Chapter 24
‘C ome on, hurry up.’ Sophie rushes into my bedroom, finding me bent over the desk scrawling a note. ‘Fraser is waiting downstairs.’
As if on cue, a little beep sounds just outside the window. Looking out, I find Fraser Bell in his usual spot, though this time, his kilt and bagpipes are not in sight. Instead, he is leaning against the side of a classic red Mini Cooper, his arms folded across his chest, grinning up at me.
Scribbling down the last of my note, I grasp my bags from the bottom of the bed, and Sophie and I rush along the empty hallways with the same enthusiasm as children leaving school on the last day before summer.
We cram our bags into Fraser’s boot, and the piper has to give it a last shove with his heel before the lock clicks into place and we can set off on the journey. Despite it being his car, Fraser’s head touches the cushioned roof and his hair splays out above him in a nest of amber. I can’t help but let out a silent giggle as we hit a rather rough patch of the driveway and he bumps against the roof with a repressed ‘oof’.
Sophie slides forward from the back seat so her face is firmly wedged between the two of us. ‘What were you writing, Al?’
‘Oh nothing, just a little note for Mrs B,’ I reply casually, and the both of them take their eyes from the road ahead to stare at me, open-mouthed.
‘You mean just a little “see ya later” note, right?’ Sophie sees my sheepish expression and sighs. ‘Right?’
‘Sort of …’ I suddenly feel as though I have been sent before my parents with a terrible school report, with the expressions that currently face me.
‘Sort of?’ Fraser parrots back.
‘Well, just letting her know where I was going and stuff. Just so she wasn’t worried,’ I admit guiltily.
Fraser brakes suddenly. ‘I thought you had asked permission. That it had all been formally approved?’ He breathes heavily and looks at Sophie with an expression of horror.
‘Yeah … About that …’ Looking in the rear-view mirror I catch a glimpse of a figure in the distance, a thin frame rushing from the castle. ‘We should probably get going.’
Sophie and Fraser follow my gaze as they too notice the housekeeper in the distance. ‘We’re all dead after this,’ Sophie whispers.
‘I’ll take the blame, I promise,’ I plead with them both. ‘I just knew I’d never be allowed to do anything like this. Everything has to be approved, risk-assessed, made utterly boring. I just want to live. I just want to be a regular girl in her twenties for one weekend, whose mistakes don’t make the front page.’
Fraser looks at me for a moment, then at Mrs Buchanan, then back to me before pressing down the accelerator and ejecting his tiny car from the driveway and into the winding country tracks of the Highlands.
‘Just grab one of those tapes out of there, Alice.’ Fraser points to the glove compartment and a stack of tapes leap out at me as I click open the drawer.
‘You know, you’re really living up to all of those Hollywood stereotypes of Scotland right now. Woollen skirts and tape decks? What’s next – we’re going to hunt a stag for our dinner? Or sing the Proclaimers on repeat for the whole journey?’ I joke as I slide through his collection that ranges from ABBA to Judas Priest.
‘This was my dad’s car,’ Fraser says with a smile. ‘He didn’t believe in getting rid of something that still performs just fine, so we’ve had this trusty thing for near on thirty years. It has yet to let me down.’ Fraser pats the dashboard and one of the nobs on the stereo pings off and hits Sophie square in the forehead. He apologises with a blush.
Settling on the tape labelled ‘ erasure ’, based mostly on the stained-glass cover art of the album, I slide it out of its case and hand it to Fraser. ‘I may be old enough to know what a tape is, but I’m not old enough to remember how a tape deck works.’ I laugh as Fraser slots it into the deck and after a whir, a song crackles through the speakers.
A synthesiser cuts through the silence of the country and Fraser grins, shaking his head as he hears the song begin. As though he can’t help himself, he sings along to ‘A Little Respect’, quietly at first, until both he and Sophie are belting the words of the first chorus. I accompany them with my laughter. Cranking open the window, I lay my head out of it, my hair taken in the breeze as I feel the cool country air hit my face. I am alive. All of my senses are filled to the brim with joy and I wonder why no fairy tale has ever included a scene of driving through the wilderness as the person that makes your heart race and your mind calm belts out Eighties synth pop.
