One Winter's Night (Kelsey Anderson)

by Kiley Dunbar

  ‘Oh, didn’t you know? I’m Mirren Imrie, slayer of badly behaved journos. Come on, I’ve a lot to fill you in on.’

  * * *

  ‘Two tickets, please,’ Kelsey asked the woman at the cash register.

  ‘A butterfly house? Really?’ Mirren glanced around the souvenir shop.

  ‘Why not? You’re on holiday, aren’t you?’

  ‘OK, but I’m paying,’ Mirren insisted.

  After a long argument in increasingly broad Scottish accents with lots of purse slapping and no, I’ll pays, Mirren inevitably won, paid for the tickets and the friends passed through the plastic curtain into the lush warmth of the big heated greenhouse.

  ‘Ahh, it’s like summer all over again,’ said Mirren, while forcing her purse back into the little zip on her suitcase.

  Struggling out of their coats, they took in their new surroundings. The humid air was heavy with the zesty scent of tropical vegetation and alive with fluttering wings of every colour. Great blousy blooms neither of them could name adorned every green thing and great palm fronds reached up to the glass roof.

  A pale blue butterfly settled on Kelsey’s sapphire jumper and she froze to the spot smiling down at it. ‘What do I do now?’

  ‘Just stay put,’ Mirren said, instantly lifting her phone and snapping a picture.

  ‘You could have warned me, Mirr.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, look.’ Mirren turned the screen.

  Kelsey grimaced even though the picture was nice. ‘The thing about being a photographer is people stop taking your picture. I’m not used to it anymore. Do you mind sending it to me?’ She’d forward it to Jonathan later. He’d like that. ‘Not that I’m taking any pictures of anyone at the moment,’ she added glumly.

  ‘Let’s sit.’ Mirren perched on a wrought-iron bench and slipped on glamorous dark sunglasses, looking as though she were in a beachside bar in Saint Tropez and not a centrally heated greenhouse in Warwickshire, beautiful though it was. Kelsey joined her, bringing her butterfly friend along for the ride.

  Mirren had filled Kelsey in on her mic-drop resignation on their walk across the old bridge over the Avon towards the butterfly house. Kelsey didn’t want to complain too much about her own work problems in light of her friend’s joblessness, so she said brightly, ‘So, it’s been, what? Six days? Have you looked into finding something new?’

  ‘I’ve already messaged my friends at other papers. I’m sure they’ll have some leads, but it’s best to let the dust settle first, get out of Edinburgh for a while. I’ll keep using my contacts. I’ll find something… with any luck.’ Mirren fell quiet.

  It was hard for Kelsey to see what was going on behind the dark shades but she knew when her friend was acting bluff and bold but feeling small. She reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, being careful not to disturb the butterfly which was slowly flexing its blue wings open and closed on her chest.

  ‘Do some of these contacts include the women you know at the Chronical?’

  ‘That’s right. There’s Lucy in the advertising team and Aurora in editorial, they said they’d keep an ear to the ground and let me know.’

  ‘There you are then. Do they know what happened?’

  ‘They’d heard about it before I even rang them,’ Mirren said with a wry laugh. ‘If a job ever does come up there it would give me the perfect excuse to ask them about Jamesey and why he had to leave the Chronic five years ago. Not that the details would help exactly but it would be good to know if there was anyone else on the receiving end of his sleaze so we could at least compare notes and commiserate.’ Mirren seemed to think for a moment and they both watched the delicate insects flitting to and fro in the heat haze. ‘I did make quite a sweary exit, so I guess word’s got round all the newsrooms in Scotland by now. I might not be the best prospect on the market… but I can always try freelancing?’

  Kelsey was determined to rally her spirits. ‘Think of your Brexit piece. That went viral and you got shortlisted for an award. That means you’re basically famous for your writing, and now you’re famous for taking a stand. It’s admirable.’

  Mirren squirmed. If only she could have maintained the dignity and swagger she’d felt as she let Mr Angus feel her wits-end wrath. All she felt now was the same recoiling shame and burning resentment she’d experienced time and again as a child when she’d tried to stand up for herself at home and been met with laughter or dismissal in return for her bravery.

