Midsummer Mayhem

by Marty Wingate

  Pru trotted alongside Miriam, who had a surprisingly wide stride, up the length of the green corridor to offstage right, where Nick Bottom waited. Onstage, Max had stopped a scene with Oberon and Puck. The latter looked expectantly at the costumer and held up his wrists. “Sorry, Miriam, it’s the sleeves—there’s something wonky here.”

  “Right, hang on.”

  Miriam pulled the ass’s head over Nick’s own to show Pru how it was done. The actor’s face showed in the oval cutout, and the thick brown fur round the opening looked like facial hair that segued into the animal’s coat. The ears set it off perfectly—he looked like a man, and yet he was an ass.

  “That’s fantastic, Miriam,” Pru said.

  Bubble and Squeak had watched the process with great interest and each now gave a single bark, as if adding their two cents’ worth—or objecting to the appearance of a new animal.

  “It’s a snug fit, but once it’s on, it’s comfortable,” Miriam promised. When Bottom made no comment, she leaned in to his face. “You’ll be quite comfortable, won’t you, Nick?”

  “Yeah, great. Perfect.” He sniffed. “It’s a bit ticklish near my nose.”

  “Isn’t that too bad.” Miriam threw the comment over her shoulder as she went out to Puck, adding, “Give it a go, Pru, while I see to these sleeves.”

  Off, on, off, on. The base of the head was a thin and supple latex material, but it had a tendency to squeak when it slid against Nick’s skin.

  By the third go at it, the head went on and came off smoothly. “So, if I’m to do this, it means I’ll be backstage during the performances, doesn’t it?” she asked Nick.

  “I’d say so—you’re my dresser, I can’t live without you now.”

  The thought opened up another new world for Pru. Not only was she set decorator, but also assistant stage manager, and now dresser. She would see the play from an entirely different perspective—the audience would be out there, and she would be back here. She would truly be a part of the company.

  * * *

  —

  At the rate it was proceeding, the second full run-through of the day would last twice as long as the first. Scenes were stopped and started as various costume issues arose. Miriam said she didn’t need an assistant, but how could the entire enterprise be run by only one woman? She was under a great deal of pressure, and as more strands of hair escaped the bias-tape headband, Pru could see her patience—what there was of it—growing thin.

  “Bloody actors,” the costumer muttered, coming offstage from adjusting the collar of Hermia’s dress and promising to stiffen the piece of canvas used as the wall between Pyramus and Thisbe.

  Pru had taken up residence in the wings holding Miriam’s sewing kit—the only way she could figure out how to help—and attempted to lighten the mood.

  “Shakespeare au Naturel,” she said. “Perhaps they should do the play in the nude.”

  “Don’t think that hasn’t been tried,” Miriam muttered.

  * * *

  —

  A fifteen-minute break was called at the end of the third act. This was not a tea break—tea would not be offered until after Max’s notes, which would come at the end of the run-through. No, this quick pause was intended strictly for trips to the loo, and the fairies were given first place in the queue. But even though the children flew across the theater lawn to the cottage as if a gun had sounded the beginning of a race, the fifteen minutes extended to thirty before all was said and done.

  Nina and Miriam had waved off Pru’s offer to help—the costumer had some elaborate plan to conserve fairy wings during the loo break that apparently only she and Nina understood.

  Just as well, Pru had her own work. She went out onstage to assess the state of Titania’s fairy bower and found what she had feared—the children and probably adults, too, had been kicking clumps of thyme loose as they moved round the set. She nestled several plants back into the compost and, at the end of the day, would water them in well. That taken care of, she escaped to her plant corral and pulled out her phone.

  “Simon?”

  “Is this my sister the famous set designer?”

  “Very funny,” she said. “Listen, is there a quatrefoil pool at Coeur-de-la-Mer?”

