What If?

by Shari Low

  HERE TODAY – NATIONAL STAR TREK CONVENTION.

  I smiled all the way to Pierre’s and stumbled in the doorway.

  ‘Ma chère,’ he chided gently, ‘you look, how you say, like sheet.’

  That evening, I called Kate.

  ‘Just wanted to check that armed guards haven’t been posted at the airport to prevent me re-entering the country,’ I explained.

  ‘They have,’ she quipped, ‘but we’ve formed an underground resistance and we plan to create a diversion while you commando crawl through Arrivals.’

  My head still hurt when I laughed.

  ‘Anyway, down to the important stuff. Did you meet Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome?’ she asked.

  It took me a moment to suss what she was talking about. I’d completely forgotten about Mighty Romano’s prediction. Kate, however, was obviously still clutching on to the prospect of a fairy tale ending.

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘but I did have a run in with Dr Spock and a Klingon. It’s a long story.’

  Bewildered silence.

  ‘I’ll explain when I get home,’ I promised. ‘Can you collect me at the airport, please?

  ‘Of course. I’ll bring a banner saying, ”Congratulations, you managed to stay out of trouble for a whole three weeks” I’m proud of you,’ she teased. ‘No men, no disasters, and you haven’t been arrested.’

  She was clearly forgetting that I still had a whole day left to go.

  I checked in at the British Airways desk with a heavy heart, then trudged through security and on to the departure lounge. I consulted the screens and saw my reprieve – the flight was delayed for six hours. Yes!

  I made for the bar. As I waited to be served, my eyes fell on a sight of unrivalled gorgeousness. At the other side of the L-shaped marble counter was a real, live Ken doll (without the peanut bosoms), crossed with the Marlboro man. I looked him up and down, feeling the old twinges of attraction that had got me into so much trouble before.

  I looked away quickly, remembering that I was to men what the Colorado beetle was to potato crops. I would NOT be tempted again, EVER.

  Okay, just one more peek…

  He was about twenty-five, over six foot tall, with black hair, piercing green eyes, eyelashes that you could dust furniture with and a burnt wood tan. He was broad, with hands like shovels and biceps bigger than rugby balls. And the whole package fitted perfectly into a black T-shirt and jeans. I stared, mouth open. Was he Mighty Romano’s tall, dark guy?

  He spoke to the barman, asking for change for the telephone, then disappeared out the door.

  No, no, come back, I silently pleaded.

  But he didn’t return.

  ‘Bollocks,’ I fumed, making a mental note to give Mighty Romano a swift kick in the nuts when I got home.

  I passed the six hours with four lads from Birmingham and an old lady from Hull who proceeded to Tequila slam us under the table.

  As I boarded the plane, I realised that I had acquired a Stetson and double vision. I squinted, as again I tried to focus. I definitely need my eyes checked, I thought. 52C. 52C. I struggled to spot the position of my seat. My head swivelled, before jarring to a halt.

  It was him. Tall, dark and handsome. I drew closer, maniacally counting off the row numbers until I was standing at the empty seat next to him – 52C. He turned, looked up at me and smiled.

  ‘Hi,’ he drawled. He proffered his hand. ‘I’m Tom.’ That explains great-granny’s intervention – he had a beautiful Irish accent.

  ‘Carly Cooper,’ I smiled, hoping that I had no foodstuffs stuck in between my teeth. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  I don’t know how it happened. It was fate, destiny, kismet, Tequila. I stuck to coffee and water from the drinks trolley, gradually working my way back to semi-sobriety as we spent the first four hours talking, laughing and swapping stories of our lives and our trip. He had just spent a month in Canada before travelling to New York for a few days. Spookily, he was detouring via Scotland because he’d missed his flight to Dublin that morning due to a traffic jam on the Verrazano Bridge. Thank you, traffic gods.

  My mind was working overtime. I was sitting so close to him that I could hear his heartbeat. Or was that mine? Our shoulders were touching, our legs were touching, our hands occasionally brushed against each other’s. It had been a year since Doug and I split up. Surely I was up for parole by now?

