About the Author

BELINDA MISSEN is a reader, author, and sometimes blogger. When she’s not busy writing or reading, she can be found travelling the Great Ocean Road and beyond looking for inspiration. She lives with her husband, cats, and collection of books in regional Victoria, Australia.

Also by Belinda Missen

A Recipe for Disaster

An Impossible Thing Called love
BELINDA MISSEN

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters

and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s

imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or

dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

1

First published in Great Britain by

HQ, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Copyright © Belinda Missen 2018

Belinda Missen asserts the moral right to be

identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade

or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without

the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than

that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Source ISBN: 9780008323028

E-book Edition ISBN: 9780008296902

Version: 2018-11-07

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Also by Belinda Missen

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

For Belinda.

That’s me, btw.

Twelve-year-old you is thrilled.

Chapter 1

Hogmanay, 2010

Flames danced towards the night sky, slowly snaking their way along the cobblestoned street like a slow-moving river of fire. At the front of the procession, Viking warriors chanted to the steady rhythm of a beating drum, blending with the sound of bagpipes.

It all sounded so medieval, but it wasn’t anything like that – not by half. Positioned near St Giles Cathedral on Edinburgh’s famous Royal Mile, our tour group huddled tightly near the end of the spiralling mass of people taking part in the traditional Torchlight Procession.

Tonight officially kicked off Hogmanay, one of the most spectacular – and exciting – ways to ring in the New Year. And I was there to experience it all.

An icy wind sprang up, causing the flames of our torches to wobble excitedly. I tugged my jacket tighter, warding off the chill that blasted my face, and pulled my beanie further over my dark brown hair. Somewhere nearby, a bagpipe started another frenzied rendition of a Proclaimers song. This wouldn’t have been a problem normally, but it felt like the same song had been on repeat for the last two days while we’d wound our way up from London, after already hitting a dozen European cities. Hearing the song again caused raucous groans and laughter from our group.

‘You know what this reminds me of?’ My best friend Heather leaned in. ‘It reminds me of that time in primary school where we had to practice those Beatles songs over and over.’

For months, our class of ten-year-olds spent day after day rehearsing the same four songs, all from the Yellow Submarine album, the culmination of which was being crammed on a tiny stage in the town hall to sing for the masses – mostly other schools and mums, but it was our five minutes of fame. One misplaced step saw Heather, the periscope of the submarine, fall off the edge of the stage.

I smiled at the memory. ‘I was a bright pink octopus.’

A crackly loudspeaker and the shuffle of feet announced the beginning of the procession and, just like the song, we were on our way. My breath formed small cloudy bursts in front of me and, not for the first time this trip, I was thankful that I’d packed another layer of clothing. Even though we’d been in Europe almost three weeks already, the cold took some getting used to, especially as we were more acclimatised to roasting under the Australian sun at this time of year.

‘Josh was seaweed,’ I said, the memories of our gone too soon childhood flashing before my eyes. A small child bounced off my leg and collapsed onto the muddy ground, before getting up and running off again. Her exasperated mother was hot on her heels, a puff of fringe and muttered words under her breath.

‘Actually…’ Heather looked around. ‘Where is he?’

Along with half of our tour group, Josh had dispersed as soon as the procession began, blending in with the hundreds of other people joining us for the traditional Scottish event. He was weaving in and out, looking for new, unsuspecting girls to charm with stories of Australian urban legends. Lanky and a little bit standout-ish, I managed to identify him by his Where’s Wally beanie over by a group of girls. One on each arm, he looked more than happy with how his night was progressing. He turned the corner with the crowd and disappeared towards Princes Street.

Wet roads glistened under street lights, and grass glowed an iridescent shade of green. Everything here just seemed so … vibrant. From the architecture, to the history, the people, and the fiery shade of red hair over by a first aid station. I couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face as I realised that I was finally here.

For almost eighteen months, Edinburgh had been circled on our calendars as the pinnacle of our trip. Heather, Josh and I – friends for most of our remembered lives – had decided we would embark on a European bus tour at the end of our gap year. When one year became two, it only afforded us more time to save, adding more destinations to our trip.

We worked jobs we hated, took late-night shifts, skipped parties, felt soggy food floating in filthy dishwater, and I’d forgone volunteer shifts at our local hospital (the plan was medicine, if they ever let me into university) in favour of forcing smiles at retail customers in the Christmas rush. It was all in the pursuit of adventure. It had paid off.