  “A what? They’ve got water features—there’s a rill that runs from a spring near the nuttery down to the brook that cuts off the…let me see…southwest corner, I believe. And an Italianate fountain near the house, but it’s probably not working if no one is home. But a formal pool? No. Did you think there was?”

  “Is there kerria here?”

  “Kerria? Let me think.”

  “A stand of it near the house? Are you at Greenoak?” she asked, in too big a hurry for his slow answers. “Is Hal there?”

  “Hang on—one thing at a time. Yes, I’m at Greenoak. Do you need a more detailed layout for the gardens there? I’ve got one at home.”

  “No need.” Perhaps she could scurry down to the house and verify the existence of the kerria for herself.

  “So, what made you think the Gascoignes had a quatrefoil pool?” Simon asked.

  “Hal told me—he’s been all over the grounds. At least, he talked as if he had.”

  “He was having you on about that one.”

  “Yes. He’s turned a bit…odd. You know how exacting he is over his work? I’m afraid he’s slacked off here. He’s started any number of jobs, but I don’t think he’s completed a single task. Apart from hauling plants in.”

  Perhaps that was the problem. Had she distracted him with her own to-do list?

  “Never mind,” Pru told herself as well as her brother. “I explained to him yesterday he was finished here and could get back to his other work. He didn’t quite get the message and showed up again this morning, but now I’ve sent him away for good. Is he there?”

  “No, he’s off at Dean Bank,” Simon replied, “digging out a pond the owner had asked him to start on a fortnight ago. She rang late this morning—thought he’d abandoned her—but just as we were talking, she saw him drive up in that bread van he’s borrowed. I’d say he’s in for a good, long day. I’ll let him get on with it there until he’s back in her good graces.”

  “Did you need him?”

  “No, we’re all right, but Christopher was asking.”

  “When was this? Why was Christopher looking for him?”

  “Does anyone tell me anything? He came through earlier in a rush, searched the cupboards, and left—after asking me about Hal and did we know where he came from.”

  Of course they knew where he came from—Hal had told them as much. But it was only at that moment Pru remembered. He came from Two Mile Ash.

  * * *

  —

  She had cut Simon off, telling him rehearsals were about to recommence—which they were, and that gave her only seconds before she needed to assist Nick with his headgear for his last scene as an ass. She had a question niggling at her and didn’t know whom to ask, as she wasn’t quite sure what the question was. She took a stab, dug in her bag, and came up with the business card of Mr. Dilwyn Farrer—Hal’s lecturer.

  “Mr. Farrer? Pru Parke here.”

  “Ms. Parke, how are you? And that theatrical pursuit? Do you have a part in the play?”

  “No, that is—I work on the crew, and have helped with the…Mr. Farrer, I’m sorry to be so short, but I’m afraid I don’t have much time, and I wanted to ask you something about Hal.”

  “Is Hal all right?” Farrer asked.

  “Yes, he’s fine, it’s only that—hang on.” Pru could hear actors assembling, so she tucked the ass’s head under her arm and peered out of the corral. “You remember we talked about how Hal forms strong attachments to his work?”

  “He was always a dedicated student,” Farrer replied.

  “Did you ever notice
that he might’ve taken on too much to handle? And perhaps had a difficult time following through?”

  “Not that I can say,” Farrer replied. “He had what his therapist called a ‘single-minded focus.’ ”

  “His therapist?”

  “Oh,” Farrer replied and fell silent.

  “I’m not asking details, but if there’s something we should be aware of that would help us help Hal…continue on a successful path in horticulture, it would be good to know.”

  Pru scrunched up her face, knowing her words sounded trite, but Farrer hadn’t seemed to hear them that way because he replied eagerly.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve little to offer—except that he had completed a program of therapy before he came to us, and while he was in school, his therapist would check in every term. I was always happy to give her good reports. She still rings me up every once in a while since he graduated—in fact, my visit to you a few days ago was precipitated by such a phone call. And now, I’ll be sure to tell her how well it’s going for both Hal and his employers when I get back to her.”

