For now, I’ll hold on to the vision in front of me: two of the people I love most, on a cliffside in St.Andrews, mouths open in laughter, and flowers in their hair.
CHAPTER TEN ~ ABBY ~ NOW
I’m staring at a photographof daffodils and tulips.It’s one I’ve seen a thousand times before because I took it fourteen years ago.This photo isn’t on my phone, though, it’s hanging in an eight-by-ten frame in Graeme’s spare bedroom.It’s part of a gallery of six pictures, all featuring bright pops of colour against a moody Edinburgh backdrop.With the exception of one photo, they were all taken by me.
There are the daffodils and tulips in St.Andrews Square; the cherry blossom trees in The Meadows; a stunning sunset taken from Calton Hill; a row of gorse bushes on Arthur’s Seat; a cluster of bright purple thistles with a row of gravestones behind them; and a picture of me in my red jacket at the top of the Vennel Steps.Unlike the photo I have on my phone, I’m facing away from the camera in this one, looking at the castle.
Anyone else might think it was an anonymous woman, but I know.Graeme knows.
They’re not the only photographs of mine in the apartment.There’s a similar gallery in the front hall, except they’re all shots from our trip to Skye.There are also individual framed pictures displayed on the bookcases and shelves in the living room—shots of The Crew in both Scotland and Kingston, a series of photos of the MacKinlay family I took one night when we were all out together, plus a few from Drew and Brodie’s wedding.
During our first trip here, Graeme often joked about wallpapering his flat with my photographs.I guess this is the next best thing.I was worried he hated me, but these photos suggest otherwise.This place was nearly empty when I stayed here before, and now I feel like I’ve inadvertently left my mark all over it.
My phone buzzes with a text from Drew:We’re almost ready.Meet you outside in five?
It’s our fourth day in Scotland, and Drew, Brodie, Fern, and I are taking a bus tour into the Highlands.Graeme has been busy with work since we arrived, so we don’t have him to play chauffeur this time around.The MacKinlays said we’re welcome to use their car whenever we like, so we’ve taken it a couple of times for short excursions, but Brodie said after years of driving in Canada, he now lacks the confidence required to drive the narrow, winding Highland roads.
A bus tour seemed like our best option, and this one comes highly recommended by a friend of Fern’s who travels extensively.
I open my bedroom door and poke my head out, peering up and down the hall.I know Graeme is already up because there was fresh coffee in the kitchen when I went out earlier, and he’d set out the mug I always use.Despite staying with him, we haven’t been alone together for more than a few minutes.He’s been working every day, alternating between the company office and his home office.He’s managed to join us for dinner each night, but he hasn’t been able to come on any of our outings or hang out with the group at his parents’ place.
I hate to admit it, but it’s a relief not to have been alone with him for long.Being in his apartment, surrounded by his scent and his things and the memories of what we once were to each other has stirred up a yearning inside me that’s impossible to ignore.And yet, as much as I wish we could recapture the friendship we once had, I’m afraid too much has happened and too much time has passed.More than that, I’m afraid there’s no coming back from the hurt I caused Graeme the last time we saw each other.I’d do anything to avoid causing him further pain, so if that means avoiding him, so be it.
I step out into the hall and close my bedroom door behind me.All the doors along the hall are closed; I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the fact Scottish homes have doors on rooms like the kitchen and living room.The apartment is silent, so it’s impossible to guess where Graeme might be or if he’s even still here.
That doesn’t stop me from stepping lightly as I make my way down the hall.I’ve just reached the corner that leads to the entryway when one of the doors at the far end of the hall opens.
“Morning, Abby,” Graeme calls.“If you’ll wait for me, I’ll just—”
“Sorry, the others are waiting for me, and I can’t be late,” I say in an overly bright voice.“Can we catch up later?Dinner at your parents’ place tonight, right?Have a good day!”I cringe and smack myself on the forehead as I round the corner and grab my jacket at the same time as I stuff my feet into my boots.I burst through the door, taking a moment to tie my laces before heading down the spiral stone stairs.My footsteps echo in the tight space, and my head is spinning by the time I reach the large wooden door that leads out onto the Royal Mile.
Traffic noise greets me, along with voices in a mix of accents and languages as people walk past.I spot the others near the fudge shop next door.I take a step forward, then immediately retreat when a group of tourists rush past, oblivious to the fact I have to plaster myself to the door to avoid being mowed down.The door opens suddenly behind me, and I experience a horrifying moment of weightlessness as I tip backward.Strong arms catch me within seconds.I immediately recognize Graeme’s spicy musk scent and the firm grip on my arms as he sets me upright and waits until I’m steady on my feet once more.
The laugh that escapes me sounds slightly crazed.I tell myself this lightheaded feeling is the lingering effects of running down five storeys’ worth of winding stairs and not the unexpected proximity to Graeme.
“Sorry about that,” I say, angling to look up at him.“I’d make a joke about tourists, but I guess that’d be pretty hypocritical.”I motion to my camera where it rests against my chest.
