Fifty-Six Theo
Fifty-Six
THEO
T he audience are in their seats. The rumble of hushed conversation ebbs away.
And our missing three aren’t here.
Jude’s thumbnail is bitten almost down to the quick. Nervous looks are being exchanged around me. The musical director is resorting to covert swigs of hip-flask brandy.
We’re out of time. This is all on me.
I close my eyes, take a breath and try to steady my racing pulse. This isn’t anything I haven’t done before, I remind myself. It’s a tiny audience by RSC standards; fewer people even than our final crowds in the Birthplace garden. My Hamlet soliloquy is one scene I’ve successfully managed to commit to memory, and not having stage directions yet won’t matter as I’ll be the only one there.
You can do this, Theo Larkin , I tell myself.
This is the chance I wanted: the opportunity to prove that I am so much more than a single punch thrown at a dodgy director, or a much-shared chest and snog on social media.
I picture the audience of invited benefactors and fix them in my mind’s eye: Forget what you know about me. This is who I am now.
‘ No ! Absolutely not !’
The furious whisper summons me back to my place in the wings.
When I open my eyes, Vi, our new assistant director, is facing Jude down, shaking her head.
‘It’s Greg’s job, not mine.’
‘Greg isn’t here ,’ Jude hisses back. ‘And when Greg isn’t here, you are him .’
‘Jude, I can’t … Public speaking terrifies me. I’ll throw up!’
Our stage manager rolls his eyes. ‘Trust me, love, we’re so short on content we could use the spectacle.’
‘Ask me to do this and I will quit .’
They glare at each other.
‘People. We need to start …’ The front of house manager pokes his head around the backstage curtains.
‘Vi. Go .’
‘I’m not setting foot on that stage …’
‘I’ll do it.’
As one, the crew turns to look at me.
What am I doing?
‘I’ll do it,’ I repeat.
The sound guy hands me a wireless mic. Vi mouths, Thank you .
And then I’m walking out onto the stage.
The house lights are up, so I can see every upturned face, every expectant expression.
‘Honoured guests,’ I begin, adjusting the position of the mic a little to get a better sound. ‘We welcome you to this extra-special showcase of our upcoming season here at the Royal Shakespeare Theatres. My name is Theo Larkin. I will be taking the role of Hamlet.’
A smattering of polite applause greets me.
It’s a far cry from the cheers and whistles of the Garden audiences, but I’ll take it.
‘We have two pieces for your enjoyment this afternoon: a scene from each of our twin productions that will run concurrently under the direction of our visiting director, Greg Dabrowski. First, a scene from Hamlet that I know will be familiar to you. Then, The Tempest . And after that …’ My voice falters. What is happening after that? I’ve been so caught up in what we’re supposed to be doing on stage that I haven’t considered what will happen with the invited guests afterwards.
‘Buffet lunch!’ whispers the panicked events manager from the front row.
‘A buffet lunch will be served … in the restaurant?’
Frantic nods from the events manager and the front of house manager confirm my guess was correct. A shimmer of laughter crosses the audience.
‘Ah, you see, I had to check,’ I say, playing along, my nerves going into overdrive. ‘I am but a humble actor: they don’t feed us.’
Even Jude laughs at that one.
There’s still no sign of Greg – or my fellow players – so I think on my feet. I’ll do Hamlet first and then, if nobody else shows, I’ll do Ferdinand, too. Can you do the Tempest scene without Miranda’s lines? The first part, before she enters, maybe. I can ham up Ferdinand and his logs for laughs. Ced would skin me alive for it, of course, but he isn’t here.
The memory brings a wash of sadness.
I remember our rehearsals in the tiny crew room, the jokes and rows, the suggestions made and flatly refused. Man , I miss them.
Remembering the stage I’m currently on, I smile at the audience.
‘So, let us begin. Settle back, watch and enjoy …’
With a flourish of a bow, I jog back to the wings, handing a very sweaty mic back to the mildly disgusted sound bloke.
‘Ready?’ Jude whispers, fixing the battery pack in my back pocket and checking my headset mic is in position.
‘No,’ I grin back. My fingers find the rusted paperclip now tucked into the waistband of my leather trousers. For luck.
I’m going to need it.
As the applause dies down, I stride back onto the stage …