  Mirren’s expression was all defeat, and even briefly thinking of home and her childhood had her reaching for her habitual, knee-jerk response of trying to re-spin unhappy memories into something more upbeat; an old survival strategy that she’d comforted herself with as a child and which was second nature to her now. ‘I suppose I’ll always have a bed at Mum’s, so I can’t really complain, can I? That’s more of a safety net than most folk have.’

  Kelsey turned to her friend. ‘You’ve got me and my place, always, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ This time it was Mirren who squeezed Kelsey’s hand. She wasn’t one to wallow, and especially not when she had the distraction of her best friend right there in the room with her for a change. ‘So, tell me about the studio, how’s it going, really?’

  ‘Well… umm,’ she faltered. Kelsey wasn’t used to voicing her concerns about her fledgling business, even to Jonathan or her mum. She’d done a good job of putting on a brave face until now, but the words were queueing up, ready to spill out. ‘Don’t people need photographers anymore?’ she blurted. ‘Is everyone masterfully snapping selfies on their phones and editing and cropping, filtering and sharing them like a pro?’

  Mirren only frowned, still listening.

  ‘I’ve done everything I can think of. I approached local schools about portraits, I’m advertising in the local press, I even tried shoots with tourists on the street, but I’m getting nothing coming in. My portfolio’s growing all the time because I’m taking so many lovely pictures out and about, and I just added these gorgeous portraits of my neighbour Blythe, which is good, but nobody can actually see them, apart from on the studio’s website. I don’t know where to go next.’ Kelsey winced as she said the words. ‘I had a proper business plan and everything, but the money’s all going in one direction at the moment. I mean, is the idea of going to a studio to have portraits shot positively Victorian? Something even your granny would hesitate to do these days? Maybe opening a studio isn’t exactly a healthy business model for a young start-up in the twenty-twenties? Maybe I missed the boat on a photography career?’

  Mirren’s mind was working, Kelsey could see it on her face. She wasn’t going to let her friend wallow. ‘Do you have any industry contacts you can call upon to help you out? With the studio, I mean.’

  Kelsey thought for a moment. ‘Contacts? I only know a bunch of actors and ex tour guides, and most of them left town at the end of summer.’

  ‘OK, so what you’re saying is you’re a photographer with lots of links to the theatre, entertainment and heritage industries?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’ Kelsey talked Mirren through the people she knew from her summer job. There had been Norma Arden and Gianfranco – off enjoying married life in Italy now. Norma had already done so much for Kelsey, leasing her the studio for pennies until she was properly established. Fellow guide Lukas was teaching foreign languages in his hometown of Novosibirsk. Will Greville, the one Mirren had her midsummer night’s fling with – though she wouldn’t dream of mentioning him to Mirren right this second – was off in Ontario preparing to take over from Jonathan as the lead actor in the Oklahoma Renaissance Players next summer when Jonathan would leave the company after the run of Love’s Labour’s Lost to try his luck for a life on the English stage. Will’s devoted parents owned the Osprey hotel in town and they kept him in cash year round, funding his ambitions and auditions, and it had paid off at last, now that he was understudying Jonathan’s roles preparing to take over from him. He’d be a perfect addition to the tro
upe and he was, according to Jonathan, still tentatively and respectfully wooing Peony, the company’s leading lady – his devotion to her representing a real departure from his flirty, bad-boy behaviour back in England. Maybe Will could have used his connections to introduce Kelsey to important people in town, but how was that possible now? He didn’t even live here anymore. And that was it. Apart from Valeria and Myrtle with their costume hire place, she didn’t really know anyone, and neither Mr Ferdinand nor the director of the summer theatrical gala – who’d commissioned her first ever paid job back in August and been delighted with her work at the time – had engaged her services again.

  Kelsey forced a sigh and her butterfly took flight. She watched it flutter its way to a purple buddleia flower which overhung the Aztec water feature in the pond where fat orange carp circulated.

  ‘I need to make money and quick,’ Kelsey said quietly, lost in thought.

  ‘Think of your skills and your contacts and join up the dots,’ Mirren said sagely, watching her friend. ‘You’ve got friends with a hotel, a costume hire place and you’re a photographer, so…’

  ‘So…?’

