford to lose any more time getting Hamlet into my head.
Ophelia meets me by the garden door of the crew room, blocking my way elegantly.
‘Ah, Theo, dear, I hoped I’d catch you.’
I hold up my hands. ‘Before you say anything, I’m sorry I left.’
Her expression clouds for a moment. ‘If you needed a break that’s quite understandable …’
‘Well, I’m back. For the duration. And me and Lucie …’
‘… were magnificent as always. I appreciate how difficult it must be for you both.’ Her perfect violet-painted nails fidget with the glasses chain that hangs around her neck. ‘I wanted to say, after today, my door is always open. You have my mobile number: use it. You will always be one of us, even if our funds don’t run to tempting you back to our little stage. Don’t be a stranger to us, please?’
Taken aback, I manage a smile. Ophelia Henry is a woman of many surprises. ‘Thank you.’ There’s more I want to say now. Stuff it, what’s the worst that can happen? ‘Can you look after Lucie? Really look after her, I mean. I gate-crashed this company and, believe me, I am so glad I did. But Lucie is your star. Ced too. You need to treasure them.’
A horrible stunned silence meets my words and I’m worried I’ve offended her in my final hours as one of her company. But then she lowers her lashes, her hands clasping together. ‘I have taken them for granted. It’s easy to do that to people we love.’
Ouch .
‘Make sure she’s all right for me?’
She nods. ‘You have my word.’
‘Thanks. I should …’ I gesture at the crew room door.
‘Yes, hurry now.’ She waits until my hand is on the door handle. ‘And Theo?’
‘Yes?’
‘Give her time. And space.’
I don’t know whether to be encouraged or kicked by that. I open the door as Ophelia walks back into the garden.
Ced is all kind smiles as we prepare for the second performance; while Lucie sends careful looks across the crew room. She looks exhausted and I feel the same. When the three of us meet by the door to the garden, we join hands as we’ve always done, Ced a very definite bolster between us.
Then we’re out into the garden, quickly stowing our costume changes and props in the basket behind the trellis flat before Ophelia calls us on.
They’ve extended the audience seating area, three more rows of chairs squeezed in to the garden to accommodate our penultimate audience. When we run out on stage the force of their welcome is something else. I won’t have this in my next job, so I’ll make the most of it now. Despite the ache within me, I’m determined to enjoy it.
Behind the flat again as Ced begins his first piece, I look at Lucie. She’s staring at the narrow slice of the stage visible from here as if it might vanish if she doesn’t keep it in her sight.
‘Forget everything else,’ I say, wishing her shoulders didn’t immediately stiffen at the sound of my voice. ‘Let’s just bloody do this. I don’t want to fight unless it’s on the stage. Let’s give ourselves a break.’
She pinches above the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. ‘Yeah, okay.’
‘Hit me as hard as you like in Shrew ,’ I risk.
One corner of her mouth rises, just a little. ‘You might regret that offer.’
It’s nothing, a tiny break in tension, but it helps. ‘I’ll take my chances.’
So on we go. And it’s better. We return to what we know by heart: Shakespeare’s words, not ours. We play out Romeo and Juliet to lusty applause, battle and flirt and cause guffaws and gasps as Petruchio and Kate, and when we perform Tempest , our Ferdinand and Miranda cause hearts to melt across the garden.
And it’s good. Better than I could have hoped for.
Our final applause lasts longer than before, the queue for autographs and selfies extends halfway down the garden and we’re surrounded by delighted people. It’s as perfect as it could be.
Back in the crew room, lunch arrives, courtesy of a delighted general manager, and the small space is invaded by trustees, senior staff and a few invited dignitaries. It feels like a final show, even though one more remains. Lucie, Ced and I are spared the usual post-show analysis because of the noise and squeeze of bodies between us – but that’s a blessing, too.
I don’t want to think about the final performance – final in every sense of the word. I thought we’d be leaving together after the last show – a cast-only celebration to mark the end of our company of three. And I’d pictured taking Lucie home with me, ready to face together whatever came next.
