Prologue
Fraser Bell remembered with absolute clarity the first time he noticed –reallynoticed – Maura McKenzie. School had finished for the day, although parts of the building still hummed with the chatter of students engaged in various after school clubs, and the chill of autumn hung in the air as Fraser hurried to the drama studio on the far side of the playground. He was late, held up by an uncomfortable conversation with his maths teacher about some uncompleted homework, and his friends had all gone on ahead.
Muttering under his breath, he was intent on reaching the studio; they were supposed to be reading throughRomeo and Julietand he knew the juiciest parts would have been given to those who’d arrived on time. But he was a favourite of Miss Laing – with a bit of luck, she’d have kept something for him, despite his being ten minutes late.
His gaze was caught by the glow of the art room windows as he passed, cheerfully yellow against the darkening sky. There were students inside, some seated at tables, others standing at the sinks as they washed brushes or filled water pots. A teacher was talking to a small group, waving at a Van Gogh print on an easel as she spoke.
Fraser slowed, in spite of his lateness. He’d never been able to resist peeking into the windows of houses as he walked along the street, wondering what stories were unfolding within, and the art block was not a part of school he had any reason to enter. Paintings and drawings adorned the walls, a metal sculpture of a horse reared up in one corner. It was like a mini gallery and he was impressed at the talent it showcased.
And then one of the students sitting a table directly opposite Fraser raised her head to stare out of the window.
He froze, paralysed by the guilt of being caught. But she wasn’t looking at him, he realised after a moment of panic, as his thudding heart began to beat more normally. She probably had no idea anyone was even there – the bright lights inside the room would ensure dusk turned into darkness, cloaking him in its shadows.
She was clear enough to him, however; her name was Maura and they were in the same year, although he couldn’t remember them ever having spoken. Her face was pale, framed by a riot of dark curls that most girls Fraser knew would have straightened into submission every morning. Their exuberance made him smile a little – she must keep all that hair tied back during the school day; he would definitely have noticed such glorious abundance otherwise.
The expression she wore was far away, as though she saw past her own reflection in the glass. Perhaps she was considering what to draw, although there was no paper in front of her and no pencil in her hand. Instead, Fraser saw a square board with a blob of something grey resting in the centre. Not an artist, he corrected himself with a curious frown. Was it clay? And then the teacher approached, her lips moving in silent enquiry. The girl’s daydream was broken – her eyes came into focus and she half-turned to answer. The teacher paused at her shoulder, spoke again, and this time she smiled. It wasn’t the kind of sunny smile that dazzled, Fraser thought, but it transformed her even so. It was moonlight peeping out from behind a midnight cloud, soft and ethereal, slowly gaining in luminosity to bathe the beholder in its gentle glow. He watched as she gathered her hair into a ponytail, snaring it with a band so that its wildness was subdued. With a word to the teacher, she reached for the clay and Fraser found himself fascinated by what she would do with it. But a sudden spatter of rain pulled him out of the classroom, an unwelcome reminder of where he was – or, more importantly, where he was not.
‘Crap,’ he muttered and ducked his head to hurry for the safety of the drama studio. With a bit of luck he might still be in time for the fight scene.
Chapter OneTwenty-One Years Later
On a clear day, the view across Edinburgh from Calton Hill was unbeatable. Rising steeply at the eastern end of Princes Street, it was not as tall as neighbouring Arthur’s Seat, but it was home to a charming hodge-podge of centuries-old structures.
Maura had fond memories of childhood picnics where she and her sister had chased each other through the Doric columns of the unfinished National Monument, and around the upside-down telescope tower that commemorated Lord Nelson, but her favourite had been the green domed observatory, which she imagined held all the stars during the day, to be released like twinkling fireflies after dark.
In the distance, the castle crouched on its craggy outcrop, part of a panorama that was especially spectacular around sunset. It was early evening now, and the gentle April sunshine had enticed plenty of people to take in the views.
‘I can’t believe I’ve lived in Edinburgh for over a year and never been up here,’ Zoe said, slightly out of breath as she gazed around. ‘Although that climb nearly finished me off. You’d think my legs would be used to it by now, wouldn’t you?’
She meant the city’s infamously up and down topography, criss-crossed by countless vertigo-inducing staircases that made navigating the city quicker, if not necessarily easier. Many a tourist could be spotted taking a breather halfway up Granny’s Green Steps while attempting a shortcut to the castle from Grassmarket, as the locals trotted by with all the stamina and sure-footedness of mountain goats. ‘You should try running up Jacob’s Ladder, over by Waverley Station,’ Maura said dryly. ‘Jamie sometimes does it for training and made me try it once. I thought I was actually going to die.’
Zoe looked faintly horrified. ‘You train with the rugby team?’
‘Not anymore,’ Maura hurriedly assured her. ‘This was back in the early days of our relationship. When I was trying to impress him.’
Her friend grimaced. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever fancied anyone enough for that. But it obviously did the trick with Jamie.’
‘I think he mostly felt sorry for me,’ Maura admitted, recalling the consternation in Jamie’s eyes as she’d puffed and wheezed. ‘We don’t exercise together now.’
‘Liam’s never suggested it,’ Zoe said, referring to her own boyfriend, who played at the same rugby club as Jamie. ‘He prefers a different type of workout where I’m concerned.’
She raised her eyebrows, leaving Maura in no doubt exactly what kind of exercise she meant. That was something else she and Jamie didn’t do as much anymore, although perhaps it was to be expected after five years together. ‘Things are going well, then?’
Zoe shrugged as they began to amble along the path that wound around the top of the hill. ‘Sure. There are times I wish Liam was a bit less devoted to the club, but I imagine all the other wives and girlfriends feel the same.’
After only a fractional hesitation, Maura nodded. She’d never begrudged Jamie the considerable time he spent training, playing and socialising with his Inverleith Warriors teammates, mostly because it allowed her the freedom to pursue her own interests, which had mostly involved hanging out in her studio, coaxing reluctant clay into something more beautiful. ‘It’s part of who they are,’ she said. ‘And there are upsides.’
‘Totally,’ Zoe responded, her eyes lighting up. ‘A ready-made social life, for a start. Very helpful when you’ve just changed jobs and moved more than halfway across the country.’
That was certainly true. Maura had never felt anything less than welcome at the rugby club, despite preferring to hang out on the fringes of the social scene. It must have been perfect for someone like Zoe, who was bubbly and keen on joining in. ‘They’re a decent bunch.’
‘I know,’ Zoe said. ‘I fell on my feet when I met Liam. But how about you and Jamie – any chance of a Warriors wedding soon?’
It wasn’t the first time Maura had been asked that question – her own family, or at least her sister, Kirsty, had been demanding to know when there might be wedding bells for at least the past two years – but she could honestly say it wasn’t something she’d given much thought to. Apart from anything else, getting married was notoriously expensive and there always seemed to be something else to save for. It helped that Jamie had never shown any inclination to propose, in spite of a steady stream of invitations to friends’ weddings… but Maura had no plans to rock the boat.
She shook her head. ‘Jamie has his eye on a fancy new apartment,’ she said, feeling like a politician dodging an awkward question. ‘We went to see a couple at the weekend.’
Zoe could not resist the bait. ‘Are you selling your place, then?’ she asked, her eyes widening. ‘You’ll make a fortune if you do, Dean Village is very sought-after.’
