Without the internet, I’d been unable to find out anything more about the place I was going to. My dad had given me a road atlas of Britain when I passed my driving test, so I had had a look in there. It looked like a pretty quiet place – or at least it did eighteen years ago when the atlas was published – but I thought I’d be able to get to Fort William for some shopping, and there looked to be plenty of islands and beaches around to explore. I would make the most of it. Dee was paying, after all.
The airport was busy, but I was travelling with a small airline, so the baggage drop-off queue wasn’t too bad. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for security. After much time spent queuing and fumbling with heeled boots and a chunky necklace, I was browsing duty-free and acquiring a basket full of goodies.
I saved myself time to pop into the bar for a glass of wine to calm my preflight jitters. Once I’d sat down and started to drink my wine, I relaxed a little. It was the first time I’d ever been through an airport on my own. If I still had access to Facebook I’d have checked in and updated my status by now; it would have said something like: ‘At the airport by myself . . . wish me luck!’ I would have probably added a sad face and subsequently been comforted by the inevitable ‘good luck’ messages. I would have laughed at the ‘man up’ comments from some of my closer friends.
The journey to Glasgow flew by (pun intended), and after collecting my suitcase I made a beeline for the car hire desk. I was soon sitting in a very cool Fiat 500 (I immediately added owning one to my list of life goals), on my way to the back of beyond. It didn’t take too long to drive out of Glasgow, and as soon as I did, I was in utter isolation. It was like my whole body had taken a deep breath, free from the claustrophobia of the city.
Driving out of Manchester, involves travelling through a plethora of suburban towns and villages before you reached anywhere remote, but Glasgow seemed to transport me from city to country within a mile or so. The views became more breathtaking as I drove on, the landscape more rugged, and the hills gradually grew into mountains.
Before long I was at Loch Lomond, overwhelmed by its vastness and beauty. Spotting a pub, I decided to pull over for lunch. The charming building looked to be hundreds of years old, and the grey stone walls were mirrored by the natural rock peeping through the greenery of the surrounding landscape. Luckily the pub was open, and there was a sign saying lunch was available. I breathed a sigh of relief and heaved open the heavy wooden door. As soon as I stepped inside, I was greeted by a cheerful male voice.
‘Well, hello there, love. Come in and sit down. What can I get ye?’ he said with a charming Scottish accent. I turned to see a middle-aged man with a round, friendly face behind the bar, polishing glasses with a beer towel.
I smiled warmly, feeling instantly at home. ‘I was hoping for some lunch, actually. Do you have a menu?’
‘Of course, love.’ He handed me a leather-bound lunch menu, which listed all of the usual pub-grub fayre.
‘I’ll have the soup, please,’ I said, handing back the menu. I sat down and took in the surroundings. The pub had grey-brick walls and dark wooden tables. It was strong and sturdy, protective of its owners. The chairs were covered in a rich green-and-blue tartan.
On the wall hung a painting of a family, a mother and father and three young girls, outdoors, surrounded by greenery. It was obviously from at least a century ago, judging by the frilly summer dresses of the woman and girls. The father wore a kilt of the same tartan that covered the pub chairs. A hound sat proudly at the front, guarding the family. They were all smiling – a family without the distractions of modern life, a family who enjoyed one another’s company.
‘That’s my great-great-great-grandfather up there.’ The barman startled me as he appeared with my soup.
‘Really? Gosh, how wonderful to have a piece of family history that’s been so well looked after for all these years.’
‘It’s not just that. The whole pub has been in our family for centuries.’ He beamed momentarily before his smile gently faded. ‘Whether it will continue to be is another matter. My son is my only child, and he has grand plans for himself. He wants to travel, go to university in London and eventually become a doctor. Running a pub, this pub or any other, is not for him.’ He let his head drop slightly.
‘That’s a shame. So what will you do with it? Do you have extended family lined up to take over?’ I asked, realising quickly that I was probably interfering a bit too much; it wasn’t my business. I’d been sitting in silence for so long it was just nice to talk to someone.
