Page 17 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane: Part 1
Whatever suits you. Less hassle for me to come to you? When works?
Her suggestion of the following morning pleased him and, since February had decided it was time to roll out a perfect blue sky, he decided to take the tram to the West End and take a stroll through Dean Village.
As before, there were plenty of tourists out and about, as well as dog walkers and joggers. The sunshine seemed to have brought everyone out of hibernation, although there was still a chill in the air that made Fraser glad of his coat. Having arrived early, he took a deliberately circuitous route through the winding streets, crossing Bell’s Brae Bridge to wander past the red sandstone turrets and spires of Well Court. The village had been a thriving milling community for centuries, with no fewer than eleven working mills at one point, and Well Court had originally been built to house workers and their families. These days it was a UNESCO World Heritage site but its purpose hadn’t changed, although Fraser suspected it cost an awful lot more to live there now.
Fraser stood for a moment on the Water of Leith Walkway, gazing along the river as it babbled beneath the houses on either side of its banks. In some ways, it was like stepping back in time; there was evidence of the area’s industrial past everywhere he looked. Tall warehouses that once stored grain and flour had been converted into apartments, but it was the smaller houses that had been home to the millers that gave the place its village feel, even though it was merely a stone’s throw from the bustling city. There were stories here, he thought as he gazed around, perhaps even ghost stories that he could use if he ever wanted to add to the Dead Famous repertoire. From its nearby location, he guessed Thistledown Lane must overlook the river, but he had no way of knowing which window belonged to Maura’s apartment.
He loved the mingling of old and new at the Port of Leith but he had to admit he felt a tiny stab of regret that he didn’t live here. Maybe, if he did decide against going back to London, he could look into buying a property nearby.
A quick glance at his watch told him it was time to meet Maura. Following the winding path, he made his way along the picturesque Hawthornbank Lane and into Thistledown Lane. Maura opened the door almost immediately, as though she’d been waiting just behind it for him to arrive. As before, her hair was tied back in a ponytail. There was no streak of clay in it this time. She was wearing a clean apron today, although he saw the potter’s wheel was out. ‘Oh, have I interrupted you?’
She shook her head. ‘I have a student coming over for a throwing lesson at midday. I’m trying to be organized.’
‘Lucky them,’ he said. ‘Having someone so well qualified to teach them.’
Her cheeks grew pink. ‘It’s more practice than anything else,’ she said modestly. ‘Once you’ve explained the basics of throwing, the rest is just dedication and hard work to improve.’
Fraser tipped his head. ‘Like most things, then.’
‘Like most things,’ she agreed wryly. ‘So, would you like to meet the ghosts?’
He couldn’t resist looking around, as though they might come floating towards him. ‘Very much.’
She waved him towards the shelves. ‘I experimented with a few different shapes and sizes,’ she explained as she moved various pots out of the way. ‘Some worked well, others not so well. I’m afraid I couldn’t get anywhere near the perfection of the ghost you gave me – he’s here too, by the way; don’t forget to take him home – so I went for a less elegant look.’ She hesitated and he realized she sounded more than a little nervous. ‘Anyway, here they are. See what you think.’
She presented him with a shelf containing six or seven ghosts. Some were plain white, a couple were an aged cream colour, and others were bright, with speckles of glaze that shone under the lights. One had an elegant swirling pattern painted in black down the back of his robe. A few appeared to be holding their sheet aloft with unseen hands. They all stared at him with oval eyes that somehow contrived to look anxious and perhaps even mournful, as though they knew they were awaiting his judgement. Fraser studied them in silence, taking in the care and attention to detail that had gone into each of them. Maura had not lied when she’d said they were not like the York ghost but, in Fraser’s eyes, they were vastly superior. He’d wanted something that represented the ghosts at the heart of the grim stories he told, while also being unique to Edinburgh and highly collectible, but he hadn’t dreamed Maura would also manage to imbue them with a sense of melancholy.
‘I love them,’ he said, reaching out to pick up the black painted ghost and inspect the intricate pattern. Turning it over, he saw the initialsMMmarked on the base. Replacing it, he took another ghost. This one was a pale green, with wispy strands of a darker green twisting through it. ‘Seaweed,’ he said, recognising the delicate fronds. ‘This is the sea witch, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘I based the design on Agnes Sampson, who was tortured and executed during the North Berwick witch trials. They said she raised a tempest to sink the fleet of James VI while at sea.’
Fraser shook his head, impressed that she’d taken the time to do some research of her own. ‘I cover those trials on my other tour. Not the city’s finest moment.’
Maura shuddered. ‘I know. The stories you tell are scary and gruesome but afterwards, it struck me how terribly sad they were too.’
He knew what she meant. When he’d begun negotiations with the previous owner of the tour business, the man had outlined what worked well with audiences and what didn’t. ‘Focus on the supernatural – that’s what they want,’ he’d advised, with grim practicality. ‘If you dwell too much on the awfulness of human nature then you won’t survive a month, financially or emotionally.’
And once Fraser had read the background behind each story for himself, he understood. His acting experience helped – he was playing a role, just like any other job he’d undertaken. Once the patter of the stories had become familiar, he’d been able to square the horror of the real-life events with the importance of reminding people they had happened. And the advice he’d been given was sound. The job of a tour guide might be to educate and encourage remembrance, but the goal of a ghost tour guide was to bypass the natural scepticism and logic of the audience to invoke their oldest fear – that something malevolent lurked in the dark. Fraser took pride in giving his customers exactly that experience, but he also hoped that at least some went away a little more thoughtful than they had been before.
‘The stories are sad,’ he said to Maura. ‘And you’ve somehow managed to capture that in your design.’
‘They’re just prototypes,’ she said, although he thought she looked gratified. ‘Obviously, you’d want to give me instructions on each theme and I’d need plenty of time to make them – the process isn’t quick.’
‘I don’t want you to change a thing.’ He touched the sea witch again, marvelling at how exquisite she was. ‘But I think this shape, rather than the one with hands. How many can you make for the first batch? Is twenty too many?’
She blinked, and let out a surprised laugh. ‘Woah there, slow down a bit. We need to think this through. You haven’t told me how you see this partnership working – is it a fifty-fifty split in terms of money?’
His eyes slid to the ghosts once more as he ran some rapid calculations. The figures he’d come up with had been mostly based on the prices he’d taken from the York ghost website but he could see now he had been way off. Their ghosts were desirable and appealing to collectors, but even the limited editions were mass-produced compared to Maura’s work. Her ghosts were all one-offs, and that made them more valuable. They also came with her mark, claiming them as hers. The last thing Fraser wanted to do was price the ordinary punter out of the market but he was looking at something special and he would be a fool not to price it accordingly. ‘Given the amount of work you’ve put in, I don’t think 50-50 is a fair split,’ he said, his eyes coming to rest on her. ‘I propose 60-40 in your favour, payable on delivery of the first batch. Does that sound fair?’
She nodded. ‘More than fair. Do you know how you’re going to price them yet?’
‘I need to do some more research,’ he said. ‘Obviously, I’ve got a rough idea but I don’t want to undersell them.’
‘Okay, that makes sense. When do you want the batch of twenty by?’
Fraser shrugged, even as his thoughts whirred. ‘You tell me when you can deliver them. You’re the one doing the hard work – all I have to do is add them to the website.’
‘Hardly,’ she observed. ‘You’ll be the one out in all weathers, telling the stories behind them and generating the sales.’