  Mirren waited for Kelsey to catch up.

  ‘So, I could… get hold of some of Valeria and Myrtle’s costumes?’

  ‘Uh-huh, and…?’

  ‘… and, I could take photos of people wearing them?’

  ‘And where might you do that?’

  ‘In my studio?’ Kelsey looked doubtful.

  ‘Close, but no coconut.’

  ‘God, you’re infuriating, just tell me your brilliant business idea, Lord Sugar.’

  ‘OK. You ask Will if they’re doing Christmas party nights at his hotel; the Osprey, right?’

  Kelsey’s eyes lit up. ‘I offer fancy dress photo packages at the hotel’s Christmas do?’

  ‘That’s right. You’re set up to do that kind of thing, aren’t you?’

  ‘Actually, I am. Do you think Will Greville will put in a good word with his parents for me?’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  ‘It’s half seven in the morning where Jonathan is now, he might not be awake, but I can leave a message and he might mention it to Will.’ It crossed her mind that Will may not want to hear from her. They’d had a fun, flirty friendship over the summer and had come very close to spending the night together on one occasion back in July. At the time, Kelsey had been convinced Jonathan wasn’t interested in her and Will’s relentless flirting and a lot of bubbly at Norma’s engagement party had worn down her defences so he’d suddenly looked very kissable indeed. She had come to her senses and he had seemed to take the rejection with equanimity, so she thought there shouldn’t be any hard feelings, but she still felt a little unsure.

  Kelsey suppressed a shudder at the memory, refusing to meet Mirren’s eyes as the full extent of the tangled, awkward mess they’d all got themselves into that summer hit home. She was on her feet and scrolling for Jonathan’s number in seconds.

  Mirren watched as her friend absentmindedly wandered off along the little path between the hibiscus bushes and onto the ornamental bridge over the carp pool. She saw the sudden smile light up Kelsey’s face when Jonathan answered her call and although she couldn’t make out the words, she heard her friend’s laughter and the happiness in her voice as she spoke with the man she loved all the way across the wild Atlantic and the rugged Rocky Mountains.

  Mirren smiled for her friend. She deserved her happiness with Jonathan. A wistfulness settled in her chest, followed by the visceral pang she was growing used to by now. The pang of loneliness and the feeling of being very, very single.

  Yet this, she told herself, was her chance to take a break from her messy life and to spend time with Kelsey, helping her out with her new business. She could email job applications and CVs from anywhere in the country so she may as well do it somewhere she was welcome.

  Mirren kept her eyes on Kelsey who was pink of cheek and still talking, her hands held close around her phone, smiling down at her boots as she scuffed them in the dreamy, distracted way of the newly in love.

  Just then, an alert sounded on Mirren’s phone. Pulling the screen into focus, she read the notification.

  Four eligible singles meeting your criteria within a ten-mile radius.

  Mirren, absorbed, began to scroll.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Lay aside life-harming heaviness,

  And entertain a cheerful disposition’

  (Richard II)

  It was a true English autumnal downpour and neither of them had umbrellas. There was nothing for it but to link arms and run, made all the trickier by Mirren’s wheelie suitcase refusing to go in a straight line and frequently overturning as she hauled it up and down the kerbs on their hurried way to St. Ninian’s Close – that and the fact they’d both glugged three (or was it four?) glasses of business-launch bubbly back at the costume hire shop.

  They’d returned from the butterfly house to find Valeria and Myrtle were finished with their interview with Adrian Armadale. By then the shop was busier with a slow stream of curious locals dropping by to investigate the new venture. The cupcakes were all gone as were a scarlet velvet bodice and matching Regency-style silk heeled boots.

  Myrtle smiled proudly as she slipped the money into the cash register and finished filling in the sales ledger. ‘Not too shabby; fifty quid,’ she said as she wrote, her accent making heavy work of the English slang.

  ‘Your first sale?’ Kelsey asked.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Well I might have another for you,’ she replied, smiling mysteriously. ‘Not a sale, as such, but a bulk rental.’

