Chapter 26
CALLUM
I’m not as disappointed at today’s news as I should be. I mean, I might be fired. The only reason I took this job was the inconvenient need for rent money and food money and money in general, frankly.
I dropped my dream job after not giving it a real go, in order to accept this job that fell in my lap. A mate from uni who went on to teach history in a secondary school worked with Expedition Tours to offer some trips for his students, and he told me there was a job open.
It was supposed to be a small break from the professor rejections, but here I am, five years later, and the break has gone on longer than I expected.
So I’m not as sad as I should be to hear I might not have this job, aside from the general concern of how to pay rent while I look for other employment. And that I’m too far removed from my PhD program to be competitive if I apply for professor jobs now.
But hearing that Asha might not be in Edinburgh, might not be traveling around Europe for me to run into her, that feels worse than the potential job loss.
“This was a great idea.” Asha moans while taking a bite of cake, sitting in the Angelina Tea Room. After we spent a small fortune I don’t have on about three Ladurée macarons for each of us and a slice of cake to share.
I look around to see if anyone else thought the moan was borderline pornographic, but everyone else is continuing on with their meal, so it might be because I have sex and Asha on the mind.
“What are you going to do if you’re the one who gets fired?” she asks.
I choke on my own bite of the admittedly lovely cake at the question. “I thought the Best Trip Ever would involve more ignoring the bad things that could put a damper on said trip,” I say after drinking some water to help with my choking.
“Just because I choose to look on the bright side doesn’t mean I ignore the bad side.”
“And just what is the bright side here?”
“Well, I can apply to other tour guide positions. And maybe that company will be more open to listening to some ideas I have for tours. Bright side, found.” She makes a check in the air with her fork.
“What ideas?” The usually gregarious woman turns suddenly shy and quiet at my words, taking another bite to avoid answering. Then another. “What’d I say?”
“Nothing. I just think it’s a crowded field right now on the tour front.
And I know people still like the giant tours that cram in a lot of places for a reasonable price, without any planning or stress.
But I think they would be ready for niche ones, too.
Tours they can’t get anywhere else. Like tours based around Regency romance in England, Agatha Christie, history of the English country house, or history of soccer, shopping, pasta, or even a history of tourism tour. That one’s meta.”
“Those are good ideas.”
“Well. Rob doesn’t like them. He thinks they’re dangerous because each one will only appeal to a specific, small audience. But you could charge more for them.”
“Eh, Rob’s a wee eejit.”
She snort-laughs adorably. “That he is. So that would be a potential silver lining for me. Or maybe this will force me to find something completely different that I love as much as I love this, that I don’t even know about yet.
Hopefully it still involves history and travel and making people happy, though.
Anyway, this is all distracting from my original question. What would be next for you?”
I could tell her the easy answer: that I would find another tour leader job. It would be easy because I wouldn’t have to tell her anything else about me personally. But I don’t want to take the easy, and fake, way with Asha.
I can’t lie to the sunshine. It’s literally known for its ability to illuminate the dark.
“I never really thought I would do this forever. I didn’t have a time limit on it, or even knowledge about what I could do next, but it’s never been permanent in my mind.
Maybe I’ll start applying for professor jobs again.
Or even secondary school history teacher postings.
Before I didn’t want to teach there because I didn’t want to deal with children and I would have to get my postgraduate certificate in education, but after doing this job for five years, I’ve gotten more used to dealing with children.
And adults who act like children. And going back to school wouldn’t be so bad, either. ”
“You’d make a great professor. Very stoic and knowledgeable.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes.”
“But not as personable as you?”
“A professor doesn’t have to be personable; they need to give knowledge. And you have so much knowledge to give. In a clear, intelligent way. Although if you did need to be personable, I’m sure you could rise to the occasion.”
“Hmm.” I’m actually speechless that even a potential firing can’t dampen her sunshine for long.
She lifts her teacup. “Here’s to us finding the silver lining, no matter what happens.”
I lift the delicate porcelain and gently cheers with her. “To that.”
“Did everyone have a good time at Versailles?” Asha asks from the front of the bus, with all the energy of a wrestling announcer trying to get a crowd excited. She smiles genuinely at the bus of tired and hungry people, not bitter that they hold her future in their hands.
Or maybe she’s being nice strategically this time, so they’ll vote for her.
Maybe I should be strategically nice to these people. Or buy them some bottles of cheap wine; they won’t notice the difference and it’ll make them happier, even. But then I have to deal with drunk travelers. And then hungover ones, too.
