Page 83 of The Wedding Pact
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Mrs Haverley insisted. ‘Are you well? You look burdened, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Oh, it’s just … I’ve been trying to muster up some motivation for the next steps in … my career, nothing interesting.’
‘Would you like to come up and talk it through?’ Mrs Haverley offered, and August almost fell off the wall. She’d never been invited up to Mrs H’s before. Let alone been invited for chit-chat. But …
‘Okay … ’
At the top of the stairs, after a slow ascent, Mrs Haverley opened her door. ‘Come on in, I was experimenting earlier and trying to make eggnog but I made an awful mess and gave up.’
August had assumed Mrs Haverley’s flat would be pristine but formal, like a room in a manor house inside a Jane Austen novel. What she actually found was a layout similar to her own apartment, but with smaller windows ever so slightly tilting towards the sky. White walls and pale grey furnishings, vases with fresh lilies, well-thought-out accent pieces like a small sculpture here and an appliance there, a huge TV and a wall full of Andy Warhol art prints.
It seemed that Mrs Haverley’s old-fashioned ways didn’t extend to her living quarters, where she was, apparently, a thoroughly modern Millie!
‘Can I give you a hand with the eggnog?’ August asked, knowing nothing about the drink.
‘No,’ said Mrs Haverley. ‘Let’s just have a glass of Advocaat instead.’
August took a sip of the custard-like alcoholic drink while Mrs Haverley directed her to a round table under one of the windows, where they could see for miles. Mmm, Advocaat was tasty.
‘How’s the world of theatre, these days?’ Mrs Haverley asked. ‘Did anything become of that audition you were preparing for when I performed the inspection on your apartment?’
August shook her head. ‘No, I messed it up. Better luck next time, I guess.’
‘What is next for you?’
‘I don’t know, really. Ultimately, I still want to do acting, and there are a lot of things I could do to help me get there, but my ego took a bit of a bruising. So to be honest I’ve been stalling.’
‘So you aren’t pursuing your career at all at the moment?’
‘I wouldn’t sayat all, I just also wouldn’t say … much.’ Rather like when she lived in London, really. And rather like when she’d first lived in Bath. Dear God, she hadn’t come up here for a scolding.
But it was as if Mrs Haverley observed the barriers and backed off, ending that topic of conversation with, ‘When I’m faced with a lot of things I could do, I find it sometimes easier to focus on one small change at a time.’
That was true. August’s mind drifted while her gaze lolled through Mrs Haverley’s room, pausing on cute photos of Abe throughout the years. She thought about what would be the easiest, most immediate step she could take, and it was obvious really. She could certainly put herself out there more than she had been, and follow up with contacts she’d made over the years. She could start to reach out and make links with like-minded people, put herself out there rather than hiding away.
Perhaps when she got back to her flat she’d do something she’d been meaning to do since arriving in Bath, really. She’d update her social profiles, make her Instagram public, find some fresh new people to follow and connect with, maybe even update her headshots with the help of Bel’s photography skills (and she’d pay her, nothing like investing money to force August’s hand into taking action).
She would install those proper soundproofing tiles she’d bought off Amazon after the whole listening-to-Poppy-snog debacle.
She’d build a repertoire of characters and make a demo reel.
Easy steps. But at least they weresteps, and they made something sparkle inside her.
‘Did you mention once that your grandmother lived in Bath?’ Mrs Haverley asked. She closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the drink while August was thinking.
‘I did,’ said August. ‘She lived not far from here, actually. At the bottom of the hill and round a bit, there’s a cottage, painted yellow, loads of trees around it.’
‘I know the one.’
‘She lived there for years – certainly my whole life and for a long time before that I think.’
August observed Mrs Haverley staring at her, her eyes sharp and curious. It was a similar look to the one she’d given to August all those months ago at the open day, like she’d started to take notice. ‘Your grandmother lived in that cottage?’
‘Yes,’ replied August. ‘She used to bring me up this hill so many times. I even came in this house once, when I was really small, because she wanted to drop something in to a friend of hers. It must have been before you moved in.’
‘What was her friend like?’ Mrs Haverley asked with a smile.
‘To be completely honest, Mrs H, I don’t remember anything about her. I was too spellbound by the house itself. That I remember every detail about.’
