The Worst of Me

by Lisa J. Hobman

  As the lift doors closed Nick closed his eyes and rested his head back on the mirrored wall. “Shit, this is all too weird. Too weird.”

  When the doors of the lift opened onto the basement floor he nervously peered out to check no one was around to jump him. Seeing that the way was clear he stepped out and made his way across the cold, empty parking lot to his Porsche. His heeled boots click-clacked on the concrete floor and the sound ricocheted off the walls.

  His tiny vintage sports car looked lost in the vast open space of the almost empty parking garage and he constantly checked over his shoulder to ensure no one was around to witness his escape. He shoved the small wheeled case in the foot-well where it only just fit with a tight squeeze. His guitar slid in behind the seats but he had already concluded that he’d rather leave his clothes behind than his beloved vintage Gibson acoustic. It may not have been worth a whole lot financially but to him it meant the world.

  Once everything was packed and he was belted he turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Carefully and with much trepidation he pulled out of the car park. The security guard waved but had a distinct crease of confusion between his brow as Nick drove by and waved back.

  Chapter Four

  Nick

  The Porsche 911 growled as Nick stepped on the accelerator, just in case any paparazzi had been hiding out of sight. Much to his annoyance it turned out they had but by the time they had realised he was leaving he was long gone, watching them scuttle around in panic, crashing into each other like the Keystone Cops as they grappled to get to their vehicles. He laughed aloud at their aghast expressions as he left them behind, seeing their arms fly up in frustration through his rear view mirror.

  Soon after buying the stunning vintage car he’d had to make several modifications. But he loved the purr of the engine and the feel of driving such a sexy vehicle. It had been one of his first purchases when they hit the big time. Metallic silver; pristine condition; one former owner. His favourite modification was the meaty sound system he’d had installed, complete with iPod connection. He switched it on and clicked through his playlists, settling on some Queens of The Stone Age—great music to drive to—the quirky voice of Josh Homme very aptly singing “Go With The Flow” filled the interior of the car.

  Minutes ticked by unnoticed as he sang along to his favourite tracks and after driving for almost three hours, he pulled into the next service station he came across. To ensure he was unrecognised he pulled on his favourite large floppy beanie and tucked his hair in. The shades were a bit over the top but he slipped them on regardless and zipped his jacket to shield himself from the biting chill of the February morning and jogged over to the shop. He quickly whizzed around the shop, grabbing a bottle of water and a road map. He’d had an idea of where to go but needed to check out just how far he would have to travel and roughly how long it would take him. The map would tell him things that the satnav couldn’t, like what the location was surrounded by, how built up it was, etc.

  He had parked in a spot away from other road users and he was relieved when no one was around as he climbed back in to the car to check out his possible destination. Thumbing through the index he located the place and then looked at the mileage chart.

  Shit.

  It would take him another nine hours to get there. He had set off at half past three and this would mean if he kept on driving he would get there by late afternoon. Deciding he would maybe have a few brief stops on the way to stretch his legs if he could find somewhere secluded enough, his mind was made up.

  He’d do it.

  He vividly remembered the words of the chambermaid, Catriona. The conversation returned to him in small snippets. “No one there has heard of you either…it’s in the middle of nowhere…beautiful…peaceful…quiet.” It sounded perfect. Idyllic even. He had no idea where Gairloch was or what was there. Not a whole lot of anything if Catriona’s words were to be believed. He presumed there would be a pub. Even tiny villages had those. This may mean there would be rooms to let. He could see from the map that it was near water. Yes…perfect. No one would know him. No one would care about his ‘day job’. He could blend in—at least for a little while. He glanced down at his boots and frowned. Okay, so he may have to modify his wardrobe a little. He doubted people wore cowboy boots in the Scottish Highlands but that was that. His mind was made up. Starting the engine he programmed his destination into the satnav—his other favourite modification—and set off once again.

