Fifty-Seven Lucie
Fifty-Seven
LUCIE
T heo is well into his Hamlet soliloquy when Greg, Ced and I hurry into the shadowy backstage area. I was handed a dress as we traversed the rabbit warren of corridors to get here, and I’ve managed to pull it over my head, discreetly removing my T-shirt from underneath. Ced takes it from me and the costume assistant quickly fastens me into the dress. Then I roll up the legs of my jeans under the skirt so they can’t be seen, and slip off my shoes.
Barefoot on the boards of The Swan? I can’t think of anything more perfect.
I can’t quite believe how we got here. Greg Dabrowski’s frankly dangerous last-minute plan to make amends could have failed at the first hurdle if I’d refused to go with him. I catch his eye as he chats to the stage manager, his rueful smile proof of the strange situation we both find ourselves in.
‘Why me?’ I’d demanded as we flew across town.
‘Because I don’t do apologies often. Ever. This was the only thing I could think of.’
‘So Theo thinks his fellow actors are joining him for the showcase, but they don’t even know about it? What about the rest of the crew?’
‘In the dark, too.’
‘But what if someone calls your Ferdinand and Miranda to see where they are?’
He’d paled then: clearly he hadn’t considered this. ‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘What would you have done if I’d said no?’
‘Gone on myself, I guess.’
He’d had the idea this morning, he told me, after the Benefactor’s Showcase had been sprung on him yesterday. ‘It was a gift I couldn’t ignore.’
‘Maybe you need to apologise more often to learn easier ways of doing it,’ I’d joked, surprised by the change in the man I’ve railed at privately for weeks.
I’m still not sure I forgive him completely. He did what Duncan Harrow has done for years – thinking so little of me and my career that I became a commodity for his own agenda. He isn’t a reformed character by any means. I can’t see him becoming the embodiment of benevolence from now on. But he threw Theo under the bus like he did me. Now I know, I have to breach the walls I built between us. Greg’s handed me the chance to do it.
Whatever else has happened, he did this one thing right.
I can’t see Theo from where we are, but the sound of his voice is wonderful. Hearing him speak brings everything back. I’ve missed him. I haven’t wanted to admit it until now.
When he comes off after his Hamlet piece, he will be on the opposite side of the stage to me. Greg has planned it that way: he’ll meet him in the wings and send him straight back on as Ferdinand.
The first time Theo sees me will be when I emerge as Miranda.
It’s poetic justice, in a way. Me crashing Theo’s stage like he crashed mine. But I reckon I get the better deal – Theo’s stage is the most perfect stage in the world.
Butterflies assault my stomach. I’m lightheaded and dizzy. But I’m here , about to claim my place on the stage I’ve dreamed of performing on. And this time there will be no Duncan Harrow sitting out in the gloom beyond the spotlights, ready to slam another door. Greg says he’s been demoted: it couldn’t happen to a better person. Removing a bully’s power is the best revenge …
‘Ready, Lu?’ Beside me, Ced faffs with the long velvet robe he’s been given. It’s the deepest shade of midnight blue, merging to violet where the hem brushes the floor, hundreds of exquisitely stitched silver thread stars shimmering between its folds. The only Prospero I would ever choose.
‘Are you?’ I smile.
‘Not in the slightest!’ He grabs my hand and we silent-squeal together.
Greg had planned to run Act III, Scene 1 from The Tempest with Prospero’s lines cut out. I argued that if he wanted me on the stage today, the excellent Cedric Millington-Harvey had to be there, too.
My lovely friend’s delight is the best reward. Thankfully the costume assistant had a robe to hand along with my dress. Ced looks magnificent – totally befitting of an actor of his talent. It’s about time everyone else sees what Ophelia and I have known for years.
‘… Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought …’
Theo is nearing the end of Hamlet’s soliloquy. Ced nods along approvingly – his pride in our former fellow player impossible to ignore.
That just leaves me.
What will Theo say when I crash his stage?