So far, our trip had been a whirlwind experience in the best of ways. In just ten short days, we’d had a Christmas feast of buttery pastries underneath the Eiffel Tower and battled cheesy woodfired pizza after tossing coins in the Trevi Fountain. Salzburg revived our senses with sweet cinnamon-y apple strudel after shopping the Getreidegasse, and hoppy beer in Berlin kept us warm against biting temperatures. I ran my fingers along all the old stone buildings and dunked my toes in all the freezing waters. I wanted to feel it all. The moment we arrived back in London, we boarded another bus for Edinburgh, ready for the biggest street party and New Year’s celebration this side of the Atlantic.

The procession came to a quick stop along Princes Street, a neat mixture of Georgian and Renaissance architecture. I wouldn’t have known that fact if I hadn’t spent three hours battling drizzling rain in a thin plastic poncho on a walking tour this morning. Ornate windows from tall buildings looked down on the street and, while I was busy marvelling at that, a scuffle broke my train of thought and drew my attention back to the here and now.

Josh jogged towards us, nattering nervously about something happening further up the road. Despite the cold, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His brown eyes were wide with … was that fear?

‘This dude thinks I grabbed his girlfriend. He’s looking for me.’ A jittery hand rested over his mouth as he surveyed the scene before us. Heads turned towards him. Everyone could see what was coming before he could.

‘What?’ Now my eyes widened. ‘What have you done?’

Heather did what she does best and gave him a shove. ‘You idiot.’

‘No, no, it’s not like that. I thought she was single.’

He always thought they were single.

A scowling boyfriend emerged from the crowd, his own Moses parting the sea moment, complete with hot-pink beanie and clenched fists. He glared at me only briefly, long enough to acknowledge that I was there, before reaching around me for Josh, who was swearing like a stand-up comedian combating a heckler. My pulse began racing.

Heather pulled me out of the way but, I wasn’t prepared to spend the night tending to Josh’s wounds. I was on holiday, not working, and I wasn’t about to let him ruin all our fun. I handed her my torch and made a beeline for the scrum. Both he and Burly Man were very shouty, shoving each other in the tiny boxing ring that had formed around them.

‘Josh!’ I shouted.

He held a palm out to stop. ‘It’s alright, Em, just don’t worry about it, okay?’

‘That’s your girlfriend is it?’ Burly Man tipped an oversized chin in my direction. ‘Some boyfriend you are.’

Grabbing Josh, I muttered something about men and women still being able to be friends in this day and age without having to get naked with each other. I think I might have been louder than expected because, before I could so much as clutch at Josh’s jacket, they were jostling again. A rustle of fabric, a flash of dancing footsteps, and I felt a blunt sting across my face. All at once, everything was dark and far too bright, like a child was flickering a light switch. My sinuses were connected to a trip switch in my heart, and each beat offered a sulphuric burn. I was disoriented and, as my eyes watered, I took a wobbly seat on the ground. It may have been cold and wet, but it was better than swaying about.

I knew how these moments played out, I’d seen it a million times before when volunteering with the ambulance. Music concerts were especially healthy for face to fist experiences. Heather was screaming at someone, probably Josh, who was apologising profusely. Her voice was soon joined by the polyester swish of a hi-vis bomber jacket. I blinked away tears, hoping to get a proper look at the face that swam in my vision.

Touching my nose only made my face burn and eyes water all over again. Through damp eyes, he looked like a watercolour painting. Street lights shimmered in one corner, and his hair a wispy flame-red cloud with sideburns that reached down and hugged his face. His blurred lopsided smile was the most beautiful thing I’d seen all night. As he came into focus, so did Josh over his shoulder.

‘Oh, Em, I am … fuck … so sorry. Are you okay?’

Heather slapped at him again. ‘What do you think, idiot?’

She barely touched five-feet-tall in a line-up. Despite that, she was full of energy and, right now, looked like a mother about to grab at naughty earlobes. Josh inched away from her and, in all this, it occurred to me just how many people were happy to watch what was happening, to whisper among themselves instead of help. I lolled about, steadying myself with a palm on the cold wet asphalt. Dropping on his haunches, the first-aider snapped his fingers in front of me.

‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘Is there any blood?’

I frowned, confused. ‘Huh?’

‘Are you bleeding?’ He flashed a torchlight across my eyes and offered a fistful of tissues.

Squinting away from the brightness, I dabbed at my eyes. Anything near my nose made me want to vomit, but there was a small trickle of blood. ‘Thank you.’

‘At least it’s not broken,’ we said in unison.

His mouth twitched, a smile that threatened to widen as he offered me a cold pack. Under the light, his eyes were, in one moment, bottle-green. The next, they were ocean blue. ‘What makes you say that?’

