The Red Slayer
3 - Princess Hamlet

This has been my dressing room since Monday, but I’m still not used to seeing my name on the door. Under sixteens are usually escorted en masse by chaperones backstage and we’re squashed into one big dressing room. Even when I was the star of Annie, I shared with the other girls. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a whole dressing room to myself. They’re making an exception in this case and treating us like adult actors

It’s not big. I could stand in the centre with my arms stretched out and touch the opposite walls, which are plain bricks painted bright white, but there’s enough space for a camp bed I can lie down on between shows. The costume for my first scene hangs on a rail next to a dressing gown, the rest are side of stage so I can change quicker between scenes.

I sit down at my dressing table. It’s just as you’d imagine, makeup all around it with brushes and hair grips, complete with the mirror lined with lightbulbs. But there’s also a massive bag of caramels and a case of fizzy water which makes a good footstool. Ariel jumps up curiously with her front paws on the table. I give her ears a good scratching before she goes to curl up on the camp bed. Before I do my makeup, I go to the locker on the far side of the room and fetch out a treat stick for her. It’ll keep her occupied.

Ariel sometimes accompanies me for shows when I need her. When I started at the Sir Laurence Oliver Academy of Performing Arts in Year Seven, she was with me almost every day of the autumn term. She made me very popular. When Ms. Elliot encouraged me to audition for Annie year and I got it, she ended up playing Sandy. The critics loved that extra touch.

My true chance to shine came the next year when the BBC did a When Marnie Was There miniseries to be aired on Easter weekend. I auditioned for Marnie but ended up playing both roles when my co-star was fired because of her demanding mother. Ariel was onset with me, but I had more confidence at that point and wasn’t completely reliant on her. Since then, she’s been more of a pet to me than a therapy dog, but I have occasional lapses of anxiety (today for example) and when I need her, she is there to do her duty.

I haven’t done much else since. I was Hortensia in Matilda when I was thirteen and I’ve been in an episode of Holby City, but Dad doesn’t want me doing too much before I’m sixteen.

This show is one of those projects to try and get teenagers interested in Shakespeare. Dominion and Olivier’s decided that, since theatres are usually dark in January unless they stretch their panto runs, they may as well fill the gap by bussing in London schools so teens can watch teens do a show. I’m glad they picked Hamlet which you can have fun with. Romeo and Juliet is so overdone, you can’t get anything new out of it.

So, why is Hamlet, Shakespeare’s most popular male character, being played by a girl? Well, when we were auditioning, and I saw forty or so girls tripping over themselves to be Ophelia or Queen Gertrude while the ten boys who looked as though they would get cast no matter how good they were, I decided to recite the ‘To be or not to be’ monologue when my name was called. The other girls stopped bickering and also started reading for male roles. Now, the cast has only three boys in it.

***

Someone comes a-knocking, making Ariel jump up and bark. I quickly shush her and say, ‘Come in.’

A girl with chestnut hair and baby-blue eyes slips inside. I’m about to say, ‘Hi, Tara’ when she gawks and says, ‘How do you do that?’

I realise she’s pointing to my eyeliner. I’ve already made a start before the warmup call. ‘What, you mean the flicks at the end?’

‘You always make it thin and even. I always get two massive stripes on my eyelids.’

I laugh. ‘I’ll do it for you after the warmup if you like?’

‘That’d be great.’ Ariel comes to sniff at her. ‘Hello there. You being a good girl for Princess Hamlet?’ She looks up at me. ‘Will she be with you onstage?’

‘No, she’ll be in the wings. If I did, maybe people will think she’s part of the show. I bet half the things in the play wouldn’t have happened if Hamlet had a therapy dog.’

Tara starts giggling. I get along with most of the girls in my year and sort of drift from group to group, but Tara is usually the one constant that I hang around with. There isn’t a day when I don’t make her laugh, so I continue, ‘Imagine if Hamlet did all his monologing in the shower too. Y’know how you sometimes think of the perfect retort in the shower…?’ I stand up and mime rubbing a bar of soap under my armpits. ‘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—’

Tara falls against the door in hysterics, clutching her diaphragm.

‘Okay, calm down,’ I say, cautiously reaching out to her.

‘You are so ready for this,’ she replies through gasps of air.

‘I hope you’re right.’ I quickly finish my eye makeup. ‘I endeavour to win the audience’s heart.’

‘Endeavour?’

‘All this Shakespeare makes me use big words now.’

‘In that case, may your endeavours be…’ she tarries to ponder an apt synonym, ‘…prosperous?’

I nod with approval. The atmosphere between us breaks when we hear tapping from the corridor, like stilettos. Tara and I eye each other. You can’t wear heels backstage that aren’t part of your costume because of the health and safety risks. Heavy objects and that. We curiously peek outside to see Ms. Elliott in pursuit of a woman with Lewis Taylor-Thomas.

‘Excuse me,’ says Ms. Elliott, ‘You don’t have clearance to be back here.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ the woman snaps. ‘I have a right to be here.’

Lewis rolls his eyes. ‘Leave me alone, Karen.’