‘No, nobody. I retire early next year and will have to put the place up for sale.’ He turned away to study something out of the window. I couldn’t imagine having to sell a piece of history with such sentimental value. The poor man seemed so dejected, and I’d nothing much to offer other than sympathy.
‘Maybe when your son makes it, he’ll buy it as an investment,’ I suggested hopefully.
‘Aye, maybe,’ he said without heart as he headed back to the kitchen.
The soup was delicious, and for a while I just sat and enjoyed my own company, without giving a thought to work, Dee or Joseph.
As I gathered my belongings and stood up to leave a rowdy group of people entered the pub, cutting through the silence with talk of pints. I briefly gazed up when I heard English accents to see a well-wrapped group of six men.
‘Melissa?’ I was startled to hear my name and even more shocked when I recognised the short brown hair framing compelling deep blue eyes.
‘Scott.’ My voice shook. I’d not expected to see anyone I knew here. ‘What are you doing here?’ I continued when I could steady my voice.
‘Skiing, remember? We’ve come to catch the last snow of the season. We’re heading over to Ben Nevis. We go every year and always stop here on the way. It’s the best pub in Scotland; Billy’s a great host.’ He nodded to the proprietor I’d been talking to only a short while before. He’d reappeared and began pulling six pints whilst the other five men sat on stools at the bar. I swallowed, my heart racing as though I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
‘Ah, yes, I remember you saying. Gosh I had no idea you could ski in Scotland. I assumed you’d be jetting off to the Alps or something.’
He smiled. ‘Scotland is great for skiing; besides, see Jack over there?’ He pointed out a chubby balding man in a bright red ski jacket. ‘He won’t fly. Anyway, what brings you to Scotland?’ He regarded me curiously.
‘Just work,’ I blurted.
‘Alone?’ He cast his eyes around the pub.
‘Yes, just research stuff. I’m here for the week.’ I sounded much more casual now.
‘If you’re heading west too, we might be able to meet up,’ he suggested. I was surprised by how elated I felt.
‘I am actually, I’m staying in a cottage here.’ I rummaged through my travel documents and pulled out a map to show him.
‘That’s only about half an hour away from where we’re staying. If I can get away from this lot, I’ll pop round.’ He raised an eyebrow in what I thought was a hopeful gesture.
***
I sat waiting for the Corran Ferry so I could cross Loch Linnhe to the Ardnamurchan peninsula. The view was magnificent. It was a clear day, the sky was blue, and the surrounding hills were emeralds hovering above the inky waters of the loch. I realised I might actually be able enjoy my time here and cast aside the stresses of home. Maybe I’d even get some work done.
The ferry journey was short, and as I drove off I made a mental note of a pub sitting atop of the slipway. When I arrived at the cottage, I was pleasantly surprised. It was one of three small cottages overlooking the loch; people would pay a lot of money for a house with views like that.
Inside, I was glad to find it clean and modern. The small sitting room to the front had a window looking out over the loch. A Jo Malone diffuser sat on the sill – how very Dee. There was a compact but well-equipped kitchen to the r
ear, and upstairs were a double bedroom and a bathroom. It was small, but perfect for me.
After busying myself with unpacking, I decided upon a well-earned glass of wine and some nibbles that I’d brought along. It was a good job I’d packed those essentials – I hadn’t noticed a shop of any description since leaving the airport. Finding one would be on tomorrow’s agenda.
***
I woke up the next day feeling refreshed after a good long night’s sleep. The close blackness of the night sky had worked its magic. The lack of light pollution resulted in an intense darkness that had enveloped me, sending me into the deepest sleep I’d had in ages. Without getting dressed, I headed downstairs to the kitchen.
I was happily making coffee and having breakfast when I noticed a ring binder on the kitchen table, labelled ‘Guest Information’. Dee must rent this place out as a holiday home. I flicked through; it seemed that there would be a few attractions well worth visiting during my time here. Most importantly, there was a tiny village nearby that had a shop.
After breakfast I plodded upstairs to shower. The plan for the day was to get dressed and have a walk along the lochside, go and find the shop and maybe have dinner in the pub I saw yesterday. At some point I would get some writing done. Perfect.
