Winter Falls

by Eddie Skelson

  Perhaps it was the stunning natural beauty of the Loch and its surroundings that gave him space to think of an existence outside of, or at least after, the NHS contract. Maybe just being away from Glasgow, which he had found uncomfortably similar to London, allowed him to begin actually enjoying being away from it all. He couldn’t say for sure but by the time he reached Lochnivar Joe found his mood was positive, and he felt himself warm to the trip for the first time since departing at Euston.

  The holiday town seemed deserted and as he pulled on to the forecourt he worried that the garage might be closed due to the weather. Despite the ESSO sign being illuminated he wasn’t even certain that the pumps would be live. ‘The winds might have knocked out the power to them or something,’ he thought anxiously.

  He pulled up to a pump and saw that the readout was lit and relaxed a little. Once he spied a cashier inside the garage store his mild anxiety completely faded. He climbed out and attended to re-fuelling the Nissan.

  Once the tank was full, ‘sixty quid’s worth of expenses full,’ he went inside to pay. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast which made the colourful array of sweets and drinks tempting. He plucked two bags of chicken flavour crisps from a box, a bottle of cherry coke from the refrigerator and a Galaxy bar from a display that lay by the cash register, deliberately enticing to snackers like himself.

  The cashier was a short, thin man with salmon pink skin. He tapped on an electronic register a couple of times as Joe approached, each hit producing a beep.

  ‘Just arrived or about to leave.’ The cashier asked in a friendly manner and with a well-spoken but distinctly Scot’s accent.

  ‘Just got here.’ Joe replied

  ‘Where’d ya travel from, Inverness?’

  ‘Glasgow.’

  ‘Glasgow! Sweet Jesus, how are the roads?’ His expression was one of genuine surprise.

  ‘Actually it’s been Ok,’ Joe said. ‘The snow is deep but there’s not much drifting.’

  ‘Just as well then.’ The cashier began to scan each of the items ‘Some of the roads around here can disappear even when the weather is fine.’

  Joe laughed a little but then realised that the cashier wasn’t joking.

  ‘That’s sixty pounds for the fuel sir and two pounds fifty eight for this lot, sixty two fifty if you please.’

  Joe pulled out his wallet and produced his credit card. Inwardly he winced at the fuel cost.

  ‘Are ye staying at the Lochnivar hotel?’ He handed over the card machine into which Joe slipped his overburdened Visa and entered his pin.

  ‘No, no I’m moving on, further North. I’m headed to Winter Falls.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said the cashier as he waited for the debit to be accepted, ‘what’s that then?’

  ‘It’s not a what, it’s a where.’ said Joe ‘A fishing port about twenty or so miles from Rhicarn.’

  The card machine beeped and threw out a printed receipt which the cashier tore away. He pressed another button on the register and the cash draw popped out. As he placed the receipt inside, a copy was printed, which the cashier took and offered to Joe.

  ‘That’s your VAT receipt sir.’ Joe took the copy and secured inside his wallet. ‘Winter Falls ye say. Canna say I know it. Caravan Park?’

  ‘No it’s the name of the town, or the port I suppose.’

  ‘A town near Rhicarn?’ The cashier said as he leaned on the counter. Joe had begun to pick up his snacks and deposit them in his pockets. ‘Are you sure you have the right place laddie?’

  ‘Yeah, quite sure.’ Joe smiled. ‘Right on the coast, well obviously on the coast, it’s a port. There’s a pretty big forest around it and I think the next nearest village is Roscregan.’

  ‘Aye well, I know of Roscregan, and the forest you must be talking about is Ardach Coille, which is Gaelic for ‘big forest’ by the way. I guess back then flowery names weren't really required.’

  Joe half smiled because he wasn't sure if the man was trying to be amusing, informative or sarcastic.

  'But canna say I’ve heard of a place called Winter Falls though.’

  ‘Oh.’ Joe replied uncertainly. He wasn’t really interested in this man’s knowledge of Scottish geography but he did feel that the ‘big forest’ thing was a bit of a dig. Had the cashier not pressed him he would have left it at that.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure you have the name right? I only ask because the area from Roscregan to Ardach Coille is pretty tough going. Very few signs to guide you and there are no villages nearby should you have a problem.’

