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You sweet summer child. Kind of felt a little jealous over this twenty-something’s inability to recognize an older woman’s condescension.
Soon, three more men joined our party. Spencer looked to be about my age, with dark curly hair, a slightly unkempt beard, and no trace of a smile. He introduced himself and moved to the perimeter of the group, facing away as though he didn’t belong with us. A bit of a Darcy move, to be honest, even though he had a distinctly American accent.
Carlos also turned out to be American, although of a flirtier variety than Spencer. He grinned from me to Harlow, but his attention snagged on her pretty readily. Made sense, since easy money neither of them had reached thirty.
The last man was older than the rest, with artificially darkened hair and heavy-lidded eyes that made him look like Mr. Bean about to go on holiday. He handed Bea a paper coffee cup and two sugar packets.
“Thank you, dear.” She puckered her lips and they leaned closer, grazing each other’s mouths in mime of a kiss.
Mr. Bean shook hands all around and introduced himself as Rupert. “A fine day for this.”
“The whole tour won’t be done today.” Bea poured both sugar packets into her coffee and took a sip.
“No, no, of course not. A fine day to get started, I mean.” Still smiling, Mr. Bean didn’t seem at all put-upon by his wife’s tone. “Is this all of us then?”
“The maximum was eight.” Bea did a quick head count. “We’re short one.”
Duncan looked past me at the oncoming line of cars and his mouth pulled into a grimace. I spun to see what had soured him, and watched as a mini-bus decked out in a full tartan overlay drew up to the curb. The blue, yellow, and red tartan looked striking enough from a distance, but up close, the colors burned my retinas. The Hold Onto Your Kilts logo covered the side, with a three-foot tall image of a set of bagpipes leaning lazily against the H.
“Subtle.” Duncan stared at our garish transport.
“Tell me you’re Scottish without telling me you’re Scottish,” I returned.
His low laughter gave me a little zing of satisfaction, but I shushed that away. I hadn’t come here for commentary on my marital status, but I sure hadn’t come here forthat, either.
Two men hopped off the bus. The older looked like every white, mild-mannered British man I’d ever seen on PBS. The younger had warm brown skin, wavy black hair that fell strategically around his face, and a grin that showed all his teeth.
“Good morning,” the older of the two said. “If you’re here for the Highland tour, you’re in the right place. I’m Lewis, and I’ll be your guide for the next ten days, along with Arnav, here. We’ll just check you all in, load your bags on the coach, and get started, shall we?”
One by one, our little group gave Lewis our names and identifications while Arnav loaded our luggage into the back of the bus. On board the sixteen-seater, only Bea and Rupert sat together. I had to hope everyone had snagged a window seat because the scenery was just too good to miss, and not because I was about to embark on a ten-day tour with six anti-social people.
Lewis climbed aboard and stood in the aisle. “Welcome to Scotland, for those of you new to our fair country. We have a great ten days planned for you. Our first stop will be the Cairngorms, where we’ll spend three days in the village of Aviemore, take in the sights of the National Park, and hopefully bag a Munro or two.”
Munrowas the term for any hill over three thousand feet, and Scotland had almost three hundred of them. When you successfully climbed one, you called it “bagging a Munro.” I’d learned that much in my months of reading up before my trip, but I hadn’t learned a whole lot more. To be fair, most of my research had come from Instagram, one travel guide by an American who seemed to dislike other countries, and hours of listening to bagpipe music on YouTube.
Now that I’d arrived, I realized how little any of that had helped.
“We have a daily schedule,” Lewis continued, “but nothing is mandatory. If you’re ever tired from a climb or just not interested in what we have on the agenda, it won’t hurt our feelings if you decide to wander on your own. Just let us know your intentions. All of our lodges make excellent base camps for hill walks.
“This isn’t a competition. We’re here to enjoy ourselves and experience a little of what the Highlands has to offer. You know yourself better than Arnav or I do—don’t work yourself too hard.”
His eyes darted to Bea and Rupert, the oldest of the group, but he glanced my way, too. I sat up a little straighter. I was inexperienced yes, but I wasn’t out of shape. If anything, he should aim those significant looks Duncan’s way, since he was clearly the next oldest of us.
Although, as I side-eyed how his fleece jacket strained around his biceps, he didn’t look out of shape. At. All.
“For now, sit back, relax, and we’ll be off to Aviemore.” Lewis sat in the driver’s seat and the engine rumbled to life. Arnav folded up the sandwich board from the curb, tossed it into the back, and we set off.
Let the adventure begin.
three
I neededa minute to get used to speeding onto the “wrong” side of the road. Probably more than one. My heart lurched, and everything inside me wanted to swerve the bus into the right-hand lanes where we belonged. So glad I hadn’t opted to tour the country by myself and rent a car. I could see the headlines now.
American woman, 38, dies alone in easily avoidable mix-up.
I looked back at the city but got nothing of the majestic view I’d hoped for from the highway. Motorway? Whatever they called it, we were already too far away to see any of the stately Old Town buildings that crowded my new Scotland Pinterest board and filled my Instagram feed. I’d hoped to see the castle perched on its hilltop but only spotted a smattering of grayish-brown buildings in the distance.
We crossed a bridge that transported us into the countryside, erasing the city and its suburbs from view. Green hills sped lazily away on either side of the motorway—might have just been grassy pastures, but they were grassy pastures in a whole new country.
