Dragoona Island - Episode 4 - Cassie
1959 Words
I was never so glad to see hills and houses coming into view as we approached Glasgow airport. The nine-hour flight had not been the greatest. I rarely drink liquor, but I had been throwing down vodka like a Russian mafia boss for most of the flight. Partly to get rid of my nerves, but mostly because I was sandwiched between two men that annoyed me in different ways, but both equally as bad as the other.
The one on my right was wearing a suit and continuously straightened his tie, combed his hair back and clicked his briefcase open and closed over and over. The clicking was bad enough, but he kept side glancing at me as he did it, as if wondering if I was turned on by his impressive briefcase skills. And the one on my left was either picking his nose and wiping it under his seat or snoring loudly and drooling. At one point his head fell on my shoulder and I had to shrug him off, which immediately woke him up and the nose picking began again. Just gross!
After so much vodka and only an hour of sleep, I felt dazed as I stepped off the plane. A cold, bitter wind whipped round my face, lifting my hair up into the air and all over the nose picking guy’s face coming down the steps behind me. I mumbled an apology and grabbed my hair pulling it round my neck, holding it in place before it made me look like ‘Cousin It’ from the Addams’s Family.
As I made my way to the terminal building, I spotted a man in a bright yellow jacket, he was directing passengers where to go. I slowed down to ask him where the nearest restroom was. “Excuse me, could you please give me directions to the nearest restroom?” I smiled and waited for his response. I need not have bothered. It may as well have been in Swahili.
He smiled back before replying, “Aye hen, ye go doon that walkway, then ye turn tae yer left and keep walking till ye see the signs for the toilets”, he then nodded and smiled at me again before turning and walking towards some other ground crew members.
Okay, I made out ‘doon’ which I knew meant down and I made out left and the word toilets. Maybe I could understand Scottish better than I thought. If only he slowed down slightly, did all Scottish people talk as fast?
I soon got the answer to that question when I reached the passport checks. I had to really listen carefully to what the man was saying, everything seemed fast and mumbled, but I made out the word passport, so handed him mine. He looked at the photo and said, “Nice photay. Are ye here on holiday or whit?”
I looked at him, slightly puzzled. Was he flirting? I could not be sure. And what should I respond to that question? “Whit, I am here for whit”, even though I was not sure what ‘whit’ meant. I hoped it was not another word for drug smuggling. Oh crap! I then added. “Whit is a good thing in Scotland, right?”
The security man looked at me like I had just beamed in from Mars before throwing his head back and laughing loudly. “Aye, yer a comedian right enough”. He then pushed my passport back under the glass window before adding, “Enjoy your stay”. He was still chuckling and shaking his head as I offered my thanks and walked away. I made a mental note to check what the word ‘whit’ meant as soon as I could connect to the internet.
I kept walking till I saw the sign for baggage reclaim and toilets. Thank goodness, all that vodka needed somewhere to go. I had not wanted to squeeze past Mr Briefcase to go to the restroom on the plane. My bladder felt ready to pop at any minute. I made my way straight to the restrooms. The loud sound of hand dryers and toilets being flushed was all that could be heard. Clearly everyone else had the same idea.
After relieving my poor bladder I brushed my hair, added some fresh lip gloss, the first coat was now all over one of the plastic glasses I left on the plane. I also put some cover up on the bags under my eyes and added a bit of mascara. I was already on my second day of travelling thanks to the time difference, my face was testament to that.
After dragging my suitcase off the baggage turnstile, I made my way towards the exit. I had forgotten just how heavy it was, thank goodness for wheels! When the automatic doors opened, I was hit by a cold wind again. Luckily, I was prepared this time, my hair was secured in a tight but messy bun on top of my head. I pulled my Duluth coat collar up round my ears. I stopped and unzipped my suitcase to pull out one of my scarves and a woollen hat.
I put them on, I felt slightly warmer. That was a good start.
Now, it was time for the next stage of my journey. I wheeled my case towards a long line of black cabs. I went to the first one I reached, hauled open the door which was heavier than my suitcase and pushed my case inside before falling into the taxi face first on to the black leather interior. I just managed to compose myself enough to say to the driver who was watching me with a curious smirk on his face, “Central Station please”.
