Page 45 of The Wedding Pact
Bel dragged her forward. ‘This is it. Next summer, after all these years of being engaged, we’ve decided to get married. And take a nice long honeymoon.’
‘Bel, that’s brilliant news!’ said August, so happy for her friend. ‘And I’m not just saying that because I’m an expert at weddings and marriages now. I am genuinely over the moon for you both.’
The promenade led them down Great Pulteney Street, August’s favourite road in Bath (aside from her own) due to the charming horse-and-carriage look it had about it. After that, they’d stroll across the bridge, through a small portion of the town, skirt around the abbey and end in the Parade Gardens beside the river. It was a nice walk on any day, but dressed up like a couple of Austeneers it was all the more special.
Around them, gentlemen tipped their hats, ladies linked arms, the odd dancer twirled past and the town crier bellowed to keep everyone in order. Spectators gathered, including some of Bath’s new fresh-faced university freshers watching in mild bewilderment. When they reached the gardens, August and Bel lay in happy contemplation upon the grass, letting the warm autumn air sink over them, and chatting about potential wedding ideas. The Jane Austen festival would have made August happy enough, but an excuse to spend some time with her favourite Bel-lisima too made the day perfection.
However, after passing time for a long while, Bel sat up. ‘Right,’ she said, getting off the grass, wiping herself down, and untying the ribbon from her underboob. ‘I’m going to love you and leave you, Aug, because this September sun is begging for me to lie in the garden in my knickknacks with a good book.’
‘Sounds like a good plan,’ August replied, and hauled herself up. Her own dress wasn’t so easily converted, so she’d have to totter all the way back up the hill under a sweat-inducing swathe of taffeta.
August took her time crossing the Parade Gardens, staying under the shade of the trees and smiling to other festival-goers like she thought she was Lizzie Bennet herself. She stopped in front of a wooden noticeboard, where flyers for festival happenings and other ‘of interest’ advertisements were displayed.
Something caught her eye. The word Audition.
Hey eyes flew over the poster, a simple informational sheet printed on white paper, detailing auditions being held the following month. An in-house production ofNorthanger Abbeyat the Old Theatre Royal. Full wage, two-month run, starting next spring.
August blinked at the words in front of her. This was it: this could be her big break. An Austen play, a proper production, in her town? This was her next goal, her grand masterplan! She longed to move forward from her fears and become a full-time actress, working both in studios and on the stage, and here was the perfect opportunity to go after her dream of bringing down the house. Surely her previous amateur dramatics work, and her voice acting, would put her in a good position?
Wouldn’t it? No, maybe it wouldn’t. She couldn’t go for this; it was too big a step up. No, of course she couldn’t.
But she overcame the obstacles to getting her dream home. Maybe it was time to move forward with her dream career.
Chapter 30
August
August ran all the way home. Not literally. She actually shuffled at a fast pace, as fast as her heavy, noisy skirt would allow her, the parasol she’d lent Bel banging against her legs all the way. Even though the whole end section was uphill, she never slowed.
She sped up the Elizabeth Street hill feeling like Rocky. She was pumped, full of adrenaline, and by the time she crashed through the door of her flat, pink and sweating, August, in her mind, had already landed the role, been spotted by a casting director, given the leading part in a BBC Austen adaptation, made her London stage debut and won that Tony award.
Flynn looked up from where he was chucking what seemed to be a whole bunch of bananas into a blender. He took in her panting, her face the colour of a strawberry, the way she gripped the stitch in her side and asked, ‘Did you run instead of walk the promenade?’
She gave him a thumbs up and scrabbled for her phone.
‘Banana smoothie?’ he asked.
August double-thumbs-ed-up him this time, and he poured in a load of milk and half a tub of yogurt, and started whirring the blender just as August rasped, ‘Audition!’
Flynn turned the blender off again. ‘What?’
She waved him away for a moment, still trying to catch her breath, and then said ‘There’s an audition,’ just as he turned the blender on again.
He switched it off. ‘Pardon?’
‘You go,’ she panted.
‘No, you go,’ Flynn said.
‘I’ll just show you. Carry on.’
And so Flynn powered up the blender again, and by the time the contents were a pale yellow, frothy liquid, August had her phone thrust in his face. ‘Look, an audition, for a Jane Austen play down at the theatre.’
He squinted at the phone, trying to read the print on the poster she’d taken a photo of. ‘The Old Theatre Royal.’
‘Right.’
‘Is that different from the Theatre Royal?’
