One Summer's Night

by One Summer's Night (retail) (epub)

  Kelsey smiled and sipped her drink, thinking how much Mirren sounded like Jonathan. He’d seen her as a professional too. He’d recognised her talent and accepted it. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she wasn’t the real deal. Anyway, he made a living from the arts, why couldn’t she?

  After lunch they’d walked around the margins of the field, Kelsey taking a few shots of Mirren spinning around dramatically in the long grass laughing and holding out the wide folds of her sundress, her hippy hat flopping over her face while the sun glinted into the camera lens, impressing exploding white sunbursts onto the film. Some days, the magic is there in the light, just waiting. All Kelsey had to do was find the right angle, hit the shutter button at the right moment and there it was, captured forever.

  Their happy excursion was made up of the very best of the English summertime, but already high summer was far behind them and each day was drawing in a little shorter than the one before.

  Back on-board Jim’s bus, they threw themselves down onto the comfy leather seats and prepared for the long journey back to town. Kelsey reached into her satchel and rummaged for her copy of the Sonnets. ‘Here he is. Right, which one are we having? You can choose,’ Kelsey said, raising her eyebrows and holding the book up to cover her goofy grin. The peace of the countryside, the midday sun, and Mirren’s uninhibited sense of fun had made her giddy and carefree.

  ‘Which one? I don’t even know how many there are?’

  ‘There’s one hundred and fifty-four in here. Pick one.’

  ‘All right then. Twenty-nine,’ said Mirren, yawning and covering her face with her huge hat before slouching down in the seat. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

  ‘Ooh, you’ll love this one,’ Kelsey bubbled with excitement, opening the book at the so-familiar words. The pages were coming a little loose, she had turned them so often. ‘It’s about poor old Shaky. He’s feeling as though he’s lost everything but then he thinks of his old lover and just his memories of them are enough to make him glad to be alive. It’s so gorgeous. Listen.’ She began to read slowly and quietly, but with all the enthusiasm of a true poetry lover, close to Mirren’s ear.

  ‘When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

  I all alone beweep my outcast state

  And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries

  And look upon myself and curse my fate,

  Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

  Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

  Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

  With what I most enjoy contented least;

  Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

  Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

  Like to the lark at break of day arising

  From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

  For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

  That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

  Closing the book, Kelsey smiled softly. ‘I told you it was lovely. Do you think it’s about his wife?’

  Mirren made a sleepy, noncommittal groan beneath her hat so Kelsey pressed on undaunted. ‘I love the idea that we still talk about Anne Hathaway four hundred years after she died because someone loved her enough to immortalise her.’ Kelsey wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the book to her chest. She was getting carried away now. ‘I want to be that woman; a woman so awesome and in control and remarkable that someone finds me fascinating or inspiring, or…’

  Mirren lifted her hat off her face and interrupted her. ‘Didn’t Shakespeare have to marry her because she was knocked up, and then didn’t he move to London to get away from her for, like, twenty years?’

  ‘Ugh, spoilsport. Where’s your sense of romance?’

  All the way back to Stratford she thought about the poem Mirren had chosen. Could she be contented with just the memory of Jonathan and their few brief moments together? Could the fact of her simply having known him sustain her as she lived her life without him? Maybe one day she’d just feel glad to have met him, and it wouldn’t hurt quite so much as it did now.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Love is like a child that longs for everything it can come by’

  (Two Gentlemen of Verona)

  Early the next day Kelsey dressed for work, kissed the sleeping Mirren on the forehead, and silently closed the door behind her. By the time her shift ended Mirren would already be back in Scotland. She didn’t have time for a teary goodbye – or to fix her mascara afterwards – there was a tour group waiting for her at the theatre gardens, sixty of them if the rota was correct, and they were booked in for the works: backstage tour, onstage sword-fighting demo with one of the main company’s fight directors, the restaurant-barge river tour for lunch, followed by a visit to the Shakespeare sites around town in the afternoon. It was going to be a long day, perfect for taking her mind off Mirren leaving, as well as the sorry state she’d been in watching Jonathan and Peony up on stage together on Saturday night.

