Chapter Three #2
That hadn’t been stressful, unless she included the mortifying moment Archie had thrown up on her, but she’d be lying if she said meeting him again hadn’t unsettled her a bit.
She had enjoyed talking to him, once the initial stomach twist of recognition had died away; she’d found him funny and self-deprecating in a way that made her wonder whether he’d been that way at school, although he clearly had no memory of the kiss they’d shared.
But why should he remember? she asked herself sternly.
Almost two decades had passed since then – she’d barely thought of it herself until Zoe dropped his name into conversation.
Maura had managed to resist her friend’s insistence that they Google Fraser Bell at the party but the temptation had been too strong to resist once she was at home in the early hours.
He hadn’t lied about the duck advert, nor about Death in Dorset; both were listed on his IMDb page, along with a number of more substantial roles.
There was nothing to suggest he’d come close to the heady heights of Hollywood, but he appeared to have built the kind of steady, successful career that most actors could only dream of.
So why had he decided to take a break? Was it really simple disillusionment with the roles he’d been offered, as he’d hinted?
Distracted, Maura let the tension in her hands lessen and the bowl on the wheel wobbled in protest. Digging her elbows into the soft tissue just above her knees, she concentrated on correcting the problem, smoothing the clay upwards and outwards with her hands until she had a decent sized plant pot.
Judging the piece to be ready, she removed it from the wheel and arched her back, stretching her tensed muscles.
Hours of standing around at the party had done her no favours, she realised, wincing.
She wasn’t in her twenties anymore, when she could sit at the wheel for hours. It was time to do something else.
It took her another thirty minutes to solve the Tetris puzzle that was loading the kiln for the next firing.
By the time she locked the studio and went back upstairs for a shower, it was nearly midday.
She wasn’t expecting Jamie to have surfaced and was therefore surprised to see him watching her from the sofa as she rounded the top of the stairs and entered the living room. ‘You’ve been working,’ he said flatly.
‘I needed to unload the kiln, put it on for another firing,’ she said, frowning at the irritation in his tone. ‘You were sleeping, I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘Most people take New Year’s Day off,’ he said. ‘Have breakfast with their loved ones, go for a walk. They don’t go to work.’
Maura stared at him. ‘Some people do. Doctors and bus drivers and people in hospitality. They all work on the holidays.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘You’re self-employed, Maura. You don’t have to work. It would have been nice to wake up to find you next to me this morning.’
She felt a stab of disbelief. He’d been out for the count, sleeping off the excesses of the night before and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.
It wasn’t unreasonable of her to assume he’d stay that way for a few hours more.
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m here now,’ she said, trying to sound calm. ‘Do you want to go for brunch?’
He huffed out a breath. ‘It’s too late now. I’ve made plans to meet a few of the boys – go for a run to chase the cobwebs away.’
Maura counted slowly to five. ‘Then there’s no problem.’
‘No, there’s no problem,’ Jamie said. ‘Except it would have been nice if you’d at least thought about us doing something together, instead of sneaking off to the studio as soon as the sun came up.’
Briefly, Maura closed her eyes. ‘I didn’t,’ she explained, as patiently as she could. ‘You were asleep. I didn’t expect you to have woken up yet but I can see I was wrong, and for that I apologise. Do you want to do something after your run?’
‘The football is on later. We’ll be going to the pub.’ He paused. ‘You can join us if you want.’
So much for spending some quality time together, Maura thought but did not say. Ordinarily, she might have agreed to meeting them at the pub but, after a heavy night, the last thing she wanted to do was watch Jamie and his friends drink. ‘I might go to the beach, since you’re not using the car.’
He slumped back against the sofa. ‘Fine.’
When it became clear he had nothing more to say, Maura turned and headed for the bathroom, allowing the hot water to soothe her.
Perhaps she should have waited for Jamie to wake up before going to the studio, she thought as she studied her wavy reflection in the steamed-up mirror.
It wouldn’t have killed her to unload the kiln in the afternoon, and then they could have spent the morning together.
Although in her defence, she’d had no idea whether he’d be in any fit state to do more than groan and beg for coffee.
Even so, she was willing to concede she might have been wrong.
But Jamie was gone by the time she went back to the living room, prepared to kiss and make up.
With a sigh, Maura trudged back to the bedroom to dry her hair. Maybe she would join him at the pub after all.
The morning frost had burned off by the time Maura pulled into a parking space alongside Portobello Beach.
She took a deep breath of bracing sea air, her eyes watering in the chill wind that whipped across the golden sand.
