My first attempt at an Anna and Bates fiction, well a fiction in general really. Never been brave enough to share what I write before but here goes.
I do like the idea of putting these two in a modern setting. I hope this reads well and that you enjoy it. It may become multi chapter. This popped into my head on a lunch hour and I ran with it.
Downton doesn't belong to me. If only.
He takes up his usual position, opening his guitar case, removing the guitar and leaning it against the wall behind. He places the open case in front of him. The winter days are getting harsher now, the wind flows through the walkway he stands in, the link between Waterloo Station and the South Bank. He sends a silent thank you to his mother for the fingerless gloves she sent him in the post before pulling the hood of his jacket higher around his neck then adjusts his flat cap. Picking up his pride and joy, the guitar he has owned and the only one he shall ever care to play, he puts the strap over his head and gets ready to begin,
He didn't need to busk. His job five nights a week as a nightclub bouncer paid more than enough. It was just something he started to escape the pain of his marriage crumbling, singing and performing was a release.
Five years down the line, a divorced man, he still found the same comfort and joy in it as he had always done. Some days he'd make only a fiver, others enough to pay for his food shopping that week. It all really depended on the commuters, tourists and shoppers who passed by. Some would request songs, others might stop for a dance, especially if they had been making use of the pubs London had to offer. He got to recognise a lot of them, some he was even friendly enough with to offer a hello or a knowing smile.
But there was one certain person he always looked forward to seeing.
She was about five foot four, with beautiful blue eyes and a smile that made his knees weaken and his heart skip a beat. Her hair seemed to cascade down her shoulders in golden waves, if she wasn't wearing it up to accentuate her perfect neckline. She would more often than not be wearing a business suit. The beautiful woman always offered him a smile as she walked by and without fail would leave him two pounds in his guitar case, then would stop and listen for a couple of minutes. They had never spoken, yet looking into her eyes as he sang he felt like he had known her all his life.
Regular as clockwork, she would walk past him around a quarter past nine every morning, and he would always make sure he was playing a song she might realise he was playing just for her. Isn't She Lovely, Wonderful Tonight, something that she might just possibly think was about her.
Their link was usually broken when he finished the song and, with a small round of applause and a smile, she continued on her way.
One day he would find the courage to ask for her name. But the truth was she seemed much younger than him and was so beautiful, she was probably already spoken for.
One day, though.
Looking at his watch, he notices the time and realises she will soon pass his way. Tuning in his guitar, he decides to start with something light. The opening notes of Yellow by Coldplay fill the air, and with a deep breath the lyrics begin to escape his lips...
Another day, another dollar she says to herself as she gets off the train at Waterloo. Her job as a secretary for a fashion house paid well, but the mundane tasks which she seemed to repeat day after day had recently been making herself question if it was all worth it.
Passing through the barriers, she follows her usual routine of buying a coffee from one of the little outlets on the station. Once that's done, she fights her way through the crowds to the walkway bridge that leads onto London's South Bank.
She hopes he's there but secretly knows he will be, he has been every day since she started her job over a year ago now, moving down from Yorkshire to work for an old friend.
The closer she gets to the walkway, she can hear the melodic twang of his guitar. His gravelly tone sets her heart beating a faster rhythm. She prays he is wearing his flat cap, she was always partial to that particular piece of clothing on a man. Soon, as she moves further from the bustle of the station and more into the walkway, she can make out what he is singing.
'I bet she never had a down town man, that's what I am..'
She giggles slightly at his acoustic re working of the Billy Joel classic, especially as when he comes into view, he is attempting some kind of dance routine with his legs to entertain a group of kids on a school trip who have probably never seen a busker before.
Then he turns his head to the left, and their eyes meet. It is all she can do to remain upright as he continues to sing the song.
'She'll say I'm not so tough, just because I'm in love...'
It's as if everyone else has melted away, it is just the two of them. The way he lifts an eyebrow at her and smirks as he sings makes her feel all manner of emotions, some of them not entirely proper. He's older than her, but she doesn't mind that. Mid forties perhaps. Most of the men her age were ridiculously single minded. The ones she had encountered, anyway.
He was tall, she liked that. When he smiled the edge of his eyes crinkled which only endeared him to her more. No man had ever made her feel the way he did when he looked at her, it scared her to realise that was such a strong statement to make when they had never even shared a conversation. They seemed to share a connection, at least for these short moments they shared of a morning.
When she thought of him, she referred to him as 'my busker,' as he always made her feel as if he was singing only for her. Whether he meant to or not, she couldn't fathom.
After offering him a round of applause, she searches in her purse, finding the two pound coin she had been saving for him and dropping it in his case. He nods in acknowledgment before she turns on her heel and begins to walk away, never quite finding the courage to say hello.
One day, though.
Please be kind...