The Runaway Wife: A laugh out loud feel good novel about second chances

by Dee MacDonald

  The owner (‘Willie MacKinnon at yer service’) was a happy man, pouring all manner of alcoholic drinks to a very thirsty TV crew.

  ‘Shouldn’t think he’s ever had a crowd like this,’ remarked Don, depositing a gin and tonic in front of Connie, as Willie looked flummoxed when one cameraman asked for a Screwdriver. (‘Did ye say a screwdriver? Have ye no got yer tools with ye?’)

  ‘I should think he usually gets a few fishermen and hunters, according to the season,’ Don went on, ‘and I don’t suppose they, or the locals, go in much for cocktails. Just wee drams, and pints with whisky chasers.’

  ‘It reminds me of New Zealand,’ Nyree observed. ‘Very macho.’

  ‘Well, probably not so very long ago, in this very hotel, the ladies would have sat separately, sipping sherries or lemonade or something, while the menfolk got hammered in the bar,’ Don said.

  There was standing room only and Connie found herself firmly wedged between Don, Nyree and the otter.

  ‘Perhaps we should go outside?’ Don suggested. It was still unbelievably mild for the time of year, even this far north.

  ‘What about midges?’ asked Connie, who’d read about those tiny cannibals.

  ‘They really like nice, freckly, Sassenach skin,’ said Don, running his fingers up Connie’s arm. She laughed, hoping that, in the diminishing light, he would not see her blushes. Why, she wondered, am I acting like a silly teenager?

  ‘But,’ continued the subject of her angst, ‘I was a good Boy Scout and so, here –’ he produced an insect-repellent stick from the pocket of his jeans – ‘rub this on your face and arms.’

  There was something about the way he looked at her. Or was she imagining it? Well, she might as well enjoy it as it was only for this one evening and tomorrow she’d be on her way.

  It was late and they were all tired. Two gin and tonics later, Connie was ready to sleep right there on the floor. When Harry and Nyree started making noises about escaping to their tent, it seemed a good time to take her leave. The bar and garden area were still crowded and noisy and she wondered if she’d hear them from where Kermit was parked, only about a hundred yards away.

  ‘I’ll walk you back,’ said Don, draining his beer.

  ‘It’s no distance,’ said Connie, but he paid no attention.

  ‘Are you sure you can sleep in that?’ he asked anxiously as he set eyes on Kermit. ‘You really are welcome to my room, or to my car. It’s twice the size of yours.’ He indicated a large, silver Mercedes parked a few yards away.

  Connie shook her head vehemently. ‘I shall be just fine,’ she said, ‘but thanks for the offer.’

  ‘Well, goodnight then, Connie.’

  ‘Goodnight, Don.’

  Connie then discovered that this insistence of hers on being independent came at a price: hardly any sleep, and aches and pains in every joint. She forgot sometimes that she was sixty-six. She’d never felt worse as she staggered out of Kermit at 6 a.m., having given up on the idea of even fitful dozing. Fortunately the portable loos, which had hand basins, were unlocked and so she was able to have a perfunctory stand-up wash.

  Consequently, on the second day’s filming, she struggled to keep awake. They all had to be customers in Lochmahadoc’s only mini-market while the two lovers were being filmed on the pavement outside. They were instructed to roam the aisles, scan the shelves and drop the selected items into their wire baskets but, as Connie filled hers for the umpteenth time with tins of cat food and packets of cereal, she could think only of Wendy’s comments about her ‘guilt’, and her family’s reactions to her unsolicited television appearance. How could any of them truly believe that she had personal reasons for demonstrating? No wonder Roger sounded so furious. Then again, he could have given her the benefit of the doubt, surely, or even sent some love. He was plainly very cross.

  ‘That’s the second time you’ve collided with me,’ Don murmured, as he reached up for a packet of chocolate digestives. ‘You’re in a world of your own today, Connie. Did you notice if this place is licenced? I think I might try bagging a bottle of gin and trying for a discount.’

  In spite of herself Connie smiled. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. Do you think they’re nearly finished out there? Because this basket’s getting mighty heavy.’