Tara and I smile sympathetically at him. Lewis is a little on the large side, but he’s the funniest in the year and friends with everyone. For some reason he’s wearing our school uniform (scarlet blazers and ties with burgundy skirts/trousers/pinafores) did he go to school before coming here.

The woman named Karen is cringeworthy to look at. Her bleached-blonde hair with obvious brown roots is cut in lopsided bob cut Posh Spice made popular in the 2000s. Her fake tan isn’t fooling anyone, and how much leopard-print can one woman own? Her dress, shoes, handbag and headband are covered in it

‘Hi, Lewis,’ Tara and I say in unison.

‘Hi girls.’ He stops outside his dressing room door. ‘Karen, you can go now.’

She gasps as though he swore at her. ‘I need to help you into your costumes.’

Lewis screeches something that sounds like ‘I’M FIFTEEN!’ and slams his door in her face. Karen tries to open it, but he’s locked himself in.

Tara, with her innate ability to read the room, slowly pulls us out of sight. But she isn’t quick enough to stop me muttering, ‘Geesh, take a hint.’

Karen hears, because women like that have insult radars. In seconds, she bursts into my dressing room, backing us towards the far wall, shrieking, ‘YOU SHOULD RESPECT YOUR ELDERS, LITTLE GIRL!’

‘Who’re you calling little!’ I leap forward but Tara holds me back.

Ms. Elliott rushes in, radio in hand. ‘Can we get security down to the dressing rooms please?’ She steps between Karen and me. ‘Please, madam, you have no right to harass the cast members.’

‘They shouldn’t be rude then!’ Karen replies. Her shrill voice makes Ariel whimper. She hates loud noises. I go to cuddle her, but the sight of a dog makes Karen screech again. ‘YOU CAN’T HAVE A DOG IN HERE!’ Ariel whimpers again.

′Madam,’ my teacher snaps. ‘This is a trained therapy dog.’

’But I am allergic to dogs, it can’t stay here.’

Tara and I roll our eyes. Ms. Elliott takes a deep breath, probably counting to ten. ‘I already told you, you’re not allowed back here. Irene needs this dog, and she can’t leave when she’s the title character.’

Karen’s jaw drops and I can tell all Hell is about to break loose. ‘But she’s a girl!’

I shrug. ‘So?’

‘Hamlet has to be played by a boy, not a little girl!’

′Oi! Less of the little!’

‘There is no way a girl can play Hamlet!’

‘Maxine Peake!’ I blurt out.

‘What did you call me?’ gasps Karen.

‘Maxine Peake was a female Hamlet. Sarah Bernhardt was the first to play Hamlet on film. And seriously, have you never seen a panto? If crossdressing offends you so much, you don’t want to see the rest of Shakespeare’s plays.’

Tara can’t hold back her laughter on that one. Karen readies herself for another tirade when a couple of men show up at the door. I think they’re technicians rather than security guards, but their bulk is enough to make her back down and only throw me a death glare as she leaves with them. Ms. Elliott follows.

I brace my hands on my knees and take deep breaths through my nose and out my mouth. Ariel rubs her head against me and licks the back of my hand.

‘Are you okay?’ asks Tara.

‘Yeah,’ I say sinking onto the camp bed with Ariel’s head in my lap. ‘I expected this.’

‘What? That people would bully you for playing a boy?’

’Stage-mums are scary sometimes. You should have seen the one on the set of When Marnie Was There. She thought she was the director.’

‘You won’t have a panic attack, will you?’

I shake my head. ’Nah. I’ll be fine. It makes me more determined to own this role. If I show them I can be a great Hamlet like Kenneth Branagh or David Tennant, it’ll prove I wasn’t given this role because I’m my mother’s daughter.

Tara sits next to me, letting out a long, ‘Oh’. Her arm wraps around my shoulders. She’s so warm I lean against her. ‘I forgot about your mum.’

Without thinking, I take out a necklace hiding under my t-shirt. I never take it off except for exercise and sleep. It’s a silver locket, the size of an egg, with a tiny ruby in the centre. My mother’s picture is inside, it’s from her and Dad’s wedding day. She looks so alive, it’s hard to believe she’s gone. We look almost alike; except I have Dad’s green-yellow eyes and my nose is slightly longer. There’s an inscription on the inside: We Are Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On. It was her favourite Shakespeare quote.

For the record, my favourite is Villain, I have done thy mother.

‘She was really pretty,’ says Tara. ‘What was she called again? Clarissa…?’

‘Clarissa Dalloway,’ I say. ‘That was her stage name. Clarissa Cadwallader doesn’t have the same ring to it.’

‘But Iorwen Davis does. I’ll probably change mine. St. Germaine is such a mouthful, don’t you think?’

‘St. Germaine sounds fine,’ I say. ‘It stands out, like Saoirse Ronan or Helena Bonham Carter.’ She blushes as I slide my arm under her back, drawing her in closer. Her minty breath is warm on my face. ‘Do—do you me want to…?’

