Chapter 20
"Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! What, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!" said Sarah, in her role as Juliet's nurse.
There was an expectant pause as she and the girl playing Lady Capulet waited for Lynda to make her first entrance.
"Where's this girl?" repeated Sarah vehemently, catching sight of Lynda in the wings looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. Throwing up her hands, she ad-libbed an exit, stage left even. Grabbing Lynda by the arms, she began shaking her.
"I can't do it, Sarah! I can't!" squeaked Lynda.
"It's okay, Sarah," said Stacey Smithson, appearing by Lynda's side. "Spike warned me this might happen. I'm ready. Give me my cue again." Sarah looked at Stacey and then back to Lynda, whose face had instantly lost the startled bunny look.
"Cue this," said Lynda rudely and shoved past her.
"How now! Who calls?" She made her entrance to a smattering of applause from the audience.
"Your mother," breathed Sarah, thankfully, scurrying in behind her.
"Madam, I am here," replied Lynda. "What is your will?"
The audience were enjoying themselves but Act 1, Scene 5 was what they had all been waiting for, Spike and Lynda's first scene together.
"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged," said Spike. This time, there were no whispered jokes or teases. Just a simple, light kiss. Not the crazy snogging of his dreams or, thankfully, the tickling of fake moustaches here. Just a kiss. The audience roared their appreciation.
"Er . . ." Lynda looked down, blushing furiously. "Er . . ."
"Then have my lips the sin that they have took!" hissed a voice from the sidelines. Stacey Smithson was nothing if not gracious in defeat. Lynda looked up at Spike.
"Then have my lips the sin that they have took," she said.
"Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again," replied Spike. And again, and again, and again, he thought to himself. Another kiss. Just as perfect and sweet and tender. Spike smiled dreamily.
"You kiss by the book!" said Lynda. The audience cheered again. Spike and Lynda, however, gazes locked, were fixed in a moment and were completely unaware of their surroundings.
"Madam, your mother craves a word with you," said Sarah.
"Not now, Sarah," replied Lynda absently. The crowd erupted into laughter.
"What is her mother?" Spike continued, as though nothing had happened. The show must go on!
The audience showed their appreciation loudly throughout the play. Sullivan, watching from the wings, finally began to breathe at something approximating normal rate. Even Colin's sub-contractor had honoured his part of the bargain and played his part admirably.
It came down to the final tragic scene.
"What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make die with a restorative." Lynda bent down to kiss Spike's mouth, which, having been on its best behaviour all night, couldn't resist one tiny little joke.
"Make sure you check underneath the tongue. I saved some there for you," he whispered with his eyes still closed. Lynda sat bolt upright and shoved him off the draped table they had been using as an altar.
"Ow! Hey! That's not in the script, Lynda!" Spike's American accent returned. "Is this how you treat all your husbands?"
"Only the dead ones," retorted Lynda. "And just so you know, I wouldn't stab myself over you in a million years, Thomson!"
"Okay, maybe we can start slowly. Coffee?" called Spike to her retreating back.
"And you're supposed to be dead. Corpses don't talk!" She stormed off the stage. Sullivan buried in his head in his hands. He had been counting his unborn chickens and was now paying the price.
Fortunately, the boy playing the Prince had a quick wit and a good sense of humour and stepped in to close the play.
"A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more dislike than this of Lynda and her Spike!"
The curtain came down and the audience roared. Sullivan peered around the curtain, expecting to see people shouting for their money back. Instead, they were delivering a standing ovation, applauding loudly, stamping their feet, whistling.
"Well done, Bill," said a voice next to him. Mr Winter, the school headmaster clapped him on the shoulder. "A rather unconventional ending, but I'm always open to modern interpretations."
"Er, thank you," stammered Mr Sullivan in amazement.
The curtain had risen again for the cast to take their bows. Noticeably absent was Juliet. They bowed and the curtain came down again. The crowd starting chanting.
"Lynda! Lynda! Lynda!"
Spike had dashed backstage and found the lady in question in the girls' dressing room, snapping heads off the flowers of someone else's bouquet. Going for the surprise tactic, he grabbed her low and slung her over his shoulder, racing back towards the stage. Ignoring her shrieks of protest and flailing fists, he carried her back onto the stage, put her down, grabbed her firmly by the hand and signalled to the curtain operator. The curtain came up and the crowd erupted.
"Smile, bow, wave," instructed Spike through gritted teeth, squeezing her hand. "You can kill me later but right now, you're going to get what you deserve."
"Me, deserve! You're the one who ruined the ending!" hissed Lynda through equally clenched teeth.
"I'm talking about the applause, Lynda. You were great," said Spike, sincerely. Lynda turned, surprised.
"I suppose you weren't too bad yourself," she replied eventually.
The curtain came down for the final time.
"Hey, I never did get my last allocated kiss," joked Spike.
"Don't push it, Thomson," retorted Lynda.
Exit Spike & Lynda.
END