She went outside and up the hill. The castle forecourt was blazing, lit up with footlights so the huge edifice beamed against the snowy sky, and looked out, tiptoeing like a little girl to see over the wall, to stare out at this city, its Christmas lights glowing, its huge Christmas tree shining, stars and snow and joyous people, even now the scent of someone roasting chestnuts, and sighed. She stayed there for a long time, even as her fingers grew numb and her breath was smoke in the air, thinking about everyone down below, so many people, and someone, somewhere in the teeming crowds, the only face she wanted to see; the only green eyes she wanted to look into …
Eventually, she slowly descended the steps again, not even turning her head towards the Quaker meeting house where, if she had, she would have seen his bent head making sandwiches for the homeless with all his might, furiously trying to get rid of some of his pent-up energy and disappointment.
Most of the party-goers – including, thankfully, Blair and Skylar – had gone by the time she re-entered the bookshop, and Mr McCredie was counting up the cash box with an aura of disbelief. Carmen started picking up discarded glasses. Ramsay and Zoe passed her on the way out, Ramsay easily carrying a fast asleep six-year-old in each arm, Zoe waggling the sleepy baby’s hand at her in farewell.
She cleared up. It had been an amazing, sensational evening for the shop as well as a lovely party. She had one thing to thank Blair for at least.
‘How are you doing?’ she said to Mr McCredie. She was amazed he’d managed to stay standing the entire night. As she looked closer, she realised he was extremely drunk and could actually barely stand.
‘Oh goodness,’ she said. In her own drama, she had almost forgotten his.
‘Come on, you,’ she said, taking him in her arms like a child – he was so frail – and, locking the door, walked him up to the flat, made him drink a pint of water, took off his shoes and his jacket and carefully put him to bed with a couple of aspirin and a fresh pint of water next to him.
‘Ssh,’ she said, as he muttered something incomprehensible. His hand was screwed tight shut, gripping something. She carefully unfurled his fingers and extracted the picture. She smoothed it out and placed it carefully underneath the Cherry-Garrard book by his bed, to keep it safe for the morning.
Then she slipped out of the tiny alleyway front door, and once more joined the huge wave of Christmas revellers sweeping down to the Grassmarket, dodging in and out among them, anonymous in the crowd, just like anyone else under the cold-starred sky.
Carmen was dog-tired as she stopped dead on reaching the front door of the house. It was half-open.
‘Um, hello?’ she said, poking her head around. The house was quiet, the children in bed. No sign of Skylar. There wouldn’t be, thought Carmen. She prodded her heart. No. She was cured.
‘Sis? Sofia?’
There came a noise from the kitchen.
‘Oh, you are joking,’ said Carmen. Sofia was sitting slumped over on the floor in a pool of water.
‘Don’t you start,’ said Sofia. ‘I’ve had Federico on the phone all evening.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I thought Skylar would come home, then I could just get a taxi to hospital.’
‘Why didn’t you … ?’
‘Please, Carmen.’
‘Okay,’ said Carmen. ‘I’ll get one.’
Sofia sighed.
‘Good luck in Christmas week.’
‘Well, I’ll drive. I’ve only had one glass.’
Sofia shook her head ‘Are you kidding? You driving sober on icy roads is bad enough. No. You’re home now; get me a cab. I’ll get to hospital. Federico’s at the airport.’