Fifty-Nine Lucie
Fifty-Nine
LUCIE
T his stage is small compared to the one I played yesterday. The audience, maybe larger. All the actors showed up – always a relief – and even some of the backstage drama has calmed a little.
But it’s wonderful. And it’s mine.
And nobody can take it from me.
‘Places, everyone,’ Lilia urges, the last few moments before the curtain rises always the time my nerves are the worst. Cyril takes his place on the stage, the rest of us hurrying to our respective positions in the wings. We trade grins across the polished boards, a mixture of excitement and intense fear animating our bodies.
‘Make me proud, darlings,’ Lilia instructs, resting her diamond-adorned hand on Dougie’s arm as he escorts her off the stage. ‘And whatever you do, don’t bollocks it up.’
‘Spoken like a queen, as always,’ Michael chuckles beside me.
Beyond the curtain of the tiny theatre Lilia hired for one night only, a familiar hush descends. The stage lights dim, and around the periphery of the performance space a flurry of nervous actor traditions ensue.
We are absolutely not ready. But it’s too late to worry.
Our sound manager hands Michael a microphone. He nods his solemn thanks and pushes through the curtain to excited applause.
Our show begins now.
‘Most honoured guests, welcome to our special, one-nightonly charity gala, curated by our very own doyenne of the stage, Mrs Lilia Hetherington-Lynes,’ Michael announces. ‘We will perform Lilia’s favourite Shakespeare scenes, sonnets and soliloquies for you this evening, raising money for the wonderful Actors’ Benevolent Fund, which supports so many of our fellow actors enduring financial hardship through illness, injury or old age. So, without further ado, sit back and relax as the Hetherington-Lynes Players present: A Night of Bard Language !’
‘That is the worst title,’ Cyril whispers beside me.
‘Lilia’s idea,’ I say, enjoying the twin faces of horror we both pull. The first we knew of it was when we saw the programmes this morning. All part of the magic, I suppose …
As the performance begins, I peer through the gap between the black curtains marking the wings and the side of the proscenium arch. Ophelia is in the audience, her hands folded demurely on her programme, her eyes fixed on the stage. I wonder how she feels, watching the show her former mentor has put together. I don’t think their relationship was always easy, but her reserved seat in the front row maybe goes a little way towards healing past wounds.
Ced sits on her left, and next to him is Lilia’s son, Olivier, newly arrived from Edinburgh to support his mother’s show. He seems to be much happier gazing at Ced than watching Cyril’s soliloquy on the stage …
Behind them, Dev and Lyle are grinning like two meerkats in my direction, a seat reserved between them for Cass, who will join them from backstage soon. Can they see me hiding here?
I duck back in case they can, but my heart is full.
A night in the arms of the love of my life helped …
This has been the strangest season of my acting life: so many twists and turns, triumphs and tragedies, it’s almost worthy of its own tale. Greg has asked me to understudy both Miranda in Tempest and Ophelia in Hamlet during the double-run and I’ve accepted. Ced’s been cast as Polonius after the actor due to play him broke his leg. I can’t wait to see Duncan Harrow’s face when he finds out.
Little steps to greatness , according to Ced.
Warm hands encircle my waist, my body being turned to meet the lips of the cheekiest, most annoying, most utterly shameless tart of an actor I’ve ever had to work with. He doesn’t care that I’m due on stage in thirty seconds, or that butterflies are laying siege to my stomach beneath the purple velvet and white silk dress that Cass and Purdy made just for me.
Bloody Theo Larkin …
‘I love you,’ I giggle, wriggling free from his kisses and jabbing a thumb towards the stage. ‘But you shouldn’t be this side of the stage. Go!’
‘Okay, Kate ,’ he grins – and I swear I would snog that smile right off if we weren’t about to perform our Shrew scene: a last-minute addition Lilia made to the programme.
‘ They call me Katherine that do talk of me .’
‘Good line. Ready for a fight, Kitty-Cat?’
‘Go!’ I give him a push, loving the mischief as he laughs and hurries away.
My Theo.
Crashing my stage and my heart.
I don’t know what awaits us after the Hamlet and Tempest run ends. Theo’s had some offers – and some for both of us, too. We’ll both be re-joining The Garden Players for the Christmas event shows that Ophelia is planning at the Birthplace. The buzz of the summer continues to flare up on social media, much to Barry Antony’s delight. On his advice, I’ve finally cut ties with my agent and am seeking new representation. I’ve had some interest already.
I don’t know what happens next. But we have this , now.
My stage – and my audience – awaits.
‘Prepare for a battle, Petruchio,’ I whisper, catching sight of Theo waiting in the wings across the stage.
Straightening my spine, I will Kate’s strength into my body, and stride out to warm, welcoming applause …