Chapter 4
CALLUM
“And when the demand for corpses that could be used for scientific study increased, some turned to other means. Some dug up bodies from graves, which led to adding metal bars above graves. Like in that grave there.” Asha points to her right.
“William Burke and William Hare took it further and killed people to sell their bodies for anatomical study, perhaps with up to sixteen victims. Hare testified against Burke, who was hung, and then his body was used for medical study. Because irony.” Asha’s voice is low in the Greyfriars Kirkyard, as she stands in front of a mausoleum in the old graveyard.
“And that’s the end of your tour!” she says with great enthusiasm, doing an entire change of personality in the span of a second.
How does the woman go from talking about grisly murders to being that perky?
She might be a sociopath. That would explain how she has so much patience with group nonsense.
Speaking of group nonsense, they’re in usual form right now.
“Can you take a picture of us?”
“Where should we eat?”
“What should we do now?”
“Where should we drink now?”
They descend upon us, like a plague of those Biblical locusts, and my first instinct is to warn them away with a snarl. But I contain it because this is normal post-walking tour stuff. As irritating as I find it.
But Asha, the cheerful sociopath, welcomes them toward her. “Yes. I will take pictures here and at the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the puppy who kept visiting his dad’s grave. And I can tell you my favorite places—”
I interrupt. “I have lists for you. These are just my recommendations and I can’t guarantee you’ll enjoy everything here, but I like them, as do other locals.
There are lists for museums and historic sights, for shopping, for food and one for pubs-slash-bars, with opening and closing information as well as a general description, along with maps.
Please feel free to take pictures of them to refer to during your time in Edinburgh, and I have some paper copies as well. ”
Asha looks at me, impressed for once. I think she would be less impressed if I told her I made the lists so I could cut down the amount of interaction with the tourists, giving them all the same restaurant name and waiting while they individually try to find it on their phones.
But they are a big hit, so I do accept some of her silent praise.
“We’ll meet you back here in four hours, where we’ll take the bus to the hotel for check-in and then go on our first group dinner,” Asha says.
“The hotel information is on the lists. If you’re late meeting back here, you will need it because we will leave without you,” Callum says.
“I can give out my number and if anyone runs into any issues, please call me. Have fun and be safe!”
The group looks to me, but I will not be giving these people my number. They give up and Asha starts taking photos.
And everyone mostly leaves me alone. I do take a few photos, but I think the tourists all prefer Asha over me. Good. If they’re into that sort of aggressive cheerfulness, that’s their business. As long as everyone stays away from me, I can’t complain.
It still takes too long for the group to go away.
I know what they’re waiting for, what they’re lingering around for.
They’re hoping that we’ll offer to take them somewhere.
No luck on this front. I have asked exactly how much time I have to spend with the group, and I’ll not be spending one second more than is required.
Unless they give me a giant raise and a personality transplant.
Since the company cuts every possible financial corner, I don’t think either of those things are happening any time soon.
I’m half surprised that Asha doesn’t cave and take the tourists with her, like little ducklings with their mam.
“You’re not gonna take the sad puppies?” I whisper under my breath, nodding my head at James, Rebecca, and one of the families as they linger around and look back and forth to us, clearly waiting for her to adopt them.
She shakes her head. “No. As much as I really want to help them. But it’s good for them to see Edinburgh on their own and build up their travel confidence, which I know will bleed into other parts of their lives.
I felt so accomplished the first time I navigated the Tube by myself.
And that one time I took that bus into the wilds of the North York Moors.
I almost got abandoned outside a tea shop next to Byland Abbey because I had no idea when, or if, the bus was coming, and the tea shop was closing.
I started making plans on how I was going to live off the land, that amounted to ‘I should maybe eat the grass.’ But then the bus came and I basically felt like what surgeons must feel like after a successful surgery. ”
“Jaysus, Asha, I don’t recall asking for your life story.” I think I know less information about my actual cousin than I do the woman in front of me with no filter.
The woman who is not deterred in the slightest by my admonition.
“Figuring this out themselves is character building. Plus, Edinburgh is kind of the perfect place to start because it’s smaller and easier to navigate than most cities. But it is hard to watch the tour babies leave the nest.” She tilts her head and puts her hand to her chest.
“No. It’s not.”
The last of the group are finally out of sight, disappeared around corners or swallowed up by the crowd of other tourists and impatient locals.
I can finally breathe a little easier now that I have a free afternoon.