  Feigning tiredness with big yawns and rubbing of the eyes, I supposedly closed my eyes for forty winks. After a respectable time lag, I slowly let my head fall on to his shoulders. He didn’t move it. Progress! I then turned a few degrees, throwing my arm across his toast rack stomach and snuggled into his chest. I made what I hoped were gentle sleep noises.

  Still no defensive moves from the target.

  Hold on, a counter-attack coming up.

  He moved his arm.

  Don’t push me the other way, I thought, having a vision of me landing sprawled in the aisle.

  He lifted his arm higher. I waited for an all-out assault, but his arm came slowly around my shoulders and cuddled me close.

  I waited another ten minutes or so before making a gradual awakening. Through half-shut eyes, I looked up at his face and grinned apologetically.

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmured, ‘I seem to have got caught up in you somehow.’

  He returned my smile. His lips were inches away from mine. He stared into my bloodshot eyes, and slowly, slowly leaned down and kissed me. The surrounding passengers had stopped watching the in-flight movie and were now openly staring at the romance unfolding in front of them.

  We remained suctioned at the mouth until the seat-belt sign came on to signal our descent.

  ‘Where are you going from here?’ I asked.

  He explained that he had to transfer from Prestwick Airport to Glasgow Airport, an hour away, for his flight to Dublin three hours later.

  ‘I live not far from there.’ I offered, ‘You’re welcome to stop at my house for a shower and a bite of lunch.’ I was just being hospitable. We Scots are renowned for our friendliness to foreigners. He agreed, thanking me for being so thoughtful.

  If only he’d known what was ahead of him. Tom McCallum came to my house for a shower… and stayed for a month.

  Kate was waiting to collect us and her reaction when I alighted from the arrivals hall went something like joy (she saw me), to excitement (she waved frantically), to confusion (hang on, who was the guy beside me), to shock (and why did he have his arm slung over my shoulder) to crap, what’s she done? We almost crashed at least four times on the way back from the airport, as she got distracted by staring, open mouthed at Tom in the rear view mirror. We stopped at the local deli on the way home and picked up French bread, pâté, cheeses and fruit, before miraculously making it home in one piece. We invited her to join us for lunch, but she refused. Instead, she politely shook Tom’s hand and then hugged me for just long enough to hiss in my ear, ‘If you don’t call me with details by dinner time, I’m calling the police and telling them it’s a hostage situation.’

  I made lunch, feeling proud that I had been shrewd enough to buy foods that required no contact with a cooker. No point in terrifying the poor man with a hot plate disaster. I poured two glasses of wine and we sat at the dining table, feeling like we’d known each other for years. Plates cleared and glasses empty, I looked at the clock.

  ‘Tom, it’s time for you to go or you’ll miss your flight,’ I sighed.

  He stood up, came round to my side of the table and pulled me to my feet. He kissed my mouth, my neck, the tip of my nose.

  ‘I don’t think I’m going anywhere,’ he murmured.

  Now, common sense should have kicked in at any point around that time. I had only met this guy twelve hours ago. He could have been a psychopath on the run from the FBI, a con man or a thief. So, did I ask him for proof of identity and a CV? Did I grill him for evidence of a criminal past? Did I push him up against a wall and frisk him? (Well, actually I did, but not in a sear
ching way). No, I whisked him to my bedroom quicker than you could say ‘Have you got more skeletons in your closet than the nearest morgue?’

  Hours later, it was getting dark outside as we sank back on to the pillows, exhausted. I was covered in sweat, hair stuck to my scalp, mascara streaking my cheeks. Thank God for the louvre blinds which threw the room into a state of semi-darkness. We cuddled for hours, reflecting on the day.

  ‘This has been the craziest day of my life,’ he whispered.

  I was going to agree with him, but I hate to tell lies. I’d dinged much higher bells on the crazy day scale.

  ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’ he asked, his eyes searching mine in the dim light.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I replied, fudging the truth. No point in letting past experiences get in the way of a romantic moment.