As I stepped out of the shower, I heard a knock at the door. Feeling a bit wary, I slipped on my bathrobe and tiptoed to the window. My vantage point wasn’t great, and as I pressed my forehead hard into the glass, I could only make out the top of a dark, seemingly male, head of hair. He knocked again. I crept downstairs. My heart beat faster as I became suddenly aware of the risks of being so isolated and without a phone. I unlocked the door and pulled it open slowly. ‘Morning, Mel. I didn’t think you were going to answer.’
I stared in shock, fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline kick wore off. ‘Scott?’ I stared at him, not quite believing he actually came.
‘Yes, sorry, have I startled you?’ A look of concern appeared on his face as he registered my shock; I didn’t even need to nod. ‘God, I’m so sorry; it’s too early isn’t it? A few of the lads were too hung-over to ski this morning so we’re going out this afternoon. I had a few hours free whilst they slept it off so thought I’d pop in and say hi. Now I’m living the experience, I feel like I should have tried to forewarn you. Sorry, Mel. I can go if you like?’
I relaxed a little, relieved that it was just Scott and not an axe-murdering loch monster that had startled me so early. I managed a smile. ‘No, no, don’t be silly, come in. It’s nice to see a friendly face. I was just startled, that’s all. I’d not expected to see you so soon. Coffee?’ My mouth felt dry and my heart was racing, so caffeine was probably not the best choice, for me at least.
‘I know. When I saw on the map where you were staying, I thought you might be feeling a bit isolated. It’s the ferry; it can make you feel quite cut off from the rest of the world. I’ve been up here many times, and as beautiful as it is, I like having the guys with me. Yes please to the coffee, by the way.’
He took off his boots before entering the sitting room and I wondered if he did that as a result of his nagging ex-wife or his overbearing mother perhaps. Maybe he was just the considerate type. As I made the coffee I still felt jittery. The shock of seeing him standing on my doorstep was taking a while to overcome.
‘It is quiet out here. I must admit, it is nice to see a friendly face. So how long are you up here for, and what have you got planned?’ I asked, trying to maintain an even voice.
‘The usual format is skiing all day and a few drinks in the evening, but every so often we skip the morning ski.’ He smiled. ‘We head back home on Wednesday.’ His fingers brushed mine as I handed him his coffee.
‘Sounds like a great trip. I’ve no solid plans yet. There are a few boat trips I’d like to do, beaches I’d like to see and so on, so I’m sure I’ll keep busy. The worst thing is having no internet or phone. I’m completely removed from my life!’
‘It might do you good to be away from work for a bit. C’mon, let’s go and see what the great outdoors has to offer. You know, see the things that we miss when we’re sending messages on our phones, too busy to look up.’
I smiled. Scott seemed to have a way of making things seem interesting. I was sure he could suggest sewer-wading and make it sound like something that would be great fun. ‘Okay,’ I chirped. ‘I’ll get dressed.’
Fifteen minutes later we were stepping outside into the brisk, clear air, greeted by the stunning view of the loch. The vast expanse of water surrounded by rugged hills and covered by a bright blue sky once again stole my breath away. ‘It’s such a beautiful place,’ I sighed. ‘I think people in the know just lie about all the rain in Scotland to put off tourists and keep the place all serene and beautiful.’
He chuckled. ‘Perhaps. It certainly is spectacular. Follow me,’ Scott said, linking his arm through mine. He led me across the small road in front of the house to the edge of the loch. There was no fence or wall, just a narrow footpath, some grass and the water. Up ahead, two sheep stood rooted to the grass, nibbling away at the greenery, oblivious to us, seemingly equal in this remote land. And why not? Scott stopped at the water’s edge and took a deep breath. ‘You don’t get air like this in Manchester.’ He turned and smiled. ‘Still, there’s no Nando’s here, and it’s a toss-up which I need most to survive.’
‘You don’t strike me as a Nando’s man,’ I said, returning his smile.
‘Every man is a Nando’s man.’
