They make an eclectic group walking down North Castle Street towards the beach, past the old Fishermen’s cottages and jumping onto the road where the worn cobbled pavement abruptly ends. Georgia and Brianna have re-attached at the ankle in the spirit of the three-legged pub crawl, have arms draped heavily over each other’s shoulders and are whispering in each other’s ears. Trey and Samir follow more sedately, hand in hand, engaging quietly with each other in muted whispers. Heather brings up the rear, peering into doorways and downcobbled ginnels in case the teenagers have missed any vital clues about Maisie’s whereabouts. Despite the circumstances, it gives Heather a warm feeling to see her daughter re-united with these kind and considerate friends.
They re-group at the steps by the dramatic ruin of St Andrews Castle, which sits on a rocky promontory overlooking a small beach and a seawater swimming pool. The wind, which has recently picked up and carries the tang of salt water, stresses the urgency of their predicament. Heather’s throat tightens. A small dog will never last the night in these conditions.
‘Shall we form another search party?’ Trey suggests.
‘What do you think, girls?’ Heather turns towards them.
Brianna hiccups in Georgia’s ear, and the pair collapse into a fit of giggles.
‘Look!’ Brianna has averted her face away from Georgia’s to re-direct the next in a series of hiccups.
Everyone shifts their gaze to beneath the sheer cliffs where Brianna is pointing. There, messing around in the rock pools and running in circles after seagulls, is a damp and rather excitable Maisie.
Heather rushes down the steps set into the cliff face, catches the dog and gives her a drink from her water bottle. Despite her fur being a little damp and bedraggled and her lead coated in lichen, she seems unaffected by her mini adventure.
Georgia shouts down to ask after them both, and when Heather replies with a thumbs up, the students yell that they’re going back to the pub.
Heather climbs back up the steps, clutching a damp Maisie to her chest. She scolds her as she goes, telling her of the shock she’d given her and how impossible her life would be if she hadn’t found her.
The dog twists in her arms and licks her face as if to acknowledge the distress she’s caused.
Back at the car, Heather slides Maisie into her crate and dries her fur with a towel she keeps in the boot for weather-related emergencies. When she finds the small packet of doggie biscuits that Scott had bought for Maise from the Edinburgh deli, she feels a stab of remorse. Their afternoon has not panned out as either of them had hoped. Scott was clearly annoyed at her when she left. And even angrier on the phone earlier. She takes her phone out of her pocket to update him on the craziness of the afternoon, but a series of notifications on the online parents' forum catches her eye.
Amongst others is a message from Trey’s mum, Bethany:
Sorry about the dog. Powerless from the US, but I hope you find her.
All good now. Thanks for checking up on us! x
Heather replies, accompanying her message with a selfie of her and a rather bedraggled Maisie.
That picture you posted. Where was it from?
Bethany asks.
It takes Heather a moment to remember that, in her panic she’d posted a photo of her incomplete painting.
I’m starting a new business venture, memorial paintings of pets or for students who are missing their pets when they’re away from home. It’s one I’ve almost finished of Maisie.
Love it.
Bethany replies.
What’s the website?
Although Heather isn’t inclined to share her website details in such a wide-reaching forum, she knows it will look churlish to ignore Bethany’s request. So, reluctantly, she sends a link.
Despite the distance between St Andrews and Baltimore, Bethany’s response is almost instantaneous.
Sharing and placing an order. My lad would love a painting like this to get him through the last term.
Heather’s heart flutters. This is her first ever professional commission. She checks the email associated with her website which Scott set up last month. Sure enough, there is an order for a bespoke painting, 20cm x 30cm in oil, and Bethany has sent a photograph of a charming red setter with long floppy ears and a mischievous smile. No wonder Trey misses her madly when he’s away from home. Thrilled by the sale, Heather puts the music on loud and sings the entire journey home.
By the time she’s back in Edinburgh, her link has been shared eighteen times, and she has twelve orders. By the time she goes to bed, she has 115 orders from almost every continent in the world.
SCOTT
He’s not screening her calls. He’s not. He just has some stuff he needs to sort out. Besides, he’s seeing her tomorrow, and he needs the space to consider what he’s about to ask.
