“Nice kilt, by the way?” I said.
“I knew you would like it. I kilted up just for you, so you would feel even more guilty when you saw me and realised you really should not have cheated on your hot Scottish man with an unkilted Englishman from Manchester, of all places.” Scott laughed.
“He never stood a chance,” I replied.
“Oh the kilt and I know that, Letticia, I just wanted to add salt to your already self-inflicted wounds.”
We both laughed. “Well lucky the whole unfaithful-and-being-dead experience wasn’t in the tiniest bit real, then,” I said.
“One may agree to differ on the levels of being unfaithful…,” Scott said.
“We have gone through this, Scott, let’s just never bring it up again, okay? Promise?”
“Yes, good idea, I promise.”
“But one may also differ on the levels of playing dead too, Scott.” I just couldn’t help but to have the last word.
“Letticia, you just broke your very own promise that you made.”
“Okay, sorry. Fine, then, my lips are sealed from now on.”
“Not completely sealed, I hope. I would very much like to kiss those lips right now,” Scott murmured, looking at the lips in question and licking his.
“Well in that case, my lips are unsealed, but just for you, Scott.”
Scott and I then went on to kiss, which ended up being the most passionate kiss we had ever had with each other. It must have been the joy of knowing that no, I had not been unfaithful—well, maybe just a little bit in Scott’s eyes, for even just thinking about Jim—and that Scott was in fact well and truly alive and not on his way to hell’s door.
If we had not been in the middle of a movie set, Scott would have ripped off my clothes right then and there and performed everything he had said he would do to me only moments earlier, for all to hear. But that would have to wait, as we did in fact have an audience, and James and Sophie were only minutes away from picking us up in that dreaded van we now called ours, at least until tomorrow morning.
So instead of ripping each other’s clothes off, we talked as we walked off the set and waited for James and Sophie to pick us up.
“So did my parents arrive safely?” I asked.
“Aye, that they did. They were not at all impressed with their first night’s dinner, by the way, though.”
I was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, all there was in the cupboards were cans of haggis. Brysen was the one that had to serve it up to them, he nor your parents were much pleased. But they were starving, so ate it. Although I did hear packets of things being secretly opened from inside our bedroom later that night. Sounded like your parents were having a good old secret midnight feast, trying not to offend their hosts on their terrible cooking abilities. And if I was not mistaken, I think I could also smell our little portable gas camping stove in there working overtime, cooking up some mac and cheese. You parents do know they are allowed to cook in our kitchen, don’t they?” Scott asked, sounding amused.
“Of course, they just wouldn’t have wanted to offend you and Brysen on the terrible, revolting dinner you served up to them,” I teased.
“There was nothing else to serve up to them, Letticia! I thought you went to Tesco that day?” Scott asked.
“I did, if nobody liked the haggis, they could have had shortbread instead, there was plenty of that to go around. Anyway, enough about food. How are Polly and Leah?” I asked.
“They are fine, getting totally spoilt by your parents. We just told them Mummy and Sophie had gone back to Tesco to buy some real food this time and were now just a little bit lost but would be home before they knew it. It was a totally believable story, Letticia, they believed it completely, so what’s that telling you?” Scott jokingly asked.
“It’s telling me that I like to shop, and my girls know it,” I replied with a smug look on my face.
Chapter Fifteen
It was coming into early evening. Larbert was not a town I had even known existed in Scotland, but it did, and for some reason, Scott and I, along with Sophie and James, now found ourselves in it for the night. Either there was a very good reason why, or it was just a random detour that we would be making as we made our way home.
I was very interested to find out more about what this town had to offer. But first we had planned to meet Alistair at the B&B he was staying at. Apparently there could be a room available for us there tonight, also. I really didn’t fancy spending another night in the back of that van; however, at least I would have Scott next to me this time, and my hands free. I mean, if Scott wished to tie me up, I wouldn’t say no, but it might just be a tad awkward with James and Sophie right there next to us.