  As he drove he sang along to Soundgarden, Nirvana, Pearl Jam…all of his musical heroes and the reasons he got into playing guitar in the first place. He and Chris had been friends ever since the Aussie moved to England with his folks and started attending Nick’s high school. They immediately hit it off when they realised their rucksacks shared the same graffiti. They had been best friends since they were twelve. That first year at high school was the first year Nick had been happy at school. His long-haired best mate made all the difference. They had swapped mix tapes and loaned each other their favourite albums, and had quickly become inseparable. It seemed a natural transition to start playing guitar together, and when they turned fifteen they had started their first band.

  As Nick reminisced about his long term friendship with Chris, a heavy sadness began to weigh him down. Had he let his best friend down by running away? The problem was Chris simply wouldn’t have got it—the reason behind his decision. Chris loved being famous. He lived for the fans’ adulation and for playing to crowds of people thousands strong. Add to that the fact that he was every girl’s dream—tall, muscular, shaggy blonde hair, perfect white teeth and naturally tanned looking skin even though he had left Australia’s sun drenched coast seventeen years before—and you could understand why he would never want to leave that lifestyle. He fit right in there. He was the typical bad-boy rock god. Working out at every given opportunity to ensure he remained in the forefront of fans’ minds. Courting the press to get them on side. And of course he hadn’t quite lost his accent which hugely increased the amount of attention he got from women ... and gay men. Why the hell would he want to give all that adoration up?

  Nick surmised there was no way he could expect Chris to understand his need to step away from it all. No, it was best to say nothing and maybe in a few weeks he would go back to it all anyway. Hell, he didn’t know what would happen tomorrow let alone in a few weeks’ time. But the one thing he did know was that it would only be a matter of time before Chris used his contacts—and his charms—to locate him.

  The stunning scenery that greeted him on crossing the border into Scotland mesmerised Nick as he drove. Snow capped the tops of the mountains and rocky fields filled with bracken surrounded him. Every so often he would cross a stone bridge over a little river or stream.

  His excitement began to build. And his trepidation.

  Thanks to the dropping temperatures, the closer he got the Highlands the more precarious the driving conditions became. His little vintage sports car skidded and twitched on the icy roads and his knuckles were white from gripping the wheel so hard for fear of crashing and damaging his pride and joy. This was the first time he had realised that perhaps a hired vehicle may have been a safer bet. Something with snow tyres that was a hell of a lot more rugged given the terrain that greeted him. But his mum’s last minute subterfuge hadn’t allowed for the hire of a four wheel drive. He’d have to have words with her for the next time she planned to head up such an expedition. Although, he sincerely hoped there would be no next time.

  After hours of driving and only a couple of quick breaks for fuel or to use the men’s room, he arrived in a small but quaint and pretty coastal village, his satnav announcing that his destination had been reached. The buildings were mostly whitewashed and arranged around the seafront and then staggered up the hillside. He pulled over and got out to stretch his legs. Inhaling the fresh, biting sea air he reached his arms above his head. It felt good to be out of the car but boy was it cold.

>   Peering around he took in the breathtaking mountainous backdrop and his jaw dropped open. He had never really been one to appreciate scenery but this place was stunning.

  A couple walked by with a dog, their faces buried in their scarves and hoods pulled down almost to their noses. One of their gloved hands held the lead connected to a bouncy young Labrador. He trailed his gaze down their attire and noticed the clumping, laced up walking boots on their feet.

  And I wore fucking cowboy boots?

  A man walked towards the couple and they greeted each other by name. The older man was dressed pretty much the same as they were and Nick wished he’d had more time to plan and decide what to bring.

  Glancing down at his jeans, cowboy boots and Porsche he was reminded about his own hopes of ‘blending in’.

  Yep, Nick, you’re pretty much camouflaged. Blending right in, you are ... you tit.

