by Isla Gordon
‘I am so sorry,’ the woman said to him, reaching forward her arm and pressing her sleeve into his chest before backing away.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Flynn, because even though he’d been out of Britain for four years, the impulse to apologise for everything hadn’t gone out of him. ‘I turned too fast and didn’t look where I was going.’
‘I wasn’t looking, I was too busy, well, trying not to spill my coffee.’
Flynn raised his eyebrows and she shrugged.
‘I should have seen you,’ she continued. ‘You’re very tall.’
Not tall enough, Flynn regarded, looking down at the front of his shirt, once pale blue, now marbled brown. He hadn’t worn a tie this morning, leaving his collar unbuttoned, as he’d seen no need to go overboard. Now he wondered if a tie would have taken the brunt of the liquid, leaving him with his final clean shirt intact.
‘I’ll pay for your dry cleaning,’ the woman continued, thrusting paper napkins into him, while the barista brought a mop out from behind the counter. ‘And for your coffee. Do you happen to have another, erm, outfit with you?’
‘No,’ Flynn answered. No, he didn’t.
‘Right … ’ She looked around, even eyeballing the barista’s own shirt for a moment. ‘Well, the shops will be closed for a few more hours so I can’t offer to take you shopping.’
Flynn held his hands up, trying to keep the grump from his voice. This wasn’t a big deal. It was only spilt milk-plus-some-other-ingredients. It’s the awful sleeps making you like this, not her, he told himself. ‘I wouldn’t take you up on it even if we could. Really, it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine,’ she argued. ‘I just ruined your look. Now you have to wear coffee stains to … church? Oh God, you aren’t off to a funeral are you? Did I just make your day even worse?’
‘No, no funeral, I’m just … ’ Flynn didn’t think it was quite worth getting into the whole sorry tale of how packing light had been a great idea until his few changes of clothing had one by one been ruined from a series of unfortunate events, and his plan to go clothes shopping had been overtaken by the need to find a home. Instead he said, ‘I’m new in town, and I need to go shopping later today anyway.’
‘You’re new in town? From where?’
‘From Japan.’
‘Whoa.’
‘Yep.’ Flynn paused for a moment, unsure what to say, and the woman took her purse from her pocket.
‘Welcome to Bath!’ she smiled, shrugging, and he found himself smiling along with her.
‘Thank you. It’s quite an introductory service you have going on there.’
‘Listen, first things first, I’m going to buy us both another coffee, because you lost half of yours during the collision too.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I want to. I have enough on my plate today without the crushing anxiety of having cocked up your day too. Let me make it up to you, starting with coffee. And then we’ll figure out what to do next.’
She turned to the barista and ordered two more coffees, ‘To go, please. Is that okay?’ she asked him.
‘Where are we going?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ve overstayed my welcome here for one day, and I think I need a cup with a lid.’
There was a pause in conversation while they waited for the new coffees to be made, and Flynn noticed the woman side-eyeing the damage to his shirt. He looked down at the large brown stain and tried not to sigh.
‘So where were you off to at this time of day in your Sunday best? Work?’ she asked him.
‘No, I start a new job tomorrow, actually.’
‘Is that why you moved here? For the job?’
‘Yep,’ he answered.
‘ … Were you planning to wear that tomorrow?’
He couldn’t help but smile at the way she contorted her face in anticipation of his answer. ‘Yep. I didn’t bring a lot of clothes with me and this is far from the first food and drink-related soaking I’ve taken since leaving Japan. I was kind of out of options this morning.’
‘More so now,’ she commented, and paid for the coffees.
The two of them stepped outside the coffee shop and back into the morning sunshine, the air fresh in a way that felt reviving to him. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘You’re welcome. I’m August, by the way, and I’m not always a walking disaster.’
‘August. Like the month.’ He felt like an idiot for saying that.
‘Just like the month,’ she smiled with the kindness of someone who has heard that comment a thousand times.