When I leave, in just over an hour’s time, I’ll leave as I arrived: alone.
I don’t want to think about that.
So we smile for our guests and carefully navigate the room around one another. But every move has a heavy finality to it. I can’t escape it.
And then it’s time for our last performance.
The guests leave and Ced, Lucie and I disperse to our small corners of the crew room to get ready. There are no jokes, no wistful last-performance remembrances. Just a soft, sad stillness.
We gather by the door to the garden, hold hands as we always have and head to the stage.
The roar that greets us is deafening.
I’ve never seen the garden so full of people, so many eager, delighted faces awaiting us. Many of the Birthplace staff are here, too, gathered around the edges of the garden, granted a view of the spectacle responsible for packing out their workplace all summer. It feels like a celebration of all we’ve done.
But at the centre of it, I’m losing everything.
Lucie keeps her smile steady beside me as we greet the audience, her hand finding mine when it’s time to let Ced have the stage. We wait behind the rose trellis flat and trade brief smiles before we go on stage. I leave all hope of anything Lucie and Theo might have, as Romeo and Juliet appear before the crowd.
Our kisses are nothing more than illusion here: our touches and flirting purely for the play’s sake. I don’t let myself break character for a moment, even though I want to. This magic that’s always appeared when we perform together is precious: after this performance it will never be seen again.
So Romeo is united with Juliet, Kate stuns Petruchio with her wit and fire, and Ferdinand and Miranda discover their forever love.
My heart breaks with every victory, every planned move that lands with the audience. Every sigh and squeal and cheer they make brings me closer to losing her.
There’s no coming back from this, is there?
When our performance ends, the final applause is unlike anything else. There are photos and excited chatter, long lines waiting for a few seconds of our time, and we navigate them with smiles before we are ushered away to the quiet crew room.
‘My darling, darling man!’ Ophelia appears by my side, a beaming Purdy beside her. ‘You have been a blessing to this company. I hope you know you are welcome here any time.’
‘Thank you. I would be honoured to act with you again,’ I reply with a smile, scanning the room to see if Lucie heard Ophelia’s offer. But I can’t see her. More people are arriving to congratulate us, obscuring the changing corner from view.
I have to say something when she’s changed. Not another round of begging – that won’t achieve anything. But something significant, that will frame this moment and keep me in her mind.
‘I knew that lovely chest wouldn’t let us down,’ Purdy beams.
‘Your costume made it shine,’ I grin back, scooping her hand and landing a cheeky kiss on the back of it.
She blushes. ‘And that made it all worthwhile! I’ll take my payment in the form of those from now on, Pheels!’
I glance back at the changing corner. The curtain is open now, the corner empty. Where is she?
Offering a polite smile to Ophelia and Purdy, I squeeze between the members of management and well-wishers, peering over their heads for any glimpse of her.
Finally, I see her, standing at the open door. Her face is expressionless, her gaze passing across the room we’ve shared for the summer. At last, our eyes meet. Before I can raise my hand or move any closer, Lucie Hart slips from the room.
No! Not like this! Not until I’ve spoken to her …
I wrestle my way out of the packed room, emerging on the small path leading to the Henley Street gate. Blinking against the sun, I hurry down the path, glancing at the drainpipe on the side of the building where her bike is always locked. It’s empty.
I follow the path to the gate, but I already know I won’t find her.
I’m too late. She’s gone.
I try calling Cass when I get home, but she doesn’t reply. Finally, when I’m at a loss to know what else to do, a text arrives.
Best to leave things now, Theo.
What if I can’t? I reply. I never lied to her. Greg was mistaken. And Duncan was out of line .
Her reply chills me to the bone.
Duncan made it a million times worse.
They were together, for two years. Then he cheated on her and when she dumped him he scuppered every chance of success she had. You just handed him a perfect excuse to do it again.
I stare at my phone, it all becoming horrifically real. Why didn’t I know any of this?
Help me make this right, Cass – I text back.
Nothing you can do now. Leave her be.
Can we keep in touch? I fire back, desperate for any sign of hope. I want to know she’s okay.