It’s not all bent up and I can still breathe.’ Through squinting eyes, I waggled a finger at his jacket, complete with reflective patches and a blank space for a name badge. ‘It looks just as good on you as it does on me.’

‘Is that so?’

My nose burned, and I rolled forward, tissue to my nose. ‘At least it’s warm, right?’

‘You do a bit of first aid, too?’

I nodded, looking about for my friends. Burly Man had disappeared, and Josh was still being reprimanded by Heather. He looked like a small child, hands up around his chest as if he’d physically shrunk against her anger, which was par for their friendship.

Heather and I met in Grade Two, when my family moved to the area. On the first day of school, while I stood the back of the crowd waiting for something to happen, she strode across the quadrangle, shook my hand, and introduced herself as my new best friend. Who could possibly argue with that?

We met Josh a few months later when he started at the school. He came prepacked with a face full of freckles, crooked teeth, and milk bottle glasses. When the other boys picked on him, Heather went into battle for him, and he’s never forgotten it. Since then, it had been the three of us. Josh slotted into our lives as if he’d always been there and, when I got my first period in the middle of gym class, he whipped out a small make-up bag from his backpack. Inside: pads, tampons, and Panadol. His mum had given it to him, so he could, ‘be a good friend’.

He still carried that make-up bag but, now, it also contained condoms, Berocca, and anything else needed for a quick hangover fix. That was essentially our friendship.

I dabbed at my nose again, resisting the urge to vomit. ‘A little. Mostly concerts.’

‘Why don’t you come across to the first aid station and tell me more about that.’ He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. Did I mention he had wonderfully strong hands? ‘My name is William.’

I brushed myself down – anything to avoid touching my face. ‘Emmy.’

I followed his jacket through the crowd, the state of my face more of a bemusement and free sideshow attraction to anyone who walked past.

‘So, first aid?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I did get a call up for the tennis in Melbourne last year.’ I followed along with pointed finger and stories at the ready. As often as I could explain the goings on to friends, they didn’t quite get it. This guy? He spoke my language.

‘I am so jealous of you right now.’ William ushered me into the first aid station. ‘I’ve often thought of packing up for a summer and heading down for the tennis.’

The first aid station, which probably doubled as a marquee at family barbecues and sports club days, wasn’t much warmer than the street, but an industrial heater in the corner at least took the chill off the air. That’s more than I could say for the wet patch on my backside. My friends lingered outside, like students waiting outside a principal’s office. Our torches had been handed off to others in the heat of the moment. Occasionally, Heather peered inside, her face wrought with concern.

‘Jealous of me?’ I said with a disbelieving laugh. ‘Please, I’ve just taken a fist to the face.’

‘Well—’ he shrugged ‘—besides that.’

‘How about you?’ I asked, sitting on a chair by the entrance.

He took the seat next to me, bringing water bottles and paracetamol. ‘I did Wimbledon last year. Roland Garros the year before.’

‘You did not.’ Speaking of jealousy.

‘Okay, so, Roland Garros was as a spectator but, you know, always on duty.’ He swung about in his seat and looked at me. ‘Any drugs tonight, Emmy?’

A bright light flashed into my eyes again. God, he was checking my pupils. ‘What? No.’

‘Alcohol?’

‘Too broke for that,’ I said.

William gave me a hard stare, eyebrows reaching for the sky. He was having none of my shit tonight.

‘Alright, maybe a swig of vodka and a schooner from the cheap bar at the hostel, but nothing to get drunk on.’

He scoffed. ‘You and me both. Tonight has been a bottle of raspberry cordial and far too much water.’

‘Doesn’t pay well, does it?’

‘Can’t say it does, but I do love it.’ For a second, it looked like he’d folded in on himself. He popped a blister pack of painkillers. ‘No allergies?’

I shook my head. His fingers grazed my palm as he dropped the tablets in my hand. My toes curled, and breath hitched. ‘No, and thank you.’

‘You want to hang about for a while, so I can keep an eye on you?’

Heather’s eyebrows disappeared up into her hairline and her mouth rounded into a scandalised ‘O’. When Josh suggested they leave me, I didn’t try and stop them; I was happy where I was. There was a quick agreement that it would be easier if I just met them back at the hostel instead of arranging a meeting point. Before leaving, Heather snapped off a quick Polaroid.

I scowled at her. ‘What do you want to do that for?’

‘For posterity’s sake. Maybe prove to people you got into a scrap.’ She grinned, disappearing into the throng of people.

Josh held a steadying hand on her shoulder. I looked back at William, chin buried in the neck of his jacket and wild hair everywhere. I pulled my beanie off, forcing it into an already bulging pocket.

