Chapter Six
‘Darling.’ Fraser’s mother pulled him into a hug before he’d even crossed the doorstep. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Hello, Mum,’ Fraser said, absorbing the comfort she always gave. ‘I’m okay.’
Releasing him, she stood back to study him with a narrow-eyed gaze. ‘You look like you’ve lost weight. Are you eating?’
He suppressed a smile, because she said the same thing every time he came to visit. ‘It’s all the walking I’m doing,’ he said, as she stepped back to allow him into the house. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not pining away from a broken heart.’
‘I should hope not,’ she said briskly. ‘Come on inside and see your father. Don’t mention golf, whatever you do. He’s got a new club he’s desperate to bore you with.’
Pausing to ruffle the teddy bear ears of Elvis the cockapoo, Fraser followed her along the hall and into kitchen, where his father was filling the teapot. ‘Hullo, son. How was the journey?’
It was another time-honoured question. ‘Not too bad,’ Fraser replied, bending to give Elvis some more satisfactory attention. The dog rolled onto his back, legs waving comically. ‘The roadworks through Longniddry slowed me down a bit.’
His dad grunted. ‘They’re a real pain. Another two weeks of them, so they say, although I never see anyone doing any work there.’
Fraser nodded, because this was a well-worn grumble. Everything had been much faster in Micky Bell’s day, because people knew the meaning of hard work then. It was not a lecture Fraser was in the mood to hear again so he decided to head it off. ‘Mum says you’ve a new club to show me.’
‘I do – a real beauty,’ his father said, taking the bait. ‘You’ll have to come and play a round or two, see her in action.’
‘What sort of club is it?’ Fraser asked, avoiding the invitation because Micky had become ferociously competitive since taking up golf in retirement and Fraser had learned long ago it was not much fun to play with him.
‘A seven-iron,’ Micky said, his eyes gleaming. ‘She’s got me out of trouble a few times already, I can tell you.’
Roberta rolled her eyes as she filled a plate with shortbread. ‘Don’t encourage him, Fraser. Anyone would think he’s Rory McIlroy, the way he goes on.’
‘He asked,’ Micky objected. ‘What am I supposed to do, pretend I don’t have a new club?’
‘You’re supposed to ask how he is,’ Roberta said. ‘He’s just broken up with his girlfriend, remember?’
Fraser shook his head as he reluctantly straightened up. It was time to reassure both his parents that breaking up with Naomi had not been the emotional rollercoaster they were imagining. ‘Really, there’s no need. I’m fine.’
His mother sniffed. ‘Putting on a brave face. You were the same as a boy – never let anyone see when you were hurting.’
There was a grain of truth in that but it wasn’t a topic Fraser had any intention of discussing now. ‘I promise you I’m okay, Mum,’ he said. ‘Obviously, I’m sorry things turned out the way they did but neither of us was very happy. It’s probably all for the best.’
His dad clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit, lad. Plenty more fish in the sea.’
‘Micky!’ Roberta snapped. ‘It’s only been a week. I’m sure Fraser isn’t thinking about that now.’
‘I’m just saying,’ Micky said, raising his hands in a semblance of injured reasonableness. ‘He’s got a lot to offer the right woman.’
‘I know that,’ Roberta said. ‘But the boy’s had his heart trampled. He needs time to heal.’
Fraser shifted uncomfortably. He’d been low in the days after the breakup with Naomi but, once the sadness had passed, he had begun to see how inevitable it had been and a burgeoning sense of relief had replaced any melancholy he felt.
He hadn’t tried to contact her and she hadn’t been in touch, which led him to suspect she was feeling the same liberation he was. ‘I’m really not heartbroken.’
His mother looked at him askance but didn’t press the point. ‘I’m glad,’ she said, and busied herself with loading the tea and biscuits onto a tray. ‘What else is new? Are you keeping busy with work?’
‘Very,’ Fraser said, following her out to the table and chairs on the patio. ‘I’ve started advertising for another tour guide.’
‘That’s good news,’ she said, nodding her approval. ‘Isn’t it, Micky?’
‘Aye,’ his dad said. ‘Great stuff.’
Roberta settled into a chair and began to pour the tea. ‘And how are things going with the wee ghosties? Are they still selling well?’
Fraser thought of the new orders that had landed overnight. ‘You could say that. I took delivery of another twenty this week and I still need forty more. Maura can’t make them fast enough.’