  As if on cue, Harvey was heard to bellow his famous ‘CUT!’ and everyone adjourned for lunch.

  ‘That’s it!’ he yelled, ‘I think we’ve got all we need. Extras – please hang on until I see the rushes – just in case we need you again later.’

  At three o’clock, after another hefty lunch, Sam presented each of them with a sealed brown envelope and dismissed them. They had all been paid for two complete days, and even Harvey spoke to them personally. ‘Sorry we had to waylay you like that.’

  ‘You should be flattered,’ Sam said as a parting shot. ‘He doesn’t normally talk to extras.’

  ‘We are not extras,’ Connie reminded her.

  ‘Well, you have been for the past two days, like it or not, yeah?’ retorted Sam. ‘Anyway, you’ve been great, and don’t forget to look out for this on the telly, probably around January sometime,’ she said, walking away as she spoke.

  As they headed towards their respective cars Don said, ‘Perhaps we can meet up in Inverness?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll be staying there after I’ve dropped off these two,’ Connie said, nodding towards Harry and Nyree, who were packing their belongings back into Kermit’s boot. It was time to move on now. And alone.

  ‘I’d really like to see you again.’ Don sounded genuine. Connie didn’t respond. ‘Well, anyway,’ he continued, ‘I’m going to do a little shopping in our mini-market over there, and then I’ll be on my way too. It’s been fun knowing you all.’

  There was hand-shaking all round, and he pecked Connie on the cheek.

  ‘Bye, Connie,’ he said, ‘and I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE TURNING POINT

  ‘That was fun,’ remarked Nyree as they headed north over Slochd Summit, purple moorland stretching away in every direction. ‘And, do you know, that Sam was actually quite a nice girl once you got talking to her?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she was,’ said Connie, still mentally editing her email replies and hoping that they’d gone down well in Sussex. She supposed she really should go home now.

  ‘And I think that Don fancied you,’ Nyree added.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Connie. She was far too old to blush, so this rush of blood to the face was obviously some type of geriatric hot flush.

  ‘Don Juan!’ said Harry, and the two of them dissolved into noisy giggles.

  ‘Just look at this amazing scenery,’ said Connie, keen to change the subject. ‘And however do you pronounce some of these names?’

  As they neared Inverness, Connie looked out for a garage where she could fill up her petrol tank before they hit the city centre. For the last five miles she’d been aware of a faint knocking sound. At first she hoped it was just her imagination but, as she drove on, it became more and more obvious that it was very real indeed, although neither of the other two had made any comment. Please Kermit, she prayed, don’t go letting me down now.

  ‘Hey, Connie,’ Harry said suddenly. ‘What’s that knocking sound?’

  She could see an Esso sign up ahead and hoped fervently that it was a proper garage and not just a filling station but, in any case, it would be somewhere to stop and call out the AA if necessary. Thank goodness she’d continued with her membership. Little chance of help from someone like Foxy around here.

  And, there was no doubt about it, the knocking was becoming louder and louder. There goes my lovely ‘extra’ money, Connie thought, and then some probably. Could this be anything to do with Rav running into the bumper? Had he known more than she realised when he gave her his card? No, she thought – he was just fishing for custom.

  She was relieved to discover that it was indeed a
proper garage – Archie’s – and Archie himself, an elderly chubby mechanic in dirty navy overalls, was still working at nearly six o’clock. He emerged from underneath a yellow Fiat, spanner in hand, rubbing his palms on an oily rag.

  ‘Ah cannae do anything tonight,’ he told her cheerfully after listening to the description of Kermit’s symptoms. ‘Ah’m going home for ma tea. But Ah’ll have a wee look at it first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Connie was close to tears. ‘Couldn’t you just tell me if it’s safe to drive? I’m sure it’s nothing much. Please!’