‘I’m Flynn.’
‘Hi, Flynn.’ He observed her for a second, holding his coffee close to him in case of any more sudden movements. She had caramel hair in loose curls to her chin, a rainbow of clothing, bright pink lips and green eyes that looked like they were studying him, or plotting something.
‘Is this your first time living in Bath? Did you visit much … from Japan?’ August asked.
‘This is my first time in Bath, full stop. I arrived on Friday night, or yesterday morning, strictly speaking, and don’t really know anything, or anywhere, or anyone.’
‘You moved here without ever having been here? That’s adventurous.’
Flynn raised his eyebrows. He’d never been called adventurous before. In fact, it became something of a needle between him and Yui. He could hear her voice now, her sigh, after she’d suggest something for them to do and he’d brush it off with a ‘maybe one day’. ‘You’re so unadventurous,’ she’d tell him, and walk away. It stung to remember those missed opportunities. It stung to think that’s how she thought of him.
‘Well, guess what?’ August asked, pulling him from his memories.
‘What?’
‘You now know somebody in Bath.’
Flynn smiled at that. ‘That’s true. I feel like a local already.’
‘So what do you think so far? Of Bath I mean. Of here.’
‘Oh. It seems nice. I’ve not had a chance to explore yet. I got a bit caught up with … things … yesterday.’ No need to tell this stranger about his house-hunting debacle, or his godawful hotel, which by the way, offered just as little cosy comfort last night as it had the night before. He might have dozed off for an hour or so in between the corridor parties happening outside his door, the pub life outside his window, the stifling night-sweats, the drip-drip-drip of the tap in his bathroom and the anxious worry of never getting out of this place.
‘I could be your tour guide!’ August stated all of a sudden, slapping him on the arm and causing him to hold his coffee far away from him just in case.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Now, I could show you around. I know Bath like the back of my hand, and if I can’t go and buy you another shirt at this time of day then let me give you a whistle-stop tour.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I want to, please, it’s the least I can do. Come on, it’ll be fun. Bath is lovely and quiet at this time on a Sunday morning, and the sun is shining, and no offence but at the moment you look so fed up you might just jump back on the next flight to Japan, so let me show you that Bath isn’t made up of people throwing coffee at each other.’
He hesitated. It did sound appealing, actually getting to see some of the city, and he didn’t really have much else going on for a while.
‘Come on,’ August cajoled. ‘I’m an actress, you know, so I can make all the stories really interesting.’
‘Don’t you have anything better to do with your day?’ he asked her.
‘Yes,’ August nodded, and looked at her watch. ‘But I have about two hours free. Do you?’
He was this close to saying, Maybe another day, when he thought of Yui again. Shaking her head at his lack of adventure. So instead he nodded at August. ‘That would be great. Where first?’
Chapter 7
August
This was great. August loved being a tour guide; it allowed her to b
oast about the city she adored and test out her amateur dramatics on unsuspecting visitors. And besides, by the sound of it, this guy needed a break. She didn’t know why he’d not brought shitloads of stuff with him from Japan (maybe he’d fled! Maybe he was a fugitive!) and she didn’t know why he looked like he hadn’t slept for twelve weeks. But she owed him some good karma, and this was the least she could do.
August was wondering where to take him first when he asked her, ‘Do you live in Bath?’
‘I do, I moved from London about six months ago,’ she replied. ‘But I have – had – family here so I grew up coming to the city a lot. What made you decide to move from Japan to Bath?’
‘Work. I work in international law, and the firm I was with in Tokyo has an office here. I saw an opening and went for it.’
‘You’ll like Bath,’ August nodded. ‘It’s a cool city. Just pick your team out of the Romans and Jane Austen and you’ll find lots of interesting things to do.’
As they walked, August noticed he was about a head taller than her, that his suit was well-fitting and he had a nice aftershave fragrance emitting from him. He was maybe a couple of years older than her if she had to guess.