It’s a long time before she replies.
Okay. But you broke her heart, Theo. She might never recover.
It kills me to read it written so starkly, but it’s necessary. My inaction caused this. My inability to stand up for the woman I love.
I know I have to focus on the job I have. I know what’s at stake. But I can’t escape the guilt that Lucie just gave away her biggest gig in years because of me.
I’m powerless to change it because she won’t talk to me or return my calls. There’s literally nothing I can do, short of building a time-machine and going back to that conversation on the street outside the theatre and telling Greg to shove his clever idea where the sun doesn’t shine.
Why has my life been so scuppered by decisions I wish I hadn’t made?
I push on with Hamlet , with the lines that are slowly starting to sink into my stubborn brain. But my heart isn’t part of the effort.
Lilia spots it straight away, of course. I’ve been braving it out with the Boys, leaning on their vast collective experience to hone my performance. It’s helped as a smokescreen for my shattered emotions as much as research for the role. But Lilia isn’t buying it.
‘Out with it, Mr Larkin,’ she commands, mid-way through one of Dougie’s energetic Hamlet reminiscences.
‘Let the poor boy be, Lil,’ Dougie retorts, making no attempt to mask his exasperation at her interruption. ‘He has enough on his plate with this monster of a role.’
‘He’s distracted,’ Lilia fires back. ‘And so he bloody well should be.’
‘I didn’t hurt Lucie on purpose,’ I return, realising too late that I’ve fallen into her expert trap.
‘No,’ she replies, a triumphant glint in her eyes. ‘But you blame yourself, nevertheless.’
I heft a sigh, aware of the concerned eyes of the Boys on me. I could argue the toss but what’s the point when Lilia’s sussed me?
‘She gave up that role because of me,’ I say, my voice low beneath the chatter of The Star and Hope. ‘A job she’s longed for. Not to mention the best paid. Now she has nothing. The summer season with The Garden Players is over, there’ll be no more work in the garden until half term and then nothing till Christmas. She works so hard and she’s so good and …’ My voice breaks and I clam up to protect the scraps of dignity that remain.
‘The girl is excellent,’ Michael says. ‘Mesmerising on stage. I confess, I returned to the Birthplace several times just to watch her at work. No offence, Theo. I mean, you were wonderful, too …’
I dismiss his hurried caveat with a wave of my pint glass.
‘Always the girls who lose out,’ Cyril nods, sagely. ‘Bloody blokes get all the breaks and the lassies are expected to bear it all. She won’t listen to reason, I take it?’
‘Would you want to work for a director who traded you like a cash cow?’ Dougie scoffs. ‘I don’t blame the girl. Dabrowski cooked his chips the moment he made the suggestion.’
‘This could end her career,’ I say, hating every word. ‘Her best friend Cass sent me a message to say she’s considering going back to teaching.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ Michael gasps, clutching at his cravat.
‘There is nothing wrong with teaching, Mickey,’ Lilia chides him. ‘Teachers are noble and worthy of high praise.’
Chastised, Michael’s gaze drops into his whisky. ‘Yes, dear.’
‘ Quite .’ She eyes him before returning her gaze to me. ‘However, our Miss Hart should not be allowed to cast aside her calling because of financial concerns outside her control …’
Now it’s my turn to stare at the dwindling contents of my glass.
‘What do you propose, Lil old girl?’ Dougie asks.
‘The lady needs a platform. A showcase. To show the theatre world the gem they’ve overlooked.’
‘But how … ?’ I ask, seeing the defiant twinkle in my landlady’s eyes when I dare to look at her.
‘None of your beeswax, Mr Larkin,’ she snaps. ‘But I shall require the phone number of this Cassandra woman immediately.’
‘You have a plan!’ Cyril exclaims, slapping the table with glee. ‘I knew it! I’ve seen that look a thousand times, Lilia Hetherington-Lynes, and it always leads to japes and escapades .’
‘Naturally,’ she replies, imperiously. ‘Return to the demands of your Danish Prince, Theo. Leave Lucie Hart to me.’