The Runaway Wife

by Dee MacDonald

  Don was noticeably in the same state of arousal as she was. ‘I think we should cool our ardour with a quick dip, don’t you?’

  Connie gazed out to sea. ‘I know it looks like the Caribbean, but that water will be freezing!’

  ‘The way I feel right now, the colder the better! Come on!’

  It would be their last night. They found a little bistro in which to sample the local seafood, and drank some excellent Chablis.

  ‘I could stay here forever, just like this,’ Don commented, holding her hand across the table. ‘Just a pity that Morag has the room booked from tomorrow.’

  Connie sighed. ‘It’s time I moved on. This has been a lovely two days, and I shall never forget it.’

  Don studied her for a moment. ‘Where shall we go next, Connie?’

  ‘We are going nowhere, Don. I should get back to Sussex just as soon as I can find a train heading in the right direction.’

  ‘You don’t need a train, Connie. I’m heading south. I plan to visit my elder daughter, the one I told you about who lives near Cheltenham? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my having company.’

  He’d told her about Katy in some detail. ‘They live in a virtual sea of yuppification,’ he’d said. ‘The latest is they’ve just installed a hot tub in the back garden in which to poach their visitors. In addition to the swimming pool, of course. And they’ve got the obligatory farmhouse in the Dordogne, naturally. Real wankers’ – sorry, bankers’ –lifestyle.’

  Connie smiled to herself as she visualised arriving there with Don. (‘Hello, Katy, this is my latest and most ancient paramour!’ ‘Oh, Daddy, how lovely! Do come in!’)

  Now she removed her hand from his clasp. ‘No, Don. It’s a sweet thought, but I should be on my own now.’

  He looked bewildered. ‘Have I upset you?’

  Connie laughed. ‘On the contrary! I’m having one of the best times of my life – truly!’

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘Because I have to make some decisions and you provide far too many distractions! You’ve woken up bits of me that have lain dormant for years, but at least I know they’re still there!’

  ‘Can we wake those bits up again, do you think, when we finish our coffee?’

  ‘I’ll give the idea due consideration,’ Connie said, draining her cup.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  HOMEWARD BOUND

  Connie agreed that Don could take her to Glasgow to catch the train. There would be more trains going to more destinations from there and Connie had also long nursed a desire to visit the Glasgow School of Art and see first-hand the works of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. But she felt sad at leaving Arisaig. It might only have been a couple of days but she felt a different person from the dithering Connie who’d first arrived here. And, she hated to admit it, but she felt sad too at parting from Don.

  As he took their bags out to the car and Connie was checking that they’d left nothing behind in their love nest, her mobile whined. Connie preferred it when phones rang properly. Anyway, she wasn’t going to answer it; they, whoever they were, could leave a message and she’d get back to them. But she couldn’t resist checking.

  ‘Hey, Connie!’ said the voicemail. ‘Harry and Nyree here! We just wondered how you were and where you were. It would be great to speak to you.’

  Harry and Nyree! Connie suddenly yearned to hear those young sing-song voices again. Why hadn’t she thought to call them before now? They must indeed have wondered what she’d got up to. Oh boy, wouldn’t they just love this!

  ‘Hello? Harry, hi! I’m so glad you called – it’s really good to hear from you.’

  ‘Great to talk to you too, Connie. We wondered how you’re getting along?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. What about you two – where are you now?’

  ‘We’re hunky-dory. Been all the way up to John o’Groats. It was awesome, really beautiful. We’ve got bikes now and we’re heading south again – somewhere near Perth at the moment.’

  In the background Connie could hear Nyree’s urgent whisper. ‘Ask her! Where is she?’

  She knew what was coming.

  ‘What about you, Connie? You home yet? How did you get on with, you know, what’s-his-name?’ They remembered his name perfectly well. Giggles and more whispering. (‘Don Juan!’ from Nyree in the background.) ‘Yeah, Don, the one who gave you the lift?’

  ‘Well, strangely enough, I’m still with him. In Arisaig, on the west coast of Scotland, just at the moment.’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘Oh, wow! I mean that’s great, isn’t it? You still being together, I mean. Jeez!’ An audible ‘Wow!’ from Nyree in the background.