  ‘I wasn’t either, but I think I’m beginning to be convinced,’ and he started again, kissing me from top to bottom until we drifted off into a long, contented sleep.

  ‘Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap.’

  The familiar sound woke me with a start.

  Mother! It was her usual knock on the window before she let herself in with her spare key.

  I pushed Tom out of the bed and he landed with a thud on the floor. He looked up quizzically.

  ‘It’s my mum,’ I hissed. ‘Quick, hide in the bathroom.’

  But there was no time. She came bounding up the stairs, her speed taking me by surprise. Since when was she ever in a hurry to see me?

  Tom dived into the walk-in wardrobes.

  Mum blew in the door like a tornado and perched on the end of the bed. The concept of privacy and personal boundaries had yet to reach her world.

  ‘Darling, just a quick visit to make sure you arrived back in one piece. I’m off to the Women’s Institute for my new wine tasting class. Will you nip over and check on your father later? Actually, call him first to make sure he’s there. He’s off work today so the chances of him making it out of the pub are slim.’ Now that Michael was making plans to move out and go to college, they weren’t even making a pretence of being happy together any more. Michael, Callum and I had a sweepstake running on when their divorce proceedings would kick in. If they called the lawyers anytime in the next six months, I was on to a mega pack of Wotsits and a family sized Whole Nut.

  Mum was just about to turn on her heel and bolt out, safe in the knowledge that her firstborn was intact, when she froze.

  ‘What was that?’ she gasped.

  What? Did she have radar instead of ears? I hadn’t heard a sound.

  ‘There it is again,’ she whispered.

  I still hadn’t heard a sound. She tiptoed over to the wardrobes, whilst I could only look on, astounded. In one movement, she reached the doors and threw them back. There stood Tom, tall, handsome, bright red and with only the ostrich feather hat that I’d bought for my cousin Dee’s wedding covering his dignity.

  Mum rounded on me in horror, for once utterly speechless.

  ‘Mum,’ I began weakly, but it was no use. She backed out of the door in a stunned trance, before sprinting down the stairs and out of the front door, a resounding slam marking her exit.

  I looked up at Tom’s bemused, mortified face.

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I introduce all my boyfriends that way,’ I deadpanned.

  ‘Really?’ he said, laughing now as he climbed back on to the bed. ‘In Ireland, we tend to find a cup of tea and clothing works better at the first meeting.’

  I went back to work the following night, taking two cartons of cigarettes for Ray.

  ‘Cooper, you shouldn’t have! Did you treat yourself to anything nice?’

  ‘Funny you should ask that, Ray. I’d like you to meet Tom…’

  For the next four weeks, Tom adopted my habits of staying up most of the night and sleeping late.

  Every day was a revelation that saw us fall more and more into love, lust and healthy obsession.

  But this time it felt amazing. For once, there were no niggling doubts. None! We fitted together perfectly in every way, both physically and mentally. He was a gorgeous man, sensitive but strong, protective but encouraging. He adapted completely to my world, no mean feat for a well balanced individual, and to the people in it.

  Even Callum warmed to him after he got over his feelings of disloyalty to Doug. Michael thought he was great, and a couple of nights a week they’d hang out together, playing pool or renting a video when I was working. And, as for my gran, if she ever wanted a toy boy, then Tom was the number one candidate. She swore he was the double of my Irish grandfather when he was alive, a thought that put a smile on her face.

  The only cloud on the horizon was Tom’s family. He worked on his parents’ dairy farm about fifty miles from Dublin and they were becoming ever more demanding of his return. Eventually he could stall it no longer.

  ‘I need to go back,’ he told me, one morning, as we lay in bed watching the sun come up.

  ‘Don’t…’ I stopped him, by putting my finger on his lips. I didn’t want him to go, couldn’t bear the thought of waking up and not hearing his gorgeous voice in my ear, whispering good morning. We had gone from zero to love and bypassed everything in between. Sure, it was quick, but – stop me if you’ve heard this before – this time I knew it was right. We were perfect for each other. He kissed my fingers one by one, before his eyes locked on mine.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  I swallowed back my sadness. ‘I can’t. I don’t have any more holidays and if I up and leave Ray will sack me and…’

  ‘Come forever,’ Tom pressed, cutting me off.

