Booking my flight. Is Friday good? You busy?
I was once again terrified of his response, or maybe his lack of. He was busy; term had started, his texts had been short and frantic this week, and all I wanted to do was further add to his stress.
Yes.
That’s all he replied. Like I would understand all that those small letters meant. I hoped I did, pressing the confirm button on the page. The familiar ping on my phone indicating the confirmation landing in my inbox.
I was almost paralysed with nerves. Terrified of everything I wanted and knowing…I would have to bring it up. Talk about it. Admit how ridiculous I was, but…
There was an abundance of Google searches in my history that I hadn’t told him about. Also? I’d sent an email to the head of the local surgery, just an introduction and a broad query with regard to openings in the area. Perhaps not the done thing, but I was…and always would be…
Desperate. For everything this could be. Even if it perhaps wasn’t.
We didn’t even mention it over the next couple of days. Made no plans, almost like it wasn’t happening. Perhaps he was as frightened as I was, and the only thing that calmed me was that I was reading him as such.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told him the night before, in passing, as we said good night.
“I’ll come down to the hotel as soon as I’m done. Last batch of boarders arrive in the afternoon, so I will have a few things to iron out. Need to get rid of the parents too, they tend to linger. The good ones, that is. The awful ones just send the kids up on their own.”
“I can see you’ll be busy.”
“I had one arrive today; he lost his passport on the train up, left one of his suitcases at the airport, and we had to pay for his taxi because we still don’t know where his debit card is.”
That made me laugh.
“I promise you, I’ll pay for my own transport. I’ve booked a rental car. As long as I don’t get lost, I’ll be there at around nine.”
“Say hello to Angus, he’s the guy who runs the pub.”
“I will do.”
“Good night, Noah,” he said.
Then he hung up.
The nerves didn’t get better, boarding that flight and sitting there tapping my feet the whole way up to Glasgow. Chewing nervously on the tiny snack provided, and hoping I wasn’t too annoying for the guy next to me, not being able to stay still. I got there. I did, and the rental car? Asmall banger that I had to wedge myself into. My own fault for choosing the cheapest budget option, when I probably should have got myself a four-door saloon with ample space for my stupid legs.
I drove, the autumn landscape right there, a light breeze of fallen leaves across my windscreen as I navigated the outskirts of Glasgow. Hit the open landscape and lost the light near Loch Lomond. I’d seriously underestimated the drive, the small roads and the darkness, and once again reminded myself to book a bigger car next time.
Two hours later? I drove up the hill past the entrance to Kilmartin School. Grand and lit up in the darkness. My chest tightened up because I was almost there. Near.
Near him.
The hotel was easily found, and I parked up, grabbing my overnight bag. And yes, this was a small place, and the open fire and empty pub greeted me. Well, there was a lonely guy in the corner drinking a pint, and a man behind the bar.
“Aye,” he said.
“Fairweather,” I said, like the plonker I was. “Booked a room.”
“Aye,” he repeated, this barkeep. “Angus McAllen. Take a seat. What you drinking?”
What was I drinking? Fox Riley, that was all I was planning to consume this evening.
“Sparkling water, please,” I huffed out, taking a seat as this Angus looked at me like I had two heads.
“You’ve had a long drive. This guest ale won awards. Smooth as silk and just the right temperature. Local brewers. It would be a crime to serve you…sparklin’ water.”
“I see,” I said. The fool I was, as the man just shook his head and picked up a pint glass.