We walked a little further until we saw a sign for the village; it was a quarter of a mile away. Being a city girl, it was hard for me to imagine being a quarter of a mile away from anything commercial, but there was something quite nice about it. ‘Do you mind if we head that way? I could do with a few supplies.’ I pointed towards the sign.
‘No, of course not.’ Scott upped his pace and evolved his step into a frogmarch, which made me chuckle. The road was narrow, and there were no paths, but I hadn’t seen a car other than my own since I’d arrived. We trekked down the road, taking in the beauty of the formidable landscape around us: rocky, mountainous terrain observed from the safety of the lane, all in the good company of sheep. And Scott.
‘Well, I think we’ve arrived at the village centre.’ He turned to me with a bemused expression.
‘What?’ I looked around, but all I could see were a few small houses. Scott nodded to the house at the end. It had a small sign in the window saying ‘Shop’.
‘It’s just like the Trafford Centre,’ he said in a stage whisper, eyes twinkling.
‘Oh my goodness, this is quite charming!’ I said with a giggle. We wandered over and walked tentatively in, a little taken aback by the homely appearance. I felt like an intruder. The door chime rang loudly and made me jump, but once the door had opened I was relieved to find a tiny but well-stocked grocery shop.
Nobody was around, so I began to gather my necessities. The refrigeration unit had a fair selection of meats, including square sausages – I couldn’t believe I’d never seen those before! I placed a pack in my basket. Scott stood sheepishly by the door. I wondered if he was afraid I might be needing feminine hygiene products. I picked up a bottle of wine and caught Scott raising an eyebrow. ‘Well I did say I needed necessities,’ I joked.
‘Well, hello there,’ a cheerful Scottish voice boomed from behind me. The shopkeeper appeared through a door leading from what looked to be the main part of the house. ‘Ye aren’t from around these parts, are ye?’ His voice was deep and gravelly, his accent thick.
‘Guilty,’ I joked.
‘Holiday?’
Rather than go into a full-on explanation about why I was there, I took the easy option. ‘Yes, just until Friday. It really is a beautiful place’.
‘Aye. That it is. There’s a lot to see and do. Let me see if I can find you a leaflet.’ He rummaged around under the counter, and, eventually, triumphantly pulled out a tourist information l
eaflet on the Ardnamurchan peninsula. I took it gratefully; the one I already had wasn’t nearly as thick.
When I turned around, I noticed Scott had gone outside and was on his phone. His face looked dark and serious, not at all like his usual cheery self. I thanked the shopkeeper and stepped outside just as Scott hung up. He didn’t mention the call, so I didn’t pry, despite an overwhelming urge to enquire.
We didn’t talk much as we walked back, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. We took in the scenery, stopping every now and then to point out something beautiful, like an eagle or waterfall. Despite mainly walking in silence, there was no tension or awkwardness. I felt at complete ease in Scott’s company; there was no need to talk and fill the gaps with idle chit-chat.
This is the most peaceful, beautiful place I’ve ever been to. As the thought entered my head, I let out a small, contented sigh. Scott turned his face to mine and smiled, holding my gaze for a moment longer than seemed necessary. He took my hand in his, and we walked like that in silence to the end of the lane. He looked like himself again by that point, the darkness from his face evaporated by the tranquillity around us. ‘Hey, shall we stop at the pub for a drink? It’s almost past noon, so I think it’s allowed,’ he asked.
‘That sounds great. Just one, mind. I don’t want to be responsible for you missing the last snow of the season!’
The warm air of the pub was comforting after being out in the elements. I grabbed a seat by the window overlooking the loch whilst Scott went to the bar. We were the only people in there, so Scott returned quickly with two pints of beer. The barmaid disappeared, apparently safe in the knowledge we wouldn’t steal a packet of crisps from behind the bar.
Scott started to unwrap himself, layer by layer – coat, chunky-knit cardigan and scarf – leaving just a tight long-sleeved T-shirt that perfectly framed his lean, athletic frame. He looked up and caught me watching him. ‘Should I charge for my striptease, or will you just slip a fiver into my boxers? I’m new to this and don’t know how it works.’ His eyes glowed as a smirk spread across his face.
The Secret to Falling in Love Page 15