Deadly Cairns

CHAPTER 1 THE STUPID O'CLOCK

CHAPTER 1 THE STUPID O'CLOCK

Moray Firth greeted us with what locals might call "a wee bit o' haar," but the thick fog covering northern Aberdeenshire that morning was anything but wee. I wedged my tripod between two rocks on the only somewhat flat spot and pointed my camera at the castle ruins teetering on the cliff. Below, the North Sea rolled in steely greys, looking about as inviting as a tub of ice cubes. It was perfect weather for photography, less perfect to take a dip into the sea - standard for Scotland, really. My publisher would be thrilled: this was the "authentic Scotland experience" they wanted, drizzle included. Brian, however, was less thrilled.

"I'm not being dramatic," Brian said, despite no one suggesting he was. "But I'd like to point out that our B&B is currently serving a Full Vegan Scottish breakfast. With potato scones. And mushrooms. And those little tomatoes that get all sweet when they're grilled."

"Mmm," I replied, adjusting my aperture without looking up.

"And we're here instead. In the cold. In the wet. At stupid o'clock in the morning."

I peered through my viewfinder, waiting for the light to shift. "The golden hour waits for no vegan, Brian."

"I don't care about the golden hour," he muttered, hugging his waterproof jacket tighter. "I could've been a fashion photographer in Milan, you know. I'd be in a heated studio right now, sipping espresso, surrounded by beautiful people wearing clothes no one can afford."

"You hate espresso. You said it tastes like burned liquorice."

"That's beside the point, Jo." He kicked a small stone and watched it tumble down the slope. "Or at least I could be working for someone who appreciates beaches. Sandy, warm, Mediterranean beaches. With ice cream stands and sunbathers and not a single midge in sight." He waved his arms demonstratively in front of his face, trying to chase away the swarm of tiny beasties that always join every summer trip in Scotland.

I snapped three shots in quick succession, then stood up straight to check the display. "You're allergic to sun cream, and the last time you went to a beach, you complained about sand in your underpants for two weeks."

"Again, not the point." Just then, a gust of wind caught Brian's hood, pulling it back and transforming his styled hair into something that looked wild enough to impress any eighties rock band. He gave me a look, as if I'd summoned the wind myself, then gestured at the sky. "That is the point I'm talking about."

I sighed. "As I've told you approximately eight thousand times this morning, I need these shots for the 'Secrets of Scotland' chapter."

My publishers had been clear: they want photos that are moody, atmospheric, and authentic. They're done with the usual tartan-and-whisky images. My book, 'Scotland Unfiltered,' isn't just about the classic top ten sights. They also want to see the real, wild, and damp Scotland – the side most tourists miss.

Brian's shoulders dropped in an exaggerated show of defeat, but then a spark of excitement brightened his face. He reached into his big backpack and pulled out the sleek black case that held his favourite gadget.

"Well, if we're capturing moody Scotland, then we might as well do it properly." He unzipped the case, revealing his drone. "I'm thinking of a brilliant shot from the water, getting the full castle with that brooding sky behind."

In an instant, Grumpy Brian disappeared, and Tech Enthusiast Brian took over. His moods don't just shift – they completely change, usually whenever food or gadgets are involved.

"Your five followers on Likecosm will be thrilled," I teased, returning to my viewfinder.

Brian gasped in mock offence. "I'll have you know I have over three hundred followers now."

"Three hundred? Impressive. And how many of them are real people rather than only your mum and her bridge club?"

"At least seven," he said with a grin. "They're very loyal. Jenny from Inverness always comments with a thumbs-up emoji."

He focused on setting up the drone, his hands surprisingly skilled, unlike his clumsiness with everything else. I watched for a moment, amazed at how quickly his complaints vanished now that he had a task.

"It doesn't make sense," he said, not looking up from his control panel. "My composition is solid. My edits are clean. I use all the right hashtags. But my posts on Likecosm just... vanish. It's like shouting into the void."

"The algorithm gods are fickle," I replied, switching lenses.

"If they were building churches to pray to the algorithm gods, I'd go there every Sunday." His drone lifted into the air with a whir.

I turned back to my work, feeling the familiar pressure of my approaching deadline. This wasn't just another pretty picture for a travel blog – this was my livelihood. Freelancing was a constant balancing act between artistic integrity and paying the rent for my shoebox flat in London.

"Just one more hour," I promised, both to Brian and to my growling stomach. "Then we can hit that café we passed on the way. The one with the chalkboard."

"The sign that says 'Proper Green Tea and the Best Vegan Pies in North Scotland'?" Brian replied quickly, as if he had memorised it. And knowing him and his especially well-trained radar for anything edible which doesn't have eyes, he probably had indeed. "Do you think they mean 'best' as in 'really good' or 'best' as in 'the only available' vegan pies in North Scotland?"

"Either way, food is in your future." I lined up another shot, capturing the moment a ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating one crumbling tower. "We just need to make the most of this light while it lasts."

We worked in companionable silence for a while, the kind that only comes after years of friendship. Brian's drone hummed overhead, capturing footage I couldn't get from ground level. For all his complaints and social media woes, he was good at what he did. His eye for aerial composition complemented my more grounded approach.

Our ambition was straightforward: dedicate the summer and autumn to exploring Scotland, capturing its untamed beauty and lesser-known corners. And in the evening, I'd write the stories and articles in whatever B&B, holiday flat, or occasionally slightly dodgy inn we'd found, fuelled by endless cups of green tea.

Brian's imaginary Milan studio might be more glamorous, but I wouldn't trade this for anything. My fingers had gone numb twenty minutes ago, but there's something special about waiting for that perfect moment when the light breaks through. That's when you capture something real – not just a pretty scene, but stories I can tell with my photos.

Dark clouds gathered, muting the daylight and leaving the castle outlined against the sky. I adjusted the aperture and took the shot. Scottish weather might be hard on both camera and photographer, but these storm clouds were about to make this shot stand out.

And then I noticed someone making their way up the path.