Chapter 7
CARLY
My whole body is alive with excitement as Mum, Elsa and I stand on the little red carpet waiting to board the train at Waverley Station. Further down the platform a piper, in full Scottish regalia, ceremoniously pipes the passengers on board.
‘I feel underdressed,’ says Mum, as we wait for the kilted train staff to check our tickets.
‘I suspect even if we were dressed in Edwardian finest, we’d still feel a little shabby in comparison to this,’ replies Elsa, admiring the majestic burgundy train with its immaculate gold livery. I give her hand an excited squeeze, so glad that she decided to come.
‘It’s like stepping back in time,’ I say to them, handing over my ticket before being ushered on board. I resist the temptation to start taking pictures on my phone, wanting badly to share it all with Jude, who was beyond jealous when I told her about the gig I’d landed.
‘I told you you needed a sign,’ she cried.
‘I’m just happy with having a few nights away,’ I laughed, batting away a fleeting thought of Flynn.
‘Carly, you need to think bigger, dream a little,’ she sighed, gazing at me as she does sometimes as if I’m an alien landed in front of her. ‘Make sure you grab hold of every opportunity that comes your way.’
‘I will,’ I reassured her, determined to do my best.
As Grant, the train manager, directs us into the gorgeous, wood-panelled observation car, a little piece of the magic rubs off on me and I wonder if Jude was right, that maybe, in trying something new, my life passion isn’t so far out of reach after all, that perhaps this trip will give me a clue as to what it might be.
‘Carly,’ comes a voice from behind me as I settle into a sumptuous cream wool sofa.
I turn to find Flynn, dressed in a smart three-piece tweed suit, looking down at me, his green eyes bright in the sunlight.
For a moment, I wonder if I’ve momentarily dozed off and am dreaming about Paul, such is Flynn’s contrasting smartness to how he was in the shop.
I notice a tiny piece of my excitement fade.
‘I need you over here,’ he says without pleasantry, directing me towards a grand desk at the end of the carriage, stacked high with books.
I leave Mum and Elsa, being served champagne, to settle in amongst the other guests. Following Flynn, the neat cut of his suit highlighting his broad shoulders from behind, I wonder how many hours he spends in the gym, and what happened to the warm, intuitive man I met in the bookshop.
‘There are copies of all the authors’ books, a float and a card machine,’ he says when we reach the book stall. ‘Should be pretty straightforward. There’s additional stock in the kitchen.’
‘OK,’ I reply, quickly getting the gist of the set-up, slightly perplexed as to why he’s storing the books in the kitchen.
‘It’s the only place we could store them,’ he explains, reading my mind. ‘Cardboard boxes don’t exactly blend in with the décor.’
‘Got it,’ I say, my eyes scanning the latest books by the five authors on board.
Mum’s last book with its ‘blue sky’ cover looks beautiful next to the black jacket of Christopher Rose’s crime thriller.
In the middle is an elegant sepia cover by historical author, Jodie McAvoy; there’s a non-fiction book with a mountain landscape by author Marleen Hewitt, and finally the brilliantly bold yellow of BBQ Bites by TV chef Levi Parker.
I’m about to comment on how gorgeous the selection looks, how exciting it is to have so many big names on the train, hoping to get a bit of chat going between us, when Flynn says, ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it; I need to check a few other things.’
‘Sure, OK,’ I say as he walks away, checking his hair in a mirror and brushing down his tweed, me thinking I preferred the casual version of Flynn.
Having familiarised myself with the stall, I take a seat on a perfectly cushioned Queen Anne chair and turn my attention to Flynn’s lilting Scottish accent coming over the train’s PA system:
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome on board the Scotsman train to London,’ he begins.
Small goosebumps pepper my arms. ‘In a moment, the train will depart. After we’ve left Edinburgh, morning coffee will be served here in the observation bar.
Shortly after I will invite you to select your morning activity.
In the dining car, Levi Parker will be demonstrating his latest recipes; award-winning Marleen Hewitt will be delivering a talk in the bar, and Jodie McAvoy and Frances Henderson will be holding workshops in the library carriage.
If you prefer simply to sit back, read and enjoy the scenery, then please remain in the observation carriage where you’ll be able to purchase books by all our authors from Carly Henderson of Edinburgh’s Henderson Books.
’ I offer a smile and a wave as people’s heads turn towards me.
‘For now, please do sit back, relax and enjoy being on board the Scotsman train.’
Within minutes of Flynn’s announcement, the train nudges into motion and gently the platform disappears from sight.
Soon we are passing through the tunnel that leads out of the station and exits to the sight of the castle mound.
The Americans in the group gasp in delight, directing their phones up towards the castle, thrilled that their journey has begun with something so iconic.
We’re winding our way out of the city when another announcement is made.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Grant, the train manager. Welcome on board the Scotsman. I am pleased to announce that our catering team is about to serve morning coffee in the observation carriage.’
I watch with envy as the team roll out linen-covered trolleys laden with fine china and cake stands heaving with Scottish delicacies. Passengers’ eyes light up, hands are clasped, and linen napkins flounced.
‘Everyone is attended to on board the Scotsman,’ says a voice to my right and I turn to find Grant, holding out my own stand of cakes. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please,’ I answer with a smile, having not had one this morning as I rushed to finish packing.
‘There you are, my darling,’ he sings in a strong west-coast accent.
‘Thank you!’
‘You’re welcome.’ He smiles, his brown eyes shining below his dark eyebrows which contrast sharply with his bleached hair. ‘I’m Grant, by the way.’
‘Carly,’ I share, certain I’ve found an ally.
‘Carly, I’m here to help. Just holler if you need me.’
I thank him and he heads off, and a trio of sixty-something Americans gather round the bookstall, each of them reading the blurbs and enthusiastically sharing their choices.
There’s a steady flow of customers to the stall during morning coffee, but when the tables have been cleared and the passengers begin filtering out to attend the cooking demos, talks and workshops, I take a moment to sit on one of the sofas to stare out to sea.
As the train rides along, round sweeping bends and coastal crags, my mind wanders between dreams of home and finding my true passion in the city I love, to what might lie beyond Edinburgh.
I think about putting my joint degree and work experience to better use by finding something book-related in London, or an opportunity in Paris to work as a photographer, or giving up both books and photography and retraining as a yoga instructor, but still, nothing really ignites me.
I think about Jude, how she embraces life, never fearful or wary, just seeing where the road takes her.
And I think too about how it will be when she has left for America, if life will be lonely without her. Who, if anyone, could ever replace her?
I’m trying not to dwell on Jude’s leaving, but inevitably failing, when a tall man, dressed in a black shirt and jeans, arrives beside me.
‘May I join you?’ he asks in a French accent, sweeping back his thick, dark hair which immediately falls down over his face. His strong features and dark eyes make a striking combination.
‘Be my guest,’ I reply, thinking that Jude would be proud of me.
‘I’m Nicolas,’ he says, sliding on to the couch beside me.
‘Carly,’ I reply.
He smiles, holding my gaze, and I smile back, blushing despite myself, knowing instinctively that Nicolas is going to be trouble.