Rescuelander

by Samantha Liddell

  Rescuelander

  Samantha Liddell

  First Published in 2020

  Copyright Samantha Liddell

  Written by Liddell, Samantha

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the Prior permission of the Publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For my two daughters Patience and Alexis.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  There is something that is often said of the older generation, and it is not meant kindly: they are “set in their ways. When one is no longer curious, or stops seeking new facts, new adventures and information, they could be said to be set in their ways. When one puts all their energy into maintaining the quality of their personal material belongings, or finds it hard to cope with the changes in the supermarket aisles—or the fact their daily crossword in their newspaper is no longer there—then it is safe to say they are set in their ways.

  So my reaction would not surprise you, when I found out that my parents—yes, my very own parents, Kevin and Olive—decided to break free from their everyday routines, break free from the chains of normality, and lock up all their belongings in their well-organised home for a whole month, and travel to Scotland and visit their clan.

  Now this was a big deal for my parents, as they most definitely did fall into that category of the older generation, the ones who are set in their ways. Travelling interstate was not heard of when it came to them, let alone travelling abroad, but Scotland has lured Kevin and Olive out of their comfort zone and onto a plane, destined for a place very unlike their home country of Australia. A place where my parents will get a whole new perspective on life, along with maybe one too many glasses of whiskey, long and involved stories told by a Scotsman, and bagpipes being played on every street corner. But this new perspective will be good for them—like I always say, “Travel broadens the mind.” Now it was Kevin and Olive’s turn to get their minds broadened.

  “Right, that should about do it, I think we have got them all safe and secure in the garden shed now. Oh, apart from this little fella hiding under that fallen branch,” Dad said.

  My parents were busy packing away their family of gnomes that lived in the gardens around the pool. They had collected gnomes since as far back as I could remember, and they were just one of their many prized processions. So much so that they were packing them up and locking them all away in the garden shed for the month they were to be away in Scotland. I mean, really, who would steal gnomes in this day and age anyway? But that was my parents. They take great pride in their belongings and go to great lengths to protect what is theirs.

  They were due to fly out the following morning, so it was safe to say they were running around the house in a mad panic getting things organised. They had decided to use up every last bit of food in the fridge rather than throwing it away and cooked up a smorgasbord of dishes for their lunch, which included items that would not normally have been cooked together. They did their very best in finishing it all off, no matter how full they were. They wouldn’t let anything go to waste.

  With full bellies, Kevin and Olive decided to take a break for an hour or two. They only had to finish packing their suitcases now anyway.

  As Mum got up from the dining room table, Dad grabbed her hand and pulled her in close for a little waltz around the living room. My parents were quite the dancers, in fact, that’s how they met all those years ago, when they were in their early twenties—at a local community dance. They had somehow ended up together as dance partners, without even knowing each other, and danced the night away, coming home with the trophy for best dancing couple. And from that night on, they have been together since. Although, their technique today has something to answer for.

  Dad swung Mum around, twirled her this way and that. They were giggling and having a jolly great time, until dad went just that bit too far, swung Mum just that bit too fast, resulting in Mum losing her balance, and one of her arms lost all control, swiping that very important, very loved vase right off the mantlepiece. My parents watched as it fell in what looked and felt like slow motion. It landed on the tiled floors with one great big smash, causing it to shatter into a million little pieces. My parents looked at each other in shock—one of their well-cared for belongings, which they’d had for so many years, was gone, just like that.

  “Oh, Kevin, the vase. I loved that vase,” Mum said sadly.

  “I wonder if we can glue it back together?” Dad replied.

  “Well, at least Letticia will be happy,” Mum said. “She always had it in for that vase, saying it kept us from going on adventures and experiencing new things.”

  “Well maybe this is a sign, a sign to tell us we are about to embark on an adventure, Olive. There is nothing holding us back now, dear.” Dad laughed. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up, and then we will have a little rest before we get into packing.”

  Mum agreed, still feeling a bit sad and overwhelmed with the whole vase situation.

  Chapter Two

  Scotland was in the middle of one of its coldest November winters on record. The girls and I, being from Australia, found Scotland cold at the best of times, but these temperatures were extreme, and adjusting to our newfound environment and surroundings was becoming quite the challenge. We could go the whole day without really warming up, unless we were beside the newly built log fire Scott had installed inside the newly renovated Swans Cottage. Scott was true to his word, and the extension to Swans Cottage had been completed on time, all thanks to his hard work. He really was my Scottish warrior.

