‘The fault […] is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings’
(Julius Caesar)
‘Hey, Kelsey-boo. Wake up.’
Forcing open her eyes, Kelsey made out the silhouette of a blurry Fran standing over her. ‘Oh! What time is it?’
‘Half six. How long have you been here?’ Fran looked around his room at the empty mugs, KitKat wrappers, and mascara-stained tissues on the floor.
So much for cooking dinner. Kelsey swung her legs off the side of Fran’s bed, suddenly aware that she’d been drooling and her neat braids were coming loose – and she’d been so pleased with them as she’d climbed aboard the noon bus to Fran’s place. Now stray strands of growing-out fringe hung down over her panda eyes.
‘I was watching Shakespeare in Love again and your bed was just so cosy, I must have nodded off. Where have you been?’
‘I nipped round to Mum and Dad’s for lunch and then headed to the gym. I didn’t think you’d be coming round so early or I’d have stayed here.’ He smiled, tucking a wavy wisp of her dark blonde hair behind her ear. ‘It’s nice coming home and finding you in my bed.’ His eyes sparkled mischievously. He looked away, taking in the messy nest she’d made for herself. ‘So this is what the life of a lady of leisure looks like, is it?’
‘Fran! It’s Sunday afternoon and I’ve only been unemployed for a bloody week, give a girl a break. Anyway, I’ve been searching all week, and it turns out there are only six vacant positions in the whole of Scotland and I’m qualified for precisely none of them.’ Kelsey felt the tears welling again and blinked them away.
‘I was just joking, Kelse.’
‘I take it you heard about the interview?’ Kelsey cringed, blowing her nose. It had been two days now and the embarrassment still smarted.
Fran grinned. ‘Thora did mention it, yes.’
‘Thora?’
‘Mrs Craven.’
‘She told you about the keyboard in the bag test? What a weirdo.’
‘I didn’t realise you couldn’t type.’
‘I can type. I type all the time. But I also have eyes and I don’t work in complete darkness inside a bloody bag, so…’
‘You could at least have practised a bit before you went, Kelse, the headmaster set up the interview as a favour to me.’
Kelsey’s cheeks flamed red. ‘I did my best, OK, Fran? Besides, I don’t want you lending me out to your colleagues, thanks very much, no matter how many Brownie points it’ll score you with the head.’
‘I was trying to help you out, but if you won’t help yourself…’
‘All right, all right, can we change the subject please?’
Fran shrugged as Kelsey attempted to lighten the mood again.
‘Anyway, I had some good news today, at least I thought I did. There was a media job going at a magazine in Edinburgh. They needed someone to do photo editing, training included. So I sent them my CV, and I got a phone interview. They were so lovely and said I was perfect, so that’s good, isn’t it? But then…’ Kelsey shrugged. ‘Then they said it was an unpaid internship. Two years unpaid! Who can afford that, Fran?’
‘Of course it was unpaid. You could have taken it and worked in the evenings somewhere? Can’t you go back to that supermarket you used to work at?’
Kelsey ignored him. ‘How am I meant to compete with new graduates whose parents can pay for them to work for free?’
Fran, suddenly softened by the sight of Kelsey’s eyes reddening again, knelt down on the floor in front of her, putting his hands on her knees.
‘You’ll find something, don’t worry. Look, let’s get some food in you. I brought that wine and I can order a pizza. We’ll watch a box set or something, OK?’ He was trying to wipe the mascara streaks off her face.
‘Fran, did you actually spit on that tissue?’ Kelsey smiled in spite of herself.
‘I did a bit.’ He broke into his lovely grin. ‘What is this stuff made from? Seriously, it’s like tar.’
Leaning her forehead against his chest, Kelsey sighed as Fran wrapped his arms around her. They both took a few long, deep breaths as they remembered what it felt like to be this close. Resting her cheek against his shoulder, her fingers tentatively tugged the zip on his gym hoodie.
‘Let’s eat later. I’ve really bloody missed you. Where do you get to, Fran?’
Kelsey tried to ignore the faintly awkward feeling as she leaned in to kiss his neck for the first time in, how long? ‘I’m so fed up, Fran. Just make it all go away.’
‘That I can do,’ he replied in a low voice, but he was already extricating himself from her arms, placating her with one smacking kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ll just jump in the shower.’
‘Oh, OK.’ Kelsey’s lip plumped petulantly, and something like embarrassment coloured her cheeks as he wandered off, phone in hand. That morning she’d cut the tags off the slinky underwear set she’d bought as a Christmas treat for Fran and never got round to wearing. They felt tight and uncomfortable under her clothes and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t bothered.
Pulling the covers around her, she listened as he rang through the pizza order and started the shower running, trying to resist the urge to sulk. Fran hated when she sulked. Waiting, she unleashed her wild hair from the plaits and idly surveyed the room. It was all right, as bachelor pads went, quite grown up really, if a bit sparse.
