Find the new version on my profile, titled Seacliff! :)
In 2019, Aidan is a kilt-wearing tour guide on the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh. In 1919, Saoirse is a Great War nurse who's got nothing left to live for - until the sea brings a naked, unc...
"Do you know what the difference is between a skirt and a kilt?"
Incipient curiosity, amused and expectant, bloomed across the faces of Aidan's audience.
"If you wear something underneath," he proceeded to answer his own question, "it's a skirt."
Laughter rippled through the small group.
"So which one are you wearing right now?" a brazen tourist's voice piped up.
"Cheeky!" Aidan chided him. "But rest assured, it's a skirt."
Disparate chuckles in the crowd. Aidan let them die out while he pondered how to best phrase his next joke.
"You should know, however," he started on a serious tone, "that it's considered very rude to ask a Scotsman what he's wearing under his kilt and most don't take kindly to it. The best answer I ever got was..." A second of suspense. "The future of Scotland!"
His group cackled in unison and satisfied by the success of his routine, Aidan moved them along the Royal Mile.
"Do we have any couples here today? About to tie the knot, maybe? No?" The lack of response did not discourage him. It was something he always had to be ready for in his line of work. "Well, if you ever plan to bring your intended to Edinburgh, I have some advice."
He stopped and took a step to stand in the middle of the group, clearing the space around him.
"Can everyone see this?"
Small, rectangular slabs of rust-coloured granite broke the monotony of the cobblestoned pavement, drawing a heart-shaped mosaic on the ground, with a circle inside of it.
"The Heart of Midlothian, this is called." Aidan pointed at the mosaic with the tip of his umbrella. "Looks very pretty, doesn't it? Very romantic. Except it's really not. Passers-by spit on it for luck, but the tradition actually started when they used to execute prisoners here."
A collective gasp of shock.
"So if you were thinking to drop to one knee here and pop the question," Aidan concluded, adjusting his glasses, "perhaps not."
They continued onwards past St Giles' Cathedral and The Real Mary King's Close, turning left on North Bridge. As they crossed over Waverley station, Aidan gathered his group round for a story.
Unlike other cities, Edinburgh's fortified walls and the now-lost Nor Loch forced it to grow in height rather than area, becoming a layered, gothic maze. It was this unique layout, Aidan reasoned, flavoured with toxic fumes from the polluted Loch and a strong taste for Scotch among superstitious locals, that used to facilitate faerie and ghost sightings around the citadel.
The Nor Loch was drained in the early nineteenth century to allow the construction of the North Bridge into the New Town. In its stead, the Princes Street Gardens were built, which now housed the Scott Monument – affectionately known as the Gothic Rocket – dedicated to Sir Walter Scott.
"The Waverley railway station below us," Aidan explained, "and just across the street from the Gardens, was in fact named after Scott's first novel, Waverley. It was a best-seller in its time."
They carried on towards Calton Hill, past the Balmoral. Aidan took the opportunity to let his audience know the hotel's iconic tower clock was in fact three minutes ahead – so that upon seeing it, travellers would rush to catch their trains.
With their destination now in view, he picked up the pace a until they reached the steps at the foot of the hill. He climbed them quickly but once they emerged onto a straight path again, Aidan paused for a story to give his group a break.
"So," he said, standing across the road from his weary flock after the slower walkers had caught up, "has anybody here heard of selkies?"
*
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
