and Susie had insisted that this year must be different. This year, she would accompany him and he would be permitted to attend a maximum of two shows a day. ‘Because there are plenty of ways to have a good time in Edinburgh without having to sit through a one-woman show of King Lear, or a comedian doing Jane Austen’s Men,’ she’d said to Annie Morland. For although Susie Allen had herself been an actress, she had a surprisingly low threshold of attention when it came to attending the theatre.
But in order for Susie to enjoy those good times, she needed a companion for the awkward occasions when Andrew insisted on seeing a show whose description alone made her shudder. She had a very clear idea of the style of companionship she wanted. Someone whose youth would reflect positively on her; someone whose unformed opinions would have insufficient grounding to contradict hers; and someone who would attract interesting company without ever dominating it.
This was not how Susie expressed the matter either to herself or to the Morlands. And thus Cat was to be found one morning at the beginning of August packing her bag for a month in the Athens of the North, excited and delighted in equal measure.
No golden coach with white horses was laid on to transport Cat to Edinburgh. Instead, she faced the prospect of spending eight hours confined in the back seat of Susie and Andrew Allen’s Volvo estate. But Cat was convinced she’d be fine, even though she’d never been further than Bristol in the Morlands’ ancient people carrier. In the car, she’d be able to sleep and to read, those two essential components of her life.
There was no elaborate leave-taking of her parents. It was as if they had exhausted their potential for making a fuss of departing children when James had left four years before for Oxford. Cat had to admit to a twinge of disappointment at the apparent indifference of her family to her imminent absence. True, her mother gave her a smothering hug but it was followed by a brusque reminder to take her vitamins every morning. ‘And don’t forget you’re on a budget. Don’t blow the lot in the first few days. What you’ve got has to last you a month. You can’t turn to the bank of mum and dad if you run out of cash,’ she’d added sternly. Annie displayed not a sign of concern about what dangers might lurk on the streets of Edinburgh, in spite of having read the crime novels of both Ian Rankin and Kate Atkinson.
Hoping for something a little more affectionate or apprehensive, Cat turned to her sisters. ‘I’ll text you when I get there,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be on Facebook and Twitter big time.’
Sarah shrugged, either from envy or indifference. ‘Whatever,’ she mumbled.
‘I’ll post photos too.’
Emily looked away, apparently fascinated by the contrail left by a fighter jet. ‘If you like.’
Cat gave her father a look of appeal, hoping he at least would display some sign of dreading her departure. He slung a companionable arm round her shoulders and drew her away from the driveway towards the ramshackle garage where he indulged his woodworking hobby. ‘I’ve got a little something for you,’ he said.
Fearing another of his wooden trinket boxes, Cat let herself be led out of the sight of her mother and sisters. Instead, her father dug into the pocket of his jeans and produced a pair of crumpled twenty-pound notes. ‘Here’s a little extra spends for you.’ He put the money in her palm and folded her fingers over it.
‘Have you been robbing the collection plate?’ she teased him.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘There would have been more but the congregation’s been down this month. Listen, Cat. This is a great opportunity for you to see a bit of the world outside your window. Make the most of it.’
She threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. ‘Thanks, Dad. You always get it. This is the start of an amazing adventure. All these years, I’ve been reading about exciting exploits and wild escapades, and now I’m actually going to have one of my own.’
Richard’s smile held a touch of sadness. ‘I remember reading Swallows and Amazons and the Famous Five books and thinking that was how my life was going to be. But it didn’t turn out like that, Cat. Don’t be disappointed if your trip to Edinburgh doesn’t play out like a Harry Potter story.’
Cat snorted. ‘Harry Potter? Even little kids don’t believe Harry Potter’s for real. You can’t long for something you know is totally fantasy. It’s got to feel real before you can believe it could happen to you.’
Her father rumpled her long curly hair. ‘You’re talking to the wrong person. I believe in the Bible, remember?’
‘Yeah, but you’re not one of those crazies who think the Old Testament is history. What I mean is, all that magic and sorcery – nobody could believe that. But when I read about vampires, it could be true. It could be the way things are beneath the surface. Everything fits. It makes sense in a way that Quidditch and silly spells don’t.’
Richard laughed. ‘Well, I hope you can have an adventure in Edinburgh without being bitten by a vampire.’
Cat rolled her eyes. ‘Such a cliché, Dad. That’s so not what the undead are all about.’
Before he could respond, they were interrupted by a car horn. ‘Your carriage awaits,’ Richard said, gently pushing her out of the garage ahead of him.
The journey north was uneventful. In deference to Cat’s taste in literature, Susie had downloaded an abridged audio book of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. For Cat, schooled only in contemporary vampire romance, it was a curious and unsettling experience. It reminded her of the first time she’d tasted an olive. It was unlike everything that had crossed her palate before; strange and not quite pleasant, yet gilded with the promise of sophistication. This was what she would like when she knew enough of the world, it seemed to say. It was a guarantee that was more than enough to keep her focused on the conflict between the Transylvanian count and Professor Van Helsing.
The book ended and Cat drifted into consciousness of the outside world just as they reached the outskirts of the city centre. She squirmed out of her slouch on the back seat and eagerly scanned the neighbourhood, taking in the imposing symmetry of the grey stone buildings that lined the streets, interspersed with orderly tree-lined gardens enclosed by spiked railings. Although the light was barely fading into dusk, in her imagination it was a dark and foggy evening, when this would become a thrillingly ominous landscape. She had come to Edinburgh to be excited, and even at first sight, the city was living up to her expectations.
Mr Allen liked to live well, and he always took comfortable lodgings for his August pilgrimage. This year, he’d rented a three-bedroomed flat towards the West End of Queen Street which came with that contemporary Edinburgh equivalent of the Holy Grail – a parking permit. By the time they’d found a parking space that matched it, then lugged their bags up several flights of stairs, none of them had appetite or energy for anything more than a good night’s sleep.
Cat’s room was the smallest of the three bedrooms, but she didn’t care. It was painted in shades of yellow and lemon and there was plenty of room for a single bed, a dressing table, a wardrobe and a generous armchair that was perfect for curling up and reading. Best of all, it looked out over Queen Street Gardens. Cat had no difficulty in ignoring the constant traffic below and enjoying the broad canopy of trees. Now twilight had taken hold – and to her astonishment, it was already almost eleven o’clock, when it would be properly dark in Dorset – she could see bats flitting among the leaves. She gave a little shiver of pleasure before she closed the curtains and slipped into sleep.
Breakfast with the Allens was an even more casual affair than at the Morlands. When Cat emerged from the shower, she found Mr Allen in his dressing gown reading the Independent by the window, a cup of coffee at his elbow. He glanced up and said, ‘The supermarket delivery came. There’s fruit and juice and bacon and eggs in the fridge. Croissants in the bread bin and cereals in the cupboard. Help yourself to whatever you fancy.’
Spoiled