Page 81 of Last Night

We disembark at Holyrood and Finlay buys entrance tickets.

‘Christ,’ I say, surveying its colossal magnificence and general vast spread. ‘You take the west wing and I’ll take the east wing?’ I make a grit-teeth face.

There’s an ominous grumble of thunder and as the heavens open, correspondingly, Finlay’s mood breaks fully.

‘This is all we fucking need!’ he splutters, both of us holding the hoods of our coats in place as we dash for cover across the manicured lawns.

‘Let’s take shelter in the ruined abbey!’ I say. ‘It’s a little further but this isjustthe moment to appreciate it.’

‘How do you know about that?’ Fin says, and I’m quite chuffed with myself that I do.

‘Like a Goth, I always research evocative ruined abbeys.’

I lead us there at a jogging pace, and on arrival, Fin says: ‘Not to be a nitpicker, but the place you’ve brought us to has no roof.’

I start laughing in that slightly helpless way you do when the weather and circumstances are attacking you.

‘It has a beautiful façade though. Here, this part still has a roof.’

We huddle in an archway, watching the rain beat down on ancient mossy stonework, interiors that are now exteriors. We’ve stumbled into a peculiarly unforgettable few minutes.

‘Let’s just settle in for three hours of this then,’ Fin says, eventually.

‘I love it. Wish we’d brought a hot Thermos.’

When Ed called this a Very Creepy Interlude, he might’ve underrated how much I like creepy interludes.

‘How are you so perky? To the point of … revolting effervescence.’

Finlay says this unemotionally, in his usual crisp manner, face splattered with water. I get a squirm of pleasure in my stomach at this teasing, as I watch him yank his hood back down and try to pat the water out of his hair, which only spreads it around. He’d only dare be this familiar if he’s feeling comfortable around me.

‘Am I perky?’ I say.

‘Yup. Dragged against your will to another country, by a man you don’t know, to look for another man who’s not in his right mind. Being drenched in what looks like aGame of Thronesset. And it’s like you’ve been handed a Coco Loco at a swim-up bar.’

‘Sad is happy for deep people,’ I say, and I’m rewarded with authentic Finlay laughter. I realise I’m talking to him like he’s Susie, and somehow I don’t know if I’m doing it on purpose or not.

‘Is that original?’

‘No, I nicked it fromDoctor Who.’

‘I don’t even know when you’re having me on.’

‘While we’re being personal, why are you being a mardy arse?’

‘Amardy arse?’ Finlay says, speaking the words as if smelling a stinky local delicacy cheese.

‘It means—’

‘I can remember,’ he says. ‘… Agh, it feels so futile and foolish. We’re a day behind him, if not days, we’re not going to find him doing stupid sightseeing buses. Not that I had any better ideas,’ he adds, remembering it was my suggestion.

‘Yeah. I reckon in a new place, he’ll stick to his former points of reference,’ I say. ‘Where was his family home? Where he grew up?’

‘Portobello, the seaside. Lovely day for it.’

‘Let’s go back to the hotel, dry off, get lunch and try that this afternoon.’

Finlay nods. ‘I think the forecast is actually dry, later.’

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