‘I sure you’ll be fine, but just be mindful of it, will you?’ he said, eyes glued to the crowd wandering past. ‘If you have a lot of swelling—’

‘Or trouble breathing, go to the A&E?’ I flashed a stubborn smile. ‘I will.’

‘You know, it’s you who’s supposed to be listening to me,’ he teased. ‘And it’s definitely not broken if you’re laughing at me.’

‘Yeah, well. Call me a bitter med school reject.’ My nose had settled into a dull throb, the kind I knew would still be around in the morning. But at least the bleeding had stopped.

‘Reject? No. They let me in, they should have definitely let you in.’

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘Yup, a junior doctor,’ he said. ‘And in a couple of years, I’ll be a GP.’

‘What an effort.’ I sighed. ‘You love it?’

‘Adore it. It’s the best job.’ He smiled. ‘I mean, it’s got its moments but…’

I grinned. My nose ached. ‘Yeah, I get it.’

My plan, thwarted as it might have been, was to train as a doctor, because how good is it to do things that feel good for other people? Even volunteering, seeing people off into an ambulance, at least I’d been able to help, or make them more comfortable for a few moments in time. Recently, I’d had a call up from the local hospital, allowing me to volunteer in the maternity ward. There was nothing better than my few hours a week spent in there. But I didn’t need to explain this to William, he understood.

Instead, we sat quietly beside each other and watched the crowd shift and change. They moved up and back along the street, A bright orange light filtered down the street, highlighting the faces of young and old alike.

Whether we’d been joined by anyone else in the first aid station was beyond my comprehension. There’d been no call to attention, and no one had approached for anything more than paracetamol and water. We huddled in our jackets, watching, waiting.

Fireworks exploded above our heads with a loud crack, ripping through the night sky, and sending rainbow-coloured sparks back down to earth. Conversations stopped mid-sentence as crowds gasped as marvelled. It didn’t matter how old you were, fireworks were still a thing of wonder. I looked up in time for another thunk, whistle, crack, sparkle, fizzle.

When the last one sizzled into memory, I stood and brushed myself off again. William looked up at me, his face expressionless.

‘William.’ I held my hand out to him. ‘Thank you for your help tonight.’

‘Pleasure’s all mine.’

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, even though I’d been in this same situation myself time and time again. So, I went with what was … normal and totally not creepy.

‘Well, goodnight.’

His smile reached his piercing blue eyes. ‘Goodnight, Emmy.’

With that, I walked away. People were moving back down the hill towards the station, the crowd noticeably thinner and torches snuffed one by one. A haze of grey smoke had settled above the street. I chanced a glimpse back at the first aid station, not knowing what to expect. There he was, hair aflame and smile wide, chatting excitedly and handing out bottles of water.

Smiling to myself despite the throbbing pain in my nose, I turned and walked away.

Chapter 2

I’d been a little relieved when I finally clapped eyes on the bouncing kangaroo held aloft above the Ceilidh crowd. That stuffed toy was the signpost of our tour guide, for meeting, for lunch, and for relative safety as we travelled. Given most our group were Australian, it seemed fitting. There’d been a moment of panic earlier when I’d traipsed past a Ferris wheel and between rainbow-coloured show rides and couldn’t see it. My brain began running through a thousand different Emmy Has Got Herself Lost Overseas on New Year’s Eve scenarios. My heart slowed to a steady rhythm when I saw Josh’s lanky arm waving over everyone’s head. The consulate would not be dealing with me on this trip.

‘Emmy!’ Heather appeared from the throng, arms outstretched for a hug. I made sure to keep my still sore nose clear of any squashing.

‘Hey, you,’ I said. ‘What’d you get up to today?’

I’d woken to a note pinned on the underside of the bunk above me. Today was a free day, a keep yourself entertained type day, and my friends had disappeared early, along with everyone else. After my efforts last night, I was happy to enjoy the solitary sleep in, especially if I got the bathroom to myself without fighting anyone. Checking that I was mostly bruise-free, if a little sore still, I spent the day alone – something refreshing after weeks cooped up in the constant presence of other travellers.

Heather rattled off her day’s itinerary, the old monuments, museums, and back alley adventures. Josh, the avid walker he was, had trekked them up Arthur’s Seat before taking her out for a haggis lunch afterwards.

A traditional Scottish band soared to life on the stage ahead.

I’d spent my day meandering around the city centre, taking the stroll from our hostel into the city, and stopping at a chocolate shop for a rich hot chocolate topped with chocolate whipped cream. It was the perfect refresher as I made my way through cobblestone streets and uber green parks.

