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‘So were you, my love, listen to these …’ I watched him prepare to read out the reviews, his dark eyes lit with energy:
‘A fantastically lively Joan of Arc performance by Catherine Earnshaw makes her inevitable death that much more dramatic.’
I laughed. ‘That’s cool.’ We both knew we would read and re-read the papers a few more times yet, then cut out the reviews and keep them. Hey, we’re still kind of new at this; after we’ve been doing this for a decade we probably won’t bother. It made me sad for a moment thinking of how Mum would be clipping reviews and keeping them if she were alive.
I cleared my throat of emotion and returned to the now. ‘Read me your reviews in full,’ I insisted.
‘They didn’t say anything else about me,’ he teased and folded the paper.
‘What!’ I tried to wrestle the paper from him but he only laughed and with so little strength required, held me at length.
‘Okay, okay,’ he gave in to me. ‘How’s this one: ‘The Earl of Suffolk is delivered with intelligence by an actor who understands light and dark.’
‘Ooh, wow,’ I said, taking in that review. ‘That’s impressive. Heath, seriously, you are on your way.’
He stopped reading and looked up at me with a hint of impatience.
‘I’m twenty-six, you’re twenty-five. We graduated over four years ago,’ he reminded me. ‘We’ve been hammering away at it for ages, we’re well and truly on our way … we should be there, wherever there is!’
Four years didn’t seem like much time to be climbing the theatre hierarchy ladder but Heath was so impatient and such an old soul. Me, I was always surprised by my successes; I still can’t believe I got theWyldegirl campaign. I think it appalled him a little that success to me was fame, funds and recognition. Success to him was credibility.
‘You’re right,’ I said, not wanting to take away from the excitement of the moment. ‘It’s just that sometimes I feel like we’re still learning, especially when we’re some of the youngest members of our theatre group.’
He shrugged. ‘True.’
‘Shall I go online and see what theEntertainment Weeklyhad to say?’ I asked. I valued their reviews even if Heath was on the fence about them.
‘Nah,’ he said, ‘let’s check out online reviews later.’
‘Okay, but I want one more glowing review about you,’ I insisted, sitting back in my chair.
He smiled and scanned the paper. ‘Earnshaw’s Earl is an intelligent, muscular performance.’
I whooped. ‘Brilliant, but I knew that.’
He laughed and put the newspaper down.
‘Mr Earnshaw, I’d like my ownmuscularperformance,’ I said, giving him an encouraging look.
He rose and with a small bow delivered one of his lines: ‘Gentle madam; I unworthy am, to woo so fair a dame – but I’ll give it a shot,’ he said, and picked me up. I yelped with surprise.
‘I don’t think that last line was Shakespeare,’ I said and laughed as he raced towards the bedroom carrying me, my newspaper fluttering to the ground behind us.
That was the last week of our lives when everything was normal.
Chapter 4– An offer refused
NOW …
Entertainment Weekly
REVIEW:
Heath Earnshaw and Emilia Blaese inCat on a Hot Tin Roof, directed by Cordelia Lewis, at the Apollo Theatre, London.
Inventive, emotional and with a dose of humour, director Cordelia Lewis delivers a radical update of Tennessee Williams’ classic with a blistering performance by Heath Earnshaw
By Marc Ferguson