By the time we have listened to the end of two tapes, and have snaked our way through the Cairngorms, we finally hum through the streets of Inverness. Sophie has been asleep across the back seats for the last three-quarters of an hour as Fraser has sung every song emanating from the speakers word perfectly, as though these are the same tapes that he has listened to over and over and they still haven’t gotten old. His voice is soft, not pretty, but melodious. As he murmurs along to the acoustic ballad in the background, I could almost fall asleep.
Never in my life have I done anything like this. Yes, I’ve snuck out to parties in grand houses, but I’ve always been taught that adventures such as this are too dangerous to fathom; that cars with non-tinted windows and friends without titles are a recipe for a publicity nightmare. Yet, I have never felt safer. Fraser’s rusty old car; his silly, slightly out of tune singing; Sophie’s soft snores – all of it seems to wrap around me like an embrace, and for once I can switch off my brain and place my trust in these people, in their lives, because in their presence I am unafraid of the world.
‘Now, is there anything I should know before we get there?’ I ask, worrying that my finishing-school education hasn’t quite prepared me for a Scottish house party.
Fraser hums in thought for a moment. ‘They like to think they’re funny so they will more than likely take the piss out of you. Don’t take it personally, it’s actually a sign of affection.’
‘Noted: the more names I get called, the better I am liked.’ I chuckle.
‘Exactly. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you alone with them if you don’t wish me to, so I’ll always be here for backup.’ Taking his eyes off the road for just enough time to smile at me, he suddenly becomes serious again. ‘Oh, and if anyone offers you a Dragon Soop, don’t accept it. Those things could be used to sanitise a nuclear power plant.’
‘What about Buckfast?’ I ask, using my very limited Scots pop culture knowledge to make him laugh again.
‘What about it?’
‘Will there be any at this party for me to try?’
‘Alice, love, that’s like asking will there be dogs at Crufts, or will there be a microwave in a Wetherspoons kitchen.’ He chuckles, and I furrow my eyebrows. ‘Aye, probably not the best simile to use on a lady – can’t imagine you’ve ever been treated to Purple Rain and fish and chips served on a plate with the same pattern as your granny’s carpet.’
‘Can’t say I have.’ I try and picture it in my head and fail with a laugh.
He fakes a gasp. ‘You haven’t lived.’ Fraser shakes his head. ‘It’s a date. Royal or not, everyone must experience a Wetherspoons at least once in their life.’
‘Would it give my mother a heart attack to know I have been?’ The thought excites me.
‘Oh, without a shadow of a doubt.’ He grins.
‘Then I’m in.’
Fraser’s eyes comb over the road, and he doesn’t notice me as I gaze at his side profile. I’m not sure what the me from three months ago would say if she could see me now, excited at the thought of going to a budget chain pub to have my supper microwaved. Although, I don’t think that me from three months ago would recognise the woman I am in this car now. My cheeks are hurting from smiling, my hair is a mess from the breeze from the window, and my chest full of hope for the future. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I can say I am happy. And I actually mean it.
Sophie stirs in the back seat as we slow to a stop in a small car park. ‘Now,’ Fraser begins a little sheepishly, ‘it’s no castle or London palace, but it also has no nosy housekeepers or many rules, so I hope you’ll find it at least a little comfortable.’
Sliding out of Fraser’s Mini, I lean back down to speak to him through the open door. ‘I have been to after-dark parties in the Louvre, and smoked a cigarette in the most expensive house in Mayfair.’ Fraser blushes, and fiddles shyly with his fingers. ‘And I can quite honestly say that this is the most excited I’ve ever been for a party.’