  ‘Well, yes. But we don’t plan to be together much longer, Harry. Anyway, you and Nyree, what are your plans?’

  ‘We’re planning on heading south. Getting some work in the south or south-east, hopefully, before we head for France in the middle of October.’

  ‘Well, we must organise to meet. I’d love to see you again.’

  ‘We’ll be in touch, I promise you. And, you know what? We’re even thinking of tying the knot when we get back home. How about that!’

  ‘That’s wonderful! Congratulations, you two!’ Connie said, laughing.

  ‘Perhaps you could make your next walkabout Down Under, and come to our wedding! We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Sounds like you certainly got those wings of yours stretched!’

  ‘Ready for take-off,’ said Connie.

  As they drove back towards Fort William the sky darkened, the heavens opened, and everything became clouded in grey mist. Connie could barely decipher Loch Shiel and the monument. Nevertheless, one way or the other this was a monumental trip, and this very special part of the Highlands would forever occupy a piece of Connie’s heart.

  ‘I like it like this,’ she said. ‘It’s atmospheric. I can imagine all those clans killing each other off in the doom and gloom.’

  And the top of Ben Nevis was well and truly hidden, as Don forecast, when they headed towards Glencoe.

  ‘This,’ Don informed her, ‘is where the Campbells butchered the MacDonalds, who’d given them hospitality. To this day there’s bad feeling between these two clans.’

  The rain was torrential now, the mist rolling down the hillsides, and Connie could well imagine scenes of carnage in this gloomy glorious glen. Then it eased off a little as they got to the Trossachs and skirted the side of Loch Lomond, so Connie could see the beauty of the bonny banks.

  As they approached Glasgow’s grey urban sprawl, Connie didn’t find the grey skies quite so appealing. Back to buses and trucks and traffic lights; streets of terraces and semis, blocks of high-rise flats.

  Everything was grey. Even the cars seemed to be silver or dark-coloured until there, in a street of rather dreary semis, a little patch of bright red caught Connie’s eye.

  ‘Stop!’ she ordered Don. ‘Can you pull in somewhere, please?’

  ‘What the—?’

  ‘Please, Don!’

  He grunted as he pulled off into a side street. ‘What could you possibly want to look at round here?’

  As they got out of the car Connie took him by the hand and led him back round the corner.

  ‘Look!’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That little red Ford!’

  Don sighed with exasperation. ‘It’s just a Ka for sale. What’s so special about it?’

  ‘The notice on the window says “For sale – £500”. I want to look at it, Don.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of buying another old banger, are you? Who the hell would rescue you next time you break down? It’s even older than Kermit!’

  ‘It looks immaculate.’

  Connie walked round it several times, peering into the windows, while Don squinted in, hoping to read the mileage. It was bright crimson, pristine, no bumps or dents. ‘I expect it’s had a re-spray,’ Don said dismissively.

  ‘I’m going to the door,’ she said.

  ‘
You’re nuts!’

  She ignored him and walked up the path of the neat little garden and rang the doorbell. As she waited she looked at the well-weeded rose beds.

  The door opened a couple of inches and an old man looked out, keeping the chain on.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Connie asked, ‘is that your Ford Ka out there for sale?’

  ‘Oh, aye, indeed it is.’ The old man removed the chain and opened the door fully.

  ‘Would it be possible to have a good look at it, please?’

  ‘Aye, I’ll just go get the key.’ He shuffled back inside and reappeared a couple of minutes later waving the key. Connie noted his neat collar and tie, V-neck jumper, cords and carpet slippers. He must, she reckoned, be nearly ninety.

  ‘How many owners has it had?’ Don asked, taking the key from Connie and opening the door.

  The old man looked confused. ‘Owners?’

  ‘Yes,’ Don said patiently. ‘How many people owned this car before you?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, nobody did. I’ve had it from new.’

  Don was studying the dial. ‘This mileage seems very low.’

