Jake quickly glanced over his left shoulder at Marcus and sensed that it would be a bad idea to prolong the journey. Reluctantly, Jake changed lanes and descended onto the slip road, taking the first exit at the roundabout to make the gradual ascent through the rugged, mountainous and utterly captivating landscape, heading for home.
As he followed a black four-wheel drive, its rear window obscured by suitcases, its roof loaded with skis, memories surfaced of his own trips in a similar car loaded with much the same equipment. It seemed like another life. Itwasanother life.
The car in front turned off, leaving just the open road snaking through the empty landscape to the Cairngorms. The last time he’d done this drive, he’d come alone because stupidly he’d worked until late and had missed accompanying Eleanor on the train from London. At Christmas, the landscape had looked so different. It had been a wintry scene, straight from a Christmas card, with snow-capped mountains and snow-frosted plains. He’d forgotten how green the Cairngorms could be in the summer. Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited Scotland in a different season. He smiled. It was just possible he might salvage this holiday after all. He would never have consciously chosen to return to this place. It was too full of memories of her. But now he was back, he couldn’t help but admire the magnificent scenery. He slowed the car a little to takein the views.
How could he think he would not one day be drawn back to this place that he loved and yet loathed for taking her from him? Had it really been only seven months ago? It seemed like forever since he had driven down this road alone on that fateful Christmas that had altered the course of his life forever.
Although the sun was still shining, Jake could no longer feel the hot sun on his neck. Aware that his speed had dropped below forty, Jake glanced in his rear-view mirror, expecting to see a four-wheel drive on his tail. Instead, what he saw was Marcus’s glazed brown eyes burning into the back of his neck. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Jake looked back at the road ahead. It was no longer an empty space; another four-wheel drive much like the last had overtaken him and swallowed up the road. ‘Don’t you recognise it?’
Marcus had known when he’d boarded the flight that the destination was Scotland, but he would never have guessed they were returning to Aviemore.
‘Of course I do!’ he said indignantly. ‘But what the hell are we doing here?’
Touchy, thought Jake. ‘You wanted to sleep, so I’m taking you to a hotel,’ said Jake matter-of-factly.
‘You’re telling me you couldn’t find a single hotel in Inverness, so you had to drive all the way to Aviemore?’
Jake ignored the sarcastic remark. Instead, he handed Marcus his takeaway cup of coffee. ‘Here, drink this – I think it will help you wake up.’And hopefully improve your mood, he thought.
Marcus leaned forward, clutching the back of Jake’s seat as he took the cup. ‘Urrgh. This coffee is luke-warm.’
Jake wasn’t surprised. ‘You were out like a light. I didn’t want to wake you when I stopped at a service station a while back.’
‘What are we doing here?’ Marcus reiterated.
‘What do you think I’m doing here?’ Jake threw the sarcasmback. ‘Do I need to remind you that this ismyholiday? It was your choice to follow me. Well, here we are. This is where I have chosen to spend it.’
While not a strictly accurate account of how he’d come to be in the area, Jake declined to reveal how he had impulsively agreed to meet somebody he didn’t know before he had even found out where exactly they were calling from. And what was worse, how he had been stupid enough to go anyway.
‘I’m not turning back now. I’ve got an appointment.’ Jake could picture it; Marcus would want out of this place so badly that he’d be pleading for Jake to take him to the nearest airport.
‘What do you mean you’ve got an appointment? I thought you were on holiday?’
Jake smiled to himself. He was going to re-kindle the embers of his nearly-destroyed holiday once he’d fulfilled his commitment to Mr Wright and had got rid of Marcus on the next available flight back to London.
‘Who the hell have you got an appointment with?’
Jake looked in the rear-view mirror and felt anI told you socoming on. He couldn’t resist. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to come on holiday with me?’
Marcus slumped back in his seat. All Jake could see was the mop of black, greasy hair plastered to the top of his head. ‘This is the last place I’d expect you to have come for a holiday,’ he said quietly, ‘or for any reason.’
You and me both, Jake thought sadly as he drove into Aviemore. The town was busy whatever the season. Aviemore attracted a lot of tourists. The traffic crawled along the main shopping street, passing the train station, and Wilbur’s Bookstore on the other side of the road. It had been some time since he’d stepped inside that shop. As he passed by, he wondered when Wilbur would retire. He had popped in there from time to time, over the years, and Wilbur had talked abouthis grandson, an aspiring writer, whom he hoped would take over his store.
Further along, he spotted the community centre and a couple of modern supermarkets that were open all hours. The town was dominated by thriving shops selling walking and skiing apparel, catering for tourists. Jake came to halt in traffic outside one of the few shops that wasn’t aimed at tourists. It always surprised him that the place was still there – Gillespie’s General Store.
He raised his eyebrows at the double-fronted shop as he passed by. Something had changed. He’d been in there once or twice, in the past, and had met Mr Gillespie. The shop, like its owner, was functional, practical, no-nonsense. Mr Gillespie wasn’t the sort of guy to cater to the whims of the tourist and do fancy window displays to entice people in. But something had definitely changed. There had once been a jumble of goods in the front window, and more of the same spilling out onto the street in a haphazard display. It was a relic from the past, a dying breed still serving what was left of the local, elderly community who, he imagined, shopped there out of loyalty or habit. It was a place they could go where someone would ring up their purchases on an old-fashioned till and even pack your shopping himself – so unlike modern, impersonal supermarkets with self-service checkouts.
The items on the pavement outside of the shop were gone. The window displays had changed quite radically. One side still had groceries displayed in the windows, but these were no longer thrown together haphazardly; they were organised on shelves in baskets.
It was the other window display that had really caught his eye, though, and made him wonder if the place had changed hands. Either that, or Mr Gillespie had had the foresight and business acumen to realise that if his shop was going to survive the competition of the influx of modern supermarket chains, hewould have to change with the times and sublet half of his shop to another retailer.
He smiled. If Eleanor had been there, she would have loved the other window display. It was full of curtains, cushions and fabrics, which were draped over a small, upholstered chair and illuminated by a standard lamp in the background. He could just imagine her popping in there to buy some materials to make something. How she had loved being creative with interior design, he thought sadly. It was what she had wanted to do with her life.
Jake read the name above the shop window aloud: ‘Robyn’s Interior Design.’
‘What was that?’ Marcus asked from the back seat.