Looking up at the short block of flats, there isn’t much to see. There aren’t window boxes filled with flowers, or ivy and wisteria climbing the walls. In fact, the whole thing looks as though it could use a good power wash as its Victorian grime has turned the stone a patchy shade of black. Shrouded by an overcast sky, it’s hardly inviting in the traditional sense, but there’s something homely about it. Unsure of whether that is down to the company, or the idea of escaping into a warm building to avoid the attack of the Scottish autumnal elements, I simply allow myself to feel excited.
I drag my bags out of the boot and take Sophie’s under my arm too. Fraser reaches out to relieve me of my load. ‘As much as I appreciate you being a gentleman, and as stupid as it sounds, I’d quite like to carry my own bags for a change.’
Smiling softly, he takes his own bag from the car. ‘Okay, but as soon as you see the stairs in that place, you might just change your mind.’ Winking, he walks away as the three of us clear the boot and head for the flat.
As we reach the door, Fraser presses the buzzer and a muffled voice calls through the speaker. If the tinny voice wasn’t hard enough to hear, the thick accent that is emitted is even more impenetrable and it seems that even Fraser’s usually mild dulcet tones have been laced with an accent I have never heard fall so heavy from his lips.
Sophie shivers with excitement beside me. ‘I can’t believe we’re going to be partying with the Bells,’ she whispers in my ear and I have to laugh. Only a few weeks ago all three of us were at a ball with the heads of the British monarchy and a whole host of famous faces and she hardly seemed fazed. And yet, the prospect of a house party in an Inverness flat with a family she has known since childhood sends her jittering in her boots. I suppose that is exactly why she is the best friend I’ve ever had.
The buzzer on the door sounds and Fraser pulls it open to reveal a cold stone reception. ‘I’m afraid they’re on the top floor and the lift in this place hasn’t worked until 2003.’ He looks down at my arms as they droop to hold on to my bags. ‘Are you sure I can’t take at least one of them?’
Pushing past them, I take the first flight of stairs two at a time and stop at the first landing. ‘I’m determined,’ I reply with a grin, my voice echoing around the brutalist interior. Fraser and Sophie share a look before following me.
My pacing becomes an issue by the time I reach the first floor. Setting out rather too sprightly, I am already sweating by the second floor and my fingers slip on the handle of my case. Still, I refuse to allow anyone to carry my bags. From the corner of my eye, every now and again I notice Fraser watching me with an amused smirk but he doesn’t say a word.
By the time we reach the fifth floor, my hair is stuck to my face and I have to lean against the wall to stop my legs from collapsing beneath me. ‘You good, aye?’ Fraser skirts past me, that mocking grin still firmly stuck on his face as he knocks on the right door.
‘Aye,’ I manage to squeeze out breathlessly. Sophie only shakes her head with a chuckle.
Before anyone can say anything about the map of the world forming across my back in sweat, the door swings open and Fraser is dragged into a tight embrace by the figure on the other side. ‘Bell End!’ the voice cries, and slaps the piper on the back roughly.
‘Aright, Cammy.’ Fraser returns the pat and his friend draws away to take a look at Sophie and I.
‘Get your ugly grid out the way.’ He jokingly shoves Fraser on the chest to get a better look. ‘Now who are these two beauties you’ve brought to this shithole? I’d have scrubbed up a bit better if I’d known.’ Cammy scruffs at the light dusting of dark stubble on his chin with a wink.
‘Put your tongue away, or I have no doubt that one of them will put it away for you,’ Fraser says, rather proudly, though still in jest. ‘This is Sophie Chorley, and this ,’ he says, pointing to me and pausing, ‘is Allie,’ Fraser finishes and I raise my eyebrow at the nickname.
‘Just Allie? You like Madonna or something?’ Cammy asks, shaking my hand softly.
‘Hmm, I was thinking more Cher, or Prince.’ I give Sophie and Fraser a teasing sidelong glance. ‘But sure.’
‘Well, Prince, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ He bends down to kiss my hand and I blush before turning to Sophie with a similar flirty smile. ‘And you too, Chorley.’ Stepping aside, Cammy invites us into his flat and grabs both mine and Sophie’s bags from us before we can protest.
