‘That is the single most vulgar thing I’ve ever heard of!’
‘Is it?’ said Carmen. ‘Good for you, but every little helps. Anyway, who wraps your gifts?’
Mr McCredie looked down.
‘I … I don’t … I don’t really … ’
Carmen swept in to save him.
‘You don’t have to give gifts,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re too busy giving books away all the time.’
He smiled hollowly, grateful.
Carmen still looked pensive as she joined Oke on the pavement outside the shop, her breath showing in front of her. The lights strung up between the lamp-post and the great silver snowflakes dancing in the twinkling light all the way down Victoria Street never failed to make her smile.
‘You’d think,’ she said, without even realising what she was saying, ‘people couldn’t possibly be unhappy somewhere so beautiful.’
Oke gave her a look.
‘I thought you were unhappy,’ he said.
‘I never said that,’ said Carmen.
Oke stopped and looked puzzled.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I apologise. You did not say it.’
‘But you thought I was?’
He held up the half-price voucher and pretended to study it.
‘No.’
‘You don’t have anyone else to share that with?’ said Carmen, wondering.
He blinked.
‘Yes. But most of them are busy.’
His accent was so faint, just a slight ‘th’ sound on the ‘s’ of busy. She liked it.
‘I was busy.’
‘That’s true.’
She glanced at him.
‘Do you always literally have to tell the truth? Always?’
‘It’s just a habit,’ said Oke, looking a bit awkward.
‘Should I ask you how many people you asked before … ?’
‘So – fortunately it is just here and there’s no queue, look!’
‘Hence the voucher,’ said Carmen.
Why, she found herself thinking, did she always have to settle for the last-minute invitations? Why couldn’t anyone ask her out on a proper date, give her time to get dressed up, get excited about things? Why wasn’t she anyone’s first choice? She thought of Idra, choosing ski clothes, and tried not to look petulant.
‘Don’t be sad!’ said Oke as they entered. ‘Look. They have those flashing lights that you like.’
She stuck her tongue out at him, and decided to at least try and enjoy herself.
The Camera Obscura was in a beautiful, ancient narrow building at the top of the Lawnmarket, right next to the castle’s huge courtyard. You entered through a narrow door and filed up narrow ancient steps, diving in and out of different rooms.
Despite herself, it was fun. The sideshow exhibits were funny: forced perspective rooms that made them look big or tiny; a rather pretty light tunnel; a hall of mirrors.
This was just … going to see some lights. In her lunch hour.
She laughed in the mirror maze, where lights shimmered and changed and it was impossible to tell how big it was: an infinity of mirrors, perhaps, in the ancient house, reflecting back and back. Once they got separated you could see glimpses of the other person, but not precisely tell where they were.