We pulled up to an endearing old detached B&B, situated right on the roadside in the heart of Larbert. There were a few pot plants placed either side of the doorstep. Even though the location of the cottage was not private or remarkable, the building itself had a certain confidence to itself. It was almost like it wanted to be seen, wanted to be notice by passersby. It stood out like a sore thumb, but not at all in a bad way, in a way that sort of screamed look at me, like a child trying to get a father’s attention as he scrolls through his phone for hours on end.
It was a two-storey cottage built from brick, the windows framed with black panelling, and the front door that opened up onto the footpath was bright red. We knocked on the door a few times until it was slowly opened. My head was down as I admired the green, lush-looking pot plants that occupied the front doorstep, and when the door was finally open, the first think I saw were those familiar ankles, held up by those equally familiar pink fluffy slippers. As my head moved up, taking in the rest of the body that belonged to this person, it was starting to become even more familiar, until I reached the head, and my suspicion proved to be correct. It was indeed Mrs Wilson, the B&B owner of Old Barks Cottage.
I looked at Scott, who was quiet rightly looking straight back at me, with a look that said, “Hells bells, what is going on here?”
James and Sophie, oblivious to everything, stood back as they continued being that couple who were still newly in love and the whole world revolved around them—hands all over each other, lips all over each other… Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t even sure they knew where they were, who they were with, what they were doing, or even how they got here. They were far too busy occupying each other’s faces.
I spoke first. “Mrs Wilson, is that you?”
“Aye, it is. Did you have a booking, lass? I didn’t think I was waiting on any new arrivals tonight.”
“No, no, we are just here to see Alistair, he invited us over. We are actually looking for a room tonight, if you one available.”
Mrs Wilson nodded. “Aye, I do have one available, but it might be a tight squeeze to get four adults into it. If two don’t mind sleeping on an air bed on the floor, then it’s all yours.”
We decided to take it; anything was better than spending another night in that van.
“Mrs Wilson, do you remember us?” Scott asked.
Mrs Wilson looked Scott up and down, and within seconds a look of recognition appeared upon her face. “Aye, I do now, how could one forget such a handsome lad as yourself.” And there it was again, just the way Scott often would get picked out of crowds, or asked to be the volunteer at a show. His natural beauty drew people in, they couldn’t help but want to get to know him better. His good looks left a positive impact in people’s lives. “And you, lass, sort of seem familiar. I would never have recognised you, though, if you had not been standing alongside this fine man.” She was referring to Scott, of course. My Scottish warrior. “If my memory serves me correctly, you two came to the other B&B I own, in Edinburgh, looking for a room, but I had to turn you away. Is that right?”
Scott gave Mrs Wilson a soft, kind look. “Aye, that is us, but you have redeemed yourself this evening by putting us up for the night.”
“Aye, it is my pleasure,
and I’m sorry for turning you away at Old Barks Cottage. It was a very busy time of year. I own two B&Bs and divide my time up between both. Keeps me busy and active in my old age, and since my husband has passed, it also keeps me from being too lonely. Anyway, enough chitter chatter, it is freezing out. Come on in out of the cold, I have a lovely fire and a hot cup of tea waiting for you all. I’m not sure if Alistair has returned yet, but he canna be too far away. I will show you to your room and the amenities. Looks like you all need a nice hot shower and some clean clothes to get into also,” she said.
“If we had any clean clothes, that is,” Scott joked.
Mrs Wilson looked a bit confused, like she couldn’t tell if Scott was joking or not. I think she worked it out when she noticed we had no bags on us, only my shoulder bag with my journal still inside. Scott and I followed Mrs Wilson indoors, and I turned around to see James and Sophie still hard at it—yuck, were they French kissing?
“You two, get in behind,” I hissed under my breath, not wanting Mrs Wilson to hear or notice how rude they were being. They were acting like dogs on heat, not listening to their owner. They still didn’t hear me, so I whistled at them this time, like an owner would whistle at their dogs to get in behind and follow. They finally reacted and pulled apart with great difficulty, like two magnets being pried apart from each other.
