IT’S TIME

by Rachael Dytor

  He informs me we are just on the outskirts of the village of Inverarnan which is located by the river Falloch at the south end of Glen Falloch (near the head of Loch Lomond). He points it out to me on his phone and I get my bearings. It looks as though I’ve been on the road for a couple of hours or so and a quick check at the time on his phone confirms this. It’s around 10.30 a.m. He offers me a lift into the village, but I thank him and tell him to carry on with his journey. I am anxious about leaving the car and decide the best plan is to phone the Police and take it from there.

  They arrive in no time but then I imagine there’s not a lot of crime here! They secure the scene and then drive me into the village. It’s a picturesque little spot and visited almost daily I’m informed as it forms part of the West Highland Way. A short distance away, apparently, are the Falls of Falloch. I feign interest. I have more pressing matters to deal with like what do I do now? I am in the middle of nowhere feeling sorry for myself and with no transport to speak of I don’t know what the next step should be!

  The female officer has been quite persistent in asking me to seek medical attention, but I keep refusing. With nothing broken there’s really no point. I just ask her to point me in the nearest direction of somewhere I can buy some painkillers from. She drives me to the local inn which dates back to the 17th century and the bartender proudly declares that it is well known as being a haunted location. This is the last thing I really wanted to hear after the day I’ve had but I smile at him whilst he regales us with some stories and folklore. She orders some coffee and cake for me then tells me she’ll be back in a minute.

  True to her word she appears back a few minutes later with a varied assortment of painkillers. We get chatting about what happens next, and she says first things first, they will arrange to tow the car to the nearest garage and that I should notify my insurance company. Then she asks if I know of someone to call to come and collect me. I tell her of course and to just leave me to it. She looks hesitant, clearly a caring soul, not wanting to abandon me in this vulnerable state. However, again I am very insistent and grateful for her help, but I am even more grateful when I’m left on my own to collect my thoughts.

  Thankfully, the painkillers are starting to work their magic and the coffee and cake have done wonders in uplifting my mood. OK, who do I phone? Normally there would be no question – it’d be Janey. But is that wise? She would be there in a heartbeat and I’d be ushered home to rest and recuperate. I realise it’s more a question of whether I want to continue with this trip or abandon it altogether. What my heart and my head are telling me are two different things.

  Without further thought, I select my chosen contact and hit ‘call.’ He answers after just two rings.

  “Thomas, how are you?”

  “I’ve been better!”

  “What’s happened, are you OK?”

  “I’m en route to Skye but I’ve been involved in a car accident. I’m fine but I’m stuck here. Both the car and I are pretty battered and bruised. So, I’m thinking to forget all this and make arrangements to go home.”

  Is that strictly true? I’d phoned George. Now why phone him if I wanted to go home? Surely, I would just have phoned Janey and asked her to take me home. Was this inadvertently a plea for help because I wanted to continue the journey? George replies, “Tell me exactly where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

  I decided not to phone Janey at all. She’d only worry needlessly and insist on me coming home so instead I waited it out at the Inn. Four long painful hours pass, then my chaperone arrives. His opening line – “Well, Thomas, you are a sight for sore eyes, let’s get you into the car.” I swallow another few painkillers down, the thought of the long journey ahead cramped up in a car with my injuries not filling me with much glee. He’s managed to park just outside so with his help and the assistance of the bartender they flank either side of me and, somehow, we make it to the car then they bundle me into the passenger seat.

  It occurs to me that I hadn’t even planned to let George know I was making the journey to Skye and yet here I was sat by his side with him having come to my rescue. I don’t know whether to be grateful for his kindness in making this journey or angry at him for not talking sense into me and telling me to go home.

  This was going to be a long awkward drive. What would we talk about and would I have the ability to even hold a conversation? All my energy was currently focused on breathing through the spasms of pain exploding in my head. He seemed to sense this, and we started the journey off in a mutually agreeable silence.

