Best Laid Plans

“Are you sure we aren’t lost?” I blurted through winded gasps.

“I… I’m not actually sure about that.”

His response was hardly comforting, and a wave of bilious panic broke over me. The weather was starting to turn, and the once beautiful landscape of green rolling hills spotted with purple heather was beginning to take on an ominous umbrage. We had been hiking for hours in and around Aberlour searching for a specific spot he had once happened upon that apparently boasted a beautifully picturesque picnic locale. The tingling sense of romance that had accompanied me in my morning preparations had influenced my less than favourable hiking ensemble, which was what led me to be clambering behind my date in a peat-coloured frock which had started as a cream-coloured frock.

The sun was beginning its descent as we stumbled our way over the ever-steepening landscape while the wind nipped at my ankles like an untrained puppy.

“Angus, for heavens sake, we need to find our way back to town. This was a lovely idea, but it just wasn’t meant to be today. I'm freezing cold, every part of me aches, and I desperately need a shower.” I stood firmly with arms akimbo hoping that my incessant shivering wouldn’t detract from the fact that I was decidedly resolute. He agreed, but expressed a worry that the route back was not entirely clear in his mind.

I had known Angus for many years, but the bud of romance had yet to bloom. Angus was many years my senior, though that had never occurred to me, I believe it bothered him. I had come to Scotland to visit friends of my family, and knew that I would have the chance to see him. The thought of seeing him had filled me with a fluttering warmth as though I’d swallowed a hundred fireflies. I could no longer deceive myself; the feelings that I was harboring for him were of a degree more Byronic, than Platonic.

The first week of my trip had been painfully prosaic. The jetlag had bested me, and the most exciting activity in which I had partaken was a game of scrabble against six-year-old Charlotte. Once I had finally acclimatized, I was whisked off to a dinner at the home of Angus Stevenson. I was surrounded by laughter, conversation, games, delicious food, and an overwhelming feeling of inner turmoil. During the car ride to his home my heart began its acceleration, and it didn’t decline until I finally drifted off into a fitful slumber hours later.

I hadn’t seen Angus for a number of years, but I remembered his charisma. There was something utterly electric about his every gesture. When he spoke, everything else distorted into a blurry din of extraneous superfluity. It had taken me until this trip to realize that love had been to blame for that sensation. It was ten days into my trip before I had finally plucked up the courage to broach the subject of my feelings. I hadn’t seen Angus since the dinner party a few nights before, but something inside me told me it was now or never. I shakily dialed his number, thinking how much this call from a Canadian cell phone would cost, but immediately eschewed these highly unromantic thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Hi Angus! It’s Mary. I was just sitting around here, and thought, well it’s such a lovely day, it seems ridiculous to be in such a gorgeous place and just spend my time inside. The whole family is off to watch Teddy’s soccer… er… I mean, football game, right? Right, yes, football game. I opted to stay here thinking I’d take myself on a bit of a hike, but realized that I hadn’t seen you in a few days, and thought perhaps you’d care to join me?”

I stood motionless, clutching with sweaty palm the old receipt that I had used to scrawl down my “very casual” soliloquy.

“You know, I'm actually free all day. Why don’t I make us a picnic, and we can make our way to a beautiful spot near Ben Rinnes. Can you be ready in an hour?”

My heart pounded out of my chest, and I mustered a grunt of affirmation before rushing to get myself ready. By the time I heard his knock at the door, I was made up like a porcelain doll with rosy cheeks, pomegranate lips, and lace trimmed dress. Jane Austen danced around my mind as I hurried to the door.

His initial look of admiration turned my rosy cheeks scarlet. As quickly as the look had appeared, so had it vanished being replaced by an inscrutable smirk.

“You look beautiful… are we no longer hiking?” His ice blue eyes were fixed on mine with a mischievous twinkle.

My scarlet cheeks turned crimson, and I burst into an uncomfortable laugh.

“I don’t know what I was thinking with this get up.” I looked towards the ground sheepishly and made a move to go upstairs to change.

“You really do look beautiful, Mary.” He beamed towards me, before quickly catching himself and clearing his throat.

I gazed towards him until he finally lifted his eyes to meet mine, and said everything without uttering a sound. In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, I moved to him and took his hand in mine.

“I can hike in a dress. I don’t particularly want to change.” I smiled to him with a wink.