  A small flicker of doubt did cross Joe’s mind. The town had been difficult to locate and the map he had used was something like sixty years old.

  ‘Ok, look would you mind taking a look at my directions? I have them written down in the car.'

  ‘No problem. I don’t think I’m gonnae have much more to do this afternoon.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll just be a second.’

  Joe left and moments later returned with his notepad. He flipped the pages until he came to a sheet headed ‘Winter Falls.’ Underneath the title was a neat list of road designations, the names of towns and villages these ended with the initials ‘WF’.

  The cashier looked at the list carefully. Joe could see him making the journey in his mind as his eyes scanned the directions in sequence.

  ‘Does it look Ok?’ Asked Joe when he thought that the cashier had taken it all in.

  ‘Aye well, it looks Ok as it goes.’ He returned his gaze to Joe. ‘But I tell ya I’ve no heard of a town called Winters Fall anywhere around here. I’ve lived in Lochnivar all my life, and while I may not look much of an adventurer now I’ve travelled across the hills and peaks of this place a good deal in my youth.’

  Joe frowned. If his directions were wrong this would make him look pretty stupid back at the office. Days wasted, money down the toilet and no advance on getting the contract completed.

  Seeing Joe’s obvious concern the cashier decided to offer some support.

  ‘Look, head to Roscregan and stop there. According to your directions it’s the last village before this town you are trying to find. If it’s near and you just have the name down wrong or its perhaps further North or even, he wagged his finger, one of the smaller Isles perhaps. Rich people occasionally buy those godforsaken rocks and rename them. It’s likely the folks there will know, and can save you making a moose of yourself.’

  It was solid advice and Joe nodded in thanks. He definitely didn’t want to make a moose of himself.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll do that.’

  The cashier handed the notebook back to him. ‘You just have to hope that the weather doesn’t turn as well. You’ll not want to be driving across Rhicarn with a storm blowing, trust me.’

  ‘It looks to be alright, have you heard anything different on the news?’

  ‘No.’ replied the cashier. ‘But this is Scotland laddie, the weather here doesn’t really care what the news says.’ He offered a smile but Joe understood that it was actually a friendly warning.

  ‘Well thanks for your time.’ said Joe

  ‘Nae bother, and good luck,’ the cashier replied.

  Joe’s upbeat mood was truly drained by the time he climbed back into the Nissan. With the state of the roads it was still a good two hours before he would reach Roscregan, which in turn virtually guaranteed another day in Scotland. He had no idea if there was a bed and breakfast in the village so if the directions to Winter Falls were wrong he could be sleeping in the car. What had been a gradual softening of attitude towards the realm of the Scots in the face of its beauty and friendly natives was once again hardening fast.

  ‘Unbefuckinglievable.’ He said as he looked into the rear view mirror.

  He pulled off the forecourt and slowly drove out from Lochnivar. Not bothering to soak up the beauty of the town that wore a clean smooth blanket of snow or its picturesque harbour. He glanced up at the sky, it was clear of clouds and the sun was bright despite its reduced heat. Joe wish
ed he had brought his Ray-Bans.

  As he carefully negotiated the main road through the town could see that Lochnivar was, as the tourist information on Google had suggested, clearly a popular tourist destination. Signs announcing ‘Bed and Breakfast’ and ‘Holiday Break Special Offer’ could be seen standing in almost all of the gardens and nailed to fences, but as he journeyed further north the houses began to thin out and the signs disappeared altogether.

  The journey took him through a few patches of light forest and upon exiting one of these there was a noticeable change in the quality of the road surface even with the buffering of the snow. After an hour there was no doubt in Joe’s mind that he was now travelling upon a dirt track. The road had narrowed so much that had he opened the doors on each side they would have scraped the dry stone walls that enclosed it.