  Kelsey had set out her idea, reading aloud William Greville’s text message which had popped up on her phone only half an hour after she ended her call with Jonathan.

  Well, well, Kelsey Anderson! Jonathan told me your idea and I got straight on to Dad. The Osprey has fully booked corporate and office party packages every Friday and Saturday in December, ending on Saturday 19th. You can run your dress-up photo stall by the bar in the main ballroom, 8pm–1am. No charge, you can keep all your profits. From one friend to another, good luck. You can do it! Give Myrtle and Valeria a squeeze from me when you see them. By the way, you have GOT to talk some sense into Jonathan when you see him at Christmas. He’s making the company nervous with all his smiling and singing and mooning over some knockout Scottish girl he met this summer. Whoever she is, poor old boy’s whipped for her.

  Be good, love Will, x

  Valeria and Myrtle had enthusiastically talked Kelsey through their entire stock of costumes fitted with Velcro fastenings at the back, perfect for a quick-change photo booth at a boozy Christmas party. They’d selected various floppy hats, wigs, swords and helmets, all ideal for drunk work colleagues to pile on and pose for daft pictures of events they’d barely remember.

  Costings had been drawn up, mates’ rates agreed and hastily noted down onto Kelsey’s phone, and they’d shaken hands and hugged and toasted each other’s success with another glass of bubbly.

  That’s when Kelsey spotted the box stuffed with gaudy colours under the sale table. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s the seasonal stuff, I’m going to do a proper display by the door,’ Valeria told her while pulling out Mrs Claus costumes, snowmen suits and pumpkins in various sizes.

  Kelsey ran her hands over the smallest of the pumpkin outfits, little stiff felt globes with a hole for the head to pop through. ‘Are these for kids?’

  ‘Sure are, they were from a production of Cinderella years ago,’ drawled Myrtle.

  ‘The Tinkerbell ballet group took part in the curtain-raiser, did a little dance. Gawd, they were so cute.’

  ‘I know them,’ said Kelsey. ‘They took part in the tableau vivant with us, remember the little fairy kids, Mirren?’

  Mirren squirmed; she didn’t like to think of that night, least of all when she had Kelsey’s friends watching her blushing. ‘Yeah, adorable
,’ she muttered.

  ‘Can I have these too?’ Kelsey asked, her eyes bright, still gripping the littlest pumpkin.

  ‘For the Osprey Christmas parties?’ Valeria was confused.

  ‘No… for kids’ pumpkin patch portraits. If I can pick up a few pumpkins from the supermarket and decorate the studio a little, I could offer cute Halloween shoots from now until the end of the month! The parents around here will really go for those, I bet! There’s still time to advertise it, right?’

  ‘I can hand out flyers on the street if that’ll help?’ Mirren offered.

  ‘Well that’s settled then. I’ll add on the three kids’ pumpkin costumes,’ Myrtle grinned.

  ‘With green leaf hats,’ added Valeria, balancing the tiny felt headpiece with its curling tendrils on her head.

  ‘With hats,’ Myrtle echoed, and Kelsey clapped excitedly. With this sudden turnaround, thanks to her friends, the studio might well survive the winter. All she had to do was make it work.

  As they were preparing to leave, Valeria was still chattering about all the other possibilities for costumed-photo rentals.

  ‘Think of all the wedding receptions and high school proms and college balls! Hen dos and birthday parties too. We could make a brochure together, Kelsey, advertising our dress-up photo packages. We’ll drum up lots of trade, I’m sure of it.’

  With Valeria’s only half joking cry of ‘We’ll be rich!’ ringing in their ears, Kelsey and Mirren made their way into the spitting rain that had after only a few minutes’ walk turned into a downpour. They were making their way back to what would be their shared home, at least for a while.

  * * *

  ‘Remember this?’ Kelsey said, as they clambered up to flat 2B, dragging the bag of pumpkin costumes and Mirren’s case with them.

  ‘I don’t recall there being quite so many stairs,’ huffed Mirren.

  Once inside her little bed-sitting room at the top of the building, Kelsey pulled the key from the lock and let Mirren take in her surroundings, familiar after her summer visits. The significance of what Mirren had done slowly sank in for both of them.