  Every spare moment, when he wasn’t doing a shift at the hospital, he would be on the tools, building a home for the ready-made clan he now called his family. Scott’s son, Brysen, had taken being a big brother to Polly and Leah very seriously, and was at times rather overprotective. He had even gotten Polly obsessed with aeroplanes now. They could talk and read books about aeroplanes all day long. He was also planning on teaching the girls to play the bagpipes, which I was not too sure how that would work out.

  So, it is safe to say my life has been turned upside down for the better. I am living a completely different life to the one I had back in Australia with Paul, and in a strange way, it’s all thanks to getting pushed off the road in my car that day by James. Even though I find James to be completely and utterly deceiving and dishonest, after what he did to Sophie, I actually have him to thank for the life I am living today. I still do believe people come into your life for a reason, whether it be short-term or long-term. Thank goodness James was only short-term, a passerby who made a huge impact, but there was no need for him to stay in my life, I thought.

  I sat by the fire with a cup of tea in hand. The girls were at school, Scott was at work, and Brysen, Bonnie, James—the Scottish Jame
s, who had come up in my dream before we had ever even met him. The right James for Sophie, unlike the Australian James—were all out and about somewhere showing Sophie the sights Scotland had to offer.

  It was official: I finally had Swans Cottage all to myself. I scanned the cottage, which I now feel was rather too big to be called a cottage as such, taking in all the marvellous work Scott had done to it. We no longer had to climb a ladder to get to our bedroom on the mezzanine floor, but rather we walked down a hallway, and as we did, we passed three other rooms, which belonged to Polly, Leah, and Brysen, when he was home that was.

  Scott had added on an en suite in our bedroom, along with a walk-in wardrobe. This end of the house was the extension to Swans Cottage. The other end of the cottage, where I was sitting snuggled up in front of the fireplace, was the original part, and the layout had not really changed, apart from the décor. Scott left this part to me, so I decided we needed to freshen it up a bit and talked Scott into buying all new furniture and appliances. We did keep to a rustic cottage-style look that created a cosy, warm farmhouse feel. Perfect for the area Swans Cottage was situated in, amongst the Scottish woodlands.

  I could have sat in this position all day, marvelling at the place I now called home, but with my parents due to arrive the next morning, I needed to get a move on. They were staying with us at Swans Cottage for a month, which meant Scott and I were moving back up into our beloved mezzanine-floor bedroom, which required the ascending and descending of a ladder to access. But it was all for a good cause, if it meant having a month with my parents. However, I might be feeling differently towards the end of the month, but only time would tell, I guess.

  Much to my disappointment, I had now removed my hard round arse from the seat in front of the fireplace and was now in the middle of making up beds with clean sheets, when I heard a knock at the door. I stopped what I was doing, surprised at the sound and wondering who it could be. I was not expecting anyone at this time but was actually glad for an excuse to stop making up the beds for a minute or two.

  I opened the front door quickly, expecting to be greeted by a friendly person’s face, but instead there was nobody there. Had there not been a knock after all? Maybe it was the wind blowing outside, I thought to myself. I decided to get back to making the beds, and I was about to close the door when something caught my attention on the doormat next to my feet, warm and cosy inside a pair of alpaca Ugg boots.

  I was confused at what I was seeing. It looked to be the letters L and S, made out of sticks. I stood there trying to work out how these sticks got to be just outside my front door and made into the letters L and S. Obviously the wind was not so talented to create such a thing, I thought to myself. It was most extraordinary. I decided to leave it there and show Scott when he got home from work.

  I shut the door behind me and decided to lock it while I was there. Either the Scottish wind was very talented, or someone was playing a trick on me. If so, what on earth did the letters L and S stand for? I decided to forget about it for the time being and carried on making the beds and cleaning the bathrooms to a high standard, acceptable for the Queen and King of England—I mean, my parents from Australia. They did hold the same importance and hierarchy status in my mind.

  The day had well and truly started, and I still needed to do some grocery shopping and fill the cupboards up before my parents arrived in the morning, so I decided to brave the cold and head into town.

  I reluctantly slipped off my beloved alpaca Ugg boots and swapped them for black ankle boots that had a bit of heel to them. They added a bit of height to my not-so-tall but not-so-short-either frame. A woman can always do with an inch or more of extra height, no matter what size you were.

  As I opened the door, at the same time putting on my jacket and holding the car keys in my mouth, I went to step over the lovely letter creation that somebody had ever so kindly left at my front door, but to my further surprise, the creation was still a work in progress by the looks of it. The letters L and S that were made out of sticks ever so creatively, were now broken up into a million little bits, with another letter now added, which looked very much like the warning symbol of an X.