With all four of us now safely inside out of the cold, the big red door was swung shut, leaving just the lonely pot plants to survive a cold winter’s night out while they took centre stage on the doorstep once again.
Chapter Sixteen
Scott and I took dibs on the queen-sized bed in the room, while James and Sophie were downgraded to the air bed on the floor. Scott and I were older, after all, and James and Sophie needed to respect their elders. Well, that’s the argument I put across while we were fighting for the bed only moments earlier, which seemed to do the trick—either that, or the time James and Sophie had been apart from each other’s faces was becoming a strain so they gave in, in order to get back to their interlocked position with each other’s lips again.
I’d had enough of that sight, as had Scott, so we decided to leave the room for a bit. As we walked down the hallway towards the kitchen to make a cuppa, we decided we needed to put some boundaries out with those two for that night, considering we were all going to be sharing a room. “Am I going to need earplugs tonight?” Scott joked.
“Yuck, don’t even joke about it,” I replied.
“Aye, are you just a wee bit jealous there, Letticia, with their new and young love,” Scott teased.
“Me? Never. How could I be, when I get to go to bed with you each and every night.”
Scott stopped, pulled me in, pushed me up against the wall, slid his hands down my pants, and he too showed me what a real French kiss was.
“Ooh la la, why bonjour there,” I said in between coming up for air. Scott laughed. We then—unlike James and Sophie, who were back in the room doing goodness knows what, but no doubt deflating that freshly pumped-up air bed in the process—pulled apart when we heard someone coming up the stairs. It was Alistair, coming in from a day’s filming.
“Aye, glad you guys found the place okay. Did you get a room in the end?”
“Aye, that we did, thanks to you,” Scott replied.
“Well let me just take a shower and get cleaned up,” Alistair said—something Scott and I had yet to do. “And I will take you out for dinner at one of the best pubs in town.”
“Sounds good,” Scott replied.
“Right, meet you down in the kitchen in say an hour, then,” Alistair said as he examined our appearance, which had also yet to be cleaned up from a day’s filming, or in our case, our real life.
Mrs Wilson appeared behind us. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop, but I heard you are going out to dinner with Alistair. From the look of your dirty, wet clothes, you may like to change into something a bit warmer. Would you like to borrow some clothes I have lying around?” she asked ever so kindly.
We were indeed dirty and wet and in dying need to get into drier clothes, so we accepted Mrs Wilson’s generosity and followed her into her room. Now if we had known what she was going to offer us in the means of dry clothes, we may not have been so quick in accepting, but we were in too deep, and if we declined now, it would be obvious why. We didn’t want to offend Mrs Wilson, who had been so welcoming and accommodating towards us, so after a hot, soapy shower, Scott and I emerged an hour later to a waiting Alistair, along with a group of other actors in the downstairs kitchen.
The group were greeted by a woman and a man, also known as Scott King and Letticia Little. Scott was dressed head to toe in Mrs Wilson’s late husband’s clothes, while I was dressed in Mrs Wilson’s best going-out outfit, which she ever so kindly let me wear. In fact, she wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I was now standing, and about to go out to dinner in, a peach-coloured flowery skirt that went to just above my ankles, the skirt several sizes too big so we had to use pegs to bring it in. The floral skirt was complemented by a white turtleneck skivvy, and to finish the look off, a light green woollen cardigan. My shoes were still wet from running through the lush wet grassy fields of Scotland, so the only shoes that fitted me of Mrs Wilson’s were a pair of bright green runners, accompanied by a pair of pink socks. When Scott saw me, he gave the most unsupportive, teasing laugh a partner in crime could have ever given, even though he was just as much of a laughing matter and fashion disaster as myself. He came out wearing Mrs Wilson’s late husband’s brown corduroy trousers, which were pulled up high with the help of suspenders that went over a pale yellow shirt. His strawberry blond hair was mostly hidden under a Glengarry-style cap. He also had on a pair of white socks and loafers, and to top it off, a tweed jacket. He reminded me of a chocolate pineapple lump lolly.