  ‘Well, we didn’t use it that much,’ said the old man. ‘When Maggie was alive we’d maybe take it out for a run at weekends. We went to Dundee once. And we’d go to Tesco once a week, of course.’

  ‘And why are you selling it now?’ Connie asked.

  ‘Well, to be truthful, my eyesight’s not what it was and I’m not feeling safe to drive any more. I’m ninety-two, you see. But I’ll be that sad to see her go! We called her Rosy because she was the exact colour of the Loving Memory rose in the garden.’

  ‘Rosy!’ Connie repeated. ‘I love that!’

  ‘I only put that sign on the windscreen this afternoon,’ the man said. ‘I didn’t think it would sell so quickly. Would you like to come in? I can show you its service history and everything.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d love to come in,’ Connie said.

  The old man looked from one to the other, sensing discord. ‘I’m Jim McWhirter,’ he said, holding out his hand to Connie.

  ‘And I’m Connie McColl,’ she said, shaking it. ‘And this is my friend, Don Robertson, who’s giving me a lift to the station – who was giving me a lift to the station, I should say.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Jim, looking doubtfully at Don who, sighing, followed her indoors.

  ‘I’ll just go put the kettle on,’ he added, as he showed them into his tidy little lounge. ‘And I’ll dig out all the car stuff.’

  With that he disappeared and they could hear the sound of a kettle being filled and then the opening and closing of drawers.

  ‘Are you seriously planning to buy that?’ Don asked.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Connie replied, a little irritated at Don’s lack of enthusiasm, but more and more convinced that this was meant to be – this little red car that had caught her eye, that had only been up for sale for one afternoon, and was the colour of a Loving Memory rose. She’d had a Loving Memory rose in her own garden years ago, before the move. And, roses again! She thought fondly of Kath’s tattoo and Jeannie’s bouquets.

  ‘So, why didn’t you buy Archie’s yellow Fiat then?’

  ‘I wasn’t ready to replace Kermit straight away, and I didn’t think I’d find any car for five hundred pounds.’

  ‘Well, you get what you pay for,’ Don said.

  ‘This feels right.’ Connie looked round and lowered her voice. ‘Do you see this room, how clean and tidy it is? Did you not notice those rose beds out in the front garden? Why should his car be any different?’

  At this point Mr McWhirter reappeared with a file of papers, which he handed to Connie.

  ‘Have a look through that now, while I make the tea,’ he said. He established how they liked their tea and came back again a few minutes later with hot mugs and a plate of ginger biscuits.

  Connie had found receipts for everything that had ever been done, and the car hadn’t needed much work because Jim had had it fully serviced every year, even when he’d only done three or four thousand miles. It had new tyres and it had a year’s MOT.

  ‘And what nice tea!’ she exclaimed.

  Jim beamed. ‘Everyone says that. It’s because I make it the old-fashioned way, you see, with tea leaves.’

  He even made proper tea!

  ‘You’ll want to take it for a wee drive,’ Mr McWhirter stated. ‘You could take it round the block where there’s not much traffic, and then you could put your foot down on that road beside the park.’

  ‘You’ll probably still manage to get lost,’ Don remarked. ‘Shall I come with you?’

  ‘No, I won’t get lost. But I could do with your opinion of it when it’s running.’

  A few minutes later the little car purred into life and Connie found her easy to drive. ‘Don’t forget, I’m used to Fords,’ she reminded Don as they turned the first corner.

  Don was still amazed at the low mileage on the dial which, he now conceded, was very likely genuine.

  ‘More tea?’ Jim McWhirter asked on their return.

  ‘No thanks, Mr McWhirter. But I would very much like to buy Rosy, so I’ll need to arrange the tax and insurance.’ She fumbled in her bag, and looked at her watch. ‘Can I pay a deposit and come back tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Och, I’m not needing a deposit,’ said Jim McWhirter.

  ‘I insist,’ Connie said, handing him fifty pounds from the unspent roll of notes Archie had given her.

  ‘Well, that’s very kind. I’ll just come out now and take that sign off the windscreen.’

  There would be one more night together.