  He went back to admiring the stunning view before him but the cold was getting too much to bear and so he wrapped his arms around his body for warmth as his breath clouded in front of him like cigarette smoke. He wondered what the hell to do next as he took in the main street with its little shops and white cottages. As he stood hugging himself he spotted a sign for a pub called The Old Inn which claimed to have en-suite rooms. Quickly he jogged back to the car, climbed in and set off in the direction of the pub.

  After a short drive he reached a beautiful old white building with black shutters. The daylight was fading and there was a cosy orange glow emanating from the windows, enticing him in. Nervously he pushed on the door and entered. He was expecting the usual sharp intake of breath followed by screams and grappling hands or his clothes being ripped from his torso.

  It didn’t happen.

  He smiled as relief washed over him and he exhaled the anxious breath he had been holding in. As he glanced around he wandered over to the bar, removing his woolly hat to reveal his scruffy long dark hair.

  Nick loved his hair. Some would go so far as to say he was vain about it. But he didn’t care. It was shoulder length, dark and shaggy, with a slight wave. When he hadn’t been wearing a hat for hours it was shiny and lush. The fans loved it. In fact, there had been an article in one of the famous women’s magazines all about his hair care regime and what shampoo he used. Sales of that particular brand had rocketed in the wake of the article and it had taken months for him to live it down as the rest of the band had ribbed him about it terribly. Women everywhere began buying it for themselves so they could fantasise about him being in the shower with them, and for their men so they would smell like him. Other women’s magazines had voted his the hair most women would like to run their fingers through. So, as far as he was concerned he had every right to love it.

  The grey-haired man behind the bar had a matching grey beard and smiley eyes. He finished up with the customer he was serving and walked over to greet Nick. “Afternoon…or should I say good evening, sir. What can I get you?” He leaned on the bar in front of him.

  “Oh…erm…hi…yes can I have a pint of something local and a room if you have one available, mate?” He fidgeted with his hat.

  “That you can, my friend. And I think we have a room left, yes. Will anyone be joining you?” The kind man smiled as he poured a pint from a pump marked Gairloch Grinder. The local brewery was just up the road from the pub according to the posters on the wall above the bar.

  “Joining me? Oh, no…just me. Needed to get away, you know how it is.” He smiled, keeping his voice low, still nervous that someone would recognise him. But if they had, they were respecting his privacy which was a whole new experience.

  The man laughed heartily. “No, not exactly. Can’t say I do. Why would I want to get away from this place?” He had a fair point. “I’m Tam, by the way. Tam McCreadie. I’m the one who’s lucky enough to own this fine establishment.” He smiled as he placed Nick’s drink on the bar, wiped his hand dry, and held it out to Nick.

  Nick cringed as he almost whispered his name in reply. “Nick Dacre.”

  Shit! Why didn’t I make a bloody name up? Idiot!

  He held his hand out and the man grasped it in a firm, friendly handshake. Gesturing around the room with his free hand Nick told him, “It’s a nice place you have here, Tam. Very cosy.”

  “Aye, it is a grand wee place, I have to agree. And it’s good to meet you, Nick. Once you’ve finished your pint I’ll show you to your room.”

  Nick nodded and held his glass up to toast the older man. He was beginning to relax. Glancing around the pub once more he spotted the open log fire and decided to take a seat on the old leather armchair beside it. Once settled in there he sipped his beer as he watched the flames dance, mesmerised by the movement and the comforting sound of the wood cracking and splitting. He could quite easily have fallen asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Nick

  After leisurely downing his pint of Gairloch Grinder, Nick was escorted by Tam upstairs to his room. It was lovely and quaint but a little on the compact side for the six foot plus male. There was a double bed with cream linen and a tartan throw at the end. A chair was placed by the window so the occupant of the room could take advantage of the view over the sea. The en-suite was also petite but contained everything he needed. After thanking Tam he dropped his bag on the floor and leaned his beloved guitar against the wall near the en-suite and then collapsed on the bed - fully clothed - and drifted off to sleep.