‘Can’t believe that wee cretin has made you two ladies carry your own bags.’ Fraser shakes his head at his friend’s words. ‘Aren’t you meant to be the gentleman?’
‘I was just doing as I was told.’ Fraser holds his hands up in surrender.
‘Whenever we’d go out when we lived down in London, this bloke only ever left the club with a girl to escort her to a taxi. Never once saw him get a goodnight kiss.’ The piper blushes as we move through the cramped flat. ‘He once carried one lass’s handbag for the whole night because she handed it to him so she could go to the toilet and forgot to ask for it back because she was busy getting off with one of our pals.’
‘All right, all right, no one wants to know any of this,’ Fraser murmurs as Cammy pushes open another door into a box room.
‘Now, when our Fraz said he was bringing a lass, I was under the impression it was his missus. Now he’s brought two, I’m a little confused, if not impressed. So, I’m afraid the room is only really big enough for two.’ The small double bed is shoved right into the corner, with just a small walkway in between that and an overflowing wardrobe.
Fraser looks at me nervously, his blush still not evaporated from his complexion. ‘I can sleep on the sofa – it’s no trouble,’ he offers.
‘No can do. I’ve got Mo and Riley from the Grenadier Guards staying on there for the weekend.’ Cammy shrugs. ‘I have got a bivvy bag you can have down there though?’ He points to the thin strip of carpet.
‘Aye, nae bother,’ he says, before looking at Sophie and I. ‘As long as you both don’t mind?’
‘Doesn’t bother me,’ Sophie says. ‘I once visited my mate at Edinburgh uni and had to sleep upright on a two-seater sofa with her cousin and her cousin’s boyfriend.’ She turns to me. ‘I don’t snore, I promise.’
‘I’m fine with that,’ I reply, honestly.
Once we have left our bags on the end of the bed, Cammy gives us a tiny tour of his even tinier flat and introduces us to his friends who are both slung over one another on the sofa, seemingly wrestling for a games controller.
‘You couldn’t tell just from looking at them, but these are a couple of His Majesty’s Grenadier Guards,’ Cammy says, with the same air as someone commentating on a nature programme. ‘In their day to day they are trained soldiers, the King’s Guard …’ Still they roll about, the sofa cushions pushed across the room in collateral. ‘On leave, hardly even toilet-trained animals.’
I look at Fraser and raise an amused eyebrow, and still that look of shame crosses his expression. Taking matters into his own hands, Fraser crosses the living room and slaps the smaller, and more aggressive of the two across the head, stunning them both to attention. The smaller one sits back on the sofa, legs folded neatly, palms resting sedately on his knees. Only his tousled blond hair and slight sweaty sheen would imply he has been doing anything other than sitting smartly for the last few minutes. His opponent, however, is much more laid-back. Built like a body builder, he lounges with his arms across the back of the cushions, completely unfazed.
‘All right, Bell End.’ He addresses Fraser with a thick Fijian accent and a casual nod of his head. Both of the men have a messy splattering of stubble, as though when finally freed from the confines of uniform for a couple of weeks, their shaving routines are the first things to slip. Whereas the blond looks as though his few ginger strands have been grown in an evening and could be taken in a twilight breeze, the other’s dark hair is so thick that the only thing that would imply he hasn’t been growing it for years is the way its wearer constantly scratches at it as though it’s been strapped to his face overnight.
‘Allie, Sophie, this is Jamie Riley.’ Fraser points to the blond who salutes almost sarcastically. ‘And this is Mo Lomani.’ The other winks and all of the other men in the room seemingly roll their eyes in sync.
‘Mo here is a shameless flirt,’ Cammy says with a sigh. ‘I reckon he’d try and chat up a lamp if he was given ample time.’
‘You’re only jealous.’ Mo gets to his feet and shakes mine and Sophie’s hands tenderly and kisses them one by one until the both of us blush. ‘The only thing you ever turn on is a lamp.’ He gives Cammy a sloppy smooch on his cheek and then plonks himself back down on the sofa, very much pleased with himself.