  There were passing places where the wall was set a little further away from the road but these were badly spaced, with up to a mile between them. The Nissan coped well with the occasional dips and rises but what caused real problems was that the snow was deeper here than on the main roads. Joe was forced to drop his speed to almost a crawl.

  He had hoped to reach Winter Falls by mid-afternoon, but he was satisfied just to see a few farm buildings ahead indicating that he was approaching what he hoped was Roscregan, the last stop before his destination.

  As he entered the village Joe could see about two dozen houses clustered around a grass square. In a few lights were visible, shining through nets or curtains. A butchers and general store stood next to each other and appeared to be the only shops, at least with visible signs, but at the end of the street on which they lay was a larger building with a traditional hanging board usually found on a pub.

  He pulled into a car park to the side of the building. It had room for another seven vehicles but no other space was taken. Stepping out of the Nissan and into the snow he found that his shoes disappeared into about four inches of it. He stomped around to the pub entrance.

  The sign that swung a little in the mild breeze read '’The Silent Piper’ and a bas-relief carved from the wood depicted, what Joe presumed, was a pipe player in full swing, clearly unaware that he was silent.

  It had not yet started to grow dark but there was a small light, fixed into the top of the wooden porch protecting the doorway, which was already lit. Joe stepped into the porch and pulled the heavy wooden door open. A wall of heat, rich with a strangely alluring pine scent, engulfed him and he walked inside.

  Immediately to his left was the bar. It was well stocked with various spirits and sported a half dozen hand pumps. Ahead were tables with round or square tops, almost all of them occupied and predominantly by men. On his right a large open fire blazed away as it ate into a pile of logs, there was a tidy stack of them to the side of it. At the far end he could see bare wooden stairs leading to the first floor.

  The movie, An American Werewolf in London, sprang to Joe’s mind as every head turned to face him. The conversation dropped to leave an expectant silence. Eyes looked him up and down, absorbed the suit, the shoes, the ridiculous hat and jacket, and then turned back to whatever had previously being occupying them.

  He figured that the best course of action here was to buy a drink before he asked any questions, a ‘when in Rome’ sort of thing. A single step placed him in front of the bar but there was no one attending that he could see. He waited, trying to look confident and at the same time relaxed, but the effort only made him look strained.

  A man stood from a table that was near to the fire. Joe casually turned to see where he was going and to his surprise the man walked over to the bar and lifted a portion of it to allow him behind.

  He was shorter than Joe, who was what he thought of as a respectable five foot eleven, ‘my family couldn’t afford the extra inch,’ he joked to girls if asked his height. In his shoes with a decent heel he passed for a six footer and for some reason it was a question girls asked.

  The barman was around five nine, Joe guessed, but he was stocky and looked powerfully built. His face, broad and dangerous looking, sported a pair of metal framed spectacles, his hair was thick and black, with a few lines of grey weaved into it. He had a light beard flecked with the same sign of age. Joe thought that he was probably in his late forties.

  ‘Ken ah get fer ye?’ He asked in the broadest Scots accent Joe had heard yet.

  ‘I’ll take a half pint of beer please,’ Joe said half expecting the barman to sneer at him.

  ‘Nae bother, any particular?’ He indicated the pumps lining the bar. Each had a fancy or outlandish name on a plaque in front of it. Steam Beer, Orchard Pig, Monks Folly, and one that really caught his eye ‘Stone Oaked Arrogant Bastard Ale.’

  ‘I’ll try a pint of Bastard please.’ Joe risked a smile.

  The barman reached under the bar, pulled out a traditional pint pot and began draw dark liquid into it from Joe’s chosen pump. He wore a light blue polo shirt of no recognisable brand and this showed off arms that were thick and muscular; each was decorated with tattoos, a few of which Joe thought had military significance.

  ‘Passin through?’ The barman asked as he handed the pot over.

  ‘Sort of.’ Joe said. ‘But I may need to stay over, could you tell me where the nearest B&B or hotel is.’

  ‘We’ve rooms here if you need to stay a night. Nearest hotels would be in Lochnivar but that’s aways from here.’

  ‘Yeah I actually just came from there.’