He returned the smile and brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

The next hour would become the quintessence of my romantic ideals. We walked over some of the most beautiful country on earth, never once letting go of each others hand. This was a date. This was the most perfect date I could ever envisage… until the way became more mud than path, the once cerulean sky became littered with defiant clouds, and the hills became Bens.

As we trudged along the flecks of mud adorning my dress became too numerous to count until finally, they had all connected. The drop in temperature had taken us both by surprise despite the fact that Angus was at home here, and had no excuse not to have brought a jacket.

“Angus, for heavens sake, we need to find our way back to town. This was a lovely idea, but it just wasn’t meant to be today. I am freezing cold, every part of me aches, and I desperately need a shower.”

“You’re right. This was certainly not what I had anticipated… though, Mary… I am not sure that I am clear on the route back. My phone is dead, does yours have any juice?”

I riffled in my bag for my phone, only to discover that while there was still some battery life, there was no service. “Oh, you bloody tease! There is no service!” I moaned and shook the phone as though it was an undeveloped polaroid simply needing a nudge of encouragement. To our sarcastic shock and dismay, this had no effect.

“So, this is how we die, huh?” I attempted an air of mirth to little avail. Angus humoured me with a forced laugh before springing into action. He grasped my hand and scurried over to a higher ledge to peer out over the distance.

“Do you see that? It looks like a cabin. The lights are out though. That isn’t the best sign. It looks to be no more than a half a kilometre away.” He turned to me in hopes of tacit compliance, and I grudgingly supplied it.

The cabin turned out to be closer to a kilometre away, and by the time we made it to the front door I was fit to be tied.

“This is quite obviously run down, Angus.” I said with a whiff of a caustic undercurrent. My exhaustion and stress had replaced the sweeping romance of the afternoon, and a shiver of dread scuttled down my spine.

The thatched roof of the cabin had begun to sink under the weight of neglect, the passage of time had gifted the stone façade with mossy habiliments, the thick wooden door was a whisper away from divorcing from its iron hinges, yet here it stood like a single star on a bleak winter’s night.

We cautiously made our way inside holding onto each other like the ill-fated stars of a B horror film. The single room dwelling had not been home to much more than rodents and insects in what seemed to be years. There were cobwebs attached to every square inch of the place. On the far side of the dwelling was a fireplace that was about the same size as the rest of the room. We managed to find some wood and Angus had brought matches. I begrudgingly sacrificed my copy of Songs of Innocence and Experience to use as kindling. As I handed it to Angus the vision of us sitting on a picnic blanket by the river, smiling, sipping merlot, nibbling on sandwiches and reciting Blake to one another flashed across my mind, and I felt a wanton tear leap to my eye.

“Don’t cry lass. Please. I feel so horrible about this whole experience. I will make sure this fire is blazing then I’ll go about turning that picnic blanket into some sort of bed for you.” He kissed my hand and turned his attention back to the fire.

“Was this a date?” The words burst forth from my mouth before I had the chance to dissuade them.

“Pardon?” He turned a confounded glance towards me. “Well, I would certainly be pleased if it were… though, I am not sure if one as cataclysmic as this would earn me a second.” He smiled sheepishly.

I glanced around the most likely haunted room letting my eyes take it all in. The cobweb covered table and chairs stood feebly front and centre, there was a dark pantry over to one corner, a big metal wash basin beside the fireplace, and a warm smiling face looking hopefully to me.

I rushed towards Angus and wrapped him in my arms. My hand moved to his head of dirty blonde hair and ruffled it. The soft strands danced between my fingers. I scanned his face and paused over his mouth. His smile had vanished, and he looked at me with an electric gaze. I could feel his heart beating in time with mine. My eyes closed and I pressed my lips to his with a fervent desire that had grown more and more visceral with the heightened stress of our situation.

My lips left his but his grasp around my waist tightened. He lightly kissed my eyelids, and lips before loosening his grip and taking my hands in his.

We remained transfixed by each other, and the world around blurred.

Once the fire was roaring, we curled up on the picnic blanket. Angus pulled out the merlot and ham and brie paninis. The wine poured like sparkling rubies into the tin camping mugs. I let my mind wander unsupervised, and it flew to the future catapulting me into a vision of our relationship. This first date definitely made for an adventurous portent.

I buried my head in the crook of his neck and smiled in the fires glow.

“Do you think the Thompson’s will send someone to come looking for us?”

“Oh, I expect so.”

“I hope they take their time.”