Page 3 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part Two

It wasn’t unusual for Fraser to receive an email from his agent, although they were significantly less frequent than when he’d lived in London, searching for the role that would make his career.

Recent communications tended to relate to royalty payments due for past roles, so he wasn’t surprised to see Sam’s name in his inbox.

But the subject line was unexpected: MAJOR AUDITION.

Fraser sat back on the sofa, staring at the screen.

In his younger days, he wouldn’t have been able to open the message fast enough, eagerly scanning the contents and prepared to drop everything to attend, regardless of whether he had any chance of landing the role.

Over time, he’d learned to be more discerning, although he’d never quite managed to escape the nagging fear that one of those unsuitable jobs might have led to his big break.

And as his acting resumé had grown, his agent had sent better roles, some of which led to opportunities and friendships Fraser might not have had otherwise.

But he’d been clear when he’d told Sam he was taking an extended break – unless Spielberg came calling, he wasn’t taking any new roles. And since there was zero chance of that happening, Fraser felt confident in assuming Sam had forgotten he was out of the game.

Even so, Fraser was almost tempted to open the email, but the urge was only fleeting.

Attending an audition now would be difficult; it would involve travel, quite probably an overnight stay, and that was before he factored in any preparation.

He had sold-out ghost walks most evenings over the coming weeks, with a small number of allowances for walk-ups on the night which would put the tour at capacity – he couldn’t just disappear to London, or wherever the audition was being held.

But over and above any practical obstacles, Fraser found himself baulking at the prospect of putting himself through the stress of auditioning, of waiting anxiously for news and the all too frequent swoop of disappointment when he discovered the role had gone to someone else.

That part of his life was over and he didn’t miss it in the slightest. With a decisive stab of his finger, he relegated Sam’s email to the trash folder and put his phone on the coffee table.

The door to the hallway opened and Naomi came into the room. She detoured to the fridge, collecting a wheatgrass shot before turning back to survey Fraser. ‘I thought you might like to take me out for lunch today.’

Fraser hid a smile. It was typical of Naomi to assume he had no plans of his own. ‘I can’t. I’m collecting the ghosts from Maura at one o’clock.’

Naomi shrugged. ‘That won’t take long, will it? We can meet afterwards.’

In theory, she was right – he could be in and out of Maura’s studio within minutes if needed.

But he had no intention of being so disrespectful.

The time had been arranged around Maura’s teaching commitments, to give him the opportunity to check how the process of making them had been for her, and reveal how the ghosts had been received.

He wanted to make sure she knew how much he appreciated the work she had put in, to bask in the shy smile he knew the words would elicit, and sound her out about producing a second batch.

It was not a question he planned to hurl over one shoulder as he raced out of the door.

‘I’m not picking up a curry, Naomi,’ he said.

‘This is a business meeting – we have things to discuss.’

Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Surely you don’t have that much to talk about. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m leaving for London tomorrow and it would be nice to spend some time together before I go. It’s not as though we can make dinner plans, is it?’

The fact that he worked most evenings was a source of increasing friction between them.

When they had first moved to Edinburgh, she had been understanding of the need to build the ghost walk business and establish his brand of storytelling, but her patience had worn thin over the following eight months.

He didn’t work every night – Mondays and Tuesdays were covered by a freelance tour guide – but Naomi had grown tired of trying to manage their social life around so short a window and Fraser supposed he could understand her frustration.

‘Of course I haven’t forgotten,’ he said. ‘I’ll be finished by nine o’clock tonight. Why don’t we grab a late dinner?’

‘Because I’ve got an early flight in the morning,’ Naomi objected. ‘Can’t you move your meeting? Maura works from home, doesn’t she? I’m sure she won’t mind if you pop round later in the day.’

Again, he marvelled at her apparent incomprehension that other people might have things to do.

‘I mind,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, it’s unprofessional.

’ He took a breath and checked the time.

It was almost ten o’clock. ‘How about brunch instead? We could go to that new place overlooking the docks.’

She sighed. ‘I’m not hungry now.’