‘So where first, Tour Guide August?’ Flynn asked. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘I don’t mind at all, in fact, it will help time go quicker, and stop me stressing about something I’m doing later.’ He looked at her inquisitively but she waved her hand to show she didn’t want to talk about it, instead changing the subject. ‘First things first, let’s take you to the most photographed hotspot in Bath. Be prepared to wish you were rich.’
August took Flynn on a highlights walking tour of Bath, showing him where the Royal Crescent and the Roman Baths were, pointing out the architecture of the abbey, and Pulteney Bridge, which had old Florence and Venice vibes with its lines of shops. She directed him to the main stores and the best spots for alfresco picnics, runs, or river walks. She gave him tips on pubs and cafes, threw in some history and lots of Jane Austen trivia which she bet he loved.
They grabbed Danish pastries from a bakery, whose doors had so recently cracked open that the smell of sweet dough wafted out into the street. With their treats, August and Flynn began a slow walk back towards the coffee shop where they met.
‘You know a lot about Jane Austen,’ Flynn commented. ‘Which came first, the love of Bath or the love of her?’
‘Bath, for sure. My grandma lived here and she got me to see all the beauty of the city. She would tell me all about the Regency period and I just became obsessed. From there I learned about this awesome author who wrote funny, complex women set in this time period I loved, and now, my biggest goal in life is to be a theatre actress starring in an Austen play.’ Maybe my second biggest goal, she thought.
‘You said you were an actress?’ Flynn said.
August took a beat before answering, trying to form the right words. ‘Yes, I’m a voice artist, mainly, but I don’t do as much of that as I did back in London, to be honest.’ She drifted off for a moment, a guilt settling onto her. She sometimes felt like an imposter when she referred to herself as an actress, now that she’d let that side of her life all but dry up. But it’s okay, living in her dream home was about to change all of that.
‘All right, we’re changing the subject now,’ said August, coming to a stop in front of a small cottage that sat at the foot of the hill, one street away from where Elizabeth Street began its ascent. The home was shaded on all sides by thick, emerald-hued trees and tall bushes. It was painted a pale yellow and had round windows and a thatched roof. The low oak tree in the front garden was still there, after all these years, though the old tyre swing had been replaced with a smart, rattan swing chair, which swayed in the slight morning breeze.
‘Whose house are we looking at?’ Flynn asked.
‘This was my grandmother’s house, when she was alive,’ she replied. A lump formed in her throat, which was silly really because she’d visited this place many times since her grandmother passed last year, in fact she walked past it every time she came up to the top of the hill to sit on the wall, and she said a silent hello to it whenever she did. Living close to this memory was something she wanted so badly.
Flynn stayed silent, giving her a moment.
‘We were pretty close,’ she explained after a while, and then forced a big smile back onto her face. ‘I used to come and stay with her a lot. It’s only a bungalow, really, though she’d turned the attic into a sort-of secret den that you could get to by a ladder, and I always wanted to sleep in there.’
‘Did she let you?’
‘Yeah, but we had to tell my mum I’d slept in the spare room because she would have freaked out about me falling down the ladder if I got up to pee in the middle of the night,’ August laughed at the memory of her funny, conspiratorial grandma.
‘And did you ever fall down the ladder in the night?’
‘Meh, once or twice.’ She turned to him. ‘Are your grandparents still around?’
‘Just the one grandmother. My mum’s mother lived in England and she died around five years ago. It was one of the reasons Mum felt it was a good time to move over to Japan. My dad’s mother lives over there too, and she’s very much still alive, living on one of the islands in the south. I’m not as close to her as I should be though.’
August gave him a sympathetic smile, and then turned back to the house, bidding a silent farewell to her grandma, for now. ‘I’m running out of time,’ she said. ‘Want to walk with me up to what I consider is the best viewpoint in Bath?’
They made their way slowly up the hill of Elizabeth Street, side by side, sunlight dancing on them.