  Having gathered her tour group and ticked their names off her list, Kelsey walked everyone towards the main theatre, holding her tall plastic sunflower high into the air so no one lost sight of their leader. Out the corner of her eye, Kelsey threw a quick glance across the street towards the Willow Studio. Its doors were wide open and the sign outside with its picture of Peony as Titania pasted over with a banner that read, Sold Out. Additional morning performances now available.

  Good for them. The show’s a hit, and that’s no more than they deserve – even Peony. She was amazing, actually. I should be glad for them. I should. And I suppose I am.

  Kelsey worked late into the afternoon. The group were indeed sixty strong and made up of wealthy baby boomers from across the south of England on a mystery tour and, for once, she had trouble keeping them contained. Small gangs frequently broke off on their own or chattered and joked during her spiels. She had to add lots of exciting inflection and drama into her voice, modifying her usual script to get them engaged again, and as she succeeded in taming them all, captivating them one by one, she felt herself glowing again.

  She’d told Mirren only yesterday how it had taken a few weeks but she was finally beginning to understand what it meant to be an actor. ‘The show must go on, no matter how crappy you feel. You have to smile and bow and curtsey and give them what they’re paying for.’

  So that’s what she did. By seven o’clock that evening, she was ready to collapse. The problem with pretending to be relentlessly bubbly and fascinating was the utter exhaustion that hit her afterwards when she was alone again. She trudged back to St Ninian’s Close in the dying heat, watching the pavement slipping by underneath her feet as she went.

  Her phone rang in her satchel just as she made her way into the cool of her hallway, closing the heavy door behind her, glad to be home again. Thinking it must be Mirren letting her know she was back in Scotland, she knew she didn’t need to rush to answer, but there, on the screen was Jonathan’s name.

  What can he want? Is he phoning to apologise for running off the other night? He texted yesterday and didn’t apologise. ‘Let me know when you’re free for a coffee,’ indeed! Cheeky sod. Mirren sent him my reply, didn’t she? Telling him to get knotted?

  She answered with a curt hello.

  He greeted her with what struck her as an unnecessarily exuberant ‘Hey!’ and asked her how she was.

  ‘Um, I’m all right.’ So we’re pretending everything’s fine, that this is normal? ‘I see you’re sold out. Not surprising really.’ She rolled her eyes at herself and added begrudgingly, ‘You were… you were really incredible on Saturday. Thanks for the tickets.’

  ‘I’m just so glad you came.’

  There was a long silence, neither knowing what to say next. Titania and Oberon’s kiss replayed again in Kelsey’s mind and the numbness struck her into silence.

  ‘So, uh, anyway… I was calling about the gala night,’ Jonathan said at last, waking Kel
sey from her stupor.

  ‘Oh yes, of course. The gala. I’m doing some living picture thing, aren’t I? Am I onstage with the Dream cast? Am I… onstage with you?’ Sudden panic flooded her body. She hadn’t fully considered the ramifications of letting Norma strong-arm her into this.

  ‘Only the girls are in the scene. You’ll be one of Peony’s fairy court,’ he replied, dryly.

  Perfect! Of course I will. She threw herself onto the bed, wanting to scream obscenities down the phone at the absurdity of the idea. Can I pull out now? What would Norma say? I could do with the money, frankly.

  ‘But that’s not what I’m calling about,’ Jonathan continued, ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I showed your headshots to my director, and he showed them to the guy from the main theatre who’s directing the gala night, and he wants you to photograph the whole thing for the website and social media. Are you interested? I said I’d ask you, and here I am, asking you. He wants to pay you, obviously; said you should name your price.’

  ‘Name my price?’ Kelsey had no idea how to respond. Here she was again, being mistaken for an actual photographer. ‘I don’t know, Jonathan. I’d need to buy some new equipment. I doubt they’d pay me enough to cover that?’