  Archie produced a paper cover, deposited that and his sizeable bottom into the driving seat, and revved the engine several times. He pulled a face. ‘Ah wouldnae drive it another inch if Ah wiz you. Ah’ll need to hae a good look at that engine, but do ye want to know the honest truth? This car is clapped out.’ He got out and walked round it, tapping here and there. ‘It’s nearly twenty years old! I’m telling you now it’s probably going to cost a lot more to repair than the car is worth. Ah’m awful sorry,’ he added.

  Harry put his arm round Connie’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’re nearly in civilisation again and we can work something out.’

  ‘But how are we going to get there?’ Connie became suddenly aware of the magnitude of her predicament, with all her personal belongings stowed in Kermit’s boot, not to mention the youngsters’ tent and rucksacks, along with the groceries, the wine bottles, odd coats, boots, the sleeping bag, the folding chair, plus a myriad of miscellaneous objects and general rubbish.

  ‘Aye,’ Archie continued, consulting his watch. ‘Now ye could’ve got a bus just an hour or so back, but there’ll no be another one the day. But ye cannae drive the car like that or ye’ll break doon for sure before ye’re a hundred yards doon the road.’

  For the first time since she’d left home Connie felt utter despair. Of course Kermit was an old car and she had been aware that he might have need of surgery at some point, but she hadn’t considered that he might actually die; this trusty friend who had transported her along these six hundred or so miles, along with her occasional passengers.

  Suddenly there was a yell from Harry – ‘Jeez, I can’t believe it!’– as a large silver Mercedes saloon pulled in directly behind them.

  ‘It’s Don Juan!’ squealed Nyree.

  Oh God, thought Connie, not him again. She dug frantically in her shoulder bag for a tissue, and dabbed her eyes.

  Don Robertson eased himself out of his car and strolled towards them.

  ‘I thought I spied an elderly green Escort in the forecourt,’ he said, ‘and I didn’t think there could be two like that.’

  ‘We’ve broken down,’ Harry informed him.

  ‘Well, well.’ Don turned to Connie. ‘And what’s the prognosis?’

  She sighed. ‘According to this gentleman,’ she said, indicating Archie, who was making a show of putting his tools away and digging out his keys, ‘it appears to be clapped out.’

  ‘Aye,’ Archie called as he pulled down and locked the up-and-over door, ‘and if you want my honest opinion that’s exactly what it is, but Ah’ll have a good look at it in the morning. Just lock it up and leave it where it is. Leave me the keys.’

  ‘Just as well I spotted you then,’ said Don. ‘Let me give you all a lift. Have you got much luggage?’

  As she opened up Kermit’s tightly packed interior, Connie waved her hand mutely.

  ‘Lucky for you I have a decent-sized boot then,’ said Don, apparently unfazed at the chaos. And within minutes he and Harry had transferred the contents of Connie’s car into the Mercedes.

  ‘Wasn’t that the luckiest thing ever!’ Nyree clutched Connie’s arm. ‘Good old Don Juan,’ she added in a whisper.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Don to Connie, ‘I’ll bring you back here when Archie’s had a chance to look at it, and you can decide then what to do. Right now I’m going to take you all into town to find somewhere to spend the night and have a drink.’

  There were murmurs of assent from Harry and Nyree, and Connie knew she had little choice. Her mind was in turmoil as she was guided into the front passenger seat of Don’s luxurious car, the other two having made a dive for the back with much giggling.

  ‘Now,’ said Don, as he got into the driver’s seat beside her, ‘have you got any accommodation booked in Inverness?’

  Connie shook her head mutely.

  ‘But we really just want a campsite,’ added Harry.

  ‘Well, let’s see what we can find.’

  What they found, a few miles further on, was an enormous camping and caravan park.

  ‘Ideal!’ exclaimed Harry. ‘And we can actually afford a pitch tonight because we’re so damn rich!’

  ‘And we could have hot showers and proper loos,’ sighed Nyree.

  ‘Perhaps I could stay here too,’ Connie said desperately.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Don parked the car at the entrance. ‘You haven’t even got a tent! And, sure as eggs is eggs, these two aren’t going to want you squeezing into theirs! I’m heading into town for a proper meal and a proper bed, and so are you.’