It was now my turn to be the very unsupportive, teasing, laughing partner in crime. I got the giggles hard and tried my best to hold it in but exploded instead.
“Aye, go big or go home, don’t they say?” Scott said.
Hells bells, Scott was actually enjoying this, had he no shame? A part of me sometimes thought he enjoyed not being the best-looking guy out there and dressing up was his way to avoid attention. It gave him the chance to sit back and relax, instead of forever getting checked out. However, I must say, in Scott’s attempt in doing so, he only just added a few years onto himself, and he does indeed make rather a good-looking older man. When you have got it, you just have it. You can’t run from what was naturally given to you, and in this case, it was Scott’s handsome Scottish looks. In a strange kinda way, I was finding Scott just that bit more attractive tonight.
After all the laughing was had at our expense once again, we headed out to dinner. James and Sophie were also invited but declined the offer, saying they had no clothes to change into, which was just total and utter bollocks. Mrs Wilson would have been just as happy to lend them some of her clothes she had lying around, but I think they still had a bit more air left in the air bed to deflate with the help from each other, rather than head out to dinner with their very good-looking grandparents. So we left them in the room to continue deflating the air bed and making up for lost time; the whole twenty-four hours they were apart obviously needed to be made up.
“As long as they have managed to make up their lost time by the time we get home and go to bed, I really don’t care what they are doing in that room,” I told Scott.
“Aye, back in my day, dear, we had to be married before we even thought about doing such a deed,” Scott Joked, staying in character.
“Oh is that right? Well we better get married sooner than later, old man, because the things I intend on doing to you later while in those clothes involves the ‘deed,’” I said.
“Is that right? Well I must say, that very sexy skirt and sneakers is making this old man rather excited also.”
Our old-people flirting was then very rudely interrupted by Alistair, who informed us the pub was just
around the corner.
“Great, because I am famished to say the least,” I replied.
“Aye, acting does that to you, lass,” Alistair teased.
“Acting? I haven’t acted a day in my life.”
“Could have fooled me, your performance today was worthy of an Oscar nomination, if I don’t say so myself.” Alistair laughed.
“Oh shut up, would you,” I said, embarrassed.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Letticia, at least I now know how much I mean to you, with your waterfall of tears,” Scott continued to tease.
I ignored Scott and Alistair and headed off in front of them to the group of other actors we were also heading out to dinner with. “Don’t mind me, I’m just going to mingle with people that actually respect me,” I yelled back at them.
As I reached my newfound group of acting friends, one turned around. “Oh look at that, we have the privilege of dining out with Mrs Doubtfire tonight.” Everyone laughed, and I decided to pull back from that group, and now found myself walking in between everyone, all alone, on my own. Where nobody could make fun of me.
Chapter Seventeen
Dinner at the Commercial Hotel did its trick. I ate a good old Scottish pub meal, accompanied by a good wine. My belly was now full, and I was now ready to hit the sack. My eyes were starting to feel heavy. The previous night’s sleep had been broken; I felt like I had only really been in a deep sleep during the dream last night, which felt like half the night. The other half was taken up with tossing and turning.
I must admit, Jim had been on my mind a bit today, not at all in a romantic way, but more in a curious way. I hadn’t thought about him in years, but for some reason he came into my dream, and most people who come into my dreams made a habit of showing up in reality later.
It was just on 10:00 p.m., and by the look of it, Scott was struggling to keep up with the rest of the boys, but he was still in high spirits. Scott was not a big drinker, he liked to have one drink most nights with dinner, but he could stop after one. It was all about the quality, not the quantity, with Scott. He liked his drink just the same as he liked his women—me, of course—a supple, smooth, well-balanced yet bold, and in my case, not-so-mature drink. The thing about Scott was he could stop after one, just like he stopped after meeting me, “the one.” He got to have me every night as well, and that was enough for Scott. He was well-satisfied after one drink, and he was well-satisfied with his one Sassenach. He was my quality guy, not quantity guy.
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