Ch2: Stolen May 14th part 2

It’s coming up on five and I have hardly moved since I came into the shopping centre. It’s too late to go back home now. Vaguely I wonder what Mum and Dad are doing right now. Are they on the phone to the police, saying I’m a missing person?

The printout of bed and breakfast places is on the table beside the tea I didn’t drink. I left my phone at home and that now seems like a stupid idea. In the corner, near the entrance to the loos, I notice a phone. I can’t remember ever using a payphone. I’ve had a mobile since I was ten. Do they even take coins? I gather up my things and make my way over.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I see that I can use real money. I dig in my pocket and pull out a few pound coins. I decide to phone the first one on the list, it’s as good a place to start as any. The place is not too far away, I can walk it, assuming I don’t get lost.

A woman answers. She has a nice Scottish accent, lilting and lovey to listen to.

“You staying a while, are you?”

“I’m not sure yet. Can I book one night only?”

“Of course you can, not a problem. Can I take your name?”

That caught me unawares, of course I’d be asked for my name. On the spot and needing to answer quickly I say, “Catherine Brown.” It’s not my name – I’ve used my middle name and Chris’s surname. I hope I don’t get asked for id.

“Okay, Catherine. I’ve booked you in. When you’re ready come on over and I’ll give you a key. I look forward to meeting you.”

I wonder briefly about buying some hair dye and changing my mousey brown hair to another colour, to keep with the incognito effect that I seem to need so much. But I decide that mousey brown is far more forgettable than any colour I might get out of the shop.

The bed and breakfast is about a mile away. I set off, dragging my suitcase along behind me, my big handbag over one shoulder. I shouldn’t have worried about being spotted here, no one so much as gives me a second glance.

I arrive in front of another of those imposing stone buildings that seem to be everywhere. There are baskets full of flowering plants hanging on either side of the door, and those long troughs hanging off
the downstairs windows with trailing plants covered in pink and yellow flowers. I go in and a round middle-aged woman comes out of a side room.

“Why hello, you must be Catherine.”

I nod and ferret around in my bag for the fifty pounds for the room.

I’m taken upstairs on creaky stairs to a landing with spongy floorboards, all covered in a rich deep red carpet, and into a back room. It’s a big space, with a huge bed and a desk by the window with the usual mini-kettle and tea makings. There’s an en-suite that’s nice enough and when she leaves I suddenly feel very empty and alone. What are Mum and Dad doing now? Phoning my friends? Trying to find clues to my whereabouts in my room? I was meticulous, nothing would point them here, and I told no one of my plans to go north.

Lying on the bed, I try to figure out what to do next. Do I stay or do I go? At fifty quid a night my money wasn’t going to last very long. I should see if there’s an internet café around here and look up youth hostels, I’m certain they are cheaper. I also needed food. I’d passed a decent enough
pub on the way to the b&b. I’d go there, and find out about getting on the internet in the morning.

Decision made, I say good bye to Margy on the way out and go looking for my dinner.

***

The pub isn’t quite as nice on the inside. It’s full of locals for a start, and I feel very self-conscious ordering a fish and chips and a shandy. I’d found a table in the corner near a large fireplace. Sitting
back, I try to merge with the shadows as I wait for my food.

“May I join you?”

I’d closed my eyes for a minute. Opening them I find a man stood by my table, pint in hand. 

“Sorry to disturb you, but there are no tables free and I’ve got food coming.”

Straightening up, I move over to make room for him. “I guess.” I glance around the room. The pub had been fairly full when I got in ten minutes ago, it was packed now. Must be knocking off time.

“I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if there’d been room elsewhere.” He sits on the seat opposite me and takes a long drink from his pint. “You visiting?”

“Um, yes, taking a holiday.”

“Thought so, you sound like you’re from Liverpool, is that right?”

“I’m from the Wirral, it’s across the water.” I don’t really want to be making small talk with a stranger. I search the room for signs of my food coming. I’d eat up and go back to the solitude of my room.

“Ah, yes. I was there once. Nice area.”

The man looks like as old as my dad, with blonde hair turning to white at the sides. But where Dad is soft and pudgy, this man looks like he spends a decent amount of time in a gym.

“I’m Ian.” He reaches across to shake my hand and I reluctantly grasp his hand for a brief moment.

“Catherine,” I say and take a sip of shandy. “You don’t sound Scottish, you visiting as well?”

“No, local for my sins. I was educated in the south.” He smiles, and I can almost soften to him as the smile lights up his face. “Have you friends you’re going to see?”

I realise how foolish I am for being here alone, talking to a stranger. He could be a mad man. “I’m visiting my boyfriend’s family,” I say.

