I approached the check-in desk and presented the scrunched-up ticket that had been stored safely at the bottom of my handbag. It lay amongst my other personal belongings which included a journal that I had been writing in since waking up from the coma. Every time something coincidental happened or I got the feeling I had done something before I noted it down. I would have to remember to note down what Scott had just said to me back at the entrance to the airport. I repeated it in my head so as not to forget. Letticia, you are just as stubborn in my dreams as you are in real life.
What had he meant by that, had I been in his dreams just as he had been in mine? My journal of notes was getting longer by the day. I hoped to dear god I would find somebody in Scotland who I could give the journal to read over, and that they could shed some light on it all and give me some real answers to all my questions.
“Good afternoon Mrs. Little. This ticket does not look like first class quality in the current state it is in, because it’s not. But as luck has it this ticket has been bumped up to first class. Would you like to accept the offer? It will follow through with you when you board your second flight after you stop over in Singapore, so would you like to accept the offer?” the lady at the check-in desk asked. What a silly question, I thought. Who in their right mind would ever decline such an offer?
“Yes, yes, of course, thank you,” I said, rather taken aback with my luck. I had never in my wildest dreams, and believe me I have had some wild dreams lately, thought I would ever be able to fly first class in my lifetime, but today was my lucky day. I accepted her offer, checked my bags in and went off to the boarding lounge to buy a coffee and do some more research on the journey I was about to embark on.
My research was very broad at the moment. It went from spiritual exploration, to brain injury research, to just outright lost your marbles reasonings. Whatever the reason behind this though I knew I had to get the answer, whatever it took.
The first boarding call for my flight was announced, and I was one of the first passengers to board the plane. Note to self, add in my journal later. Shock horror, this is going to be a first: there was going to be no grand entrance from Letticia Little today. However in the next twenty minutes or so I would be seeing that my grand entrance will be stolen this time by somebody else. But for now, I took my seat ever so effortlessly and ever so undramatically compared to what I was used to, either in my dreams or wherever I was. I had always known how to board a plane with a dramatic effect.
The seats in first class were a far cry from the seats back in cattle class. They were spacious, they could even turn into a bed so I could lie stretched out and sleep normally unlike having to sit upright to sleep. I was starting to settle in for the long-haul flight ahead even before we had taken off.
I looked out the plane's window and noticed the grey, full looking clouds still there that had looked as if they had wanted to burst when I had looked out of my curtains in my bedroom back at my parent’s house that morning. The clouds had yet to burst and there was still a threat of a downpour any minute as the sky started to grow even darker. I was hoping they would hold off until the plane was well and truly cruising above them.
The plane itself was getting full, almost at capacity, hopefully not at the bursting point with passengers. The clouds were allowed to burst but this plane wasn’t, I thought. I scared myself with another vision.
Passenger after passenger had walked past me through the first class section, through the curtain that separated the classes. Really, I thought to myself, maybe I still hadn’t woken up from my coma and was dreaming I was still in 1745. Why did we still feel the need to separate classes of people? That wasn’t the case however, I was in the correct century because the music that was playing through the plane’s sound system for people to enjoy as they boarded was currently the top 20 hits for the year.
The music stopped a few minutes later as the pilot interrupted. “Good afternoon and welcome to flight Sjtt15, destination Singapore.” Singapore was my stopover destination, then I would board the next flight that would take me to Edinburgh. The pilot continued. “We will be taking off shortly, we are a bit behind schedule however as we are just waiting on our very last passenger to arrive. Shouldn’t be too much longer.”
A few groans were made from frustrated passengers that just wanted to get this flight over with. Every minute counted when on a long-haul flight. I continued staring out at the darkening skies. It was somewhat soothing watching the clouds roll in and all the sky’s colours and shapes changing right before my very own eyes.
My mindfulness moment was cut short with the sound of a man storming on board in a hurry. “Aye, I’m so sorry, this was a very last-minute travel arrangement, sorry for holding you up,” the man said to the airline hostess waiting to greet him on board. I waited to see that fake smile from the airline hostess.
“That’s fine, welcome, come find your seat, lovely to have you on board sir,” she said. But that fake smile never came, her smile was genuine - and a little flirty at that. I had yet to see this passenger as his ticket was still getting checked by the airline hostess. “Right Mr. King,” I heard her say. Scott, I thought, what on earth is Scott doing aboard my flight?
“You are down the very back at row thirty seven, seat seven.” That number made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t sure why it confused me. But I now knew why the latecomer hadn’t been presented with that fake smile from the airline hostess; Scott was a good-looking man and had a way of making any woman go weak at the knees and bring out their flirty inner self. He also had the added bonus of that Scottish accent.
Scott hurried through and down the aisle. He caught sight of me quickly because I was at the very front of the plane in the second row, lapping up all the first class service I could. Scott did a second take. “Letticia, how on earth did you get into first class? More to the point, you need to get off this plane right away. I will take you home, we can sort this out from here in Australia,” Scott demanded. As if, I thought. I have my backside in a seat which will not be moving itself, unless of course toilet breaks are needed which I’m sure they will be. But other than that the next time my bottom is removed from this seat I will be changing planes and heading to Scotland.
