Chapter two
1281 Words
We walked to the airport baggage claim. As usual, we would have to wait a quarter of an hour before it arrived on the conveyor belt. I took the opportunity to use the bathroom and relieve my bladder. For two hours I squirmed like an eel! I hated fidgeting on the plane but going to the bathroom was beyond my courage, especially when fifty people went just before me!
I had the good idea not to leave my jacket and my hand luggage with my parents and, suddenly, in these ridiculously small conveniences, it was very awkward. I managed to put my parka over the door, wedge May's perfume bottle on the toilet paper holder—the floor was too dirty—my magazine on the toilet tank and my backpack on the door coat-hook. What an ordeal! But now I was feeling better, even if it was only slightly.
I went to the sinks and washed my hands thoroughly. I grabbed my things and pushed open the bathroom door with my foot and went to join my parents. The hall was already almost empty. It didn't feel like I had taken that long though. While performing a balancing act, I walked faster. By what stupidity, I don’t know, but my foot caught in the sleeve of my parka, which was dragging on the ground. With a cry of surprise, I stumbled and dropped everything I had in my hands, including the perfume I could already see crashing on the floor. But instead, a big hand came out of nowhere to grab it and an arm held me up at the same time by the use of an iron fist, keeping me from falling. All this in a fraction of a second. Yet, I could have sworn there was no one around.
“Everything all right?” asks a male voice.
“Uh... I... yes,” I stammer, a little disoriented.
He gently released his grip and helped me stand up. It wasn't until I was released that I realized how hot and feverish the arm holding me was, even through the fabric of my shirt. I was so surprised that I stepped back suddenly, nearly falling on my face once again. I recovered by myself this time and finally looked up at the one who had come to my aid: a young man of my age or almost. He was way taller than me, towering at least a head and a half over me. But it wasn't his size that shocked me the most or even his body heat. No. It was his eyes, laughing, but like two sparkling emeralds, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
“You have to be careful where you walk,” he warns, smiling. “Otherwise you'll break a leg.”
He bent down to pick up my magazine and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I stammer, taking it.
“And this too,” he said, showing the bag containing the perfume bottle. “That was close!”
"Thank you," I repeated, sliding my fingers into the handle.
I couldn't take my eyes off his. Was he an alien for having peepers like that? And those white teeth, where did they come from? From a toothpaste ad? And that hair, that mouth... It's hard not to look like a ditz in front of such a sight. This guy was simply breathtaking!
"Well, have a good stay in Inverness," he concludes with a dazzling smile. (And what a voice... Argh.)
“Uh... I... thank you.” (For the third time...)
He was already walking away, in a smooth and confident step, all relaxed, just like that, all right! I followed him with my eyes until he joined an older man, and just as tall—his spitting image in fact—and he disappears behind an automatic door.
I can't even suppress a laugh. Nervous.
Wow… why doesn't this kind of guy live in Wick? Huh, why?
“Scarlett? Can we go? We need to pick up the rental car.”
“Huh?” I reply still foggy. “Uh, yes, dad. It’s okay. I’ll follow you.”
I was pretty messed up still.
In the parking lot, I couldn't help but look around, hoping to spot the stranger. Of course—no one.
The two and a half hours between Inverness and Wick passed very quickly, I slept most of the way and woke up a quarter of an hour before we arrived. It was pitch black, very late and the rain was gently beating the cabin. We stopped in the courtyard of the manor, the lantern on the porch was lit. Tired, I grabbed my wallet and my backpack from the trunk and went inside. I have been coming here for so many years... nothing had changed. The old oak tree that stretched out in front of the windows of the first floor, the white facade, the bow windows, the black tiled roof; everything was there. I was grumpy before I left, but now that I was here I felt at home.
May was waiting for us in the living room.
“Good evening, children, did you have a good trip?”
“Perfect, mom,” said my father, kissing her.
“Did you think about closing the gate?” she asked.
“Oh, no...”
“I’ll go!” I cried after kissing her.
I ran out and began to lock the huge padlock, the key was in it. I had trouble, I couldn't see anything at all. Suddenly, a howl pierced the silence of the night. I jumped so hard I almost twisted my ankle.
What was that? Unless I was going nuts, I could have sworn I heard a wolf howl.
The cry echoed again and this time, without thinking twice, I turned and ran to the house. I was scared.
“Dad!” I cried, hurrying into the living room. “You heard it?”
“Heard what?” he says raising his eyebrows.
“Well... I don't know... it sounded like... a wolf.”
May burst out laughing.
“You met Billie.”
“Billie?”
“Yes,” she said, “the owl. She took up residence in the undergrowth. She serenades us every night.”
“Ah.”
I felt ridiculous but reassured. I said good night to my family and climbed the stairs two by two to my room. I liked it. It was tastefully decorated, but it wasn't my doing. May liked the English style, so Millie had chosen light and warm tones. I especially liked the large patchwork quilt tossed over the queen-size bed—the one May had sewn herself—and the old pine dressing table. The most curious thing about this room was my collection of miniature ponies and horses—I had started it when I was ten years old. It sat proudly on the dresser. Yet, the collection didn’t suit me now! But May left it anyway, she insisted on it.
I was exhausted, so I decided not to put my things away tonight. I would do it tomorrow morning. Same with Kaley, I promised myself, but I didn't have the strength to send her a message now. I still took the time to have a shower—before putting on my pyjamas and throwing myself under the sheets—I felt filthy with all this travelling. Used to the Parisian hustle and bustle, I had a hard time sleeping without earplugs. Out of habit, I put them on and immediately fell asleep.
- Writer
