‘Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little’
(As You Like It)
Will was waiting for her in their usual spot. Kelsey grimaced as she made her approach, hoping he couldn’t see how exhausted and pale she was after her sleepless night, but mostly just embarrassed about how the pub crawl had ended. He’d really gone out on a limb last night and he probably wasn’t used to girls rejecting him. Thank God I didn’t snog him. If I’d had more to drink I probably would’ve. Imagine getting caught kissing a colleague at work. What if Valeria or Myrtle had seen us? Is this the midsummer madness Norma warned me about?
She had no idea what to expect from Will this morning, but she needn’t have worried. Greeting her with his usual winning smile he held out two very virtuous-looking smoothies, one pink and one green.
‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty, what time do you call this? OK, pick one!’
Kelsey glanced at the clock on her phone. ‘I’m exactly on time, cheeky! I’ll have the pink one please. What is that?’
‘Avocado, green apple, and kale, I think. I should have got two strawberry and banana, huh?’
And, with that, they were back to how it had been before all the cider, mulberries, and moonlight, as though nothing had happened.
Thank God! He doesn’t remember. Maybe he was drunk? Though I didn’t see him touch a drop all night. Maybe he’s just saving face? Fine by me. I’ve got enough to think about today.
And so they got on with their morning tour, Will taking a step back, letting Kelsey introduce herself and check everyone’s names off the list before guiding them through the church and into the centre of the old town, her weariness of the long sleepless night before falling away as the adrenalin kicked in.
Kelsey discovered today’s group were Texans and mainly retired couples or parents with adult children taking the trip of a lifetime around Europe at a baffling pace. They’d ‘done’ Scandinavia and Germany and had just flown in from Paris to London, spending the previous evening seeing a show in the West End, before piling onto their coach for a morning in Stratford. By bedtime they’d be in the Cotswolds, exhausted and bewildered, unsure of what they’d seen or where they’d seen it.
Kelsey felt a little sorry for them as they listened politely to her wavering voice. She was sure they could see her hands shaking as she gesticulated wildly to cover up her nerves. Will kept a close eye on her from the back of the crowd, smiling encouragingly behind dark sunglasses, arms folded, nodding his approval.
‘And… and…’ You can do this, come on, Kelse. ‘And over here is the home of Stratford-upon-Avon’s second most famous writer.’ Am I turning blue? I can’t breathe. ‘In the late Victorian era she was as famous as, say, Charles Dickens, but today she is unfairly forgotten. I’m referring to Miss Marie Corelli. She penned over twenty sensational, romantic novels and was known as not only a great teller of tales, but rather eccentric.’ They’re actually listening to me. I’m really doing this!
Hearing her own voice settling down into its normal rhythms as she relaxed into her first ever tour, Kelsey pressed on.
‘Corelli imported her very own Venetian gondola to Stratford and, punted by her gondolier Ernest, caused quite a stir on the River Avon. Let’s step inside her home and take a look around.’ They’re really doing what I tell them. Oh my God, this is actually fun.
Three hours later, exhausted and elated, Kelsey waved the tourists off on their coach. Will placed a friendly arm around her shoulders – or perhaps she just chose to interpret it as friendly – and let her know how she’d done.
‘You had them in the palm of your hands. You don’t need me at all now, Kelsey Anderson. Good for you. I think they all loved your sexy accent too. Come on, let’s grab some lunch with the others.’
She was met with a cheer as they stepped aboard the ticket barge. Gianfranco, Lukas, Myrtle, and Valeria were waiting with a hamper of sandwiches and flasks of scalding tea.
With that, Kelsey was a bona fide tour guide for the Norma Arden Historic Tours Agency. Her summer in Stratford was finally truly underway.
Over the coming days Kelsey fell into her new routine of waking early and heading straight up to the roof terrace with coffee and her duvet to keep out the morning cool. She’d head into town and swim a few lengths at the indoor pool before dressing for work, stopping to feed the swans on her way. She had the uniform cracked too, wearing a vest top under the shirt which she wore untucked and tied in a knot at her waist and, everyone agreed, it was just too hot for the gilet. She improvised each day with the scarf, sometimes knotting it around a high ponytail a la Sandy Dee in Grease or bundling her hair up into it like a wartime land girl or Rosie the Riveter, or occasionally going the full air hostess by tying it in a knot at her throat.
As she led her tour groups all over town, she felt herself becoming more confident when describing its landmarks. Will was now off with his own groups but she still managed to meet one or two of the guides in various combinations each day for lunch. She’d even had a stint selling tickets on the barge with Gianfranco who, she learned, was very sweet and interesting once he got over his initial shyness, if only she could tune into his whispered conversation.
The daily workings of the town, she discovered, formed a sharp contrast with the picture-postcard place of her teenage romanticising. She nurtured an increasing awareness of the everyday routines of the town’s school kids, shop workers, and B&B owners, all bustling here and there alongside the hundreds of other people – invisible to the visitors passing through – who maintained the life of the theatres and playing houses. She was getting to know a few of them, too. Some recognised the agency uniform and would wave to her in passing, or stop to exchange small talk and theatre gossip, a pleasing confirmation that her new job rendered her a privileged insider in the town’s theatrical life.
She was one of the people keeping the tourists entertained, alongside the costume designers, seamstresses, scene painters, lighting technicians, sound engineers, stage riggers, make-up artists, voice coaches, and the many, many actors observing their own rituals of rehearsals, matinees, and the brief afternoon respite before the evening performances, all working together to bring in the crowds, make them laugh and weep, making it all look so effortlessly easy. The vanilla 99s and cream teas for the visitors were just the icing on the cake – superficial, albeit sweet.
Kelsey was falling in love all over again with Stratford-upon-Avon, but this was something deeper – she really knew the place now, this was her home, and it was a romance she would never get over.
At night she’d buy fish and chips or something quick and easy for the microwave and eat up on the roof, tired of listening to her own loud authoritative tour-guide voice all day and content to be alone. Up there on her peaceful twilit terrace, she found she wasn’t always thinking of Fran, or of Will, for that matter. For the first time in her life, she had no one to please but herself.
Will continued to be his usual dazzling, flirty self, of course, and Kelsey humoured him, reminding herself that although he was lovely to look at and dynamic to be around, he really did know it. She had a sneaking suspicion that the mulberry tree incident wasn’t going to be his last attempt at seduction. He seemed to like a challenge.
She’d caught him eying her phone when Jonathan texted during their shared lunch break on Friday, a week after she had almost kissed Will in the garden. Kelsey was smiling to herself as she read.
Glancing at Will beside her, Kelsey couldn’t mistake the indignant look on his face but he didn’t say anything, or if he did, she was too absorbed in her thoughts to hear it.
Jonathan Hathaway. So that’s his name. It suits him. No kiss, I notice. Would that be weird: putting a kiss at the end of a text like that? I suppose we are only arranging a work thing.
She texted straight back, with Will observing over her shoulder, catching every word she typed.