It was too late for Scott to get me off this plane anyway, the doors were now secure for takeoff.
“Mr. King, the plane is already behind its schedule, please take your seat and prepare for takeoff,” the airline hostess said.
“Aye but I need to talk to her.” He pointed to me.
“Not now Mr King.” The airline hostess insisted Scott take his seat. Scott did as he was told in a huff and continued down the aisle to take his seat.
His seat was all the way towards the back of the plane, row thirty seven, seat seven. It was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to put any more doubt into my head that what I was doing was crazy. I must give Scott credit though, that was quite the entrance. Nowhere near as good as my best one but it showed potential.
As we took off down the runway I sat back, enjoying the sensation of gravity pushing me back into my seat and letting go of all control I had now. But still those numbers repeated themselves inside my head: row thirty seven seat seven. Then it came to me that it was the seat that Scott had been sitting in in my dream, on the flight my children and I had taken to Scotland. I was starting to come to terms with the fact that it had indeed been a dream. But there was more to it than just your ordinary dream. I was on my way to the other side of the world to find the answers, and now I also had the company of a good-looking Scottish man back in cattle class, following me on this journey of a lifetime.
Scott was always up for an adventure, well in my dreams anyway, and it was slowly beginning to seem like he was in real life too. Whether he was ready to admit it or not.
As we got into our flight I was well into my five-star service. I had drinks and food at my fingertips just by pressing the service button above my head. I had been thinking deeply for the last hour, going
over my notes in my journal about the strange coincidences that had been happening since waking up from my coma.
I decided to have a bit of fun. I ripped a page out of my journal and scribbled down a note that said, “And how did I know this was your favourite drink?” I then pressed the service button and within seconds I had an airline hostess by my side. I could get used to this service, I thought to myself.
“How can I help?” she asked ever so politely.
“Please could you make a whiskey on the rocks and deliver it to my good friend sitting in row thirty seven seat seven, along with this note.”
I handed her the note and she said “Certainly, Mrs. Little.” Within five minutes she had returned with a drink in hand and another note. She said “Please enjoy this glass of Pimm’s from a very handsome man in row thirty seven seat seven along with this note.” I took the Pimm’s and placed it on the pull out table, then proceeded to open the note. I read it out loud under my breath. It read, “Please enjoy the Pimm’s, Mrs. Little. How did I know this was your favourite drink?”
I took a deep breath in as I read it; I was now in complete shock. I quickly grabbed my journal and jotted down the latest coincidence. This case was just getting stranger by the minute. It took all my strength not to head down to the back of the plane and confront Scott. Scott, on the other hand, had no choice. He was not allowed up in the first class section thanks to the division of classes, and anything he had to say would have to wait until we had both feet planted in Scotland.
Chapter Eight
Touchdown in Scotland
The stopover in Singapore had been uneventful where Scott was concerned. It was only a two-hour stop over and I was living it up in the first-class lounge while Scott was left roaming the airport. I was thankful I had a place to hide from Scott. I could just imagine him trying to drag me back to Australia on the next flight out of there.
We landed in Scotland to a mild March morning. Being in first class and all I was let off first. I was in two minds whether or not to wait for Scott after I cleared customs, but after careful consideration I decided there were too many unanswered questions to not wait. Plus, I was still very much in love with him no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I wasn't.
I was one of the first from the plane to be cleared through customs and into Scotland. I knew Scott would end up being one of the last since he was seated towards the back of the plane. I stood there impatiently, standing on my tiptoes hoping to get a better view of him coming through the doors. Passenger after passenger from my flight headed towards the exit until finally I saw Scott’s worried face appear through the doors. He too was obviously concerned that I might not have waited.
I saw him before he had seen me, so snuck up behind him and said, “Scott what are you thinking? You will die from hypothermia. Where is your jacket? Here take mine, I have a spare one in my luggage.”
Scott had no luggage, not even a carry on bag apart from his shoulder bag - or should I say his man bag - containing his passport, wallet and important work documents. Why does he carry his passport round in his work shoulder bag? I thought. I didn’t have time to solve another one of life’s mysteries I decided.
Scott hadn't planned on travelling to Scotland. In fact, I’m pretty sure he had no intention of leaving Brisbane airport when he boarded that plane. His whole plan was to buy a ticket and get on the plane before it took off in Brisbane, and escort me off. Instead he ended up on the flight, travelling to Scotland with nothing but the clothes on his back.
He was now wearing a women’s jacket that was several sizes too small and bursting at the seams from his well-defined physique. Scott didn’t seem to mind though; he wore it with confidence and was comfortable enough in his own skin not to worry what others thought of him. Warmth over fashion, he told me.
I decided to add this last coincidence to my journal. In my dream, the same thing happened, yet it was me without the jacket and Scott lent me his. The more we got into this journey the more unanswered questions were appearing in front of me.