And this is the second-best part of the job, aside from teaching others about history.
Because now I get to explore, and learn new things, myself.
“This is the perfect city to start a tour with. I have to commend Rob on that,” Asha says.
I snort. “He only did it because it was cheaper to have offices here than in London.”
“Then it works out for everyone. How can that be a bad thing?”
“Well, it’s not.” She has me there, much as I hate to admit it. “But it’s naive to assume he was thinking about the benefit to the clients over his bottom line.”
“It’s cynical to think it can’t be a little of both.”
“Realistic.”
“That’s what all the cynics say.” She shakes her head in sadness over my lack of cheer.
“The realists,” I whisper to myself as Asha turns. Because I like my outlook on life, damn it.
Good that she’s leaving, anyway. I want to be alone. The bus will pick us up too soon and we’ll have to get back to work, but for now, there’s always something to see, admire, or learn about in Edinburgh. Even after living here for five years.
If I feel a bit off as Asha walks away, it’s only because I don’t like having to share my job with another person.
There’s no other explanation.
And since I wasn’t thick enough to give the group my number, I have a completely free afternoon, and I’m not gonna spend it worrying about Asha or the unexpected way she hasn’t been as bad as I thought she would be.
It’s still early days. I shouldn’t throw the woman a party for not being terrible before we get through another city. Or at least through tomorrow’s whisky tasting.
Since I haven’t been to the Scottish National Portrait Gallery in a while, I walk to that building.
I enter the hall, and almost completely relax. It would be better for my state of mind if I wasn’t on tour, but this building and the history it contains does its part to smooth my annoyance. For a time, at least.
The brick hall with its pointy gothic arches leads to a medieval-style gilt fresco frieze above me.
I always love seeing this piece, with famous Scots through history painted on the medieval style background.
Romans like Hadrian, medieval figures like Robert the Bruce to Victorians like Thomas Carlyle.
Togas, robes, suits of armor, whatever the Jacobeans wore with their puffy shorts, suits, and all variety of dresses from different time periods line the wall.
“Dr. Livingston, I presume?” an American accent behind me asks, and then giggles to herself like she thinks she’s Dylan Moran.
And yes, Livingston, the missionary who got himself lost and then found, leading to that famous question, is on the mural above us.
So I guess she thinks she’s right clever.
“Are you following me?” I ask as she moves into my view.
“Excuse me?” That stops the laughter, and now her hands have moved to her hips.
She’s settling in for a scold. “Do you think I have nothing better to do in my limited rest and free time than to follow a grumpy grump to a museum? Just to what? Bask in the not-so-rejuvenating properties of your effervescent scowl?”
Oh, grand. It’s gonna be a long one.
I roll my eyes and send up a thanks that I’m at a museum and she can’t yell at me. But she is still talking louder than is socially acceptable inside such a space.
“Shhh.” I try to enforce the rules for the poor tourists, who were smart enough to pick a museum to go to in their limited time, and don’t deserve this disruption in their day.
“Did you just shush me?” Her voice is so incredulous you’d think I said the Earth was flat.
“We’re at a museum. Have you no sense, woman?”
She gasps, and reels back. “Did you just ‘woman’ me?”
“Are you gonna keep asking if I’ve said the things I’ve clearly just said?”
“Maybe. I haven’t 100 percent decided, to be honest.” Then she shakes her head like a dog shaking water from its fur. Apparently, it also shakes away her irritation with me, and she’s back to looking at me with a smile. Quite the change in demeanor. Kind of fascinating.
Kind of scary.
But now I’m suspicious, and I have half a mind to ask her what it is she’s bloody doing, smiling at me like that. All suspicious-like.
“No,” she says, then looks at me like that’s supposed to make sense.
“‘No’ what?”
“No, I am not following you. I happen to like history, as I have to keep reminding you because your opinion of me is insultingly low. And they do a good tea, in the interests of full disclosure.”
“Well, enjoy your trip to the museum.”
“Yeah. You, too,” she says awkwardly. But she’s not leaving. Why isn’t she moving?
Right. Because we’re at a museum and the hall is one of the most well-known parts of said museum.
I walk up the stairs, all the way to the second level where the older art is, because I much prefer it to modern and contemporary art.
As I walk toward the Jacobean rooms, I hear a ding and the elevator doors next to me open, showing Asha.
“Jaysus, again?” I throw my hands up.