  The effect of the painkillers sets in and I no longer have to concern myself about anything as I fall into a deep sleep. But it doesn’t last long. When I eventually start to waken, I’m doing battle with my head and body. My mind is screaming for more sleep, but my body won’t allow it. The pain in my lower back tracks its way up my spine and into my skull, meeting the tender painful areas already present there. I have no option but to open my eyes and sit up.

  I look out of the window and instantly recognise where we are – Bridge of Orchy. People often refer to Stirling as being the gateway to the Highlands but, for me, the Bridge of Orchy represents the gateway. It is from this point onwards that the spectacular landscape unfolds. The transition from low-lying hills and populated areas makes way to vast wide-open spaces; snow-capped peaks all around and the odd croft and farm dotted here and there. The feeling is one of unbounded possibility. Having been away so long from this landscape I am surprised to note there’s a wistful feeling developing. I realise that I had to leave because of everything that happened but the wild untamed beauty of the area still holds a place in my heart.

  “Thomas.” Where did that voice come from? It wasn’t George, that’s for sure. It was a female voice, a tender voice. I sense its source, it’s coming from behind me, but I struggle to turn my neck around with the pain only allowing a very restricted movement. I am forced to try to mentally place the voice and realise it’s familiar. It has the same lilt as mine and it hits me with full force.

  “Juliet?” I venture.

  “Yes Thomas, I’m here!”

  “Oh Juliet, it’s been so long! How are you?”

  “I’m great, Thomas, but never mind about me! How are you? You don’t look so good. I see you’ve been in an accident.”

  “I’m fine, honestly, just a few bumps and bruises, nothing which won’t heal up. How did you know about my accident and the fact I was headed for Skye?” I don’t know why I’m asking this question. I already know the answer, the information could’ve only come from one source.

  “It was George of course, he told us a couple of weeks ago that he had contacted you and I was so looking forward to seeing you again. When he told me you’d been involved in an accident, I came straight away and I’m pleased I did, it looks as though you’re going to need my help.”

  I started to feel emotions clearly pent up inside me, bubbling and rising to the surface. Juliet’s presence was the catalyst. I’d always had a soft spot for her and as she said, here she was when I needed her, and it felt wonderful; like having a warm cosy blanket wrapped around my whole body cradling me. The tears formed and started to roll down my cheeks and the sobbing came of its own accord; my head no longer in control of the situation; my body surrendering to the tidal wave of emotion bursting forth. It actually felt great to let it all out. It felt liberating as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t given any thought or concern as to how it would look, a grown man bubbling away uncontrollably like that. I mean, that wasn’t the done thing, was it, a man should keep his emotions in check, right?!

  If George had any opinion about it, he wasn’t letting it be known. His eyes were fixed firmly on the road ahead. Juliet, however, was really concerned. “Oh Thomas, oh dear, is it your wounds? Can I help with anything?” It was enough to jolt me out of it and no new fresh tears came. I couldn’t have Juliet getting all upset, what was I thinking?

  “I’m sorry, Julie
t, I don’t know where that came from! I’m OK, I just need a few minutes to gather myself.”

  “No problem, Thomas, take all the time you need.”

  Yes, Juliet was the catalyst for this burst of emotion but, if I was honest, it was the whole build up to this point – George coming back into my life, facing up to the reality of my past, and opening that box I’d held so firmly shut. The car accident also attributed to it but just hearing Juliet’s voice had the effect of unravelling me.

  We drove on in silence and I realise with gratitude that the distraction of Juliet being here has also taken my mind momentarily off my aches and pains. The scenery as it unfolds takes my breath away. I see we are approaching Glencoe. This is not somewhere you want your car to breakdown mid-winter as there is a very good chance you’d have no phone signal and no way of calling for help. I’ve been lucky enough to have travelled all over the world, but I can honestly say there’s nowhere I can think of which has such a raw natural beauty.