There was a grey sofa with what appeared to be a new black fluffy blanket neatly folded over an armrest squeezed in between the end of the bed and the huge TV. New cushions too? Bit weird. Fran wasn’t usually a soft furnishings kind of guy. Her brows gathered in consternation as it occurred to Kelsey that Fran’s mum only lived around the corner. She knew that she popped in regularly to collect his laundry. Or does she do a bit more than that? In fact, everything, except the messy den she’d made in his bed that afternoon, looked pretty neat and tidy. Come to think of it, there’s that bowl of potpourri in the bathroom too. Why hadn’t she noticed before?
Fran wandered in, only a towel around his waist which he immediately chucked into a damp heap on the carpet. Kelsey would have wondered who’d eventually put it in the hamper if she hadn’t been distracted by the sight of his lean body, which made her feel suddenly shy, and she scolded herself for it. It had been so long since she’d seen him naked, she’d have looked away if he’d glanced over at her.
‘Fran? Does your mum clean up in here as well as doing your washing?’
Pulling on a faded T-shirt and trackie bottoms, Fran looked around the room. ‘Uh, well yeah, I guess she does. I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘That explains a lot. Thanks a bunch, Hillary,’ Kelsey drawled in a mocking tone. ‘You’ve got to know, Fran, I will not be taking over that role if we move in together. You can fold your own pants.’ She lay back on the bed with a wry laugh.
‘If we move in together?’ Fran froze, suddenly defensive, a frown forming. ‘What do you mean if?’
‘I mean when obviously, when we move in together,’ Kelsey spoke quickly, hiding a grimace behind her long hair. Hurriedly leaning over the side of the bed and pulling open ‘her’ drawer where she kept a few overnight things, she grabbed some PJs and nipped into the bathroom, all the while avoiding Fran’s exasperated stare.
Soon changed, having jettisoned the fancy lingerie, she settled on the sofa next to the crestfallen Fran as he poured the wine. Kelsey knew she had to work fast if she was going to rescue their night in.
‘Come on, let’s get shitfaced and watch a whole season of something in one go. You can pick.’
He shrugged off the gentle hand she placed on his forearm just as the doorbell rang. Fran marched off to grab his wallet. Coming back with the huge pizza box, he placed it on the coffee table in front of Kelsey, lifted out one gooey slice and turned towards his desk.
‘You watch what you want, Kelsey. I’ve got a ton of marking to do.’
‘Don’t do this. I’ve had a crappy week. Get over here and snuggle me up,’ she implored.
It was no good. He was soon sitting in front of his computer, typing every now and then, not even touching his wine. Kelsey sank back on the sofa with a weary shake of her head.
‘Can I borrow your iPad then?’ It was hard to keep the conciliatory tone in her voice.
Sitting in silence staring at separate screens really wasn’t how Kelsey had hoped their evening would pan out. Knowing that Fran would come round eventually, she let him have his strop, inwardly pondering if he’d always been this tetchy.
Signing into Facebook, she scrolled through Mirren’s status updates. There were loads of pictures of her and Preston from their night out, their grinning faces pressed together. One was tagged, Date night with my man #spoiledrotten #luckyme. They looked pretty relaxed, just enjoying each other’s company and what looked like two enormous steaks.
Kelsey poured another glass of wine and sullenly ran through her options for things to post on her own timeline.
Better not, she thought, logging out.
Glancing at the cross, wounded Fran, Kelsey thought how tired he looked and she instantly regretted hurting his feelings. She seemed to be doing it all the time recently. All Fran’s hard work was beginning to etch itself in thin lines across his youthful features. He’d had his gorgeous floppy fringe cut off when he got the job at the school. How she missed their scruffy, carefree days at uni when all they did was study together and go to parties, kissing under the streetlights on the nights he’d sneak her back into his Halls.
‘Fran?’ she asked in a quiet voice. ‘Is this what we’d be like if we were living together?’ He didn’t seem to hear her. Suppressing a sigh, she looked back at the screen in her hands. Sharing a home together seemed like an even more distant possibility now. How would she contribute to the deposit with no job? Did Fran really want to bail her out of this mess?
Sod it, this calls for some serious grovelling.
She rummaged in her satchel for the theatre programme she’d been carrying around in the hope of enticing Fran to look at it with her.
‘Fran?’
Nothing.
‘Do you want to help me pick a B&B and I’ll book us a weekend in Stratford, just the two of us. My treat.’
She thought of the envelope, still unopened, that Mr McLennan had given her. Two weeks’ wages. What better thing to spend it on than a romantic getaway to reconnect again? The flat deposit could wait. What they really needed was some carefree time together.
Still nothing from Fran.