No. I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing, maybe adding a wee bit of patience. Asha hasn’t changed that much, and if I try to change, it’ll only come off as insincere. And maybe unsettling.
“Don’t worry, we have an hour-long ride back into Paris, but we’re going straight to the restaurant, so we’ll all be refreshed in no time.” Asha sits down, next to me again, and before we’ve even left the city of Versailles I can hear snores from the passengers.
“The puir wee lambs are so tired,” she whispers at me.
“Didn’t we discuss you doing an Irish accent?”
“But I’m so good at it, though.”
I look at her. Even I can’t be mean enough to tell her the truth right now. And I have rarely, or ever, watched my tongue around others.
She yawns.
“Are you still sick? I knew the long day would be too much when you’re recovering. We can drop you off at the hotel if you want to rest. I can handle the group for dinner.” Not happily, but it is my job. “I’ll bring back some food for you.”
“No, I’m fine. You know how tiring these trips are even when we’re at a 100 percent. It’s just a yawn.” She yawns again.
“Two now.”
“Stop counting my yawns. It’s creepy.”
“Stop yawning then!”
She yawns in defiance. “I can’t control it. And the more you talk about it, the more I yawn! So stop talking about it and I’ll stop.”
I yawn then; I can’t help it.
“Well, that’s not going to help me any.” Then she yawns again.
“How bad would it be if we left them to their own devices? An early night sounds grand.”
“Bad. Especially since we’re supposed to be on our best behavior this tour. Apparently.”
“We’ll drop them off at the restaurant and give the restaurant the meal vouchers. And the bus will come back to pick them up. They’ll be fine.”
“But this is the best part of the job, interacting with the group in a social setting. Chatting and giving them advice and anecdotes. And hearing from them.”
“You described my nightmare. Telling history and seeing historic sites are the best parts of this job. Everything else are things to be endured.”
“You’re no closer to loving our babies.” She sniffs, and I can’t tell if she’s doing a bit or still congested.
My face scrunches up in disgust. “You can say they’re your babies as much as you want, but it won’t make it any less weird.”
“Buzzkill,” Asha says, but she leans her head against my shoulder, so she must not be that bothered.
“Is my shoulder a train station then, where the public can loiter?” I ask more to keep up appearances then any discomfort of her being there. I kind of like her being there, actually.
“I’m not the public, I’m a coworker.”
My eyebrows reach up into my hairline. “Does that make it any better?”
“Fair, it doesn’t. Let me rephrase. I’m not the public, I’m a friend.”
She doesn’t look up when she defines our relationship. I don’t know that it’s an accurate representation of what’s happening here, but I don’t want to refuse, either. I don’t want to hurt her wee feelings, if she thinks we’re close.
I grunt instead, and she takes it as agreement, because she keeps her head where it is, getting even more comfortable, if that’s possible. I keep very still, trying to minimize the bumps in the road and surprisingly sudden turns that this big coach is making.
As we get back into the city, I gently wake her up so the group doesn’t see her in this state. Not that they’re in a place to notice; all of them are just as tired and the drive back is uncharacteristically, but blessedly, silent.
Laura drives us straight to the restaurant, and Asha rebounds with impressive fervor. That mini-nap had the same effect as about five cups of espresso would on a normal person. She runs around the restaurant, getting everyone settled and helping with seating, food, and drink.
The restaurant might not be the most authentic place in the world, but it sure does try to hit all the high notes of what tourists expect in a Parisian café.
There are a lot of tiny black metal tables on the sidewalk under a red awning with flickering candles on them.
Our group takes over, getting the full French café experience.
Waiters bring out croque monsieurs and croque madames with copious amounts of wine, minimal amounts of small talk, and some condescension. This is why I respect French waitstaff.
I sit in the corner, sandwiched between the glass of the café and the rambunctious group that is coming back to life with some food and drink in them. By dessert, they’re back to their normal selves, their day out in the world’s largest royal palace and its effects a distant memory.
Asha floats around making sure everyone has everything they need and chatting with them. Her grilled ham and cheese sandwich gets cold in front of me as I eat my own, irritated that she isn’t sitting down and eating. And more irritated that I care.
But she is healing from being sick and needs to take better care of herself. And if she won’t do it, then I’ll be forced to.
When the crepes are being brought out, I snag Asha and gently pull her down to the table. The exhaustion must be getting to her, because instead of landing in the empty chair next to me, she lands in my lap and against my chest with a thud that knocks the breath out of me.
Or maybe I pulled her more toward me because this is where I want her to be. No, that can’t be it, because we’re professionals.
“Sorry,” we say at the same time, but don’t move away from each other.