Cheap souvenirs were about all I could afford, and that was fine, because they were a sight to behold. Kilted sheep, ashtrays, and miles of thistle themed items kept even the most astute traveller happy judging by the sheer swarm of people in each of the stores dotted along the Royal Mile. My sister was getting a thistle stamped coffee cup, just because she could be a bit prickly when she wanted to.

‘What about your friend from last night?’ Heather asked.

I shot her a surprised look. ‘My who?’

‘That guy from last night. The first aider,’ she said. ‘Looked like you were getting along alright when we saw you.’

‘William?’ I smiled. The truth was, my heart skipped each time he’d worked his way into my thoughts, which had been often enough that I’d thought I’d seen him strolling over Waverley Bridge earlier in the afternoon. It wasn’t him but, for a brief second, I was prepared to give chase. ‘He was lovely, wasn’t he?’

‘Oh.’ She smiled knowingly, looking to Josh. His face mirrored hers in the sweet mockery of friendship. ‘His name is William. Josh, Joshua, he has a name.’

‘Be quiet. He was lovely, and he helped me when I needed it. I’m sure he was just doing his job.’ Though, even as I said those words, a part of me hoped that wasn’t solely the case.

Underneath Edinburgh Castle, bathed in soft purple light, traditional Scottish music rang out across the parish gardens. Our guide attempted shouting instructions over the top of it all, but he was easily drowned out. It needn’t have mattered; friends and strangers broke off into small groups as the dancing began in earnest.

Half the fun lay in trying to work it all out. Arms were linked, hands were held and, through a bit of spinning and something that looked a little like a jig, we figured the rest out through tears of laughter, and a whole lot of trial and error. Finding an ounce confidence, things got quicker, and the night fast became a kaleidoscope of beats and colour.

And red hair.

I came to a breathless, unfit stop, lungs burning in protest at the sudden burst of exercise, joyous as it might have been. Leaning against an artificially green tree, William nursed a drink. Hi-vis had been swapped in favour of a warmer woollen pullover, a long coat, dark jeans and scarf, but it was definitely him. While the girl in front of him spoke like he was the only person in her room, he looked about distractedly. A brief smile or nod was all he could afford her.

I wondered – would it be okay to say hello? After all, he was only doing his job. Maybe it would be a bit weird. Hang it, I thought, I could at least say thank you. Edging forward, I half-expected him to have no recollection whatsoever. But, when his gaze landed on me and he smiled, my heart squeezed and the Rolodex inside my mind came to a screaming halt at W. W for William. Willy. Will. Wedding? Stop.

‘Emmy!’ He straightened and pushed himself away from the trunk. Taking the few unsure steps towards me, he left his companion with a handshake and a smile.

I smiled. ‘William, hello.’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How’s the … how’s the face?’

‘Face is good.’ I took a step closer, tipping my nose down so he could get a better look. ‘Not so bad at all.’

‘Good.’

‘I just wanted to say thank you for last night,’ I said, nervously placing my hands in, and then out of my pockets. ‘You know, for the help.’

‘You’re more than welcome.’

‘Anyway…’

His focus switched to the group behind me, and then back again. ‘You’re out of breath.’

‘Dancing.’ I threw a wave towards what was left of my tour group. ‘As it turns out, I’m not as fit as I thought I was.’

‘As it also turns out,’ he began, placing his bottled water on the ground by his feet, ‘I am no Dashing White Sergeant, so all I can offer you is White Guy at Wedding dancing.’

There was that W word again. It felt like a trail of ants were dancing up my arm.

‘Dashing what? White guy at wedding?’ I laughed, slightly confused, then winced.

‘Here.’ William closed the last gap between us, hand held high in readiness. ‘Let me show you.’

His touch burned into my skin as he slipped gentle fingers between mine and pulled me closer, flush against his body and exposed to his warmth. I closed my eyes and let my body do the rest, my hand on his shoulder, his across my back, my cheek dipped against his and just … felt. Stubbly skin against mine, soft breath against my cheek, and the smell of wool wash that lingered on clothing. We swayed slowly, removed from the pounding background beat, as if nothing and nobody else in the world mattered because there, in this moment, they didn’t.

‘You know, if this is White Guy at Wedding dancing, you hereby have a standing invite to any wedding I’m ever invited to.’

William shook with laughter. ‘You know what else happens at weddings?’

‘You shag bridesmaids?’ I said.

‘Can’t say I’ve had that dishonour, yet.’

‘No?’ I asked. ‘What is it, then?’