She flicked through the pages, turning to the advertisements at the back for fancy brasseries, cosy pubs frequented by celebrity thespians, five-star spa hotels, and… something grabbed Kelsey’s attention. There at the foot of the page in eye-catching acid yellow was an advertising banner. In bold black type, it read:
Calling all Star-Crossed Lovers, Dreamers, Untamed Shrews, and Sweet Princes
Tour Guides of Historic Stratford-upon-Avon required for the Summer Season
Apply Now.
Requisites:
Knowledge of the Bard and his works
History degree or subject expertise
Acting/public speaking/teaching experience
Full training provided
Apply: The Norma Arden Historic Tours Agency.
Kelsey read the advert twice and sighed.
Too bad it’s from so long ago. This would have been perfect when I graduated. God knows, it would be great now.
There was no website address, only a phone number, but Kelsey was suddenly overcome by the strongest notion.
There’s no harm in looking. Just a quick peek.
Already, she was typing the words, ‘Stratford-upon-Avon tour guide jobs’ on Fran’s iPad. Eyes wide, she scrolled through the top hits – all general job sites, temping agencies, and companies offering advice on how to improve your CV.
Guess I’ll be spending plenty time looking through those in the next few weeks.
But there it was, right down at the bottom of the screen: The Norma Arden Historic Tours Agency.
It still exists!
Kelsey felt a little flutter in her stomach as she glanced up to check Fran was still absorbed in his work before clicking the link.
Norma Arden Historic Tours is England’s best small tour agency
Book your guided walking tours today
Choose from six historic locations:
London, Oxford, Bath, Stratford-upon-Avon,
Cambridge, or Windsor
Let our expert guides take you on a tailor-made magical journey into the past as you visit sites of historical significance and stunning beauty.
On the left side of the page there was a yellow box with the words ‘Guide Vacancies’ in bold lettering. Without thinking, she tapped the screen and scrolled through the list of job openings. There it was.
Stratford-upon-Avon Walking-Tour Guides. Hourly pay. 28+ hours per week. Start dates from 15 June. Contract terminates 30 August. Click here for application form.
Holy crap!
Her heart thumped in her chest. Furtively clicking on the application form, she wondered why she felt she was doing something wrong. It only took half an hour to fill in, and all the time Fran was quietly working.
Let’s see – Edinburgh University, BA in History, Master’s Degree in English Literature and Theatre History. Perfect. They’ve got to love that, right? One year’s experience at the Bridges Vintage Camera Emporium. Customer-focussed… yada yada yada… Umpteen high-school and student jobs… supermarket… the newsagents and… do they really want to know all this stuff? What else? Hobbies. Photography, of course, and reading. Shakespeare addict. Bit obvious? Driving license? Well yes, but no car. Will that matter? Readiness to live and work in Stratford… no notice period to be worked… blah, blah, blah. OK. That’s it. That’s me. And… Send. Oh My God!
Glugging back the dregs from her glass, Kelsey stifled the little glimmer of excitement burning within her. Hearing the whirr of Fran’s computer powering off, she slipped the iPad under the sofa and watched him sidle over.
‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked, obviously cheered up a bit.
‘Oh nothing, just looking at Mirren’s profile page. Looks like things got pretty messy at the bistro. She’d had a lot of vino.’
‘So have you, by the looks of it. You’ve gone all flushed.’ He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek.
For a split second she considered coming clean and telling him what she’d done, before it was too late, before it became a secret. But she couldn’t face another argument tonight, not after the week she’d had.
Fran interrupted her thoughts. ‘Come on. Bed time. I’ve got work in the morning. I’ll drop you off at home before I head in tomorrow if you like, but we’ll need to leave dead early.’
He picked up the barely touched pizza, carrying it off to the fridge, coming back moments later to place a glass of water by the bedside for Kelsey. His demeanour had softened even more as he climbed under the covers.
‘Night night, Kelsey-boo. I’m sorry about tonight. I’ve got a lot on, I just…’ he tailed off.
‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too.’ Kelsey slipped into bed next to him. ‘Goodnight, Fran.’ Kissing him quickly on the lips she curled up with her back towards him.
Within moments Fran was snoring in an exhausted slumber. Lying there in the dark, eyes open, frozen to the spot, Kelsey tried to switch off the agitated thoughts running through her mind.
What have I done? Fran won’t like this at all. And just how am I going to explain it to Mum? She needs me at home. I can’t just run off to Warwickshire. What do I even know about being a tour guide anyway? Where would I live? How would I afford to live? It can’t pay that much, can it? No… they won’t want me anyway. Of course they won’t. No point worrying about it when it’s not going to happen. Dreams don’t come true.
And so her mind worked on and on until the early hours.
Meanwhile, deep down in the very heart of England, white swans glided silently across the moonlit Avon casting in their wake shimmering silver ripples. Kelsey Anderson could feel the impact of every wave.