  Each corner you turn around opens to a new panoramic vista of snow-clad peaks. And every new view you come upon is undeniably more impressive than the last. All the other cars on the road appear to agree with me as people have slowed to a snail’s pace; the drivers unable to keep their cars on the road at a speed greater than 30 miles per hour whilst taking in the views. Many have stopped off in one of the layby’s and are taking photos or peering through binoculars. I suspect only a very few experienced mountaineers would even contemplate climbing any of those peaks today – the ice is compacted, and the snow is still thick and dense, enveloping most of the mountains. Only a small grassy area at the foot of each mountain remains intact where a few hardy, black-faced sheep graze here and there.

  It appears that George and Juliet are equally as awe-struck as I am for neither of them utters a word as we pass through the glen. George is the first one to break the silence and informs us when we are leaving Glencoe that we should reach Skye in about two and a half hours, just in time for dinner. He insists that I eat with him and, given the shape I am in, I’m in no fit state to argue so I agree.

  I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and go to retrieve it – two missed calls and three messages, all from Janey. Of course, what was I thinking? She’d be worried sick wondering why I hadn’t phoned or texted to let her know I’d arrived safely – she would have expected me to be there some time ago I realise. I call her straight away and tell her I’m so sorry, but my phone dropped signal and not to worry, I’d arrived safe and sound. A little white lie but made with the best of intentions. I keep the conversation brief, not wanting to say anything too personal with an audience in the car.

  The weather I see is starting to close in. The sky is already darkening, and it has gone eerily quiet outside. I realise this is the prelude for a snowstorm. The flakes start lightly; beautiful, delicate little geometric crystal shapes landing on the windscreen. Then in no time they give way to huge flakes; the kind which happily lie and cover any surface which they come into contact with. We are all too aware if this continues for a long time it will make completing the journey difficult. Driving in this can’t be easy and George slows down somewhat.

  Again, George breaks the silence. “So Thomas, I’ve been thinking… Given the current shape you’re in, it would make sense if you came to stay with me.” I am relieved for the shroud of darkness so he can’t see the look on my face. I wait for Juliet to interject and say don’t be silly, that I should stay with her. She does no such thing. In fact, she says that she thinks this is a great idea. This leaves me with very little room for manoeuvre. It looks like there are only two options; to stick to my original plan and stay in my rented accommodation or move in with George. I can’t deny it’s a nice gesture. He has offered me a place to stay and came to collect me (both things he didn’t have to do) so it would just be rude to shoot him down in flames. “I’ll have a think about it, George.”

  Thankfully, the snowstorm is short-lived, and we’re back up to speed and on track in no time. The rest of the journey passes uneventfully and under the cover of darkness we eventually reach Kyle of Lochalsh; the bridge over to the Isle of Skye. We cross this and head in the direction of George’s house near Portree and I am grateful he has offered to feed me – I’m ravenous!

  His house is located on the outskirts of Portree and even in the darkness I can see how impressive it is. I imagine the views are spectacular across the bay because he has uninterrupted views. As we enter the house, I am not surprised to see he has made full advantage of the view. Off the main living area there are bifold doors which seem to span the width of the living room and open plan kitchen area. I approach them and see they open out onto a huge expanse of decking.

  George excuses himself and asks me to make myself comfortable whilst he prepares supper. I say a mental thank you to that female officer for providing me with these painkillers. It hurt like hell but, without them, even stumbling over the length of the living room would’ve been an insurmountable task. However, taking little baby steps and lots of breaks, I managed unaided. I then take his advice and relax onto the sofa. I close my eyes and think about what a day it’s been. I never envisioned any of this when I set out this morning! A car crash, Juliet’s appearance, and then spending the evening with George having supper!

  Whilst George isn’t in earshot, I take the opportunity to chat with Juliet. “Were you just saying that in the car for George’s benefit so you didn’t hurt his feelings?”

