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.
As I stared aimlessly at the shelves of books before me, I couldn’t decide if I wanted a biography, some new-fangled self-help title from a washed-up celebrity, or the ‘hottest’ novel of the month. I placed all three options back on the shelf and continue browsing.
The thought of leaving had my stomach all twisted in knots, and it wasn’t just because I’d fallen head over heels in love with Europe, but more to do with a certain redhead with piercing blue eyes and a lopsided smile I’d left back in Edinburgh. It’d been almost a full week since we’d said goodbye to the Scottish capital via the rugged Highlands, and it had all passed in a blur of castles and lochs.
‘Have you got what you want?’ Heather idled up beside me, the colours washed out of her hair in favour of her natural mousy brown. She sipped slowly at a can of soft drink and twisted her foot around. ‘There’s a pub down the other end. Want a drink? Josh’s saved us a table.’
‘Sure, sounds great,’ I replied distractedly, flicking through a copy of Empire. With a sigh, Heather took the magazine from my hands, replaced it on the stacks and lead me out of the shop.
‘Come on misery guts, you can pine for him over a drink.’ We skirted past more souvenir shops, Heather stopping me to marvel at suits in the window of a menswear shop, and found Josh breaking off another row of Galaxy and lamenting that we couldn’t get it back home.
‘My shout.’ I pulled my purse out, aware that I had been a wee bit of a Debbie Downer lately. ‘What do you want?’
‘Cider,’ they answered in unison.
‘You two,’ I teased, making my way over to the bar, my gaze wandering around the terminal as I waited for someone to serve me.
Airport terminals were funny places. Time seemed to stand still; ten o’clock in the morning was deemed a respectable hour to drink, mostly because clocks seemed to be hidden. Businesswomen in Ugg boots shopped for perfume and businessmen for alcohol and overpriced shirts. I smiled to myself as a man in the café across the way, with a shock of red hair, fumbled to organise a clothes hanger, carry on suitcase and a