Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize: What’s waiting at Elm Tree Loan

The following essay was shortlisted for the Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize.

It’s a cold, sunny morning when I take the bus to Elm Tree Loan. It’s a trip that I’ve avoided and I feel sick and dizzy. Tourists gather on St Andrew’s Square, beneath the granite plinth. They admire the bright shop windows and the old doorman, with his top hat and gold-trimmed tailcoat. Two girls pose for photographs with him and giggle, then bow theatrically when he waves them through the shining glass doors. From the bus-stop, I watch the shoppers disperse across the drab city gardens. Bandaged in autumn colours and clutching paper bags, they look like parchment confetti, strewn on the auburn grass beneath the sun.

From St Andrews Square the journey to Elm Tree Loan takes less than ten minutes. As the bus lurches towards Leith Walk, I glimpse the sea beyond the tenements. I see the dredgers on the water and the tower-blocks.