Morningside Crescent - an excerpt
I didn't see Tilly on Friday - I'm not sure what I would have said to her if I had - and we hadn't properly arranged anything for the weekend, either; I was rather under the impression that I was welcome at any time, and had vaguely decided to wander over there on Saturday evening. Depending how my mountaineering went, I might have to revise things a little - I might have things to discuss with her. The day passed in a haze of books and anticipation, and I even gave the Union bar a miss in the evening, instead half-heartedly trying to write an essay on the Great Vowel Shift. But I slept reasonably well, and the only real symptom of my nervousness was waking at 6 in the morning. I surprised myself by actually getting the essay written in the hours I had spare, and almost left it too late to start the climb.
Arthur's Seat is a rather startling anomaly - Edinburgh is a rather genteel city, full of Georgian terraces, and at first, to be continually catching glimpses of an extinct volcano can be rather unnerving. Of course, it's also a wonderful resource if you live, as I did, nearby; Holyrood Park is a piece of genuine wilderness in the heart of the City which affords walking, climbing and wildlife to even the mildly intrepid. I had already explored much of the park, and climbed Arthur's Seat a couple of times, so I was at least sure of the way, and I had learned to pace myself so that I didn't arrive at the summit a pathetic, sweaty heap. So I tried not to hurry on the way up, and I was thankful for the cold, calm weather as well. I heaved myself up the last few feet, and for a moment thought I was alone. 'Oakwood' was sitting behind the triangulation marker, sheltering from the traditional Edinburgh gale. I was just deciding how to attract his attention over the howling wind without actually scrambling round in front of him, when he looked round, and beckoned me over, motioning me to be quiet. This almost caused me to laugh out loud, since we were quite alone up there, but I realised he was serious. He pointed to something far below, and I strained to see. "A kestrel," he said, "she's hunting - been doing it for about quarter of an hour. I think she's doing it for sport - she certainly doesn't seem to be having much success." I could see the bird now, fluttering in the wind, her head perfectly still as she watched the ground. I watched with him for several more minutes, until the bird either lost her target, or got bored with the game and hitched a lift with the wind, swinging round below and behind us.
I had rehearsed my opening lines, but didn't get a chance to use them. "You might as well call me Oakwood - I think you'll find it easier if you don't know any names. I suppose you'd like to know what's going on?" I nodded. "Well, you're not alone. We'd like to know, too. I, er, represent CAMREC. We're more than a little confused. You've been told that we rejected the ruleset?" I decided to keep my own counsel for now, and nodded again. "Not true, I'm afraid. In fact, we've never seen it. We think that they haven't, either - in fact we wondered whether it really existed until you turned up. You've seen it, if our source is correct, and we've had corroboration from that source that it does actually exist. Is it as good as it's rumoured?" I bit my tongue, and said nothing. "You're a wise man - I think we're going to get along just fine. Let me tell you what we think. Someone is trying to destabilise the whole organisation of the Game. The arguments - schism, if you want - of the past ten years have barely been consigned to history, and someone wants to blow it all open again. I think" - I noted that 'I' - "there's a deliberate attempt in progress to provoke outright civil war between ourselves and the other lot. The aim ulimately being the discrediting, and possibly even the destruction of the Game itself: the stakes are as high as that. If the ruleset is as good as is rumoured, it might even be a step towards reconciliation - someone very badly wants that not to happen."
I was emboldened. "So what happened to the IMCS copy?" He smiled. "We don't think they've seen it either." "But Mrs. Trellis-" "Yes, it is rather puzzling, isn't it? We do know there was a fire, but we don't know if it was in any way related." I sighed, and looked off over his shoulder, beyond the stands at Meadowbank and Easter Road towards Leith and the Firth of Forth. "So what do I do now?" "We need someone to talk to them - find out the truth, and try to come to some arrangement for both sides to see it - assuming of course - " I looked up. "Assuming?" "Well, the other possibility is that they are trying to finish us off - they know we've been weakened by some of the recent disputes, and I think they'd quite like to have us outlawed." "So this might all be a double-bluff, and I'm stuck in the middle of it? Who else knows about this?"