  ‘The roads no bad then?’ asked the barman

  ‘Not bad no, well the snow is pretty thick but no drifts, and of course it’s a clear day so I got lucky I think.’ Joe sipped at the beer which was thick like oil and at first taste very bitter.

  ‘Aye I guess yer did.’ He watched Joe as he struggled with the beverage. ‘That’s a braw one no?

  ‘Yes it is a bit...er, braw.’

  Joe hoped the stocky barman would not take offence at his mimicry. He was rewarded with a kindly flash of white teeth. The barman turned to a small cash register and rang in an unseen amount.

  ‘Takes some getting used to that one, I would try the Steam Beer if you’ll be having another.’

  ‘I will, thanks.’ Joe pulled out a five pound note which he thought should cover the cost.

  ‘That’s a pound fifty please.’

  ‘One pound fifty! Seriously?’ Joe said as he handed over the fiver. The Barman’s pronunciation had come over as ‘poond’ but the pronunciation wasn’t what shocked Joe

  ‘This is no London my friend,’ the barman replied, taking the note and handing back change, he then leaned on a pump causally.

  ‘So if ye have come from Lochnivar where are ye headed to? If I may say yer don’t look like yer might be mountain climbing.’

  ‘Ah, well I hope I’m on the right track here. I’m looking for a town called Winter Falls.’ Joe said.

  The smile on the barman’s face evaporated and the conversation throughout the Silent Piper once again became muted. Joe glanced around and saw that as before all eyes were on him.

  ‘Ah see.’ Said the barman evenly. ‘And why would ye want to find Winter Falls?’

  ‘I just need to get some information from there. For my work,’

  The barman’s expression was flat and undecipherable. Joe decided to expand on his reason

  ‘I’m an analyst.’

  ‘An analyst?’ asked the barman.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you need information on Winter Falls?’

  ‘Yes.’ Joe repeated.

  ‘Could ya no call? It’s a long way to come, from London, no?’

  ‘Well, no. You see I have to get copies of some records from there. And yes, I’m from London.’' Joe thought for a second then continued 'it’s a government contract so everything has to be bob on, you know.’

  ‘The government eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joe, conscious that his conversation was now the focal point of the entire bar. ‘Plus we tried to get through to t
he town, well my boss did, and we couldn’t obtain any numbers.’

  Joe felt a sliver of nervousness creeping into his voice. He couldn’t explain why. The barman had not been aggressive or rude in his questions, far from it. But he felt his questioning to be more than mere curiosity. ‘Still’, Joe considered, ‘why wouldn’t the locals be interested in the Londoner, in a beanie hat, wandering around the highlands like a twat?’ He took a proper gulp of the oily beer.

  The barman reached under the bar and produced two small glasses. ‘Ah’m Kevin,’ he said, ‘will you no join me in a shot to help wash that doon?’

  Joe wasn’t overly fond of spirits but he figured that the whiskey couldn’t be any worse than his ‘Arrogant Bastard,’ plus this was a friendly gesture and he didn’t want to appear rude.

  ‘Sure, thanks.’ He replied.

  ‘Nae bother.’ said Kevin.

  ‘I’m Joe. Joe Clarke.’

  Kevin poured an equal but generous measure of whiskey into each glass. Joe could smell the rich and potent aroma of it as it splashed into them.

  ‘Nice to meet you Joe.’ Kevin said and raised his glass ‘Cheers, as you folks say.’ He took the contents of the glass down in one swift and practiced move. Joe instinctively copied him and regretted it immediately. The whiskey was like a fire in his throat, and while he managed to avoid coughing his eyes watered up as he tried to hold back his reaction.

  ‘Jesus.’ He finally spluttered

  Kevin smiled. ‘Very brave lad. Keeping in step with a Scotsman.’

  Joe became aware that the patrons of the pub had resumed their conversations. He couldn’t decide whether it was mentioning Winter Falls or the fact that he was sort of working for the government that had caused the disruption but he was glad to no longer be a focus of attention.

  ‘When will ye be headed off to the Falls then?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘Well first off I’m glad to hear it exists. I was beginning to have my doubts’