‘I was here yesterday,’ Flynn remarked, but before she could question him, he harked back to her earlier comment and asked, ‘So I guess all this means you’re Team Austen rather than Team Romans?’
‘Oh yes, Austen all the way,’ said August, pleased that he remembered. ‘I remember the first time I ever walked up this hill. I was six years old, and I was staying with my grandma for the whole summer after my parents split up. On the first morning when I woke up I was confused and sad and missing my parents, and she took my hand, and took me right up to the very top of Elizabeth Street, and we ate Bath buns for breakfast on the wall I’m about to show you.’
‘Did you feel better after that?’ Flynn asked, probably wondering what a Bath bun was.
‘So much better. And every single morning for the rest of the summer we did the same thing. And every single morning my grandma would tell me these stories about women in big skirts and men in top hats who used to live here in Bath and have these great romances with one another. There were always a million sisters and everyone fancied the wrong person and there was a lot of sitting and sewing and waiting for invitations to great balls that would then happen down in the Assembly Rooms in the town.’
‘She sounds like a good storyteller,’ remarked Flynn.
‘She was, and she always did different voices for all the characters, and added details to make it really real.’ August smiled at the memory. That was one of her favourite things about voice acting – creating characters and voices and playing around, like her grandma used to do. ‘For example, in every story she always had somebody living in the house at the top of this hill, you’ll see it in a minute. So I would sit on the wall and instead of looking out at the view I’d look at the windows of the house, at the chandeliers I could see twinkling inside, at the steps up the front door, and the whole thing was like a tableau coming to life before me. Am I being really boring?’
‘Not at all, are you kidding? You’ve just entertained me for about two hours straight on a private walking tour. You aren’t boring at all.’
‘Well, thank you,’ August replied, and they carried on their trek upwards. ‘Of course, years later I found out that all the stories she was making up were actually stolen from the one and only Jane Austen. I was reading Sense and Sensibility one day for scho
ol and was like: This is really familiar! It turns out my grandma used to take the gist of the storylines, and the characters, transport them all to Bath, even those that weren’t set here, and pass them off as her own stories to me. I lapped them up like she was a genius.’ August laughed at the recollection. ‘Sometimes I credit her with my acting gene, or at least my acting bug.’
They reached the top of the hill and looked out across the city as it woke up only to remember it was Sunday and it could have a wonderful lie-in.
Her grandmother had inspired her into acting, actually. Not that she had been an actress herself, but something about the way she shone at storytelling, and the way she carried herself like a movie star from Hollywood’s golden age, all pearls and rubies and a streak of wickedness. Her grandmother’s penchant for taking risks and living wildly and to the fullest had rubbed off on August from a young age.
Now, when August looked back, she could see her gran’s effect on so much of who she’d shaped herself to be.
Her gran’s influence had been there in every money-making scheme she’d had as a child, from selling flowers that she’d pilfered from over her neighbour’s fence (her parents had quickly put a stop to that) to carol singing in July (she’d even been offered money to stop singing at some houses).
Her gran’s influence had been there every time she took a backpack and a Bel and went zipping around the world, finding detours and drama aplenty. She smiled, remembering the time she and Bel had jetted to the south of France on a whim to attend the Cannes Film Festival. They had blagged their way into a party on a superyacht by pretending to be London socialites from a reality TV show that they made up. August had felt out of place for about two minutes, until she realised they weren’t the only fakers there. She could still remember Bel’s faux-Chelsea accent slipping more after each sip of Prosecco.
Her gran’s influence had been there every time she’d embellished her CV with skills and credentials and then allowed a fake confidence to push her to finish the job she’d been hired for. ‘Sure, I can do the splits!’ she’d told her first on-screen job, a commercial for yogurt, before having to spend two weeks wrestling her hips into ungodly positions so that when it was time to film she was able to hold the pose and a faux-smile just long enough for the three-second panning-shot to whizz past her.
