Seacliff

Chapter ten: Day in the life

2019

Like well-oiled clockwork, Aidan's pale blue eyes blinked open and his mouth stretched into a yawn a minute before his alarm went off. He sat up when it began ringing and slid to the edge of the bed as he dismissed it.

Mild rainfall battered his windows, drops sticking to the glass and trickling down in irregular formations. On occasion, the wood-framed panes would rattle with the wind. Scottish weather was coming into its own after that sunny anomaly some weeks ago.

It was hard for Aidan to tell how many.

Keeping track of time had become superfluous beyond breaking up individual days in blocks of activities. He only knew he had to be at the meeting point at ten-thirty, walk a group of strangers through Edinburgh for two and a half hours, have lunch, do a tour of the castle and then perhaps a pub crawl that included dinner.

Thank goodness for calendars. He had a special, local-made one hanging from his wardrobe door, featuring shirtless men in kilts against splendid Scottish backdrops. A cheeky gift from his co-workers, but it did the trick – made him smile and kept him organised. Aidan double checked the day's square.

"Yup," he counted on his fingers, "free city tour, lunch with Da, Edinburgh Castle, haunted pub crawl with dinner at The Last Drop." A self-satisfied smirk. "Should make for an eventful evening."

The Last Drop used to be where criminals sentenced to death would have their last drink before being executed. Aidan had prepared plenty of ghost and faerie stories to go with the whisky, beside the body-snatchers and the baby-eaters.

After breakfast, he picked out a kilt for the day – a Weathered Gunn tartan, encompassing a criss-cross of earthy, autumn colours – and an olive-green T-shirt to go with it. For appearance's sake, he pulled on an ochre jumper over it. It didn't look like the day would brighten up and people generally braved gloomy weather in long sleeves.

In his knee-high knitted socks and waterproof trainers, Aidan was ready to do battle with the puddles of Edinburgh. He grabbed his umbrella as he left his flat and sighed while locking up. The stairwell smelled strongly of weed. Like it had last night and like it always did whenever he went out in the morning or came back in the evening.

The neighbours hadn't been able to identify the source and whenever the police were called, the smell mysteriously vanished. Although it didn't permeate his flat, the one time he'd tried to bring a date home, she was put off by the odour as soon as they entered the building. He preferred going back to theirs, anyway.

Aidan reached the meeting point on the Royal Mile early, smiling at his co-worker. Nancy waited under an oversized umbrella for tourists to come sign up for, or confirm their reserved spots on, the free walking tours. Small clusters of people already milled about in the pattering downpour.

"Morning, Nancy," Aidan greeted.

"Morning, stud," Nancy replied in her raspy, chain-smoker's voice. It earned her a raised eyebrow. "How did it go?"

"How did... what... go?" A confused frown now.

She couldn't possibly know about the brazen barmaid from last night's medieval party who'd questioned the authenticity of his codpiece. None of Aidan's mates had seen him leave with her.

"You know..." Nancy grinned and winked.

A tinge of pink coloured his cheeks above his stubble. Of course she knew. Nancy knew everything. Always. Gulping, Aidan pushed his glasses up his nose.

"It... went," he mumbled.

Nancy pouted. "You didn't stay, did you? Again? I swear, I don't get it. You are such a nice bloke, you say you'd love to settle down and start a family... but whenever the opportunity arises in the form of a shapely woman taking you to her bed, you kick it in the shins – the opportunity, not the woman, obviously. What is wrong with you?"

Aidan cleared his throat, the discomfort mounting. "It's better that I don't stay."

"Better?" Nancy quirked a trimmed, pierced eyebrow. "Better how?"

"...Safer."

Her forehead now wrinkled above her arched eyebrows. "For whom?"

"For them," Aidan said softly, averting his gaze.

Nancy rolled her eyes on an incredulous snort, but held her tongue as a group of tourists approached. It was soon time to start the tour and he shoved the conversation to the back of his mind. The barmaid meant nothing, he told himself, even though they'd run into each other at one too many events and always exchanged witty banter. He didn't even remember her name –

Fiona, like the Shrek princess. Fiona Grace Murray.

A tingle ran down his spine, as if he'd sensed something lurking behind him. He turned and saw nothing there. Just a group of people huddled close together in the rain. Shaking his head, he made a conscious effort to focus on the faces of his audience instead, half-hidden by hoods or umbrellas.

That tingle again, like being electrocuted by static.

They looked like a tough crowd, this batch of tourists, upset by the moody Scottish weather. A frequent sight this time of year. He didn't let it get to him as he kicked off the tour with his self-introduction, setting the stage for his opening joke, which never failed to get a giggle even out of the sourest individuals.

"Now... does anyone here know what the difference is between a skirt and a kilt?"