‘Alcohol.’ He moved away only slightly. Cold air rushed to fill the space. ‘Want to get out of here before the fireworks start, grab a drink?

I glanced back at my friends, who were lost in the revelry of their own night. I held a finger up between us. ‘Let me just go tell some people I’m leaving.’

‘I’ll wait here.’ He smiled softly.

I pointed to the ground, determined not to lose him again. ‘Right here.’

William jumped to his left. ‘Not here?’

‘Right here.’ I held his shoulders as we laughed.

‘Alright.’ His eyes widened. ‘I’m waiting. Scurry.’

Heather spun like a slow-motion film scene. In the time since I’d seen her last, which was not long at all, she’d had her hair sprayed pink, green, and blue; a perfect representation of her personality. She swung around to a new dance partner, Josh keeping an eagle eye on her, returning to her side at the earliest possible opportunity. Not for the first time, I wondered if there was something more going on. If that were true, it would make me the happiest third wheel on earth.

‘Hey.’ I tapped her shoulder.

‘Oh!’ She peered about excitedly. ‘Emmy! Where have you been?’

‘Just over there.’ I pointed. ‘I ran into William. We’ve been talking.’

‘Who?’

‘William, the first aid guy from last night.’

‘He’s here? You know what this is, Emmy? Kismet.’ She stopped and drew back with a look of smug satisfaction. ‘Oh, sweetie, your face.’

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off.

‘You like him.’

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a lie, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. After all, we were disappearing in a day or two, no need to get out the calligraphy pens yet.

‘We’re only going for a drink, not picking rings. I just want to let you know in case you came looking for me.’

Like a mother looking for a child, her arm flew out into open space, grappling for Josh. She caught him mid-twirl and dragged him into the discussion. He bounced across and came to a stop with his hand on Heather’s shoulder again.

‘Hey.’ His chest heaved. ‘What’s up?’

‘Emmy’s going to get drinks with William,’ Heather explained, before turning her attention back to me. ‘Do you need money? I’ve got some money. What about condoms. Josh, have you got any spare?’

‘Spare? What? No, I don’t really carry them just for fun.’ He shook his hands about in front of him while Heather performed a pat-down.

His wallet was held aloft like contraband. ‘But you’ve got money. And a condom, you liar.’

‘Oh, no, no.’ I waved my hands. ‘No, I don’t need money, it’s fine. And I certainly don’t need Josh’s contraceptives.’

He tutted. ‘It’s not like it’s been used, Em.’

‘Yes, money.’ Heather dug about in the wallet, scolding Josh for earlier saying he was broke. ‘In case you need to get home or call one of us.’

‘No, really, it’s okay.’

‘Emmy.’ She shoved a few small notes in my hand. ‘Take it.’

I accepted her offer with a reluctant sigh. ‘Alright, okay. Are you sure, Josh?’

‘Yeah, it’s fine.’ He shrugged. ‘Go for it.’

‘Call or message every half hour, or hour, or something.’ Her eyes were wide, the space between her brows wrinkled. ‘Please? Just let me know you’re alright.’

I nodded. ‘I will, thank you. I’ll see you both later. You guys call if you need me, too.’

‘Alright, Miss Medicine, what gives?’ William slid a glass across the table. Condensation rolled over itself, forming a ring on the small wooden table. He dropped into the chair opposite and clutched his hands in his lap.

After squeezing our way out of the Ceilidh, chins buried in necklines and hands deep in pockets, we’d strolled past Princes Street and its rainbow coloured carnival to a tiny laneway. Greeted by foggy leadlight windows and a swinging light, it looked like the best option for keeping warm. A spare table by the window was a bonus.

‘Flunked the interview.’

He winced. ‘Tough.’

‘Other pathways, right?’ I said, drawing back quickly from the drink, hands across my mouth. ‘What the … is that chilli?’

‘Cayenne pepper.’

‘In a drink?’

‘I’ll have you know it’s a cocktail named The Fighter.’

‘The what?’ I laughed. ‘I was not fighting.’

‘Eh, I don’t know, Emmy.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You might’ve been.’

‘I wasn’t,’ I stressed. ‘I was trying to get Josh out of the way.’

‘Yeah, you should’ve left him alone.’

I sighed. ‘I know that now.’

‘So, you love blood and gore, do you?’ William’s eyes widened. ‘You bloodthirsty woman, you.’

‘What is it with that question?’ I asked, almost pleading. ‘Oh, you want to do medicine, Emmy, very noble. Must love guts and gore, huh, girlie?’

