by Carmen Reid
Paula and Maddison couldn’t get enough of the tourist shops and kept flitting in and out of them, while Gina and her mom stood outside, giggling and rolling their eyes at each other.
Before they’d even got to the castle, Paula had bought a miniature ceremonial sword and a cuddly Highland cow, while Maddison had been unable to resist red cashmere gloves and a crystal paperweight in the shape of a Scottie dog.
‘Isn’t he adorable?’ she asked, taking the dog out of the tartan (of course) paper bag he’d been wrapped in.
‘Erm . . .’ For a moment Gina wasn’t quite sure what to say, but then she teased, ‘I think you might have jet lag – your sense of taste hasn’t caught up with British time yet.’
Once they were inside the castle grounds, they all became just as excited as all the other tourists. They had their photos taken beside Mons Meg – the huge cannon. They gazed and ‘gee whizzed’ at the tiny chapel, and looked up in amazement at the mighty wooden roof of the great hall.
‘Look at the size of that fireplace – you could burn people alive in there. D’you think that’s what they did?’ Maddison wondered out loud.
The dungeon prisons were genuinely spooky, decked out with hammocks and flickering flames. The dark stone walls rang with the shouts and cries of recorded voices begging for help, mercy and forgiveness.
Gina read the information boards on the walls. ‘American prisoners were kept here,’ she told the others, ‘during the War of Independence.’
Paula and Lorelei came to stand beside her. ‘They were seen as traitors,’ Lorelei read aloud, ‘held without trial, often for years, on the other side of the world from their homes . . . Good grief. We’re in the Guantanamo Bay of the seventeen hundreds.’
Suddenly her phone began to bleep and her attention was diverted.
‘Offices will soon be opening for business on the West Coast,’ Gina told Paula.
‘Never mind that – this is so awesome!’ Paula whispered back. ‘Look at this wooden door: it has graffiti on it dating from seventeen twenty-three!’
‘Paula, if you or Maddison say “awesome”, “historic”, “quaint” or “sooooo old” just one more time, I’m going to kill you!’ Gina warned. ‘There will be no mercy – I’m just going to jump up and kill you!’
The mobile in Gina’s pocket began to ring, and suddenly she felt shy. There was only one person this could be. She’d texted and left voicemail for Dermot; now, it seemed, he was calling her back.
She walked down the corridor, turning away from her mom and her friends for a little privacy.
‘Hi?’ she answered the call.
‘Hiya!’
Oh! That single word was full of Dermot’s warm, friendly smile.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m fine – a little bruised and sore after last night, and I’m not sure that the Shrek costume will ever look the same again – but hey, I’m fine,’ he said, referring to the Halloween adventures of the night before. ‘How are you? Are you surrounded by gorgeous Californians?’
‘Yeah, who think Edinburgh is sooooo quaint and old and, like, really, you know, historic!’ she joked.
‘You were never, ever like that, of course,’ Dermot teased.
‘I wasn’t!’ Gina insisted.
‘So . . . you want me to come and meet your friends and your scary mom and have dinner with you tonight?’ Dermot had just listened to the request on his voicemail.
‘Yeah,’ Gina confirmed. ‘What do you think of that idea?’
‘I think it’s terrifying!’ Dermot admitted. ‘I’d rather be boiled in hot oil than meet your mom for dinner. I mean, isn’t she the head of Global Mega Software Bigwigs or something? And you know what my table manners are like.’
‘They’re fine!’ Gina reassured him. ‘You’ll be fine. She’ll love you.’
This made Dermot laugh. ‘Gina, there is no mother in the world who likes the boy her fifteen-year-old daughter is dating,’ he informed her. ‘I know this because my mum told me.’
‘So it must be true. But your mum quite liked me, didn’t she?’
‘Ah, yeah, but that’s different. You are a girl, I’m a boy. You are a civilizing influence . . . apparently.’
‘Cute!’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Dermot said. ‘Do you know about the ghost tours they do at night?’
‘No!’ Gina answered. Ghost tours? At night? This sounded a little crazy: typically Dermot.
‘Yeah, nine p.m. You, your mom and your friends meet me at Milne Close, just off the Royal Mile, and we’ll go on a guided tour of Edinburgh’s darkest and spookiest places. That way, your mom is distracted and can’t concentrate on all my bad points too hard. Plus, I’m able to hold your hand without looking too suspicious.’