It was his turn to pause. "I really can't say - there are some senior players who are sympathetic to our cause, and who want to try to put things on an even footing, and some of them are aware of what's going on - but you understand that an officially ranked player who openly consorts with CAMREC, even these days, is on rocky ground." I returned to the safe ground of nodding. 'Oakwood' continued. "If you don't get anywhere with them" - I wondered at which point in the conversation I had agreed to talk to IMCS - "there is one other person you could talk to - but I hope it won't come to that." I shivered. I was in no doubt that he meant Ruttsborough; persona non grata on both sides, he might well either be behind this, or in league with whoever was. 'Oakwood' made to leave. "I've said more than enough already. I've written three telephone numbers down for you - the first is mine, but you'd better have a codename for yourself; the second is a way to reach CAMREC, if you can't get me; and I really hope you don't need the third one. I've left it in your mailbox. I'll be in touch." He started down the East side, and I scrambled to follow him - I had so many questions. He turned as he heard me. "Don't worry, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. Or as bad as I think. If you need to call me, let me know your codename in advance - pin it on the noticeboard beside the shop in DHT. If I see it, I'll replace it with one which says Oakwood. Don't call me until you see my sign."
As he slowly disappeared from sight, I once again had to stop myself from laughing; this was all so absurd. Yet he was deadly serious, and so was Tilly; and there really had been a fire, and an attempt to kick my door down. I stood there for an age, turning over the morning's events until I was sure I would go mad. Then I scrambled down the side of the rock, walked up to the Commonwealth Pool, and got on a bus bound for Stockbridge. Tilly would sort this out for me.
But Tilly wasn't in. I wandered up Raeburn Place until I came to the playing fields. There was a rugby match in progress, and some small boys throwing a ball around on the sidelines. I recognised one of the teams as being the FPs of my old school, and felt a sudden pang of nostalgia for a time, only six months before, when everything had seemed much simpler. I zipped my coat up to the neck, and started back down towards the Water of Leith, passing Tilly's flat on the other side. I looked up at her window, but it was dark. For the first time in all of this, I felt utterly alone. I walked on, and as I walked, came to a clear decision. On the way through the city centre, I walked down into Waverley station, and bought a ticket for the overnight seating service for the following Friday night. The only seats available were travelling via the West Coast line, changing in Glasgow; so I was handed two tickets - one for Edinburgh to Queen Street; and the other a return from Glasgow Central to Euston.
In the few weeks I had lived there, Edinburgh had become much more 'my city' than the one I grew up in. Familiarity, and all that, I supposed, but it was true that I felt a connection with the centre of this town which wasn't all due to its newness. I had already devised many shortcuts and back routes through, or rather over, the hills around the Old Town, and it was the already familiar route back from the station I followed that evening, lost - as usual - in thought. Up the 'Scotsman' steps, inhaling deeply the scent of newsprint as the presses within churned out thousands of Saturday 'Pinks'; across the Royal Mile at the Tron, and back down the hill past the Waverley Pen Company ("They come as a boon, and a blessing to men: the Pickwick, the Owl, and the Waverley Pen". I wonder what women wrote with...) to the Cowgate; right and then left into Chambers Street, past (on this occasion) the Union building, up the alley at the back of Old College, under Potterrow, and on into George Square. Then I changed my mind, and cut back through to Nicolson Square, and tried Tilly's number from one of the phoneboxes. No reply. An exciteable queue of long-haired denim-clad youth was waiting, some of them patiently, for access to the Odeon and some concert or other - I wondered idly if that might have been me in another incarnation. Eventually, I rounded the corner to Cowan House, checked my mail, and trudged back to my room.
Tilly was sitting in the corridor outside my door. My heart leapt, and part of me noted that reaction coolly. She had all but given up on me, it seemed, and I felt another surge of unaccustomed 'grownupness' at having a real, live, woman waiting for me. We quickly adjourned to the Southern - part of me was not quite ready for Tilly to see my room yet - and we passed a highly pleasant evening among some of Edinburgh's finest beers. I, naturally, volunteered to walk back to her flat with her - over all those hills again - and just as naturally volunteered to keep her warm for the rest of the night. Somehow the evening had passed in inconsequential chatter, rather than discussion of the things which were weighing on my mind; and it wasn't until I had been sent for morning rolls the next day, and had helped cook (cook!) breakfast, that I started to unfold the unlikely story of the day before. TIlly agreed with me that I would have to go and see IMCS, and that it was wise to do it as soon as possible; her only doubt being whether anyone would be available on a Saturday to see me. I hadn't really thought of that, I booked Friday night tickets because I was still a good student, and didn't want to miss any classes. I started to ramble about phone calls, and rebooking tickets, and maybe not going at all, but Tilly stopped me. "There's time enough for that tomorrow," she said. "You've something much more important to do now." "Oh, yes; what?" "You're going to help me have a bath."