I longed for Scott’s touch, his kiss upon my lips. I longed for that wink of his eye, I longed for him to call me Sassenach, but of course none of my longings were going to be granted as Scott was not in love with me like he had been in my own head for the last six months. He was here in Scotland not as my boyfriend, not as my partner, not as my lover, but as a concerned friend who was also my nurse, a friend who needed his own questions answered.
As we walked beside one another I felt my hand wanting to connect with his, but it was only my hand feeling this sensation, the need to be held within his hand. Scott walked on towards the rows of waiting taxis. He was now just a few steps ahead of me, enough for me to admire his outer beauty. His hair was freshly cut but still had that scruffy look to it. It was brown with added natural orange tones scattered throughout. He looked just the same as he had while I was in my coma. It was surreal and it felt like torture that I was no longer able to be his. I wanted to be his; I wanted him to be mine. But he no longer saw me in that way, if he ever in fact did.
I had to control myself from here on in and ignore the urge to plead for his love back. For all I knew there had never been an intimate relationship between us to start with.
We found an available cab, grabbed it and got into the back together. Scott undid the jacket I lent him and gave it back to me. “A bit hard to breathe in this, Lassie”, he laughed. “I might need to lay off the Scottish shortbread I think!” he added.
“Hardly” I replied. Scott’s body was well defined - every inch of it.
Scott asked the driver, “Can you take us to Old Bark Cottage please near the Royal Mile?”
I looked at Scott stunned and confused. “Scott how do you know about Old Bark Cottage?”
Scott placed his hand on my knee as if to settle me down. “Not now Letticia. We will discuss this later once we are settled in.”
I agreed. I didn’t want to argue and risk Scott closing up again; I needed him to be open and tell me the truth about what was going on with him.
As we drove through the city of Edinburgh and I was taking in all the familiar sights it was all coming back to me. I had apparently never been to Scotland yet I knew how to get to Old Bark Cottage. I knew which shops were located where down the Royal Mile.
I was feeling drained and overwhelmed with emotion. Then I caught sight of Scott, which just added to my emotional state. He was staring at me, smiling that warm smile that always did calm me down, and make me feel safe and carefree.
I giggled a little schoolgirl giggle and said, “What, what is it, do I have something on my face or between my teeth?” I ran my tongue over my teeth to ensure they were clear of any leftover bits of food. Nope, clear as can be I thought.
“No not at all”, Scott replied. “I’m just taking in all the beauty that is around me.”
The beauty, I thought, Was he including me in his beauty categories? After all, he was staring at me.
As we approached the Old Bark Cottage, we were greeted with a magical sense of love and happiness. The cottage was crouched low into a grassy embankment, with long green vines draping over most of the walls as though it was trying to hide away from the world.
There was a path leading from the road down to the main door, lined with beautiful, colourful plants and deep green foliage. I realised at that moment what was in front of my very own eyes, it was the exact cottage I had stayed at with my children and Sophie in my so-called dream for the last six months.
The next thought was just, who was I going to find inside, who was going to be the owner of this bed and breakfast? The anticipation was far too great. Scott was taking his time coming down the path, looking just as confused as he scanned the environment around him. He looked like he was trying to work out a difficult math equation, or maybe just a general life mystery.
He had yet to open up to me about what was going on inside his own head, but for now I had one thing on my mind and that was to se
e who was behind that door. Scott had stopped in the middle of the path now, doing a 360 turn and trying to comprehend what he was seeing. I had no more time to try and comprehend the view we had in front of us, so I quickly brushed past him and made a beeline to the half-opened door.
I gave a little knock on the door before entering. As I entered a bell that was attached to the door rang. I called out “Hello?” as I noticed the desk in the entrance was unoccupied. Scott had finally caught up to me by now and was standing behind me, he was trying to act cool, calm and collected, as if he was unaware of anything strange about this situation even though such a strange order of events were happening.
Just then we heard a lovely old voice call out from behind the curtain that divided the room up. “Coming, just give me a minute.” Funny how curtains have a way of separating things such as rooms and class I thought, as I thought back to the first-class flight experience I had just encountered that very day. A bit of material holds so much power, I thought.
I saw a round figure approach the curtain from behind, and the hem of a long skirt touching the top of a pair of plump ankles was visible through the gap at the bottom of the curtain. Further down there were a pair of pink slippers, slippers that never seemed to leave Mrs. Wilson’s feet.
“Hello, how can I help you?” Mrs. Wilson asked in her ever-so-sweet voice. “Sorry I had just put a roast on, you caught me just as I was putting it in the oven,” she apologised.
I heard Scott take in a deep breath that was full of shock. He was trying to not let me see just how confused he really was, so he pulled himself together and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Scott and this is Letticia.” He put his hand out to shake Mrs. Wilson’s hand.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Mrs. Wilson, the owner of this bed and breakfast called Old Bark Cottage.”
I was unable to speak; I just continue to stare at Mrs. Wilson in disbelief. Scott noticed my unresponsive state so continued to talk for me. “We were wondering if you had two nights’ accommodation available?”
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