  ‘I’ll text you the director’s number, you can talk it over with him. I just wanted to pass on the good news.’

  Jonathan sounded so strained, Kelsey thought. Maybe he’s tired too. It’s been a long summer. ‘Thanks for the heads up. I’ll definitely call him.’ And say what? I have no idea. Kelsey took a deep breath, feeling churlish at being so short with Jonathan when he’d passed on this amazing opportunity to her. She tried to recapture some of the enthusiasm she’d felt in front of her tour group that day. ‘So, how’s the run going? You looked like you were enjoying yourself on stage.’

  After a split second of silence, Jonathan answered with a wry tone in his voice. ‘We’re already rehearsing Hamlet for the Canadian shows this fall, and that’s in between all the extra performances of Dream they’ve added. Honestly, I’m kinda wiped out, Kelsey.’

  His voice wrapping around her name sounded so inviting, she could have wept right there into the phone. She shook herself. He’s got Peony to talk with about all that. They can console each other. Oh, come on, Kelsey, at least try to act like a normal, rational human being! ‘I’ll see you at the gala set-up?’ she said, steeling herself to hang up, but not really wanting to.

  ‘Yup. Me and the other Oklahoma Players are setting up two performance spaces; one for your tableau vivant and one for some scenes from Dream. It’s going to look awesome outdoors at night under the stars. I just hope the English rain stays away. I’ll come find you at the set-up. I, uh… I guess Will’s coming too?’

  ‘No doubt. Try keeping him away,’ she replied with a bluff dismissiveness.

  ‘Right. Great. Of course. So, uh… OK. Bye, Kelsey. Take care.’ His voice was deep and dry, fading away into a crackle as he hung up. Kelsey had managed a hesitant, ‘Bye Jonathan… and thanks,’ before she was cut off.

  She sat for a long while looking at the phone in her hands wondering how it was possible that their electric connection could have cooled to this joyless, stilted acquaintance. Had she imagined it? Had she somehow mistaken his passing interest in her and his intense zeal for life in general as reciprocated attraction? It probably happened to him all the time. An extrovert like Jonathan could easily confuse and confound a naïve, homely woman like Kelsey with his sparkling enthusiasm, only for that enthusiasm to wane the second his attention drifted to something, or someone, else. She’d fallen for his charms, his confidence, his manners, and now she was paying for it, but that was hardly his fault, was it? Whatever she’d imagined between them, it was over now. All she had to do was survive the rest of the summer without getting into any more stupid scrapes, and with August approaching and summer’s end just on the horizon, how hard could that be?

  * * *

  It had taken a few days to get her head around her next photography job. She’d had to build herself up to the phone call to the gala director by drinking half a bottle of wine up on the terrace beforehand, and it had been such a long, involved conversation about what he wanted, including photos of all the stars arriving, images of all the performers, and lots of atmospheric pictures of the partygoers taking in the spectacle. She’d made it clear that she too would be performing so she couldn’t shoot the tableau vivant but he didn’t seem to mind too much.

  Then, she’d had to screw up all of her courage to give him her quote and, even after hours of deliberating how much he might have available to spend on a photographer she still had no idea if she was even in the right ballpark.

  ‘I think it will be about five hours’ work and with analogue and digital pictures, it’ll be about two hundred pounds?’ She said it as quickly as she could, trying to get it over and done with.

  The director replied instantly with only one word, ‘fine.’

  After she ended the call, Kelsey spent a restless night wondering if she’d undersold herself.

  He must have known I was a newbie with no idea what I was doing. Oh God, how embarrassing! How will two hundred quid cover everything? I’ll need to buy a digital camera now, but which one, I have no idea. Film is one thing, but digital is just totally out of my comfort zone. And don’t I need a super whizzy tablet thingy to upload all the pictures? How do I even do that? And am I actually allowed to take his money? Don’t I need to own some sort of company that pays taxes or something to do that? Oh shit, I have no clue.

