15 July 2012
It all began on New Year’s Eve. Every year the four of us traditionally spent Hogmany together, that being Luisa and Fletch, our best mates, Jason and me. This year was no exception, but instead of the usual dinner date or party night, we’d been invited to newlyweds Gordon and Lacey’s new posh pad to celebrate Hogmany. New Years Eve or Hogmany, when the ‘first foot’ is welcomed into millions of homes around Scotland to ensure good luck is promised for the year ahead. But this New Years Eve didn’t invoke the promise of any good luck but rather its dark counterpart.
The morning had started off on a bad ‘footing’ for me right from the word go. My first foot out of bed was the first in a succession of unlucky events. I was awoken from my sleep by our dog Dougal barking downstairs, this was unusual on two counts, the first being he always slept outside in his kennel and secondly he never barked, he was the quiet mysterious type. Bought as a guard dog when we first moved out to the country, he hadn’t quite managed to cut the mustard in the guard dog department. I quickly grabbed my new silk dressing gown, a Christmas gift from Jason, from the chaise lounge and ran downstairs to the sitting room. There was Dougal, standing in a proud stag like stance on the new sofa of exactly seven days.
‘Dougal!!! You bad boy!! Come down from there right now!!’ his tail wagging, he unlocked his jaw releasing a cushion. Pricking his ears up and cocking his head in recognition of his name, he trotted over to where I was standing. It became clear that Dougal had enjoyed a sleepover on the sofa now covered with his course winter hairs and wet slimy saliva, which resembled snail trails across the cushions. The once perfectly plumped cushions now resembled empty hessian sacks where potatoes once lived. I was devastated to say the least, although to look at me you wouldn’t have known whether I was sad, happy or indifferent, as the night before I had my own version of ‘plumping’ done. I’d been reliably informed by the very discreet beautician Miss X that the latest trend was the ‘poker face’.
I set about cleaning up the mess and using my skills as a first aider to carry out CPR on the cushions, over and over, willing them back to life from their flat-lining existence. ‘Stand back everyone’ I shouted, ‘I’m about to perform Cushion Plumping Recovery’. My voice echoed through the empty house, Dougal showed no sign of appreciation for my comedy genius timing and delivery. I didn’t give myself time to question why Dougal hadn't stayed in his kennel the night before, perhaps it was my denial of not wanting to know the truth or because I was far too concerned about heading to the shops. Fashion was my passion and shopping my distraction I'd had years of practice that afforded me the opportunity to develop a full blown addiction.
09.42 St James’ Centre, Edinburgh. Early as it was Edinburgh was wide awake, the city was buzzing with the excitement of Hogmany. A young piper in full highland regalia, stood outside HMV playing a Scottish version of Coldplays’ Clocks. He winked in my direction signalling his thanks for the coins I dropped into his tartan coin box. Running through the St James’ Centre I tried my best to negotiate my way through the hoards of sales shoppers desperate to spend their Christmas money or return their unwanted gifts. A combination of buggies, wheelchairs, little people and charity workers blocked any hope of a clear path. I tried my best to find gaps in the sea of people and negotiate a space to squeeze through. The rotating doors to Maltreese Walk were in sight, where my beloved Harvey Nicks lived. ‘Would you like to donate something for those less fortunate Miss?’ said a voice with the sweetest of Scottish velvety tones. There before me, as if by magic, appeared an older gentleman in Salvation Army uniform holding out a charity box. My attention was drawn to his small sapphire eyes, watery from the cold wind that blew through from outside. ‘Oh yes, yes I would of course’ I stammered. ‘Let’s stand over here oot the way o' all the traffic’ he signalled a nod to a space by the side of Superdrug. In my quest to do something good for charity, I lost my footing tripping over a random umbrella, just missing a head on collision with double buggie and falling flat on my face. If I’d been on my own, I would’ve sobbed, but as there was an audience I couldn’t let my pride slide any further. I scraped up the contents of my handbag along with small morsels of self-respect and crawled, yes crawled on all fours, to the side of Superdrug as quickly as I could. Not the classiest of places to lose my self-respect not to mention the hurt I felt when I saw the large scratch across my ‘clotted cream’ knee high, butter soft leather vintage Chanel boots, a gift to myself for Christmas.
My experiences seemed to be telling me that today was the mother of all bad luck, even when I was acting in a godly and charitable way, luck did not seem to be on my side. This did not invoke any comfort in me for the year ahead. ‘Are you ok lass? said Mr Salvation Army man. ‘Yes, I’m fine thank you, sorry about this’ I blushed. ‘Dinnae apologise miss, I just want to make sure you’re okay darlin’ he said. His kindness and compassion was enough to bring a surge of emotions up in me, it was a painful reminder of what I’d been so desperately trying to forget. Looking up at him, I caught sight of a huge angel up on the ceiling, glistening, sparkling and emanating all that resembles Christmas and good will to all men. I was mesmerised by her, she seemed to fill me with an inner peacefulness that all would actually be okay.
Chapter Two • Opuss № I