  “Pru!” Nick called from the stage.

  “And also, Ms. Parke,” Mr. Farrer continued, “after I told my wife about the production—Shakespeare in a garden—we bought our tickets for opening night and have ordered our hamper for dinner on the grounds. We’re quite looking forward to it.”

  “Yes, aren’t we all? Must run—thanks so much. See you on opening night!”

  What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here

  So near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?

  What, a play toward? I’ll be an auditor—

  An actor, too, perhaps, if I see cause.

  3.1.70–73

  Chapter 31

  It was time for Bottom to lose his head, and Max wanted to know if Pru would be able to remove it at the appropriate moment. That moment was Puck’s line—Now when thou wakest with thine own fool’s eyes peep—and she needed to do so without being seen by the audience. “Shall we try it,” Max asked—and instructed Bottom to lie on the bower as far away from the audience as he could—“upstage,” she heard Max call it—with his head almost under the yew hedge. Pru would approach from the other side and pull off the costume piece. This seemingly simple direction resulted in Pru’s crawling on her belly to the edge of the yew as if she were going through an army-training obstacle course, reach under the hedge, and grab the ass’s head.

  “Not the ears! Don’t hold it by the ears!” Miriam shouted.

  Pru grunted, “Not the ears,” as she took hold, trying not to get a handful of Nick’s actual hair underneath and tugging on the head as the actor wiggled away from her. The first time, it got stuck on his chin, and the second on an ear—his human ear.

  “Max, wouldn’t it be easier for Bottom to walk offstage to lose his head?” Linden suggested. But no—Max wanted Bottom in sight at all times, lying down with the head of an ass and arising back to his true nature.

  It took thirty minutes to block the bit and go over it enough times that it didn’t looks as if Bottom were being attacked by some unseen hedge creature, which is apparently what the dogs thought on the first try. They rushed onto the stage and took hold of Nick’s trousers, but in their attempt to save him from the unseen menace, they almost succeeded in disrobing him until Linden called them off and got them seated between Penelope and Max. At the end of it all—with Pru’s shirt covered in grass stains and Nick’s cheeks and forehead chafed and red—the director gave his approval.

  * * *

  —

  Only then could Pru give a thought to her earlier phone call to Dilwyn Farrer. She didn’t know what she had hoped to learn from the conversation, but there had been nothing untoward. Therapy can be helpful for anyone, and single-minded focus—that was a good thing, wasn’t it? It certainly described Hal and his garden work since she and Simon had hired him nine or ten months ago. How had he lost that?

  Pru stood just offstage left in a world of her own, her brain skirting these issues, unwilling to dive in—as if she’d stuck a toe into a pond, decided it was too cold, and pulled it out again. But to the surface floated two thoughts. First, Hal was a gardener and second, the natural world could not be made perfect—it had its own ways. He would learn.

  Oberon and Titania ended their scene and glided serenely offstage toward her. The second they had exited, the actors flew into action. Ambrose threw off a long coat and ripped a leafy diadem from his head while Linden stripped herself of Titania’s layers of chiffon and picked a diaphanous sparkly net out of her hair. Miriam appeared from nowhere, taking the cast-off costumes and thrusting them into Pru’s arms while helping the actors into new clothes—a long robe for Theseus and a modest cloak for Hippolyta. Pru backed out of the way as a fanfare blared from behind the hedge backdrop—the Bumbling Blokes with their horns—and Ambrose and Linden marched onto the stage in their other roles.

  In the last forest scene, Theseus and Hippolyta come upon the lovers. Puck comes offstage and doesn’t appear again until the end, and so Pru waited for him, arms still full of costumes. When he exited, he smiled at her and turned to get into place for his last entrance on the opposite side of the stage. As he walked behind the long hedge—the one Hal had started to trim until Pru chased him off—she trotted after. As she caught up with Les, Oberon’s crown of leaves slipped off the pile of clothes she held, and he caught it just in time. Pru put her arm through it so that it dangled like an oversize bracelet.