‘Because I’ll be scared?’ Gina said with a laugh. ‘Of some stupid ghost tour?’
‘Go on,’ Dermot said as persuasively as he could. ‘It’ll be fun. Dinner scares me much more than ghosts.’
‘Well . . . I’ll have to ask Mom. And remember, Dermot, when you meet her, be neat, do not be late – she really doesn’t do late – and please, don’t try and be funny,’ Gina warned him. ‘She doesn’t do jokes.’
‘OK, no jokes, no jokes,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll get that tattooed onto my forehead to remind me.’
As soon as Gina was off the phone, Lorelei informed her that Paula and Maddison wanted to go back to the hotel for a nap once the castle tour was over.
Gina couldn’t help feeling disappointed. They had the whole of Edinburgh to explore! So many things to see and do, and so little time left already. Why did they want to go back to the hotel and sleep?
‘No! No sleeping yet!’ Gina complained. She turned to her friends, but now that she looked at them properly, she could see that they were exhausted.
‘We’ve been awake all night, Gina,’ Paula reminded her. ‘Unlike your mom, we need sleep! Look, we’re planning a nap and then we’ll join you and Dermot’ – this came with a wink – ‘for dinner.’
‘He doesn’t want to do dinner,’ Gina said, now that she had everyone’s attention.
‘Oh?’ Lorelei looked at Gina with surprise.
‘He’s suggested meeting up later tonight for a ghost tour.’
‘A ghost tour? Cool!’ Paula said immediately.
Maddison nodded, but Lorelei took a little longer to make up her mind. ‘Tonight? Instead of dinner?’ she looked uncertain.
‘Please, Mom,’ Gina wheedled.
‘Well . . . maybe it could be fun . . .’ Lorelei said doubtfully. ‘You girls will have had a rest . . . OK. OK, we’ll do it, but only if you come shopping with me while Paula and Maddison are sleeping.’
‘Oooooooh, yeah!’ Gina agreed immediately. It had been too long since she’d hit some really nice shops with her mom – and, most importantly, her mom’s purse – to accompany her.
Lorelei looked up from the email she was tapping out on the little screen in her hands and glanced at her daughter, who was stepping out of the changing room.
‘That is gorgeous – you have to have it!’ she told Gina; then her eyes were drawn back down to the phone screen once again.
‘But it’s white!’ Gina protested, and surveyed herself carefully in the mirror. She wasn’t sure.
‘It’s ivory,’ her mother countered. ‘Gina, I’m sorry but you look adorable!’
The dress was undeniably cute. It was neat and fitted, tailored almost. It stopped well above the knee and had silky sleeves that draped down past her elbow and ended in a graceful cuff. It was so elegant – but maybe just ever so slightly grown up.
Gina wondered when she would have the chance to wear it. Was this the kind of thing she could wear at the Christmas ball? Or should she be buying a proper ball gown?
She wasn’t sure . . . But even if it wasn’t a ball gown, this little white number was lovely.
Gina looked at herself closely in the mirror: the pale colour set off her long golden hair
and her still tanned arms and face. She thought about Amy, fashion leader of the dorm, and imagined the rapturous reception the dress would earn from her. Amy would probably bribe her to borrow this.
Lorelei tucked away her phone and turned to give Gina her full attention. ‘Sorry – there’s a big deal coming up,’ she explained.
Gina was tempted to say, Isn’t there always? but she bit her tongue. She had her mother’s attention now, didn’t she? She shouldn’t complain.
‘That dress would look so great with boots,’ Lorelei coaxed. ‘C’mon, shall we go take a look-see in their shoe department?’
Gina shot her mom a smile. ‘Yeah, but just remember this was all your idea,’ she replied.
Once the ivory dress and a pair of unbelievably sweet pale patent-leather boots had been wrapped up and passed painlessly over the cash desk, Lorelei couldn’t resist trying on a few things she’d spotted for herself.
As she came out of the changing room in a glamorous jacket, she asked Gina, ‘So, are we going to meet your boyfriend tonight? Have you said yes to the ghost thing yet?’