  “Not at all. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He is offering to put you up and look around, Thomas, you’re not going to be badly off here! You are not in a position to look after yourself right now and have you thought about how you’d get out and about? You don’t currently have access to a car and, even if you did, you’re in no fit state to drive one right now. It makes sense.” I couldn’t argue with that and no, I hadn’t even given it any thought, the fact I’m unlikely to be able to drive anywhere. She wasn’t offering up any other possibilities, so I didn’t push it.

  “Thing is, Juliet, how do I know if I’ll even get on with him?”

  “You don’t but, let’s face it, you’re not going to know unless you give it a shot.”

  Supper was ready much quicker than anticipated, a dish of langoustines with lemon and pepper butter and crusty bread on the side. Clearly freshly caught, they were delectable. I had forgotten about the amazing selection of fresh fish on Skye. We eat in a contented silence, savouring our meal and devouring every last piece of the shellfish and bread. It gave me a chance to think about George’s proposal.

  “George, if the offer still stands for a place to stay I’d like to take you up on it.” A smile spreads across his face.

  “Wonderful, you’ve made the right choice. When we’re finished up here, I’ll show you to the guest room and you can relax, I’m sure you’re in need of it after the day you’ve had.”

  I certainly was and I was also grateful for the fact I’d have some time out on my own. I had no energy left for making polite chit chat and had a feeling the minute my head hit the pillow I was going to go out like a light which is exactly what happened. It was a drug-induced sleep with all the painkillers I’d been on and, as a result, I didn’t rouse until after 10 a.m.

  I noticed the pain in my head had eased somewhat (a result of the rest?) but as I tried to prop myself up into a sitting position in bed, I realised every bone and joint in my body was stiff as a board. My plans for doing a little sightseeing seemed unlikely unless I were to be driven somewhere and I didn’t want to see mother until I was feeling more agile. Thoughts then drifted towards George, perhaps I had no input in any itinerary? He brought me here to confront my past, not to visit Skye’s tourist spots. This is a wakeup call as I’m reminded of why I’m here. I need a clear head for what’s ahead of me …

  CHAPTER 10

  Janey

  M

  y concern yesterday that something was wrong had now escalated and all sorts of horrifying thoughts and sce
narios were playing out in my head. He knew I would be anxious to hear from him, to let me know he’d arrived safe and sound, yet nothing. I’d tried repeatedly to contact him via phone and text with no success and when he eventually did make contact later that night, he said something about his phone having no signal, but I felt certain the Thomas I knew would’ve found a way to get in touch and let me know he was OK long before he did. I’d also tried to reach him this morning first thing but again his phone just went to voicemail. You have left me no choice, Thomas!

  I look the number up online. A polite well-rehearsed voice chimes, “Good morning, Gibson & Mason, how may I direct your call?”

  “Morning, I’m not sure who I need to speak to, but my husband works as a financial adviser from your Scottish Borders branch and he’s travelling to your branch to carry out some recruitment over the next couple of weeks. I’ve been trying to contact him repeatedly over the past day or so, but his phone seems to keep losing connection. Perhaps you could pass a message on and get him to call me?”

  “Of course, what is his name?”

  “Thomas Taylor.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass that message on,” and with that she ends the call.

  I hear nothing from Thomas for the remainder of the morning but an unknown caller ID flashes on the phone around mid-day and, when I answer the call, I recognise the polite female receptionist’s voice from earlier this morning.

  “Mrs Taylor?”

  “Speaking.”

  “It was just to let you know that I’ve checked with some colleagues and we’re not expecting a visit from Mr Taylor. In fact, we’re not currently in a position to carry out any recruitment either so I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” I politely thank her for looking into this and I lose grip on my phone and it tumbles to the ground.

  What is going on? Where is my husband and was he even in Skye? If he is in Skye, who is he with?! I made my excuses at work about a bad migraine coming on and headed home. I had to do some digging but where to start? Of course … the P.C.