  ‘But… but…’ It wasn’t clear what he was saying and I didn’t want to presume. ‘You said your parents would never accept us living together.’

  His gorgeous grin was infectious. ‘They will when we’re married.’

  And of course – again, stop me if you’ve heard this before – right there, right then, that felt like the best idea I’d ever heard.

  We spent the next couple of days working everything out. He had to go back soon, so I switched my shifts around so I could take two nights off together. The plan was that I’d go with him, meet his family, and then return to Scotland while he stayed there and went back to work on the farm. For logistical reasons, we agreed to do the long distance relationship thing for six months before we married and I moved there – it was the best way to get some cash together for the wedding as we’d both blown all our savings on our respective trips. I had to sell my house and resign from work without letting Ray down. Most of all, it would take at least six months to persuade my mother to speak to me again, let alone help me organise a wedding. At least we still had the dresses from last time.

  Thrilled, excited, high on love, we flew to Ireland, me with visions of Little House on the Prairie at the forefront of my mind. I knew nothing about farming. The closest I’d come to pasteurisation was putting milk in my tea.

  Tom explained that the farm had been passed down through the generations and when his parents retired it would become his. I resolved to adapt to country life. I’ve seen Emmerdale and I had visions of Land Rovers, Barbour jackets and naming the cows Daisy and Ermentrude.

  My first impressions backed up my picture-perfect expectations. The scenery was stunning as we left the beautiful city of Dublin for the homestead. Every corner we turned revealed more landscapes of breathtaking splendour. Bubbles were rising in my stomach. I was going to love it here.

  We arrived at Tom’s house in a muddle of activity – chickens, geese and dogs were all flapping around as his mum and dad came out of the door to greet us.

  Tom’s father was the image of him. Tall, grey-haired, with the same twinkling green eyes, I adored him on sight. He took my hand and bowed, smiling as he kissed my knuckles.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t just the dog’s bollocks to be meeting the lass who’s won the heart of our Thomas,’ he announced and swiftly received a slap across the back of the head
from an irate Mrs McCallum.

  ‘Joseph, what kind of language is that to be using in front of a young lady?’ she exclaimed.

  I looked behind me to see what ‘young lady’ had entered, but there was nobody there but me. I winked at Tom’s dad.

  ‘It’s the dog’s bollocks to meet you too, Mr McCallum,’ I laughed.

  A grin overtook his face.

  Mrs McCallum tutted disapprovingly and bustled me up to my room. As she opened the door, I realised that this was most definitely not going to be an intimate weekend. The room looked like it hadn’t been used in years, but it was perfectly preserved and spotlessly clean. The floral wallpaper was pink and blue, matching the antique rose carpet and curtains. There was a pine dressing table and wardrobe, which matched the bedside tables guarding the single bed.

  Well, I reasoned, what was I expecting? They were obviously a traditional Irish family who believed in morals, standards and respectability. I could understand that. Almost. And anyway, it was only for a couple of days on this trip. Hopefully, by the next time I came over, they’d realise that Tom and I were going to be a permanent thing.

  We sat down to dinner at six o’clock on the dot. Tom and his dad stayed at the table as his mum beetled back and forth to the Aga. I offered to help but was shooed away with barely concealed irritation. It was probably just as well. My cooking skills weren’t going to impress anyone.

  She dished up huge bowls of mashed potato, vegetables and a thick meat stew. As we ate, Mrs M continued to go to and fro. She didn’t sit down until we were almost finished and only then because Tom asked her to.

  ‘Mum, Dad, I’ve got something to tell you,’ he announced.

  Call it intuition, but I knew what was coming. And from the appalled look on his mother’s face, so did she.

  I held my breath.

  ‘Carly and I are going to be married,’ he revealed, beaming.

  I almost choked on my turnip. I had expected him to share the news when they’d got to know me a little, not before we’d even got to pudding on his first night back.