Page 7 of From Scotland with Love

He glanced at the computer screen in front of him and made a face. “Sorry lovey, we don’t have anything available. It’s very busy right now, tourist season and all!”

Lori bit her lip, she was exhausted but the last thing she wanted was to endure a twisty bus ride. “You have nothing at all? I need to get to Arlochy!”

“Oh lovely part of the world, that is.” The man stopped looking at the computer and stood up beaming at Lori. “My sister takes her kids there every year. I always say though, 'Betty why don’t you go somewhere else; there’s a whole world out there!' But she loves it, think she plans to move there when she’s old.” The friendly man in his strong Invernessian accent carried on speaking as Lori daydreamed about leaving the conversation and hop in an Audi convertible. She mentally pinched herself to cheer up a bit, she should be happy to be home. But right now, all she wanted was to get to Arlochy, have a shower and check in with work before anything else happened or before Julian had an aneurysm.

“Do you have any suggestions on what I should do?” Lori interrupted the cheery man who was now talking about how many tourists the small airport was receiving over the last few days, and all the wonderful places they had come from.

“Oh! OK!” He stopped short, scratched his chin and looked at his computer once again. “Let me have a wee look, see what I can do!” He spent some time clicking the mouse and tapping the keyboard loudly, that Lori eventually began to wonder if he was actually doing anything, or just making appearances.

“Right love, best bet – get to Fort William, and we can have a car waiting for you there!”

Lori inwardly groaned, she hated getting the bus, the journey was a couple of hours and the roads tortuous. Her sister had said she would be there to meet her off the bus, but driving directly without having to rely on anyone else's schedule was vastly preferable. There was nothing else she could do, so she thanked the man, and set out for the bus into Inverness city.

It was early morning, and the shuttle bus took minutes to get to the city, everything seeming so shrunken to her after her years in New York. The bus went over the River Ness, to meet the charming old city standing proudly along the edge - though really the clusters of small stone buildings looked more like a town to Lori. Victorian red sandstone houses and churches lined the riverside in between trees. The whole scene looked like a beautiful painting; set against the backdrop of the castle with saltire flag perched on its highest point, blowing in the breeze as if waving at Lori to welcome her home. After Lori got on the connecting bus, she sat at the front to avoid any risk of nausea, which was something she was prone to. So much so, that her mum would always shout over her shoulder in their battered old Ford: “Look ahead if you’re car-sick! Look ahead toots!”, to a pre-teen Lori who would avidly watch buildings, trees and hills go past, without much consideration for the outcome until it was inevitably too late.

“Where you heading my dear?” the old bus driver asked her as he started up the engine, and Lori felt immediate and acute regret at sitting in the front. Perhaps two hours of mild nausea wouldn't have been so bad if she'd known it came with a generous dose of privacy at the back of the grimy old vehicle.

“Arlochy.”

“Oh lovely, I went there with my wife once. Good place to be this time of year!” He looked at her brightly in his rear-view mirror.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to see it. It’s been a couple of years.” Lori smiled then looked out the window to see trees flashing past, but hastily reverted her eyes back to the front before the queasy feeling engulfed her.

“Are you from there? You sound American!” the man playfully winked.

“Yes I’m from there, spent a few years away. Well a lot of years away. I’m sure my accent will come back quick enough!”

“You just have a blether to me the rest of the journey deary and I’ll get you talking as if you never left!” He laughed, and turned the first of many corners. Lori texted her sister not to bother picking her up, and lay back making herself as comfortable as possible. She chuckled quietly to herself; there was no way of getting through this land without people continually talking to her – never in New York, she mused.

“That’s us in Fort William!” the bus driver bellowed as he stopped outside a supermarket.

The passengers piled to get off the bus: “Thanks driver!” they called one by one, passing by.

“Have a good time home!” the old man winked again as Lori was the last to alight and collect her luggage.

“Thanks, safe journey onto Skye!”

