by Jodi Taylor
‘I shouted as loudly as I dared, but no one came. He wasn’t out cold, but he certainly wasn’t functioning properly, so I took a chance.’ He flicked to the next image. A long pale face stared in bemusement, while Markham, arm around his shoulders, beamed up at the camera. Given the circumstances, a remarkably clear image.
It was the third image, however, that was the money shot.
A full face, looking directly at us, slightly smiling. And it was him. Definitely, recognisably, undeniably Shakespeare.
Markham said nothing because there wasn’t anything anyone could say. Not even Dr Bairstow.
To sum up, not only had we great footage of 17th-century London Bridge, of Southwark, the Tabard, the docks, a Tudor ship, the market, the Globe and its audience, their production of Hamlet, the man himself playing one of his own parts, we had the definitive identifying image of William Shakespeare. Bloody hell, we’re good. We’re St Mary’s and we really are the dog’s bollocks.
I was willing to bet Dr Bairstow was in agreement, although he would almost certainly drop down dead rather than admit it. He and Markham were old adversaries, however, and there was an established procedure to work through. They stared at each other across his desk and prepared to enjoy themselves.
‘If I thought for one moment, Mr Markham, that it would get you out of my unit, I would sign you up for Equity myself.’
‘That’s extremely generous of you, sir, but I couldn’t possibly leave St Mary’s to lurch along without me.’
‘And yet I believe we would survive.’
And now he was an injured abandoned puppy in a snowstorm. ‘Without me, sir?’
‘Even without you, Mr Markham. I am certain I could not live with myself should St Mary’s turn out to be an insurmountable obstacle to your glittering career on stage and screen.’
‘Well, thank you, sir. I have to say I couldn’t have done any of it without you, as indeed I shall say in my Oscar acceptance speech.’
‘I applaud your loyalty.’
‘I’m not one to forget my humble beginnings, sir.’
‘I am gratified to hear it and greatly look forward to viewing the imprint of your body in the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame.’
‘I think you’ll find, sir, it’s only hand and footprints. Not a whole body cast.’
‘That is unfortunate. Frequent practice does, however, enable me to live with such disappointments. Please do not allow me to detain you, Mr Markham. I wouldn’t want to get between you and the silver screen.’
‘That’s very kind of you, sir.’
‘Not at all. Before you leave us for fame and fortune, however, I believe Major Guthrie wants a quick word about your communication protocols.’
‘My what sir?’
I believe he wishes to focus on your explanation of that well-known Shakespearian phrase “Okey dokey”.’
‘Ah. I can explain...’
The door opened and Major Guthrie appeared. The small pack of frozen peas he was clutching to a very large black eye was in no way obscuring the awfulness of his frown.
‘Do come in,’ said Dr Bairstow affably. ‘Mr Markham is ready for his close-up now, Mr DeMille.’
THE END
Jodi Taylor
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