‘A late lunch, then. Two-thirty in New Town. You can choose the restaurant.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘That’s too late.’

Fraser felt his temper start to slip. ‘So basically what you’re saying is, we do it your way or not at all.’

Naomi folded her arms. ‘I don’t think I’m being unreasonable.’

And that was part of the problem, Fraser thought. But he didn’t want another argument – there had been too many of those lately and a disagreement now was likely to fester while she was away. He rubbed his brow. ‘Okay,’ he said, in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. ‘Let me see what I can do.’

‘Great,’ Naomi said, and beamed at him. ‘I thought Henderson’s at twelve-thirty. Will you book?’

He gritted his teeth slightly. ‘I don’t know if Maura will agree to move the meeting yet.’

Naomi shrugged and tossed back the wheatgrass shot. ‘I’m sure she will. Mention my name when you ring the restaurant. The owner is a friend – he’ll give us a nicer table.’

She was moving before Fraser could frame a reply, disappearing back through the door to the hallway, and he decided in the silence that followed that it was probably for the best. Just as it wasn’t such a bad thing that she was going to London in the morning.

A break might be just what they needed to reignite their spark.

It was just before three o’clock when Fraser parked outside Maura’s studio on Thistledown Lane.

Lunch with Naomi had been pleasant, although he sensed they’d both been taking care to avoid anything that might trigger a disagreement.

They’d been given a prominent table in the window and the restaurant owner came out to greet them personally.

The food had been faultless. It would have been perfectly enjoyable had it not been for Naomi’s insistence on having her own way.

Fraser had tried to let that go, especially since Maura had reassured him it was no problem and suggested a time later in the afternoon, just as Naomi had predicted she would, but there was a stubborn kernel of irritation that no amount of conversation and good food could remove.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that they had both been playing a role.

His irritation melted away when Maura presented him with the ghosts, however.

They sat in solemn rows on the workbench, their empty eye-sockets wide and somehow soulful.

All were the same shape and size but no two were identical – delicate green strands swirled over the smooth white clay of each in ever-changing patterns, as though abandoned by the ebbing tide.

Some were encrusted with barnacles. One gave the definite impression it was winking at Fraser.

And yet they were clearly, recognisably, by the same potter.

He was no expert but he would have known who made them even without checking for the MM mark Maura had inscribed on the back of each ghost.

‘They’re amazing,’ he said, after staring at them for several long seconds. ‘What’s the collective noun for a group of ghosts?’

Maura’s lips quirked in amusement. ‘I have no idea. A spookiness? No, wait, that’s too cute. How about a haunt?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Fraser said, nodding. ‘I might even use it on the tour.’

‘If it helps to sell them, I’m all for it,’ Maura replied.

He glanced at her in surprise. ‘They don’t need any help. This batch sold out in a few days.’

‘Oh!’ Her eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine surprise. ‘But I thought… Why didn’t you tell me?’

Fraser tipped his head. ‘You said you needed four weeks. I didn’t want to put any pressure on you so I thought I’d talk to you when the ghosts were ready.’ He regarded her steadily. ‘Did you think I hadn’t been able to sell any?’

Maura’s cheeks turned pink. ‘Well… yes. I’ve been to plenty of pottery shows where people have walked past my stand all day without buying anything. It can be hard to know what will sell.’

Fraser found that hard to believe. Maura was so talented – surely there was a queue of people waiting to snap up her work.

‘I have a captive audience, don’t forget.

Most of the people who come on the tours jump at the chance to own their very own Edinburgh ghost.’ He paused, wondering whether to reveal just how many people had wanted to buy the Sea Witch.

‘In fact, there’s a bit of a waiting list. I’d like you to make some more, if you can fit them in. ’

‘Oh,’ she said again, as her gaze dropped to the ghosts. ‘More of this design?’

He nodded. ‘Agnes is popular so it makes sense to stick with her for now. How long would it take you to make another forty?’

Blinking, she puffed out her cheeks. ‘Around six weeks, I think. But I could deliver the order in two batches, if you have people waiting. So the first twenty or so in three weeks, and then the rest by six weeks.’