“Oh gawd, don’t remind me!” He put his head in his hand in mock-despair as Lori laughed, the poor man would be driving some more hours still, though personally she couldn’t imagine staying on the bus a minute longer. She walked along a row of parked taxis to a small car with a young woman leaning against the door and swiping on her phone. She was wearing the same green and black uniform as the man from the airport, and looked up as Lori approached her. Lori gave a sigh of relief: she could rely on herself to get home now.

After years not driving in New York, Lori found herself gripping the wheel and swearing loudly at any vehicles that came within a mile radius of her. Which so happened to be camper-vans and buses that kept her wedged between them without any real view of the road. Resigning herself that she was trapped between giants for the remainder of the trip, Lori reflected on the joys of living in certain areas in the Highlands. The roads being so busy in the summer that most locals avoided going anywhere, then when winter came there was nothing open until late spring! Luckily, the more she continued on the winding road, the quieter things grew as tourists turned off at various attractions. Eventually the twists and turns became open roads and Lori cruised the familiar last section of the way back home. The views were spectacular; she had forgotten how dramatic the landscape was, and after so many years living in between buildings upon buildings, she looked out to the wide-open space before her in awe. The sea spread out into a bank of glittering mist on one side, and jagged, heather-patched hills on the other. Past the opal water in the distance were a few islands that Lori hoped to visit on this trip home, probably for the first time in twenty years. She put on the radio and tuned into the local radio station, trying to remember the frequency, until she stumbled on an old familiar nineties dance song that she remembered only too well. Lori marvelled at how even now the radio station played old dated tracks, happy to remain in the past, with no intention to catch up with the rest of the world. She remembered days spent at the station volunteering after school - which mainly consisted of cleaning. But she had loved it, and often imagined being a dj herself - as well as a diver, an artist, an explorer, and a writer. All the endless career paths and possibilities she had desired as a girl came flooding back, making her laugh to herself quietly in the fading sun. She thought back to summer nights spent by the sea front; going to ceilidh dances; barbecues in their garden; cheering wildly at the Highland games, the smell of smoke and sea salt in the air... and everything else in between. A few miles from her home and she caught sight of the big estate house on the hill, looming over the surrounding countryside before the village came into view. Its grounds were often used for concerts by local musicians, and in the autumn months a music school would open up there, teaching traditional instruments and singing. Lori winced at her stint singing Gaelic songs in the MOD, or rather, miming them, as her teacher had demanded. It had been some time since she had spoken a word of her native language. She was sure her gran wouldn’t be pleased, but what could the old lady expect when half of her life had been spent on a different continent. Gaelic was not the language of the future, though she had toyed with the idea of Mandarin, or Hindi, something that would help her career down the line, but always coming to the conclusion that there were only so many hours in the day. Lori reflected on Michael's talents, being fluent in Italian and French gave him a cultured air that Lori wished she had. What would Michael think of her home? Her heart ached at how things were left between them and she wished he was with her now, perhaps she could call him and ask him to fly over? Lori was momentarily distracted and almost missed the turnoff for Arlochy. Focusing her mind back to the task in hand, she turned into the small single-track road. Picturesque old crofters cottages stood on one side of the road behind a single line of trees, which were covered in a glowing candy-pink blossom. This was undoubtedly the best time of year to come to the village, as the bus driver had said; nature thrived abundantly, and there was a buzz in the air that Lori could almost smell as she turned the corner at the end of the road. The view opened out onto a stretch of shimmering sea, with yachts scattered along the shoreline. She couldn’t believe how long she’d been away, but strangely enough, everything looked the same: even an old bright red fishing boat remained anchored in the same spot from summers past. The car crept past the village hall, the bookshop, the small supermarket, the café and pub at just under thirty miles an hour. Tourists meandered in the sunshine, popping