‘Do you definitely want to do it?’ Gina asked. ‘I just wanted to check with you again.’
‘Are we going on the ghost tour because he’s scared of having dinner with me?’ her mom wondered.
‘Um . . . maybe a little,’ Gina admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed about this line of questioning. ‘You have to admit, you can be quite scary.’
‘You really like him, don’t you?’ Lorelei asked next.
Now Gina could feel the tingle of a blush spread from her neck up and over her cheeks. ‘Mom!’ she protested.
‘It’s OK!’ Lorelei was smiling. ‘It’s allowed. You can have a boyfriend, Gina – and you know what? I don’t even have to like him. It’s not like you’re getting married or something!’
‘Mom!’ Gina was horrified. ‘If you say anything like that – if you even think of making a joke about that . . . I will kill you!’
‘Call him!’ Lorelei instructed with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Say we’ll be there.’
Chapter Four
AMY WATCHED AS rain lashed down on the windscreen of the old Range Rover. Worn, battered wiper blades scraped across the glass, barely removing enough water for Niffy’s dad, Mr Nairn-Bassett, to be able to see the small twisting road from Berwick-upon-Tweed station to the Nairn-Bassett family home, Blacklough Hall.
‘Welcome to the Wet Country, where the rain never stops falling,’ Niffy announced from her seat in the back beside Amy. ‘Hope you brought your canoe, Amy. We might have to paddle the rest of the way.’
Not for the first time it occurred to Amy that she liked Niffy almost as much as she hated Blacklough. There was certainly no one else in the world who would be able to persuade her to keep coming down here – to this damp green patch of boring countryside, where there was nothing to do except walk in the rain, ride in the rain, bike in the rain, get wet in the rain, sneeze in the rain, blow your nose in the rain . . . and so on.
Blacklough Hall was the most decrepit, run-down, dusty, freezing, stately hell-hole that Amy had ever encountered. It was certainly nothing like her home, that was for sure. Amy was the only daughter of a very successful Glaswegian nightclub owner, and home was a luxurious penthouse flat – her dad had grown up in a tower block and liked a big view.
Amy’s idea of a wet room was a luxury power-shower; Niffy’s idea of a wet room was one with buckets on the floor to catch the leaks from the roof. Amy’s idea of a takeaway was a gorgeous curry shared with her dad on the plush sofa in front of a film. Niffy’s takeaway food was the stuff found growing amongst the weeds in the Blacklough garden: blackberries, parsley, the odd spear of asparagus or stick of rhubarb.
These people owned a house the size of a museum, but because they spent all of their tiny income sending their kids to boarding school, they didn’t have a penny to repair the place or even heat it.
‘Why don’t they sell it and live somewhere normal – somewhere warm and dry?’ Amy had asked Niffy countless times before.
‘Sell it? Are you mad!’ Niffy would answer. ‘That house has been in the Nairn-Bassett family for eight generations. My dad isn’t going to be the one to let it go.’
‘Maybe you will though,’ Amy had speculated. ‘Maybe you’ll be the one who sees sense?’
‘Maybe I’ll become a world-famous show-jumper, earn multi-millions and be able to fix it up – put in central heating and re-do the roof.’
‘Hmm . . . maybe,’ Amy had said doubtfully.
‘How’s Mrs Nairn-Bassett?’ Amy asked Niffy’s dad now, although Niffy had already told her that Mrs N-B, who’d been diagnosed with leukaemia in the summer, was showing the first signs of recovery.
‘She’s getting on very well, thank you for asking,’ came Mr N-B’s reply. He sounded stiff, formal and painfully polite. To deflect any further questions, he immediately asked, ‘And how’s your father?’
‘He’s good. He had to go over to the States this week; otherwise I wouldn’t be here – obviously . . . thanks for having me, anyway.’
‘Oh, no bother, no bother at all. Great company for Lou and Finn.’
Lou was Niffy. Niffy’s real name was Luella, but everyone who didn’t know her as Niffy called her Lou. It was very confusing.
Amy’s name situation was very simple: everybody called her Amy – well, except, OK, sometimes Niffy was allowed to call her ‘Aim’.
‘Finn’s here already, isn’t he?’ Niffy asked her dad.
‘Yes, got in this morning,’ Mr N-B replied.
