Page 15 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 1
The apartment was dark and empty, as it often was when Maura finished work. Jamie rarely made it home before six-thirty, and was much later on the evenings he had rugby training or after-work drinks. On those nights, Maura usually made whatever she wanted to eat and curled up on the sofa to watch the television. But tonight, he’d messaged to say he was picking up a curry from their favourite takeaway and she was glad she wouldn’t have to cook. Her work was not especially physical, unless she was manhandling a delivery of clay from the wholesaler or emptying out the clay trap from beneath the sink in the studio, but it did take concentration and she was often tired when Jamie arrived home. It was an occasional source of friction between them but, this evening, he seemed to have read her mind.
‘I’ve got a dopiaza, a jalfrezi, sag aloo, onion bhajis and more poppadoms than we can possibly eat,’ he called as he climbed the stairs, bringing with him the delicious smell of hot, mingling spices. ‘Did you remember to warm the plates?’
‘I did,’ Maura said, taking the bag from him and heading for the kitchen to start unpacking. ‘Did you get mango chutney?’
He nodded, stripping off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. ‘Of course. But we’ve been going to the same takeaway for the last five years. If they don’t know our standard order by now then they never will.’
Maura smiled. ‘Great. I’ll serve up.’
She expected him to leave her to it, as he usually did. Instead, he stood in the doorway, watching her open containers and spoon the contents onto the plates she’d taken from the oven. ‘This kitchen is too small,’ he said, after a few moments spent observing her move things around to accommodate the lack of space.
‘Small but perfectly formed,’ she said, reaching into a drawer for knives and forks. ‘It has everything we need.’
Jamie wrinkled his nose. ‘Apart from enough worktops, a bigger fridge-freezer and a dishwasher that takes more than four dinner plates.’
Maura frowned as she opened the brown paper bags that held the poppadoms. It was true that the kitchen was smaller than either of them would like but that was because the flat also held two double bedrooms and a decent-sized living room. She’d inherited it from her aunt, who had died childless ten years earlier and left it to Kirsty and Maura. It was a kindness Maura appreciated every day – she would never have been able to buy a property in Dean Village on the money she made from her business. One day, she hoped to buy her sister’s share and own the apartment outright but she would need to sell a lot more pots for that to happen. Or perhaps she would give in to Jamie’s increasingly more frequent suggestion that she and Kirsty sell the flat, which would provide Maura with enough equity to put into buying somewhere with him. The difficulty there was finding a property with a garden big enough to add a studio; those were few and far between in Edinburgh and she liked living in the heart of the city. ‘Luckily, there are only two of us,’ she reminded Jamie. ‘We don’t need more than four plates.’
He didn’t laugh. ‘I’m being serious. There are new developments springing up all over the city. We could move into one of those.’
It wasn’t the first time Jamie had mentioned them – he’d left brochures on the coffee table too. But now she was reminded of Fraser, and his assertion that he didn’t have much space in the shiny new flat he shared with Naomi. ‘We’ve been over this,’ she replied, holding out a laden tray to Jamie. ‘None of them have space for a studio.’
‘You can rent somewhere nearby to work in.’ His tone was as reasonable as ever. The suggestion wasn’t a terrible one, but they’d had this conversation before and she’d had to remind him that her work needed a very specific environment to operate safely and efficiently. Kilns needed ventilation, she needed space to store the pots she made, and she needed enough workbenches to give her students room to work. And that was before she considered the convenience of having her studio right downstairs. Why would she go searching for somewhere new when she had everything she needed here? But she also knew from experience that Jamie failed to appreciate how much more difficult her life would be if they moved to the wrong place, and she wasn’t about to ruin her favourite takeaway with another argument. ‘I’ll look at the brochures,’ she said, hoping that would be enough to placate him.
Jamie beamed at her. ‘Thanks. I brought some new ones home with me. John at work went to a viewing and said they’re really nice. We could arrange to have a look, if you like.’
She’d met John a number of times; he’d once suggested she give up pottery and get a proper job, so she wasn’t convinced their tastes would align on much, let alone on living space. But she was probably being unfair. A brand-new home had its appeal, even if the apartments she’d seen going up around the city seemed a little soulless. It was not an observation she was about to share with Jamie, however. ‘Maybe,’ she said, and picked up her own tray. ‘Come on, let’s enjoy this before it gets cold.’
Chapter Six
It took the best part of a week for Naomi to stop scowling when she caught sight of the bowl on the coffee table. Fraser explained who had made it, which she greeted with an indifferent sniff, and he’d even shown her Maura’s sculpture on display in the Royal Botanic Garden. ‘Yes, but what is the bowl for?’ Naomi had asked when he’d finished. ‘It’s just going to sit there and gather dust.’
‘It won’t, because we’ll dust it,’ Fraser had replied. ‘And it doesn’t have to have a purpose. It’s a thing of beauty – isn’t that enough?’
She’d opened her mouth to object and then closed it again, being self-aware enough to recognize that to most people, her own job involved looking beautiful and not much else. ‘Isn’t there somewhere else it can go?’ she went on, changing tack. ‘It might get broken there.’
‘Not if we’re careful,’ he said reasonably. ‘Besides, I want it somewhere I can see it.’
She’d given in eventually, not with good grace but with a mutinous muttering that Fraser had decided it was best to ignore. He hadn’t told her about the ghosts Maura was making for him; anything that hinted he was putting down roots, making their move to Edinburgh more long-term, would elicit an even more stormy response. It was something he was going to have to face head-on at some point, and decisions would have to be made about their future together, but he didn’t think either of them were ready for the difficult conversations that would inevitably follow. For now, he was content to fine-tune the Dead Famous tours, test out new content when he could and build the business into the most sought-after tour in Edinburgh.
It was all he could do not to contact Maura to ask how she was getting on with the designs, however. He hadn’t heard from her since the morning after the tour, when he’d emailed to thank her for coming and she’d agreed to come up with a couple of prototype ghosts. He knew the process took time but he couldn’t help feeling a tickle of impatience as the days slid by. Creativity couldn’t be rushed, he reminded himself. When Maura had something to show him, she would let him know.
In the meantime, he’d kept himself busy during the last few days of January by catching up with the friends he’d lost touch with during his long absence. Two of his oldest friends had been in the same year at St Ignatius – one, Michael, had stayed in Edinburgh, building a property portfolio, but Graeme had travelled. Like Fraser, he’d recently returned to his old stomping ground but his circumstances were different, having just finished with a messy divorce. The three of them had seen each other sporadically over the years but had slipped back into friendship as though no time at all had passed, and tried to meet once a month for a pint and a chat.
‘You’ll never guess who I ran into on New Year’s Eve,’ Fraser said as they settled down with their pints in the World’s End pub.
‘Taylor Swift,’ Graeme suggested, taking a sip of his beer.
‘George Clooney,’ Michael put in, equally deadpan. ‘I hear he loves Hogmanay in Edinburgh.’
‘Ha ha,’ Fraser said, without rancour. ‘You should both be at the Fringe, you’re so funny.’
He waited, sipping his own pint and knowing they would not be able to resist the bait for long.
‘So?’ Michael demanded after a short, impatient silence. ‘Are you going to wait until next Hogmanay to tell us?’
Fraser hid a smile. ‘Someone you might know, although I’m not sure you’ll remember her. Maura McKenzie. She was in our year at school.’
Michael’s face wrinkled in thought. ‘Nope. I’ve got nothing.’