  Okay, so either I’m being warned about something, or I’m in the middle of a Sesame Street episode where the letter of the day is X, or in my case, we have three letters of the day: L, S, and X.

  I didn’t have time to work out which it was, so I ended up stepping over the pile of sticks beneath my feet and shutting and locking the door behind me, then heading off to the supermarket. I was never very good at focusing at the best of times, and at this very moment, I needed to focus on getting to the supermarket before Polly and Leah got home from school, rather than decoding a pile of sticks that had found their way onto my front doorstep.

  I was still getting familiar with Tesco supermarkets in Scotland. They were huge—in fact, huge was an understatement. I always felt very overwhelmed while shopping in Tesco, and today was no different. It didn’t help that I had left at home the shopping list I’d ever so carefully written out that morning while sitting in front of the log fire. I remember leaving the list on the kitchen bench, and then not picking it up before leaving the house.

  I still had that silly notion of proving to my parents that my decision to stay in Scotland and not return back to Australia was a sensible one, and in doing so, I found myself filling up my trolley with the most not-sensible food choices for my weekly shop: Grant’s Premium Haggis, cans of Barr’s Irn-Bru, boxes of Scottish Blend tea, along with packets of traditional Scottish shortbread. What was a girl supposed to do without the aid of her shopping list?

  I looked at my trolley for a minute or two, filled with unnecessary Scottish items, and it was as if by some miracle a lightbulb had been switched on in my brain—yes, I had come to realise that the frontal lobe of my brain was in fact very possibly damaged, as my ability to make responsible choices was nonexistent. But no, rather than putting all this Scottish food back and replacing it with sensible, normal food, for example, fruit, vegetables and meat, I came to the conclusion that—“Oh, you can’t have Scottish Blend tea and traditional Scottish shortbread without milk, can we now?” So, I pushed the trolley over to the milk section, then chose the most expensive Scottish organic milk I could find on the shelf.

  I was just so determined to give my parents the best possible Scottish experience they could ever imagine, and if that meant eating Premium Haggis out of a can for dinner every night, then so be it.

  My whole shopping experience at Tesco had been rather enjoyable thanks to the Christmas carols being played in the background. It was never too early for Christmas tunes, even though we still had a few days of November to go yet. The thought of having Christmas with my children, my parents, and Scott and the rest of our clan, gave me a feeling of hope and love. I was looking forward to having a white Scottish Christmas. It only took thirty-eight years, but I got there in the end.

  What do they say? All good things come to those who wait. Well, I have done my good share of waiting, it was now time to enjoy it. I giggled to myself.

  Chapter Three

  Swans Cottage was clean and spotless after a day—okay, more like half a day—of cleaning, and with everyone home from a busy day of work, school, and sightseeing, I instructed everybody to not touch a single thing. Breathing was allowed, but that was about all, until my parents arrived the next day.

  I refused to use the kitchen in fear of messing it up, so Scott ordered takeaway, which I then proceeded to make everyone eat on the table outside on the veranda. I didn’t see what all the fuss was about—yes, it was subzero temperatures outside, but I just made everyone rug up with layers of clothing, which then all ended up in the dirty-washing basket after dinner anyway, resulting in more work for me…. But, hey! At least my kitchen was still clean and spotless.

  That night, when Scott and I were in bed and ready to enjoy the last sleep in this bedroom for a month, Scott ever so calmly said to me, “Letticia, yo
u need to relax about your parents coming. They are not going to worry if there is a crumb on the floor or a dish out of place.”

  I looked at him, ready to disagree wholeheartedly, when his incredible hotness melted my heart and I just ended up agreeing with him. “I know, I know, you are right. It’s just… they thought I was crazy when I told them I was staying in Scotland. I want them to see that my decision was the right decision, and that my brain’s frontal lobe is in fact developed, and I do actually have the ability to make mature and responsible decisions, and because of all that, see how amazing my life is now.”

  Scott looked amused. “This coming from a person who wanted to smash that vase upon her parents’ mantel, saying that objects and materialistic things that people hold on to stop them from ever really experiencing life. And now here you are, so worried about crumbs being dropped onto the floor at dinner tonight that you went to such extreme measures and made us all sit outside. A crumb should not hold so much power over you, Letticia.” Scott sounded worried. And Scott was right. What had I become? What was happening to me?

  I decided to blame it on the sticks left outside the front door that day. Yes, that’s it. Of course, they were really starting to stress me out the more I thought about them. In hindsight, I had not really thought about them again until now.

  “Oh, Scott, I’m sorry. I just… I had a strange thing happen to me today that has got me all worked up. Did you see the pile of sticks at the front door?” I asked.