‘Great!’ Niffy said with enthusiasm. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen him.’
Amy, an only child, wondered if sisters were usually this keen to see their older brothers. She’d met Finn many times and thought he was OK, in a lanky, boyish kind of way, but she understood that he and Niffy were close – probably because they had to stick together in the craziness of the N-B family home.
‘Any plans for the holiday?’ Mr N-B asked the girls.
‘We’re going to spend one day in town and go to the new swimming pool there,’ Niffy replied.
‘Excellent!’ Mr N-B approved.
The car turned off the country road and up the drive of Blacklough Hall. Within moments, the imposing grey stone building was looming in front of them.
It looked even saggier and shabbier than Amy remembered. Green moss was growing over the stonework and greying paint was peeling from every one of the small-paned windows. Rainwater gushing out of cracked gutters ran unchecked into large damp patches on the walls.
Amy could just imagine the buckets that would be set out in the attic rooms where she and Niffy would be sleeping tonight. Plink, plonk, the water would drip through the roof into the buckets all night long, keeping her awake.
The car drove past the front of the house and round to the back door. This way they would enter the house through the only warm room – the kitchen – where Mrs N-B was bound to be putting something fairly disgusting together for dinner.
Amy took her bag out of the car, hoisted it up onto her shoulder and stepped carefully over the mud and gravel in boots too high-heeled and too pointy for the countryside. She entered the narrow, dark corridor, and was greeted enthusiastically by two massive, furry, smelly dogs: Doughal and Macduff.
‘Down, boys, down!’ Niffy commanded, but not before one of them had licked Amy right across the face with a great damp, stinky tongue.
‘Euuurrrgh!’ she protested. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick. The dog’s wet saliva was all over her cheeks and she could smell it!
‘Amy!’ Wiry little Mrs N-B was hurrying towards her now, and before Amy could do anything about it, she’d kissed Amy on both cheeks, pressing her lips right into the dog spit.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ Amy pulled away. ‘The dog licked me – I’ve not had a chance to—’
‘Oh dear me,’ Mrs N-B said, wiping at her own lips now as Amy took a crumpled tissue out o
f her pocket and rubbed over her cheeks hard.
‘I think I’ll go and wash my face,’ she said.
‘Yes, of course. Niffy will help you take your bag up. You’re in the same room as last time – I hope that’s OK.’
Plink, plonk, plink, plink, plonk . . . The rain orchestra started up in Amy’s head. But she replied cheerily, ‘Lovely, thanks. Thank you for inviting me.’
Mrs N-B smiled at her. ‘Oh, it’ll be fun to have you, Amy. Don’t mention it.’
As Amy passed the ancient old Aga cooker, she saw the vast pot of green soup bubbling ominously on the hob. Oh, good grief! It was probably made out of nettles picked from the garden or something awful.
Why had she come here? Why? She could have stayed with a day-girl friend and be having a perfectly civilized time in Edinburgh, instead of battling the elements, the dodgy food and the crazy Nairn-Bassetts for the next five days.
Niffy led the way along one dingy corridor and into another, and they took the creaky wooden back stairs up two flights to the attic rooms at the top of the house.
With each step, Amy was feeling grumpier and grumpier. Dog slobber was drying on her face, and she would be standing in a field in the rain watching Niffy ride for the rest of the week. What on earth was she going to do for fun around here?
They went past the little room stuffed with old sofas and an ancient TV, still affectionately known as ‘the playroom’. The TV was on and the door was open just wide enough for Amy to be able to see the back of a sofa and the dark hair of the TV viewer.
‘Hey, Fin-Fin!’ Niffy called out, and pushed open the playroom door.
The head on the sofa turned. A wide grin split the face that was now turned in their direction.
‘Hello!’ Finn called out, and bounded up off the sofa to greet them. ‘Lou!’ he said fondly, treating his sister to a huge bear hug.
Then he let go of Niffy and turned to Amy. ‘Hello, Amy, it feels like ages,’ he said with a smile, and held out his hand for her to shake.
As she took hold of it, Amy could feel more of a grin than she’d intended spreading across her face. ‘Hi, Finn,’ she said, meeting the fun-filled brown eyes under the dark, arching eyebrows that gave a questioning look to his smile.