  An hour and a half later he was awoken by the sound of his mobile phone singing at him from the bedside table. He glanced at the screen. The ring tone “Down Under” by Men At Work alerted him that it was Chris calling. He dropped the phone onto the bed beside him, clicking end call so it would go to voicemail. His stomach growled at him from beneath his layers of inappropriate-for-the-weather-and-location clothing, and he clambered wearily from the bed and went into the en-suite to take a quick shower. Once he was out, dried and dressed again he pulled on his jeans and a clean long sleeved T-shirt with the Sub Pop logo emblazoned in bold type on the front.

  Complete with grumbling, gurgling, insistent stomach he made his way back downstairs. Tam was gone and had been replaced behind the bar by a woman with long, wavy, auburn hair who stood with her back to him. She turned toward Nick and dropped the glass she was holding. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in utter shock.

  Nick gaped back at her, also more than a little surprised to see her ... here.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Catriona demanded, her green eyes blazing, her hands on her hips.

  Nick held his hands up. “I swear…I swear I did not know this was where you worked.”

  Her brow crumpled in bewilderment. “It’s not where I work! It’s where I live!”

  He cringed at the look of incredulity on her face. What the hell? Oh damn. She thinks I’m some kind of stalker!

  He stepped slowly toward her as if walking toward someone with a loaded firearm, his hands still held up in surrender. “Look, I didn’t come here for you. I…I’m not stalking you, despite how it may look. It’s not like that. Please, can we go somewhere to talk? Up…up to my room maybe?”

  Bad suggestion, Nick. Very bad.

  To his amazement her eyes widened further. “You’re staying here?”

  Oh shit. Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea. And I’ve probably blown my cover now!

  He gritted his teeth and pleaded at her with his gaze, his chest heaving with anxiety. “Please, let me explain. I know this looks…weird…but ... please?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand and then waggled a finger at him as she shook her head. “Oh, nonononono. I’m not going anywhere with you! Least of all to the bedroom you’re sleeping in!”

  He lowered his voice, glancing around him. “Look, I’m not trying to sleep with you! I just…I need to explain why I’m here…please?”

  ♫♫♫

  Catriona

  She watched him as his eyes pleaded with her for acquiescence. He mouthed the word �
�please” one more time and she rolled her eyes and stomped through to the back room where her dad was. How the hell would she explain this?

  “Erm, Dad…could you watch the bar for a moment? Mr…erm…thingy…the guy with the…you know…long hair? He has a…ah…problem and I need to go up and speak with him about it.”

  Tam looked concerned. “Oh? He seemed happy enough with the room before. Should I maybe—?”

  “No. No, Dad. It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.” She stomped back through followed closely by Tam.

  She glanced at her father as he watched her follow Nick. He wore a confused expression and there really was no wonder. The pub and its rooms were his pride and joy and now she had inferred that something was being found substandard.

  Well done, Cat. How to make a bad situation worse in one easy step.

  Just before she turned away he raised his eyebrows, shook his head and began to clear up the broken glass she had left.

  Reluctantly she followed Nick up the stairs to his room and once inside she stood, arms crossed defensively across her chest, lips pursed. Nick fidgeted nervously as his troubled gaze remained fixed on her. He chewed on his lip, his brows knitted together.

  Like two perfectly manicured caterpillars kissing on his head. She shook her head at her bizarre train of thought.

  He gestured to the cute little chair by the window. “Do you want to sit down…Cat for short?” He smiled with hope in his eyes.

  “Don’t try to be sweet with me. I’ll stand by the door. I neither know nor trust you.”

  He shrugged and the look of hope was immediately replaced with one of disappointment. “Oooh-kay. Look, I’m guessing you will have seen the news about what happened to me,” he began.

  She snorted at his presumption. “Pfft. Get over yourself. I thought we clarified in the hotel that day in London that I’m not a groupie who watches your every move.”