‘Yes, yes, you’re quite right,’ William played. ‘It’s not that I want to do something good in the world. It’s actually that I love nothing more than stuffing someone’s intestines back into them. Quite like black pudding, really.’

‘Or—’ I shucked my jacket off and held my hand up ‘—or, or, why don’t you just be a nurse, that’d be a nice job for a girl.’

William gasped. ‘They did not.’

‘That was my very un-PC grandma,’ I said. ‘Right before she told me I should just marry and have some children before I fill out too much.’

‘Grandma, get back to the home.’

‘Funny you should say that, she went into one this year.’

‘Oh, shit, talk about foot in mouth. I am so sorry.’ Even as he said it, he struggled to contain a wicked laugh.

‘No, it’s fine,’ I assured him. ‘She’s, like, four hundred and seventy-three. It was time. It was that or let her burn her house down with her still inside it. This is the lesser of two evils.’

‘Maybe you can go work in the nursing home. Make Nana a cup of tea.’

‘I did think about it,’ I said. ‘I might yet, but I have submitted to the nagging of my parents and enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts, so let’s see if I can segue into medicine that way.’

‘A degree earned in eight years instead of four is still a degree. Remember that,’ he said with pointed finger.

‘The disappointment from my parents was palpable when I told them I hadn’t made it.’ I leant forward into the table, chin in the palm of my hand. ‘How could you get this far, Emmy? How could you?’

‘We’re not angry.’ William took a large sip and frowned so hard I thought his eyebrows would slip off onto pouted lips. ‘We’re just disappointed.’

‘Oh my God, yes.’ I threw my head back. ‘Does that come in the parental starter pack? Like, here’s your new baby, and here’s the phrases you can use for life. Maximum impact, minimal responsibility.’

‘If it makes you feel better, my parents’ disappointment lay in the fact I skipped architecture in favour of medicine. “William, your father and grandfather have a long legacy in architecture. We were so hoping you would carry that into the next generation.”.’ William screwed his face up. ‘The extent of my architectural ambition lies in the bottom of a box of Lego. I can’t even draw a potato without fucking it up.’

I laughed loudly and freely, glad for the company and quick wit. Soon, our smiles grew wider, as if we’d received confirmation of something special. Around us, tables emptied and filled up over again, the clash of cutlery and loud chatter eventually dying out to a late-night dull murmur.

‘So, I’ve just bought a place in London.’ William glanced around for the barkeep. Business had been slow enough for the last little while that he’d taken to bringing drinks to us.

‘I thought you lived here?’ I stabbed the table with a finger.

‘Here? No. My grandparents on Dad’s side are Scottish,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’m only as exotic as central London.’

For the first time tonight, I reached out and touched him, tugging at hair by his ear. ‘I was wondering where this came from.’

‘And it’s not even some weird genetic throwback. My father has also been touched with the ginger tinge. My sister got out of it by being blonde like Mum.’ He gathered his phone and wallet. ‘But I did study here. Actually, do you want to get out of here? I can show you some of the sights if you like?’

‘Oh! Yes! That would be amazing. You know the area well?’ I was up and ready before he had so much as a chance to continue.

‘I know where to get hot coffee and jam doughnuts on New Year’s Eve.’ He stood. ‘Welcome to William’s Rad Edinburgh Tours.’

‘Are they rated five-star? I’ll have you know I cannot possibly lower my standards after the holiday I’ve had. Farting boys and vomit-stained shoes, infidelity-inspired fights, and cheap souvenirs are nothing to sniff at.’

‘Well, then, aren’t you in for a surprise?’ He held the door open for me and we slipped out into the night.

Traipsing bitterly cold streets, I was ushered around to ancient buildings and seedy looking alleys. Each cobblestoned street unearthed pieces of Edinburgh’s medically related history and, through it all, I got to watch this incredible man shine like a beacon of unwavering knowledge. Not only did he talk with passion, he was completely unabashed about it. He was wonky, angular, and his smile was lopsided, but I’d raced so far down the rabbit hole I couldn’t see sunlight anymore.

‘So, this is the Royal College of Physicians.’ William gave his best game show wave. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t get in. I think it’s a little like Hogwarts, you need a special letter or some shit, but this was established in the late 1600s. Not on this site, somewhere else. This one has been here since—’

‘Where do you store all this information?’ I asked.

‘Hey?’

‘Where do you keep it all?’

‘I did my undergrad in Edinburgh, so … a bit of time to ponder this stuff. Also, I just love it.’ He ended with a wiggle of his head.

‘I love that you love it.’