Her other hand is on my neck. Mine’s on her cheek. She barely gets out a ‘yes’ before my mouth is on hers and she is pushing against me in a bid to see who can kiss who the hardest.

My heart is on fire. My blood rushes so fast, time is slowing down. I enjoy every inch of her soft lips. And yet, I’m utterly clueless. I’ve never kissed anyone before. What am I supposed to do? Do I move my hands at all? Should I put my tongue in her mouth? Why is running over rooftops so much easier than this?

I pull away and we stare at each other. ‘Was that your first…?’ she asks.

I nod.

‘Mine too.’

I take a wisp of her brown hair and run it through my hand. She runs the chain of my necklace between her thumb and forefinger. ‘You did like it, right?’ I ask.

‘Of course.’

Footsteps interrupt us again, and Lewis pokes his head in, now in tracksuit bottoms and a West Ham shirt. ‘Have we had the warmup call yet?’

I shake my head. Tara gets up, her face bright red, and mutters something about getting changed before scurrying away to her own dressing room. Lewis thinks nothing of it.

‘Sorry about my stepmum,’ he says to me, ‘She’s a bitch.’

‘It’s all right,’ I say.

‘She’s been trying to stick her oar in since she found out I was in this.’

‘Oh joy,’ I say. ‘Are step-parents really that bad?’

Lewis shrugs. ‘Well, my mum’s husband is okay. I gave my free tickets to them instead of my dad and Karen. Haven’t you had a stepmum before?’

I shake my head. ‘Nah, Dad’s been single since Mum died.’

At that moment we get our warmup call on the tannoy. Lewis is quick to leave, but I stay another minute to get my mascara on, and to make sure I’ve stopped blushing.

***

The cast gathers onstage while Ms. Elliot leads us in readying our voices. Tara and I deliberately stand next to each other though the singing of the scales, breathing exercises and stretches. After this morning’s exercise, I could go for a full pilates session, but everyone else seems far too groggy for that.

Once we’re done, it’s back to the dressing rooms to prepare. As promised, I do Tara’s eyeliner for her, but the most I say is that the trick is not to use a liquid pen instead of a brush. I get ready far too quickly. I don’t need a dresser to help me into my costume, so I’m sat waiting until the beginner’s call, wondering if I should talk to Tara or just kiss her again.

The start of the play is a blessing. It means I can leave Iorwen Davis in the dressing room and Hamlet goes to the wings.

The audience, who sound quite rowdy, goes silent once the house lights go down. The stage has two levels: an elevated horseshoe for castle ramparts or separate rooms, and lower arena where most of the scenes take place. The play starts on the horseshoe, where two guards speak about the ghost haunting the castle. The arena is in total darkness, so when the first scene ends, the audience gasps when spotlights reveal the feast of the next scene. They didn’t know we were sat there waiting since the curtain went up.

Hamlet isn’t a happy bunny isn’t his first scene (He’s not happy for most of the play). His father has died suddenly and his uncle has not only claimed the throne, but also married his mother. He (that is I) sulks at the end of the table, barely noticed, while the court harps on until Queen Gertrude acknowledges [my] presence. My first line, ‘A little more than kin, and less than kind,’ comes out just as I planned. Moody, mournful, malcontent.

Soon I am left alone onstage for my first soliloquy. The anger built up during the feast comes out. I improvise the body language rather than stand still, wave my hands about and say the words. I go around the empty table, looking for goblets with leftover wine and pretend to down them, then slouch in the king’s chair which should rightfully be mine. When Horatio comes in and tells me my father’s ghost has been terrorising the guards, I sober up. Tossing away my goblet. ‘My father’s spirit in arms! all is not well.’

Body language wins me the audience. I know some of them are here because it’s better than sitting through double Maths, so I’ll make it worthwhile. Hamlet replaces out his uncle killed his father and pretends to be mad to see if it’s true. The crowd laughs when I call Polonius a fishmonger, eyeroll at Rosencrantz and Guildenstern because I know they’re spies and even during my aggressive breakup with Ophelia where I actually throw Tara to the floor. But when it comes to that, ‘To be or not to be’, they are silent. I don’t need body language at that point, because I know I have won their attention.

After much hijinks and many preventable deaths, our first performance ends. The applause is louder than I expected. It’s intoxicating. In that final bow, I let my hair loose so I can swish it back, and notice a boy on the front row blowing me a kiss.

***

I return to my dressing room with Ariel in a state of bliss. Everyone I pass congratulates me for my performance and I return the praise. I couldn’t have done this alone. Tara comes in without knocking this time.

‘You were great!’

′You were great. I’m sorry I shoved you. I got way too into it.’

She shrugs. ‘That’s okay. My dress has lots of padding. What are you up to during the break? I need to nip home.’

’My friends are bringing a Chinese. ‘Til then, shower and nap.’

‘Okay.’ She goes to leave, but stops at the last minute to kiss my cheek. ‘See you later.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, smiling. ‘You too.’

I watch the empty doorway for a full minute after she’s gone. I should have kissed her properly. Damn my inconsistent timing!

© Alice of Sherwood, September 2019