A Midsummer Night's Dream by Robert Swindells

Act One

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    You could tell by his house that Theseus was not without a bob or two. Big, it was. Detached. Garden like a public park.
    Some people reckoned Hippolyta was marrying him for his brass. Once, she’d been active in the women’s movement. A braburning Amazon. Now, suddenly, here she was, engaged to the neighbourhood tycoon. It just didn’t sound like her.
    Nobody commented openly about any of this. Theseus was a dangerous guy; you didn’t poke your nose into his business unless you wanted it chewed off. Plus Hippolyta had taken a few assertiveness courses in her time. Let
her
catch you rabbiting on and you’d end up sweeping your teeth off the floor. They were getting married, Theseus was happy about it and that was that.
    In fact, Theseus could hardly wait. Now they stood side by side, in the big bay window, gazing down the garden. His arm was round her waist. He gave her a squeeze,and sighed. ‘Not long now, sweetheart. Four days. Dragging a bit, though.’
    Hippolyta laughed. ‘Don’t be such a wimp, Theseus, you big girl’s blouse.’ Hippolyta was probably the only person in the world who could call Theseus a big girl’s blouse without waking up in hospital. ‘It’ll pass in no time. Know why?’
    Theseus shook his head. ‘You tell me, sweetie pie.’
    â€˜Well, for a start, we’ll spend nearly half the time sleeping. You don’t know time’s passing when you’re asleep.’ She dug him in the ribs. ‘We’ll dream. You can be in my dream if I can be in yours.’
    Theseus squeezed her waist again, and turned to Philostrate, who’d been admiring a picture on the wall. Philostrate was the guy that Theseus had hired to arrange the wedding reception, organise the marquee, see to it that there’d be enough chairs, supervise the caterers, line up a photographer, find anact of some sort to entertain the guests, and generally make sure the whole thing went off without a glitch.
    â€˜Phil? Why don’t you go check the post? See who else has RSVP’d. Let’s hope we get more fun people than sentimental ones. Can’t be doing with folk having a good cry all over the place when I haven’t even tortured ’em.’
    Philostrate scribbled a memo in his notebook and left. He was a professional. Everything would be fine.
    Theseus turned fondly to Hippolyta. ‘Have I ever told you, Hippo, how much…’
    â€˜Don’t call me Hippo,’ snarled Hippolyta. ‘Makes me sound obese. If you
must
abbreviate my name, what’s wrong with Lyta?’
    â€˜Lyta, then,’ smiled Theseus. ‘Have I ever…’
    Somebody knocked on the door. Theseus sighed and called, ‘Come in.’
    The door opened to reveal Egeus, a manager in one of the tycoon’s enterprises. He had his daughter with him, and two young men Theseus hardly knew. Egeus looked nervous.
    â€˜I … er, hope we haven’t interrupted something important, sir. I know how busy you must be at this time.’
    Theseus shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about it. What can we do for you, Egeus?’
    The manager indicated the girl beside him. ‘It’s my daughter, Hermia. I’ve arranged a marriage for her, to this young man.’ He nodded toward one of the youths. ‘His name’s Demetrius. He’s a good lad. Steady. Make a very suitable husband. But she says no, won’t have him at any price. I’ve tried every way I know to persuade her. She won’t budge.’
    Theseus gazed at the girl. ‘You must obey your father, child. It’s the way I like things done, and you know what tends to happen to people who upset me, don’t you?’
    Hermia held the tycoon’s gaze. ‘I do, sir, but I love this man.’ She pointed. ‘His name’s Lysander, and I’ll marry only him.’
    â€˜
Lysander
,’ spat Egeus. ‘Worthless youth.