Rad’s performance as Benedick was treated as an event of some importance in the Radley household. A whole row of seats was booked to accommodate a growing party of friends and relations, including myself, Lawrence, Clarissa, Bill and Daphne and Lexi’s widowed mother, Cecile, who brought along a sort of inflatable cushion. Even Mr Radley had taken a night off from guarding the nation’s biscuits to attend, but in the event his seat, like Banquo’s, remained empty.
‘Where’s your dad?’ I whispered to Frances as we waited for the curtain to rise. All around us parents and friends of the actors were fidgeting expectantly, discharging their last coughs, and rustling programmes. I had turned to the cast list in mine straight away. Benedick – Marcus Radley. Strange to think that there might be people here who knew him as Marcus. I would keep the programme in a shoebox of other important mementoes under my bed – even his printed name was precious.
‘He didn’t feel too well at the last minute,’ she said. ‘He’s in bed at home.’
I knew she was lying, not just from the lack of conviction with which she offered the explanation, but from the demeanour of the whole Radley party. Lexi, flanked by Lawrence and Clarissa, was sitting rigidly in her seat with the expression of someone determined to enjoy herself in the teeth of a thoroughly bad temper. Every so often Lawrence would reach over and squeeze her hand encouragingly and she would reward him with a twitch of a smile. Before I could challenge Frances further the house lights dimmed and she turned away from me.
I suffered a moment’s anxiety before Rad’s first entrance. Would he be any good? Would my infatuation withstand a public display of mediocrity? Fortunately my loyalty was not put to the test: from his opening lines it was clear that he was a natural. The most ornate lines of poetry were delivered as if they had just that moment occurred to him; it didn’t seem like a feat of memory. All around me I could sense people sitting up, alert, attentive, relieved whenever he came on. His accomplishment had the regrettable side-effect of making the rest of the cast look rather workmanlike in comparison. He showed them up for what they were – schoolboy actors, diligently playing their parts, while he was just Benedick, being himself. It was curious to witness the transformation of the reclusive and monosyllabic Rad into this confident and swaggering character. Surely, I reasoned, if he could act the lovestruck hero so convincingly on stage, he must feel some sympathy with the type in real life?
During the interval we were funnelled out into the school foyer for refreshments: bitter coffee and knobbly home-made biscuits which Frances pounced on as though they were a delicacy. From all sides I could overhear snatches of conversation: ‘… that leading boy …’, ‘… stage presence …’, ‘… marvellous …’, ‘… maturity …’, ‘… drama school, surely? …’ and felt myself glowing with the pride of association. The director of the production, Rad’s drama teacher, a short, youngish man in a black leather jacket, pushed his way through the crowd, fielding words of congratulation, to where we were standing. He introduced himself to Lexi, whom he said Rad had pointed out from the wings, and then had to be introduced to us, which took rather longer. He was evidently somewhat in awe of Lexi, who had a significant advantage in height, for a faint blush rose up his neck as they shook hands and failed to recede all the time they were talking.
‘I’m enjoying the production very much,’ said Lexi, giving him her finest smile. She had managed to quell her bad mood.
‘It’s all down to your son – he’s exceptionally talented. I was hoping to see you this evening because I’ve been trying to talk Rad into applying for drama school, but he seems a bit dubious. I wondered if you might be able to persuade him.’
‘Oh, I would never persuade my children to do anything they felt dubious about,’ said Lexi firmly, but still smiling. ‘I respect their judgement too much for that.’
‘Yes, of course.’ The blush deepened a shade. ‘I just don’t want him to waste his talent – he is really exceptional.’
‘But he’s exceptional at so many things,’ interrupted Cecile, rattling her bracelets which kept snagging on her lacy cuffs. She had a strong German accent, even though Frances said she had lived in England for over fifty years. But then I wouldn’t have expected Lexi’s mother to have adapted her behaviour just to blend in with the surroundings: it wasn’t a family trait. ‘English, French, History, Mathematics, Rugby, Swimming, Chess, Acting, Singing …’ She was getting carried away. Rad couldn’t sing a note. I glanced sideways at Frances to see how she was taking all this public adulation of Rad. That sort of thing could erode your confidence. She looked unperturbed: she was accustomed to hearing his many talents expounded. Her concentration, besides, was taken up with looking around for Nicky. She spotted him at last, standing with his parents, Obs and Solic, and stared at him with great intensity as though the force of her will could make him turn his head. Which it did eventually. He raised his coffee cup in greeting and she blew him a kiss which made him duck, embarrassed.
A bell rang for the end of the interval and the crowd began to shuffle back into the auditorium. Lawrence and Clarissa had slipped out for a cigarette. I could see them through the glass in the darkness beyond, robed in their private fog. As an entr’acte, a group of musicians in the orchestra pit was playing ‘Greensleeves’ on traditional Elizabethan instruments.
‘What’s that funny-looking thing?’ whispered Frances, pointing to a sort of etiolated trombone.
‘That’s called a shagboot,’ said Lawrence gravely, which sent the three of us into peals of laughter which were only stifled by the sudden blackout and the creak of the curtain opening.
I leaned against the unforgiving back of my wooden chair, felt every vertebra making contact, and began to wish I had Cecile’s inflatable cushion. I concentrated on the luxury of being able to stare at Rad without constraint – something not permissible in everyday life – and enjoying that particular warmth that comes from watching someone you love excel themselves. This intensity of contemplation was hard to maintain as every so often Frances would jab me in the ribs with her elbow and whisper ‘shagboot’, and start shaking and snorting all over again.
There was a momentary frisson of excitement towards the end when on the line ‘Peace I will stop thy mouth’, Rad leaned forward and kissed Arlington on the lips. A tremor rippled through the audience and was instantly subdued as the dialogue rolled on, inexorable and reassuring.
After the final curtain Rad took his applause, which had grown from a patter to a roar as each successive rank of the cast came forward, with the faintest of smiles. Frances had to be restrained from putting two fingers in her mouth and whistling. ‘Damn Michael,’ I heard Lexi mutter to Lawrence through the clapping. ‘He should have been here. Damn him.’
We loitered in the foyer waiting for our hero to emerge from the changing rooms, while Lawrence went off to find a seat for Cecile. He ended up commandeering a swivel chair from the secretary’s office, on which Cecile perched like a little bejewelled gnome on a toadstool. The crowd had thinned out considerably by the time Rad appeared, clad in his familiar tatty jumper and jeans. Traces of black were still visible between his eyelashes and there was a smear of tan make-up under his chin from ear to ear. He was at once set upon by the family, kissed by the women and slapped between the shoulder blades by the men. Cecile’s lipstick left two cyclamen crescents on his cheek.
‘Well done, young man. I suppose it will be the West End next,’ said Uncle Bill, who had, if truth be told, found three hours of Shakespeare an experience not to be repeated.
‘Excellent performance,’ said Lawrence.
‘Well done, Marcus,’ said Cecile. (He didn’t hit her, I noticed.) ‘You take after your mother in the acting.’
‘Rubbish. He’s far better than I was,’ said Lexi. ‘I’m proud of you,’ she added.
Nicky wandered over. ‘Congratulations,’ he said, pretending to fawn over Rad’s hand.
‘You were the best,’ I said.
‘What was it like kissing that boy?’ Frances wanted to know.
‘Where’s Dad?’ said Rad, and then seeing Lexi hesitate, his eyes narrowed and he snapped, ‘Oh let me guess,’ and strode out to the car.