Chapter Thirteen
‘If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed’
(Julius Caesar)
As Kelsey walked into town the next Saturday morning the sky was blue and cloudless and the leaves blew around her boots as she strolled, travel mug of hot tea in hand, enjoying the smell of burning coal and logs from the chimneys in the old town.
It was a day for boots, jeans and a jumper. Kelsey was grateful that her mum had kindly packed up and sent down some of her winter clothes. The approach of autumn had made Kelsey suddenly realise she hadn’t packed any warm clothes when she had moved down to Stratford back in June, not expecting to stay beyond the summer. Luckily Mari had sent her favourite tan leather jacket and scarf and she was glad of them today. She was warm and cosy and looking forward to seeing her friends, if she could locate their new business premises.
There it was, just as Myrtle had said; a narrow wooden door Kelsey had never noticed before secreted away in the shadow of the Willow Studio Theatre with its imposing glass façade.
The little door was propped open with a sign above it in the shape of a rainbow which read ‘Theatrical Costume Hire and Fancy Dress’. Curled leaves blew in sweeping circles at the entrance and some rustled inside and onto the bare floorboards beyond the threshold.
Kelsey smiled to hear Myrtle’s loud Texan twang from within instructing Valeria to man the doors, but before she passed inside she cast an eye along the street towards the main theatre, grand and glamorous in the low sunlight.
There by its steps was the spot where she had stood only a few weeks ago surrounded by her very last tour group of the summer. They had applauded at the end of her – by then well practised – spiel and she had bowed, sad and proud all at once. Today on that very spot stood a woman with her phone pressed to her ear. She was kicking and scuffing her black biker boots against the pavement, drawing Kelsey’s eye all the more. There was something so familiar about her. She could have sworn it was… it couldn’t be? ‘Mirren?’
The woman’s head snapped round. ‘Oh my God,Kelsey! I was just trying to phone you.’
They made a beeline for each other, Mirren already holding her arms out for the hug that was coming. As she walked, Kelsey felt at her pockets before realising her phone was switched off. ‘What are you doing in Stratford?’ she asked as Mirren crushed her and planted a kiss on her cheek.
Kelsey squeezed back, eyeing the black suitcase her friend had trundled behind her. Something was definitely up. Mirren wasn’t even wearing lipstick, and her usually beautifully thick, sleek black hair hung in limp curtains with flyaway ends.No product? Whatever’s wrong, it must be serious.‘What’s going on? Are you all right?’
Mirren let go. ‘I’ll tell you, but I’ve only got the energy for the short version.’
‘Oh no, what?’
‘I quit the newspaper…’
Kelsey mouthed a silent ‘Oh’.
‘… and I needed a break from Mum’s place, and I thought to myself, what better time to visit you in Stratford, so I hopped on a train at Waverley Station at some ungodly hour and –ta-dah! –here I am.’
‘Aww, Mirr, come here.’ Kelsey pulled her back into a hug. ‘I’m so happy to see you, just shocked that’s all. But your job? I—’
‘Let’s not get into it right now. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s done now, and I’m here to stay for a wee while, if that’s OK with you?’
Kelsey was thinking of all the years Mirren had given to that place, all the success she’d had and all the hassle she’d faced with Jamesey. She’d be willing to bet he’d had something to do with this impromptu resignation and sudden Warwickshire escape, but the look on Mirren’s face, so weary and so unlike her, told Kelsey that now wasn’t the time to press for details.
‘Well, I hope you’re planning on staying at mine, we can top and tail.’
Mirren looked relieved and ready for a change of topic. ‘Thanks Kelse, I knew you wouldn’t mind. So what are you doing out and about? I called at the studio but it was locked up, and I was going to make my way to your flat but… here you are.’
‘I was just about to go in there,’ Kelsey indicated the door and started walking Mirren towards it. ‘Remember Valeria and Myrtle?’
‘Your guide friends? I never met them, but they sounded nice when you talked about them…’
Suddenly, a musically accented voice rang out from the little doorway. ‘Kelsey! You made it. Come in, come in.’ It didn’t take long for Valeria to bustle the two women inside the long, narrow, windowless store room with the slight whiff of damp and thrift store about it.
While Kelsey made the introductions, Myrtle joined the little party and Valeria, petite and pretty with her long hair swishing, dished out Spanish kisses on both cheeks. Long ago, Valeria had swapped her little tourist trap hometown in the foothills of the Pyrenees where France meets Spain for Stratford-upon-Avon. What was supposed to be a gap year’s tour guiding had turned into a permanent stay when she was swept off her feet by Myrtle and the prospect of a shared life in her little cottage.
‘You’re the first ones here,’ Myrtle smiled, handing them both a glass of something sparkling. ‘And there’s cupcakes too, check them out.’
Valeria lifted the lid on the bakery box, showing off the thickly frosted cakes with their edible toppers in the shape of comedy and tragedy masks. Mirren and Kelsey didn’t need to be asked twice and they unpeeled wrappers and took messy bites while surveying the low room stuffed with theatrical treasures.
‘Wow, I love this place, you two,’ admired Kelsey through a mouthful, taking in the wonderful cache of Elizabethan-style dresses, bodkins, jerkins, codpieces, bum rolls and hose hanging along the walls. Two shelves of antique-style shoes in various colours of velvet and shot silk drew her eye like jewels, and from the ceiling hung swords, fans, string purses, and bodices thick with embroidery and pearls. Kelsey couldn’t help but gape, hand covering her mouth.
‘Wow,’ Mirren echoed, already rummaging through piles of garments set out like a jumble sale on a long bench. ‘This is very me,’ she said, holding an armour breast plate attached to a chain mail shirt against her body, grinning.
