Page 27 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Chapter Six

The M6 soon became the A74 at Gretna.

Its sentimental, romantic aura gave way to the Borders, with its quaint little bridges, farmland, cute towns and ragged skyline.

As we grew closer to Glasgow, the stately buildings, reaching spires and imposing, heavy stone architecture gave way to the M80 past Cumbernauld.

We appreciated the fairytale beauty of Stirling Castle, perched on top of a rocky outface. The green trees reminded me of clumps of broccoli, enhancing the rise and fall of the castle above it.

Then there was the imposing Wallace Monument, gold edged in the sunlight, as it soared like a solid, frilly needle into the sky.

The M80 soon vanished in Marlene’s rear-view mirror, leading us through Perth, with its shining River Tay, clusters of shops and sprinkling of woodland walks and museums.

We glided past the town of Dunkeld, with its pretty string of pastel houses built in the 1700s and now restored by the National Trust for Scotland. No wonder it was known as the best-preserved historic town in the country.

Pitlochry came next; it was one of my favourite Scottish towns to visit. I loved meandering around its scenic little town, strolling past the River Tummel and drinking in its rich history.

If I’d been alone, I’d have parked up and taken myself for a wander, indulged in a coconut and cherry scone in one of its sweet little cafes and watched the tourists exclaim in delight at the allure of the all-year-round Christmas shop on the high street.

But with Evan accompanying me, I thought it best just to get him to his family home and then head to Strath Ross as soon as I could.

The prospect of being back in Strath Ross, surrounded by its rich, Celtic echoes of the past, and traipsing over its humpbacked bridge to the shops, made my heart lift.

Evan and I exchanged small talk on the last leg of the journey, in between him dozing off in fits and starts.

I found myself snatching more and more opportunities whenever I could to study his strong profile when he was asleep. It was the way his nose glided down to meet his full lips, and that lock of stubborn, dark hair that would tumble forwards onto his forehead.

I gave myself a mental check and turned back to the road. No! I was walking a tightrope here, and it would be so easy to fall off. Remember Leon, Daisy. Remember Leon. Evan is nice to look at, but he’s cut from the same cloth, I assured myself. Don’t even think about opening up your heart to more hurt.

Tourists and day trippers were clogging up Aviemore. People were making the most of the gorgeous spring weather, walking, biking and climbing.

Evan had stirred and was arching his back in the passenger seat.

‘How come you were at the birthday lunch yesterday?’ I asked him.

The scenery slipping past us was lush forests tickled by snow-powdered Cairngorms as its backdrop. Aviemore was known as an ideal location for sailing, windsurfing, stand up paddleboarding, kayaking, canoeing and mountain biking.

‘I know Monty through his local rugby club.’

‘You play?’ I asked, glancing away from his sinewy arms.

‘I used to. I’m more of a gym bunny nowadays.’

I can see that, teased a flirty voice in my head. I got frustrated with myself and straightened my back as I gripped the wheel.

We left its sparkling shores and pushed onwards. Evan slipped into another light sleep.

Tourist signs for Strath Ross and Forrest Bank loomed ahead. As I slowed to a stop at a set of lights, Evan woke up. He propped himself up in the passenger seat. ‘Sorry. Was up late finishing a piece I was commissioned to write for The Recorder.’

‘Anything juicy?’

I angled the steering wheel and pulled away from the lights.

‘A feature about the minimum wage and how it impacts people who are trying to break into the creative industries.’

‘Well, that’s great. At least you’re writing about something that helps people. It’s positive, you know?’

More trees slid past my driver side window.