The driver shook his head before replying, “Sorry hen, but we work in a queue system, you need to go to the top of the taxi rank and get the one at the front. It is just the system we have to follow.”
I groaned. “Thanks anyway” I replied while trying to push the heavy door open again, pulling my case out behind me. I started the long walk to the very top of the taxi rank. The closer I got; the cabs were all driving off one at a time. I now knew what the driver had meant by working to a system. As one drove off, all the cabs behind moved up the line.
When I finally reached the first taxi in the line, I swung open the door with ease. I was prepared for the weight this time and nearly ripped it off the hinges. Oops! I pushed my case inside then tried to gracefully step in without falling on to the seat. I looked up at the driver. You have got to be kidding me? It was the same driver!
He laughed as he looked at me in the rear-view mirror, “Hello again, did you enjoy your walk?”
I was past annoyed but wasn’t going to let him see it. I opted for a sarcastic response. “Yes thanks, it was great to stretch my legs after such a long flight”.
The driver laughed again, at least he appreciated my sarcasm. “So, yer a comedian are ye?”
Why did people keep saying that? “No, I’m a nurse actually” I said curtly.
He laughed even more. What is it with me and making Scottish people laugh? I had never been considered funny before.
The driver smiled at me in the mirror again before saying, “Will have you at the train station in about fifteen minutes depending on the traffic.”
I forced a smile and said, “Thank you”, nodding at him in thanks also.
The rest of the journey was in silence, which I was grateful for. As soon as we hit Glasgow city, I looked out the window taking in all the sights, lots of shops, bars and hundreds of people. When the green man lit up at the traffic crossing it was like a herd of cattle all crossing at the same time. None of them even batting an eyelid, some were on their phones and some were chatting to others walking next to them. I felt like I was back in New York. It was almost comforting in a way.
We arrived at the train station, I handed the driver a twenty-pound note and told him to keep the change. He must have appreciated the gesture because he jumped out the driver’s seat and walked round to open my door for me. I was grateful. When he stretched his hand out I took it gladly, he helped me out then pulled my case out for me too. He smiled at me before saying, “Enjoy your visit young lady, safe journey”.
I smiled back. “Thank you, I hope to enjoy my visit too”. Scottish people really lived up to their reputation of being the some of the friendliest people in the world.
The train station was as busy as the streets outside, hundreds of people walking around. Everyone rushing towards the train platforms and others casually walking towards the exit. I had my train ticket on my phone, but I had no idea where to go to catch the train to Inverness.
I saw a tall, good looking guy wearing a dark blue sweater and black pants. He had an official looking lanyard hanging round his neck. I walked towards him, he looked like he knew his way around this station. “Excuse me, would you mind directing me to the platform where I can get the Inverness train please?”
He smirked at me before replying, “No comprende, parlez-vous Francais?
I sighed and shook my head, just my luck to ask someone who did not even speak English. Hold on, did he just use a Spanish word and French? I was suddenly suspicious. “Wait, are you French or Spanish?”
The cocky bastard started laughing. Was I a constant source of amusement for Scottish men? He reached out and took hold of my suitcase. “You caught me out, I knew I should have paid more attention in my language classes at school”, he winked at me before adding, “Follow me, I'll take you to the platform you're looking for.”
Finally, I made it on to the train, I got settled and showed the ticket collector my electronic ticket. He just grunted and nodded before walking on to the next passenger. Rude!
As the train began to move, I rested my head back on the seat, a very subtle hangover was setting in… or was it jet lag? Either way, my head was sore, and I suddenly felt exhausted.
As my eyelids became heavy, I could not help but think about the date on the receipt for Aggie’s Tearoom, if my mom had been there over sixty years ago would they even remember her? And why did she look so young and fresh faced in my baby photos, when she must have been almost sixty years old when she had me?
A thought then struck me; one I had not even considered before.
Was my mom really who she said she was? Was she even my mom? Was I created in a lab somewhere as a science experiment?
Could that be the reason she never settled in one place for longer than a year?
- Writer