into the boutiques, and some strolling down the pier, pointing now and then at the scenery she knew so well. Her heart fluttered suddenly; with excitement or nervousness, she didn’t know which. What she did know was that in just a few moments she would see her gran’s house, their home, and she anticipated the accompanying bittersweet pang that would come tugging at her chest. Past the Post Office and another strip of houses she finally spotted the brightly-painted post-box at the side of the road, a replica of the original cottage, before all the many alterations her gran had orchestrated over the last two decades. Lori turned down the drive to the full-size, mismashed dwelling, snuggled in between trees at the end of the lane on a pebbled path. The car ground over the stones, rolling slowly to a halt as she parked by the front door. It was an unusual style of cottage compared to others in the area. With all the modernisation it had undergone, caused it to spill and bulge out in front, allowing little space for cars to park. The only means of exit was reversing out onto the main road, which wasn’t exactly the safest option. Lori was amazed to see there were no other cars parked, especially since Tammy had already started on the wedding plans. She had been sure everyone else would have been installed around the table to greet her. A little disappointed that her family had not made much of an effort, having half-expected a party, or at least some kind of small welcoming back into the fold, she collected her bag, and tried to shake off the feeling. She was expecting far too much, especially when she hadn’t made much time for them over the years. Lori glanced at her watch; it was nearly dinner time - where was everyone? Her feet crunched on the pebbled ground as she walked under the green leafy archway that lead up to Gran’s impressively large front door. She knocked a couple of times, and let herself in; it was normal in the Highland villages to leave your door unlocked, luckily enough, though something she would of course never do in New York. The door led into a hallway with immaculately polished wooden floors; her gran had always been a serious cleaner, and that was evidently still true. She tread over Moroccan rugs towards the open-plan kitchen and living-room. Colours and textures surrounded her. Since the girls were old enough, her gran had loved traveling to exotic countries to explore new cultures. Artwork and memorabilia hung on the walls and adorned the furniture, hailing from countries like Greece, Mexico and Brazil. It was a huge space, inside that house. Lori had always thought so, as though her gran wanted to be perpetually prepared for a large group at the drop of a hat. The fridge and kitchen table were similarly expansive for a woman who lived alone, as well as the lounge area, with its wide sofas that would sit a football team comfortably. Lori walked over to the sliding doors that stood between the rooms, and made her way onto the wooden decking and garden. The grass had been cut recently, but the patch where Lori and her sister Jean had spent many a nights practicing hand stands and cart wheels, was as scrubby and brown as ever. At the back of the garden stood a small wooden shed beside the vegetable patch. Lori smiled to herself, proud of the home her gran had made for them all; a cocoon that was safe and secure, but with space for freedom. Lori breathed in, and took off her shoes. Letting her toes wiggle in the soft cool green grass, she wondered if she was able to do a cartwheel now after all these years?

“Is that my wee Lolo?” came a familiar voice. Lori thought twice about the cartwheel, her heart leaping involuntarily at her old pet-name. Her gran was lying outstretched on a sun lounger on the far end of the veranda.

“How didn’t I see you there!” Lori ran up the steps to give her gran a hug.

“Well aren’t you a vision?” She rose from her lounger sleepy “I may have dozed off for a moment...”

Lori laughed, and suddenly noticed the border collie-dog stretched out underneath the lounger, with no visible intention of getting up.

“Bracken!” Lori petted the dog, which rolled over for her to pat his belly almost automatically with a heavy flop.

Gran shook her head gently and chuckled. “Bracken, my boy, you make a terrible guard dog!” The dog looked up at her with tired droopy eyes and remained still, welcoming Lori’s attentions.

Lori gave her gran her arm and helped her up. She was bare-footed, and wore a turquoise kaftan over loose, palazzo trousers. Her gran loved clothes, and at every opportunity would aim to look her best. Today, she had dressed spectacularly for the warm sunshine.

She touched Lori’s cheek. “You grow more and more like your mother.” She beamed at her granddaughter, her keen blue eyes taking in every detail.

“I thought I was more like dad?” Lori smiled, leading her gran to the kitchen.