Prologue
The pub was standing room only. Maura stood with one arm uncomfortably pinned to her side, the other bent at the elbow so she could take the occasional sip of her drink, nodding along to what her friend Ruth was half-shouting over the remake of ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’ that was belting from wall-mounted speakers.
‘I can’t believe how many people from school are here. It’s like a six-month reunion.’
Maura couldn’t argue. The Strawberry in Edinburgh’s New Town had always been the preferred pub for the St Ignatius School students who were old enough to drink, as well as plenty who were not, so perhaps it wasn’t a surprise that so many had been lured back for the first Christmas after leaving. For some, it was a return home from their first term at university or college, and for others, it was simply an opportunity to catch up with friends. Maura had decidedly mixed feelings about being this close to so many of her old classmates, some of whom she’d be quite happy never to see again. But it was almost Christmas – what else had she expected? ‘It’s mobbed,’ she bellowed in Ruth’s direction, waving away a plume of cigarette smoke from the man next to her. ‘Even Queen Sarah is here.’
Her friend craned her head to follow the direction of Maura’s gaze, then scowled. ‘Of course she is. Holding court, as usual.’
Sarah Grant had been the most popular girl in their year – the one who seemed to sail through puberty without a single spot, the one who’d got top marks without apparently ever revising, the one most likely to marry a footballer and live in an ostentatious mansion with a Chihuahua called Gucci. Maura hadn’t held any of that against her; it would have been like blaming the sun for shining, and it helped that she’d occupied a completely different sphere of school life. Maura had been quiet, unshowy and had generally hidden away in the art block. She doubted Queen Sarah even knew they’d been in the same year.
Another puff of grey smoke curled around them and Maura suddenly became aware of how thick the air was. So many bodies created warmth, which enhanced the hops and apple aroma from the alcohol being consumed. The combination of music, the bombardment of other conversations with their abrupt bursts of laughter, and the smothering second-hand smoke made Maura’s head swim. ‘I’m going outside for a minute,’ she told Ruth. ‘Are you coming?’
Ruth downed the last of her pint and shook her head. ‘I’ll get us another drink. Might take me ten minutes to reach the bar.’
Outside, the night was cool and considerably less overwhelming. The moon skimmed in and out of clouds overhead, playing hide and seek with the stars, but the temperature was mild for December. The cobbled street was empty. A glance at her watch told her it was just before ten-thirty, meaning the night was still young. Most of the city’s drinkers would still be inside one of its many pubs, making the most of the festive vibe before hitting a club around midnight. Maura had no intention of joining them. Leaning against the wall of the pub, she took in several lungfuls of blessedly clean air as the bass vibrated through the bricks against her shoulder blades, wishing her ears would stop buzzing. She just needed a minute to ease the ache in her temples, she told herself as she closed her eyes. Then she’d go back in to find Ruth.
Her peace was shattered by the door of the pub slamming back to hit the wall just inches from her head. Maura jumped and squeaked, her eyes snapping open to take in a lone figure stumbling out into the glow of the streetlamp. ‘Oof,’ it said as the door closed, muting the burst of music and conversation and leaving Maura to survey the newcomer, who had straightened up to stare unsteadily around. ‘Urgh.’
‘Are you okay?’ she asked warily.
With erratic, almost cartoonish wobbliness the figure turned to blink at her. Maura recognized the face. It was Fraser Bell, another of the popular gang from school. He looked more than a little the worse for wear; his usually pristine hair was ruffled and his black leather jacket hung from one shoulder, as though pulling it on properly had been a step too far. He gazed at Maura in bleary curiosity and took a couple of steps towards her. ‘M’fine. How are you?’
His lack of coordination produced an alarming lurch that Maura feared would end in a collision with the cobblestones. Automatically, she reached out to steady him. ‘Here,’ she said, drawing him to the wall. ‘Lean against this.’
He did as she suggested, heaving in the night air much as she had done a few moments earlier. His eyes closed. Maura waited, hoping against hope that he was not going to be sick. But the seconds ticked by with nothing more than the steady rise and fall of his chest, and Maura began to relax. After almost a minute, she gave in to curiosity and risked a glance at his face. She’d watched him often enough from a distance, making his way to and from the drama studio at school, and had stolen looks in some of the other classes they’d shared; she knew the set of his shoulders, the grace with which he moved and the flash of his smile that could light up the dourest day. If Sarah Grant was a queen, then Fraser Bell was a king. He had the same irresistible ability to draw the eye, something she supposed might be called ‘presence’, that made him stand out, even at eighteen. And now that Maura was close, she could appreciate the perfection of his bone structure – the high cheekbones, the straight nose, the firm chin. His eyelashes were a darker blond than his hair, longer than they had any right to be, matching the fine feathering of his eyebrows. His lips were full, if a little slack with drink at that precise moment. Maura felt her hands twitch, the familiar pottery student’s desire to capture what she saw in clay. And then Fraser opened his eyes and stared straight into hers. ‘Hello.’
His gaze was unexpectedly clear for someone so unsteady on his feet. Maura pulled hurriedly back, caught out. ‘Hello. I thought you might have passed out.’
Fraser puffed out another long breath that misted in the chilly air. ‘No. I’m definitely still conscious.’ The words were only slightly slurred as his gaze roved across her face. ‘Although you might be a dream.’
Maura eyed him in slight confusion. ‘No, I’m real enough. Do you want me to get your friends? Micky or someone?’
‘No, m’okay. Just need some fresh air.’ His eyes remained fixed on her and a moment passed before his forehead crinkled. ‘Wait – I know you. You’re Laura. No, Morag.’ His frown deepened. ‘No.Maura.’
She stared at him. ‘That’s right.’
He nodded, the gesture comical in its enthusiasm. ‘I’m Fraser. From school.’
The idea that she wouldn’t know who he was almost made her smile. ‘I know.’
‘You were always so mysterious,’ he said, studying her with an intent, if slightly unsteady gaze. ‘Mysterious Maura.’
She didn’t know what to say to that, because she hadn’t been mysterious in the least, she’d just occupied a different part of the school ecosystem. As highlighted by the fact that it had taken him three attempts to get her name right. But she didn’t blame him for that, not when he’d clearly had a skinful. ‘I’m not at all myster—’
‘Yes, you are,’ he interrupted, raising an unsteady finger. His voice dropped for dramatic emphasis. ‘An angel is like you and you are like an angel.’
Maura felt her jaw drop. ‘Sorry?’
He tapped the side of his nose, or at least tried to. ‘That’s Shakespeare.Henry V.’
‘Oh,’ Maura managed, hoping her face wasn’t as pink as it felt. He’d always been into drama – perhaps he was studying it at university. ‘Look, I should probably go back inside. Will you be okay on your own?’
‘I’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.’ He took a breath, made a conspicuous effort to straighten up and slid gently sideways across the brickwork to lean against her.
She pushed him upright again, regarding him doubtfully. ‘I don’t think you will be. Why don’t I go and get someone?’
‘You really are an angel,’ he murmured, and turned his head, his blue eyes fixing on her with such focus that he suddenly didn’t seem drunk at all. ‘Can I kiss you?’
