Dateline: 1953 in an Unforgiving City
Carol stepped into one of those newfangled photo booths. She had never been in one before, but she had good reason to mark this special occasion, which was to bid goodbye to the past and herald a new future full of promise. She found it odd to have her picture taken after so long because it was something she had always avoided.
She also wanted a photo of her new chestnut-colored cropped hairstyle. Audrey Hepburn’s character had recently inspired her in Roman Holiday, and changing her hair made her feel like she was a completely different person.
The temperature outside was below freezing, and even though the photobooth was inside, she still clutched her fur coat close to her neck.
After ten years of demanding work, she was finally going to retire. She planned to move to St. Albans in England because the photos she had seen made her fall in love with the ancient city. She once had a brief visit during a work assignment, but as usual, she was in a rush and couldn’t give the town all the attention she felt it deserved.
Soon, she would have ample time to follow her obsessions. History and archeology had always been her enduring loves, and soon, she could explore whatever she wished leisurely. From her home in St. Albans, she would travel first to London, then to Scotland, and then anywhere else she chose. Every ruined castle and abbey, every stone circle and small museum would get a visit, starting with St. Alban’s Cathedral and Abbey. Verulamium, the nearby Roman ruin, would get a thorough study.
After exploring every nook and cranny of the town, she would sit in smokey old pubs, listen to the jumble of accents around her, and taste foods she had never tried. Scotch Eggs, bangers, and mash, whitebait, toad in the hole. Her first pub would be Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, arguably one of the oldest pubs in England. She would claim a cozy seat near the fire, order a pint, and absorb the character and atmosphere of this quintessential pub. She would contemplate how, hundreds of years ago, monks picked their way through an ancient tunnel from the Abbey to the pub to partake of the same things she was enjoying at that very moment.
But she wouldn’t call this famous pub “Ye Olde Fighting Cocks” because a colleague had told her that the locals called it “The Cocks”. Therefore, she would do the same. In every regard, fitting in would be imperative to her successful retirement. She had been rehearsing a believable accent for years, even working with a dialect coach. She had chosen BBC English and added a touch of a Yorkshire accent because it delighted her.
When she arrived in St. Albans, she would no longer be Carol, which wasn’t even the name she was born with. Margaret was the name she chose for her new life. Her grandmother had been named Margaret, and she believed that her grandmother would be pleased.
After indulging in her daydreams for a few more minutes, Carol tucked her new photos into her purse.
One more assignment awaited her. After that, she would be finished with her ten years of employment for good, and she would walk away with one last enormous paycheck.
Dealing with people she didn’t know made her edgy, but she had been assured that the hit would be easy. She double-checked her 9mm before heading out into the cold.
Because she was still dreaming about her imminent future exploring history, it took her a second to recognize another 9mm jamming into her back.
“Damn it!” she thought. She had let down her guard, and now, because of her uncharacteristic carelessness, her retirement plans would have to wait.
Her mind leaped into action, formulating an escape plan. She would have to bide her time, but she knew she would prevail. Nothing would deny her the dream of her new life in St. Albans.
The End.