  “It seems to be going well,” she said, and nodded toward the stage.

  “As well as can be expected,” Les said, smiling and tugging on his problem sleeve as they heard Max call to Miriam, asking could she make a few adjustments to the neckline of Hippolyta’s dress.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m prying,” Pru continued, “but, was your daughter in drama at school?”

  “No.” Les stopped and gave Pru his full attention. “Jess left the theater to her dad. She’s got quite the analytical mind. Designs websites according to algorithms, creates applications of…” He laughed. “Sorry, I don’t have a clue what it is she does. But she’s happy—and that’s what matters. Look, I don’t want you to think she was injured for life because of how Gibb treated her. He broke her heart—her words, mind you—but it mended quickly enough. Better than mine, as it turns out. I hadn’t given him a thought for years until I saw him at our first read-through.”

  “Did he recognize you?”

  “The only face Gibb ever recognized was his own.”

  “But it must’ve been a shock for you to see him again.”

  Les cocked his head as if conceding the point. “It did bring it back to me—I remembered how she spent a fortnight in her bedroom, curtains closed, lights off. Wouldn’t come out for a meal—lived off tea and toast. Her mum had to persuade her to take a bath or wash her hair.” He looked off in the distance and ten years into the past. Then he huffed. “But then it was over, and now it’s a long time ago. I wouldn’t kill him for it, if that’s what you were thinking.”

  It wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear, but that’s what she got for asking. These people seemed insistent on keeping their names on the list of suspects. At that thought, Pru felt her face heat up, and her embarrassment sent her off in another direction.

  “Hal is from Two Mile Ash,” she said.

  “Is he now?” Les asked in that way people do when they don’t quite get wind of the subject. “Hal?”

  “My assistant in the garden,” she explained. “He’d be about the same age as your daughter—Jess. And Gabriel. I wonder if they knew each other in school—sixth form.”

  “They could’ve done,” Les replied. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Yes, I will. Well, I don’t want to hold you up.”

  Pru turned away, chastising herself. And what had she learned from that exchange? Nothing
except that if you don’t know what you’re looking for going into an interview, you’re not going to end up with much.

  “Fancies himself an actor, doesn’t he—your Hal?” Les said.

  Pru pivoted. “Does he?”

  “Going about his gardening while he recites lines from the play? I saw him corner Gibb once and thought he might be asking how to get started in the business.” Les shook his head. “Not the right person to ask, but how was he to know? He can talk to any of the rest of us—you tell him that, all right?”

  Come, my lord, and in our flight

  Tell me how it came this night

  That I sleeping here was found

  With these mortals on the ground.

  4.1.98–101

  Chapter 32

  Pru returned to her place in the wings as the forest scene onstage progressed. She heard only snatches of lines here and there as she chased thoughts that darted about in her mind. Every time she got close to one, she sensed a door slam shut. She needed to talk with Christopher. When she did, those doors would open and the words come spilling out and he would know how to help her make sense of them.

  But he and Sophie were stuck in their professional development course—mandatory—and so this must wait until evening. That would be better on all accounts—they would have the time to examine and discuss every possible suspect, not singling one person over another because of aberrant behavior. Because of what? Another door slammed.

  No more words. Away—go, away!

  Bottom spoke the line from Pru’s heart. With a start she realized they’d reached the end of act 4, and it was time to shift the set from forest to Athenian court. In a panic, she looked left and right and then down at the costumes in her arms. Would she have to drop them on the ground? Then, from nowhere, Peter Quince and Snug the Joiner swept past, reminding her that she had her own crew. The two men slid the large smoke bushes out of the way to reveal the Victorian fern stands planted up with acanthus—the Grecian touch. As the men moved round, Peter Quince nudged an urn ever so slightly and it wobbled, causing Pru to flinch and turn away as she waited for the crash. The planter righted itself, but it was a reminder that she had yet to address that problem.