  ‘We’ll stay at Blythswood Square,’ Don insisted. ‘My treat.’

  And, as they checked into the luxurious room in the iconic hotel, he added, ‘You won’t find any sand in the sheets round here!’

  ‘Pity,’ said Connie. She loved the luxury, but her heart still hankered for their special room in Arisaig.

  Later they wandered down Sauchiehall Street and opted to eat in a multinational restaurant which served food from every corner of the globe, and as much of it as you could eat. Don seemed to have an enormous capacity for worldwide cuisine, but Connie was forced to give up after moderate portions of India, Italy and Mexico. And, afterwards, they drank coffee and liqueurs in the sumptuous hotel bar.

  ‘Here’s to you, Connie,’ Don said, raising his brandy goblet. ‘And to your new car. And, I hate to admit it, but I think you’ve got a winner there.’

  Connie grinned. ‘I think so too. And thanks, Don, for everything.’

  ‘Why are you thanking me? I’ve enjoyed every single minute we’ve been together. Truly, Connie.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  ‘And now?’ He leaned towards her and took her hand. ‘Where will you go now?’

  Connie had been considering exactly that all evening. ‘I’m on my way back home,’ she said, ‘but I’m not in a hurry.’

  ‘So, you’ll go back to Sussex?’

  ‘Eventually.’

  ‘Hmm. Have you come to any kind of decision?’

  ‘Oh, I definitely have,’ Connie replied. ‘But right now I think it’s high time we went to bed.’

  After they’d made love in the morning, Connie, with ripples of pleasure coursing through her body, knew she’d never forget these past few days. Then she wondered how long it would have taken her to become exhausted by it all because she was, after all, sixty-six. But would she ever tire of this man? Would she ever develop the proverbial headache? Not tonight, darling. She had no idea and she certainly wasn’t going to hang around to find out. The whole point of an affair such as this was that it should never become stale.

  After an enormous Scottish breakfast Connie found a bank, withdrew some extra cash and organised her road tax and insurance. They even managed to fit in a visit to the Willow Tea Rooms and the Glasgow School of Art to admire Mackintosh’s beautiful architecture and Art Deco designs. But, all the time, her thoughts kept returning to the little
red car, feeling more and more confident that Rosy would be a worthy successor to Kermit.

  She liked Glasgow too, with its impressive buildings, great shops and restaurants, and the friendliness of the people. She didn’t even notice the rain, and only wished she could stay longer. When her life was settled she’d come back and explore the city much more thoroughly.

  It was nearly two o’clock before they got back to Jim McWhirter and Rosy.

  ‘I hope you’ll be as happy with it as we were,’ he said, handing her the key and looking suspiciously moist-eyed.

  ‘I’m quite sure I shall be, Mr McWhirter,’ said Connie, and kissed him on the cheek. What a lovely old man!

  She drove the Ka round the corner into the side street where Don had parked, and there followed some ten minutes of transferring Connie’s belongings from the boot of the Mercedes.

  Don consulted his watch. ‘How far are you planning to go this afternoon, and have you decided on which route you’re taking?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to keep off motorways,’ Connie said, digging out her map, ‘and I’m in no hurry.’

  ‘Will this help?’ Don produced a box from the boot of his car. ‘I bought this for my younger daughter’s birthday, but I’ve plenty of time to get another one.’

  ‘Oh, Don!’ Connie gasped, as she looked at the satnav.

  ‘From what you told me,’ Don said, ‘I gather you’re pretty good at getting lost.’

  ‘I’m improving all the time,’ Connie laughed. ‘And this will be invaluable, but please let me pay you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a gift from me to you, and perhaps it’ll help you find your way back to me. If you ever need to.’

  She put her arms round him. ‘Thank you, Don. This is one of the best presents I’ve ever had.’ And she realised that, in spite of her initial reservations, this unexpected man had come along at exactly the right time in every sense.

  ‘Let me set it up for you,’ he said, ‘and show you how to enter the address you want.’ After he’d explained the basics he asked, ‘Why don’t I follow you for a few miles just to make sure you’re OK?’