Up to Old College
In the twenty years he has worked in Ghana as a lawyer Scotland has changed. A Parliament at the bottom of the Royal Mile and partial earthquake damage all over Edinburgh as they went back to the past with trams being re-introduced.
He had come home to die.
His first wife-and only one had disappeared like ducks off Holyrood Loch when his prostate cancer had first been diagnosed. Married at forty-five and deid or dead by fifty-five he wondered as he entered the Old College square-home of the Law Faculty, here, at Edinburgh University where he had studied.
The place had been cleaned up and made more amenable to a city where its volcanic bones gave way to the independence of the east in Fife and the rolling fields that would meet the sinewy and rich weave of the Border lands.
His work. Wills and the avarice of the close knit human animal gnawing away at itself. He had tried to steer a democratic and common sense approach amid the travails and joys he had witnessed in his time. Five years in Dundee then the amazing Francophile existence and chaos of Ghanaian Africa.
From the stone steps where Conan Doyle had come down a student made a small crease in her forehead. The older gentleman in the tweed jacket and brogues swayed from hip to hip as looked at the student services door from the middle of the square. Almost like an African sway.
The light May drizzle took a swirl as a Forth born wind eased down.