Pulling her bobble hat down further around her ears, she zipped up her coat and collected her tote bag from the boot of the car.
There wasn’t usually much in the way of sea-glass washed up on the beach here, but she could live in hope, and she much preferred to use glass she had found in her work, rather than buy a bag from a seller on the internet.
It mattered to her that she tried to recycle locally sourced sea-glass – somehow, it increased the sense of connection she felt with each piece.
There were plenty of others enjoying the beach.
The tide was out, leaving a wide expanse of dark wet sand before a distant shimmer of silvery blue.
Maura watched a beautiful red vizsla chase a ball across the flat expanse, returning to a woman with two children muffled up against the cold.
There were other families too, taking advantage of the day off to get some fresh air, and plenty of couples. Maura tried not to look at them.
Earlier in the day, the sands would have been graced by Loony Dookers – foolhardy souls who banded together to brave the freezing waters of the Forth for a restorative New Year’s Day dip.
It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to Maura but she saluted anyone who could bear it.
Another Hogmanay tradition she’d prefer to avoid.
Sometimes she wondered if she was even Scottish at all, although she suspected most Scots considered the Loony Dook a step towards insanity.
Maura skimmed the shoreline for the best part of an hour, picking up the odd jewel of sea-glass but mostly just enjoying the wide-open space and sound of children playing.
Seagulls whirled overhead, ever vigilant for dropped chips or an unwary tourist, and their cries were snatched away by the wind.
Eventually, Maura realised she could not feel her fingers and she was forced to concede it might be time to go home.
She pulled her phone from her pocket, flexing her fingers to get the blood flowing again, and checked for messages from Jamie.
There were none. She did have one from Kirsty, reminding her of the family lunch they had planned for the next day.
Tapping out a reply, she was about to put the phone away when it flashed up a notification from Artsy, the website she used to list some of her pottery, indicating she had made a sale.
She swiped on it, opening the email, and was pleased to see it was a large piece that had sold, one that had turned out better than she’d hoped and had consequently demanded a large price tag.
She scanned the words, checking to see the buyer had understood they would need to collect and stopped dead when she saw the purchaser’s name.
Puffing out a disbelieving breath that plumed in the freezing mid-afternoon air, Maura skimmed the message he’d added.
Hi Maura,
As you’ve probably guessed, I couldn’t resist looking you up after running into you last night and WOW – you are amazing! If this bowl is even half as beautiful as it looks on the website then I’m going to be a very happy man.
Let me know what the arrangements are for collection. I’m free most days up until around five in the evening – hopefully we can find a date that works so I can claim my prize and I can tell you how talented you are in person.
All the best,
Fraser
She read it three times before it sank in.
It had been clear he remembered her from school when they met the night before but she’d assumed the ensuing party at the Balmoral would have chased the encounter from his head.
That did not appear to be the case. Instead, he’d looked her up and bought one of her pots, for a considerable amount of money.
Which meant she was going to have to see him again – soon – and she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.
If the mere act of seeing him again had transported her nineteen years into the past, what could she expect when he was standing in her studio?
Walking slowly, Maura made her way back to the car and sat behind the wheel for several long minutes, blowing on her fingers and waiting for the feeling to return.
That she had to see Fraser again was not in question – he needed to collect the piece and she wouldn’t entrust anyone else to wrap it. She would simply have to tell herself he was just another customer. Which, to all intents and purposes, he was.
Puffing out her cheeks, she began to type a reply.
Dear Fraser
No, that was a bit too personal, wasn’t it? He wasn’t her dear, any more than she was his. How had he started his message?
Hi Fraser,
Thanks so much for buying the bowl. I had no idea you’d look me up, much less buy one of my pieces. Thank you for your kind words.
I’m not around tomorrow but could do the following day or, failing that, one afternoon next week. Let me know what suits you and we can settle on a date.
Best wishes,
Maura
She read it over, agonising about every word, and then decided she was being ridiculous and hit send. Putting her phone away, she started the car and slotted it into gear.
Her response had been courteous and professional, the way she would be with any customer, and there was no need to second-guess herself just because it was Fraser she was emailing.
All the same, she decided she wouldn’t mention Fraser’s visit to Zoe.
She wouldn’t put it past her friend to engineer an excuse to turn up, just for the chance to ogle him again, and then his high opinion of Maura’s professionalism would be gone.
No, she wouldn’t mention their meeting to anyone, unless it came up in conversation – and the likelihood of that happening was remote.
Once the bowl had been collected, she would have no reason to think of Fraser Bell ever again.