‘Oh!’ He snapped his fingers excitedly. ‘Let me take you to the School of Medicine for Women. You’ll like that, it’s back near the castle.’

Moments later, just as we’d turned into the next street, popping sounds filled the air. The same kind of popping sounds you would expect when you were on the wrong side of the best view of the fireworks. William pushed his sleeve back, face wrought with concern.

‘Shit. We’re late.’ He looked at me. ‘Emmy, I am so sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry?’ I asked.

William’s face fell. He sputtered something about me spending money on a trip, and airfares, time versus money and, well, he thought he’d ruined it all. In the distance, ripples of colour reflected in the sky above buildings.

‘So, I missed some fireworks.’ I shrugged. ‘Know what the best part about that is?’

‘What?’ he asked.

‘You.’

‘Me?’

‘I can see fireworks anywhere. I can even come back for Hogmanay any time. I’m here for an experience and this, this is an experience.’

My phone buzzed. Not for the first time tonight, Heather was urging me to get down there, down to the front of the queue, and enjoy what we’d come for: the castle, the fireworks, the party atmosphere. I had it all here, and I told her so in my text back. I’d meet them back at the hostel. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and focused my attention on William again.

We did make it back to the castle, eventually, going by way of more old buildings and stories. It was late, but we ran on nothing more than the excitement of finding someone who picked up on small cues, banter, and that unmistakable wild humour. I kept him entertained with stories accumulated on my travels, while he filled me in on his trip up here. We laughed at the shared frustration of trying to find the best pastry in Paris, and how he had more of a chance to search now his parents had moved to the city so his father could teach at some fancy design school.

It kept us going all the way back to my hostel, somewhere in the wee hours of the morning.

My stomach sank like a boulder in a river. In the back of my mind, this moment had been coming all night, but I was not ready to let go. Outside my hostel, we stood about at odds for a moment, until I reached for him.

I drew my hands up into his hair and pulled his head towards me. I brushed wayward curls from his forehead and kissed him gently. He smelt of beer, chilled air, and the best night I had ever had.

‘You are incredible. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.’ My voice choked up. ‘Thank you for the most amazing time.’

His hands curled around my wrists, his nose rubbing against mine. It still panged a little, but I couldn’t care. ‘Likewise. Don’t go getting into any more fights.’

‘Promise.’ I smiled. ‘You are the best holiday souvenir ever,’ I whispered as he leant in and kissed the side of my mouth. Innocent enough to say thank you, close enough to make me want more. I took a shaking breath in.

‘Even better, I fulfil the cheap and tacky criteria, too.’ He grinned proudly.

A snotty laugh rose to the surface as I let go of his jacket and of him. He skipped off into the night, stopping on the opposite kerb to curtsey and blow a kiss. I rubbed stray tears away as I laughed and waved hopelessly.

It didn’t matter that I’d known him for no more than a single day. In my heart, I’d known him forever. The fact he was now gone only left an aching hollow in its place. A dark, rattly space only he could fill. I could bite back tears all I liked but, when it hit me that I’d not so much as got a phone number, I took off in pursuit.

I crossed the street and disappeared into the small alley that had stolen him from me. Nothing but the echo of my footsteps and a rolling fog followed me. It had barely been minutes, but he’d vanished into the night.

‘William!’ I called. My heart gave a panicked throb.

Nothing.

A misty hotel sign at the opposite end of the street beckoned me closer. My steps got quicker the closer I got. A lone motorcycle was parked up by the front door, and the waiting area was still strikingly busy. If I’d raced to the reception desk any quicker, I’d have got an Olympic medal for walking.

‘Did you…’ I heaved breathlessly and clutched at the counter. ‘Did a lanky guy just walk in here? About yay high? Fiery red hair?’

The bored concierge looked up from her magazine and threw me a smug look. ‘A guy with red hair in Edinburgh. What are the odds?’

‘Please?’ I pleaded. ‘My height, beautiful blue eyes, dark coat a, ah, a scarf. Did you see him?’

‘Miss, there have been about fifty people walk in here in the last ten minutes alone.’

‘His name is William.’ I reached across the counter, pointing at the archaic paper booking system. ‘Is he here? Can you call him? I need to see him.’

With a heavy sigh, my not-so-friendly concierge scrolled down the name of bookings. ‘There’s no one here by that name. He might be staying with another guest. I don’t know.’

I could feel my body shrink back into itself and the heels of my feet sank to the floor. He was long gone, and she wasn’t checking again. Accepting defeat, I nodded, rubbed away a frustrated tear, and saw myself out.

Finding him was tantamount to finding a needle in a haystack.

And with that, William was just another memory.

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