  Connie got out of the car while the two youngsters unloaded their belongings. ‘I shall miss you.’ She gave Harry a farewell hug. ‘And I somehow think the chances of my picking you up again are extremely remote.’

  ‘We’ll miss you too, Con,’ said Harry. ‘You’ve been more than kind. I hope you get the car fixed so you can carry on with this grand tour of yours! Promise you’ll stay in touch and let us know how you get on?’

  They exchanged mobile numbers and hugged each other tightly one final time.

  ‘You’ll be OK with him,’ Harry added as he shouldered his rucksack, nodding towards Don, who was rearranging the contents of his boot yet again. ‘He’s a really nice guy.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t much choice,’ said Connie, wiping her eyes. Somehow she felt that saying goodbye to these two youngsters was her final link with her spontaneous journey. For sure, she was no longer in the driving seat.

  An hour later, after Don had phoned around twenty hotels and B&Bs from his mobile, it was plain that there were hardly any rooms to be had anywhere. They ended up in a motor inn on the outskirts of the city.

  ‘We’ve only got one twin-bed room left,’ said the desk clerk, shoving a half-eaten sandwich into the bowels of his desk. ‘You’ll be lucky to find anything in Inverness tonight because the place is still crawling with tourists and there’s a big political conference on this weekend as well. Scots Nats,’ he added with a knowing nod of the head.

  ‘We’ll take it,’ said Don.

  Oh no, thought Connie, this is all I need. But the thought of a bed, any bed, was pure heaven after her sleepless night on Kermit’s back seat.

  After they’d checked in and Don had picked up their bags and headed towards the lift he said, ‘I promise to be the perfect gentleman. This was not in the plan, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, and I have no ulterior motives. And, besides, you’re plainly knackered.’

  The room was clean, impersonal and functional and, mercifully, the beds were well separated by a wide unit. She flopped down on her chosen divan closest to the window. ‘I must have a shower before I do anything else,’ she said, thinking of her brief strip-wash in the public loo early in the morning.

  ‘Fine by me. Help yourself.’ He busied himself hanging up a couple of items and making a big point of not looking at her.

  Now, thought Connie, I have to take absolutely everything into the bathroom with me, because there’ll be none of this usual wandering around the room in the raw, or in bra and pants. Clutching a change of clothing and her toilet bag, she headed towards the shower wondering if she should lock the door and, if so, could she do it quietly because she didn’t really want him to think that she didn’t trust him. But did she trust him? Could she trust him? Well, what would he do anyway? She certainly wasn’t young enough or attractive enough to present much of a temptation, but the
n Nyree had referred to him as Don Juan, so she’d probably already sussed out that he was a bit of a womaniser. Oh, what sort of mess had she got herself into now? And how was she supposed to wash out her underwear? She couldn’t very well leave these greying items dripping over the bath…

  But all these worries were washed away by the shower, which was wonderful, and the temptation to put on a nightie and collapse into bed was almost overwhelming. And what would be Don’s reaction to that! So instead she put on clean clothes, brushed her hair, and even sprayed a little Chanel behind her ears. She’d left her make-up in the bedroom, and hoped she’d be able to do something about that while he showered.

  Connie nearly put her eye out with the mascara brush when, shortly afterwards, Don emerged from the shower with only a towel wrapped round his waist.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, as he delved into his bag, ‘I completely forgot to get out some underpants.’

  She blinked frantically while cleaning off the smudged mascara, and tried not to stare at his tanned, toned body and the black hair curling fetchingly across his chest. Did he know he was bloody gorgeous? she wondered. Yes, of course he did. And how long was it since she’d openly admired a man’s body? Too long; much too long.

  Don disappeared back into the bathroom and Connie made some further attempts with the mascara.

  They had a rib-eye each, washed down with a bottle of Merlot, at a nearby steak house. It was informal, with most people in jeans. Connie was relieved because she hadn’t the first clue where she’d packed her ‘going-to-the-theatre dress’ or where it might be located in Don’s boot.

  ‘In the morning,’ said Don, refilling her glass, ‘we’ll go back to see Archie, after he’s had time to give your car the once over.’