  The night passed with her tied up in panicked knots, the back of her neck sweating and goosebumped with feverish shivers. She knew one thing for certain: as soon as morning came, she was phoning her mum.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we’ll not fail’

  (Macbeth)

  ‘How’s life in sunny Stratford? We’ve been watching the weather forecasts for England and it looks like you’re baking down there.’

  ‘We are, I’ve got an actual tan. Are you OK, Mum?’

  ‘Smashing, doll. Run off my feet with work. And you know Grandad’s moving in with me and Calum? Just for the short term, to see how he gets on with a bit more company.’

  ‘I really hope he settles in. Just clear out my stuff, put it in the attic. I’ve got everything I need here.’

  ‘To be honest, Kelse, I think he’ll like things better the way they are, with all your pictures on the walls and your photo albums on the shelves. The doctor said it would be good for him to look through old pictures; good for his memory, I mean. Don’t worry, you should be enjoying your adventure. I’ve got this, really I have.’

  Kelsey knew when her mum was putting on a brave face, she’d been doing it for years, but there was an insistence and calmness in her voice that was reassuring.

  ‘OK, well, he can have my room for as long as he wants it. I can crash with you when I get home in September.’

  ‘We’ll sort something out, don’t worry. Tell me about Stratford. How are things going?’

  ‘I could do with a bit of, um… business advice, actually.’

  ‘Go on. Sounds intriguing.’

  ‘I’ve been asked if I’ll photograph this event that’s coming up, some huge outdoor theatre thing to celebrate the end of the summer shows…’

  Kelsey was stopped in her tracks by the ear-piercing scream from the other end of the line. ‘That’s brilliant! Well done.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she squirmed a little. ‘It’s not a big deal really, but the thing is, I said I’d do it before I thought about the implications. They’re going to pay me. What am I supposed to do with the money? I mean, don’t I need to have an actual business first?’

  ‘Ah, right-o.’ Mari was breezy and calm. ‘You can take the money, you just need to tell the taxman. I’ll help you do your tax return at the end of the year, if you like. If I can do it, you can. And it’s all online these days.’

 
‘Don’t I have to do anything else? That sounds too easy.’

  ‘If you want to do it properly, you could set up a business account, pay it all in there, if there’s going to be other jobs, I mean.’

  ‘But, I’m going to need to buy some bits; some film and maybe even a new camera.’

  ‘Just keep all the receipts and the invoices for anything that you buy or anything that you earn. OK? Buy your film and pay your printing costs out of your new bank account, balance those outgoings with your incomings, and voilà, you’re a business woman.’

  Kelsey, feeling horribly out of her depth, bit her bottom lip but her mum’s voice helped quieten her self-doubt, at least momentarily. She’d watched her mum do it. Mari had started with nothing and set herself up as a sole trader and eventually she had been able to provide for the whole family, all by herself: every pair of school shoes, every bite they’d eaten, every school trip they’d gone on, and endless rounds of pocket money and dinner money and bus fares. Suddenly, she was struck by the enormity of what her mum had done for her and Calum. Mari had pulled herself out of her grief to feed and clothe and house them. Kelsey only had herself to look after. How hard could it be?

  ‘There’s only one trick, love,’ Mari was saying.

  Kelsey sniffed away the tears that were forming in her eyes and making her nose run.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You have to have something people are willing to pay for and you have to value your time correctly. Don’t undersell yourself. They expect the best, so you have to charge like the best of them.’

  Kelsey was nodding but her mum’s voice was being crowded out by a thousand anxious questions. I only asked for two hundred quid. Why didn’t I ask for more? And people will expect proper, professional invoices and receipts too, won’t they? How do I make those without a computer? I don’t have any of that stuff. Can I do it all from a tablet? How much do those cost? How am I to know which tablet and which apps are compatible with which digital camera? Oh, Jesus, I’ll have to buy a camera, like, this week! And… what about a business name? And a logo? I don’t want to look like an amateur.