“Ah, he’s from around here, is he?”

“Yes, Chris can’t come up until the weekend. I’m off to see his mum, just needed some time to myself first. She can be a bit difficult, know what I mean?” The lies fall out of my mouth, and I’m shocked how easy it is to make them up. I give a silent apology to Jo for speaking badly of her.

My food arrives at the same time as Ian’s. I wonder if they think we’re together and had the orders sync up. He’s got a steak and ale pie that smells gorgeous. I squeeze the lemon over my fish and tuck in.

Ian starts talking about his businesses, seems he’s a wealthy man with loads of land. He has farmers doing what farmers do while Ian rakes it in with the rent. He calls them estates and talks of an inherited house that I suspect I’d call a mansion. He offers to buy me a drink after I push my empty plate to the side, and I throw caution to the wind and go from shandy to snakebite. The blackcurrant and cider taste good and before I know it, Ian’s ordered up another round.

“You’re spoiling me,” I say as he puts the fresh pint on the table in front of me.

“Just enjoying the company.”

He grins, and I realise that I’ve warmed to him. He makes me think of Dad, caring and considerate and I feel like a fool lying to him early. Better safe than sorry, I guess. The alcohol has loosened my tongue, and I decide to tell him the truth.

“I’m not actually here to visit anyone.”

I let this sit between us for a moment, wait for him to react. He does, but not with anger or indignation. He cocks his head and looks at me curiously.

“So why are you here?”

I take a deep breath. “I needed to escape from home for a while, have some alone time, and I came to where my boyfriend came from. Chris was born in Aberdeen, but his mother moved south a few months later. His dad was violent and she was escaping him.”

“So Chris knows you’re here?”

I glance at the fireplace. It’s summer and the logs aren’t lit. Someone has made up the fire so it’s ready to go. “I don’t suppose Chris knows anything anymore.” I look Ian in the eye. “He’s been dead near on a year.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. You have my condolences.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I gulp down my drink, draining it in one. Ian reaches out and rests his hand on my arm. His skin is warm and comforting on mine.

“I’ll get you another,” he says and disappears off to the bar.

I have a few minutes to compose myself, feeling silly for crying about Chris when he’s been dead for so long. But the year has taken its toll. That’s why I’m here, after all, and not at home.

“Here, I think you need this.” He places another snakebite on the table. I’m going to get drunk at this rate.

“Thanks,” I say and sip at it. I’ve got my emotions under control, at least for the moment.

“May I ask what happened?” he asks. He looks like he’s thinking of reaching out to me again, but then thinks better of it. I feel strangely safe with Ian by my side.

“He was shot during a robbery.” I don’t want to say any more about it, so I decide a change of subject is needed. “I have some time up here and don’t have a clue what to do or see. Any recommendations?”

Ian takes the hint, thank God, and gives me another of those warm smiles of his. “Well I suggest going to see a loch, there are plenty about. You could get in a cabin at this time of the year for not too much money. That is, if you want solitude.”

I’m torn. I want to be alone to work things out in my head, but the thought of being all by myself also terrifies me. “That does sound good. How far is it to Lock Ness?”

He laughs, and I wonder if I said something foolish. “There are better places to go than that tourist trap.”

“Then you tell me, you’re the local.”

He narrows his eyes in a cheeky way, and stares at me for a moment, as if deciding to trust me with a secret. “I’m off to the Shetland Islands tomorrow,” he finally says.

I try to remember my geography and fail. “Is that far?” I ask.

“Depends if you’re travelling by sea or air.”

“Okay, is it a big secret or are you going to tell me?”

He laughs softly, eyes sparkling. “Shetlands are halfway between here and Norway. The ferry is an overnight affair, takes twelve hours. The flight’s on those small rickety planes and takes an hour.” He takes a sip of beer. “I’m going by plane.”

“No doubt, twelve hours is a long time.”

“I’m going there to check up on my island.”

I put my glass down. “You have your very own island?”

“I do. There’s a croft and I need to see how if faired over the winter.”

“A croft…?”

“It’s a house, a small cottage. Very basic, but lovely in the summertime.” He leans forward. “I could take you out there, if you wanted. Assuming the croft survived the storms, you could stay out there for a week or two on your own, get that solitude you crave.”

I sit back, regarding him for a minute. The cider is making my head spin gently and going out to an island on a rich man’s tab seems like a brilliant idea. “You’d take me?” I ask.

“My treat for a broken heart.” He raises his glass and we toast. “To healing time alone.”

I chink glasses with him and finish another pint. 

“Another?” he asks, and I smile.

“Yes, please.”