‘Is this the girl you went to school with?’ Micky asked.
He nodded. ‘That’s right. Maura McKenzie.’
‘I still don’t remember the name,’ Roberta said, shaking her head. ‘But I looked her up, when you said you’d be working together. She makes some lovely things.’
Fraser pictured the bowl on the coffee table in his apartment, and the mug he used for his morning coffee, both of which brightened his day with their elegance. ‘She does. You’d love the ghosts too. I’ll have to bring you one, when I’ve got some to spare.’
Or perhaps he might suggest she visit ScotPot, since Maura was one of the exhibitors.
Was it too much, to introduce her to his parents?
He’d met her sister, after all, and he had meant it when he said he thought of her as a friend.
Even so, he was aware that their friendship was still very new.
He’d held back from mentioning his split with Naomi during the walk on Portobello beach but it wasn’t something he wanted to hide.
People broke up all the time, it was no big deal.
When he judged the moment was right, he’d drop it casually into conversation. Until then, he’d keep it to himself.
The City Chambers were every bit as splendid as Fraser imagined they would be.
Alistair Caldwell had been true to his word; he’d responded with prompt enthusiasm to the email Fraser had sent, giving the date and time of the networking session, and a rough outline of what to expect.
Happily, the event had fallen on a Tuesday evening, one of the nights Fraser took off from his ghost walks, and he’d seen no reason not to go along.
And now he was inside the magnificent European Room, with its fresco-painted walls, gilt panelled ceiling and arched windows.
The carpet beneath his feet was a plush royal blue and golden chandeliers glowed overhead.
The room was perhaps three-quarters full, which allowed space to mingle, and there was a pleasing buzz of chatter over the discreet background music.
So far, Fraser had sampled several excellent canapés, drunk a glass of Prosecco and swapped notes with two fellow tour guides.
And now Alistair Caldwell was making a beeline for him, with another man in tow.
‘Fraser, glad you could make it. Can I introduce you to Ewan McRae? He’s in charge of visitor engagement at the castle.’
Fraser shook the man’s outstretched hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
Ewan McRae nodded. ‘And you. Alistair was just telling me about your ghost tour. He says it’s the best in the city.’
Fraser smiled, flattered in spite of himself. ‘That’s very kind. I try my best.’
‘And you’re a professional actor, is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Fraser said. ‘I trained at the Central School of Speech and Drama, quite a long time ago now, but my heart has always been in Edinburgh.’
‘Very good,’ Ewan said and eyed him speculatively.
‘I’m organising an interactive storytelling night at the castle in July.
As I’m sure you’re aware, we have a reputation as being the most haunted place in Scotland.
I’d be interested in booking you to bring some of our ghost stories to life. Is that something you might consider?’
‘Absolutely,’ Fraser said, without hesitation. ‘It sounds like just my kind of thing.’
The other man nodded. ‘Excellent. Perhaps you’d like to come along for an informal chat in the next few weeks – I can give you a tour and explain what we’re looking for.’
‘I’d love to,’ Fraser said, hardly able to believe his luck. ‘Thanks.’
Ewan looked pleased. ‘I understand you also sell ceramic ghosts to go with your tour. Who makes those?’
‘An Edinburgh-based potter called Maura McKenzie,’ Fraser replied. He took a breath and launched his sales pitch. ‘Each one is handmade and unique, taken from the stories I tell and representing part of the city’s history. They’ve been very popular so far.’
‘I can imagine,’ Ewan said, his expression intrigued. ‘I’d be interested in seeing them too. Could you bring one along when you come in?’
‘Of course,’ Fraser said, crossing his fingers that Maura would deliver the next batch of ghosts before the meeting took place. ‘I’d be happy to.’
Ewan smiled. ‘Perfect. Alistair can give me your details and I’ll be in touch with some dates.’
Alistair stepped forward, rubbing his hands briskly. ‘That’s all sorted, then. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Fraser, there are a few other business owners Ewan needs to meet.’
With a further round of handshakes, they parted company, leaving Fraser to reflect on his unexpected good fortune.
An event at Edinburgh Castle would almost certainly boost the reputation of Dead Famous, as well as being a feather in Fraser’s own storytelling cap.
He glanced across the room, to where Ewan was now talking to one of the storytellers Fraser had met earlier.
It might all come to nothing, of course, but it was starting to look as though he might owe Alistair Caldwell a very large drink.