chapter six

   From side to side they were shaken, and jerked about too. And yes, true to Tom’s words, the rain that had been threatening at Buchanan Street opened up once they hit the open countryside around Loch Lomond side. The coach sprayed water over the sides of the A82 as it left the urban sprawl of Glasgow and Dumbarton and headed north. Yet the poor weather and the uncomfortable motions of the bus didn’t matter overmuch; Lyndsey and Tom were wedged down in their seats, assuming as comfortable a position as one can in a small coach seat. And in anticipation of the long journey, they had already reclined and twisted themselves into relaxed positions.

   The early hour and his relative indifference meant Tom was way down in his seat, with his knees and boots high against the seat in front; his hat was pulled down and his body was leaning against Lyndsey. She was higher sat and comfortable, enjoying the view from the window and the feel of his body next to her. Outside the grey urbanity had been left behind, to be replaced by the green leaves and trees of Lomond-side.
  
   Through the bichwood, the oaks and the spruces, wending its way along the banks of the loch, the coach disappeared into and out of the trees again. The rains were clearing again now to a bright, brisk, cold and showery day. The mists still clung and hung in wisps and straggles in and around the corries of the hillsides beyond Rowardennan, over the loch opposite them. Lyndsey occasionally raised her gaze as momentarily the clouds would part and allow tantalising glimpses of the bulk of Ben Lomond, unsheathed for seconds only before the grey clouds again rolled in and obscured the crags and the terraced rolling hillsides. Underneath the scenery, the coach made its slow steady progress northwards in and out of the woods bordering the waters of Loch Lomond.

   Lyndsey was smiling as she gazed vaguely through the condensation on the window obscuring her view of the passing scenery. After their row last night, the evening had been a good one. Cooking a meal together in the kitchen before they had gone to bed, where they had remained awake together long into the night. She enjoyed the memory now she remembered the feel of him only hours ago. She turned to his sweetly sleeping face and reached down to clasp and squeeze his hand.

   As the trees dripped water down onto the sparkling road ahead, as the rippling waves of the loch reflected the clear whites and deep blue of the skies above, as the deep brown-gold of the uncovering and emerging hillsides drew her gaze, as the swinging, rocking motions of the bus pushed them closer to feel each others warmth – as she felt and saw all of these, she sighed and cried deep within herself. Her eyes closed, her thoughts were with him, her hand was in his hand on his thigh. She was warm, she was contented and she was so wholly, deeply and trippingly loved up in this man. Here was home, here was faith, here was all that she had thought she had only ever been looking for.

   The slowing down and the braking shrieks of the coach roused them both, as they rounded a corner and a passenger could be seen waiting to alight at Tyndrum. She still had her eyes closed and her head on his leg as he nuzzled into her hair and whispered into her ear. She smiled and stretching, yawning and pushing her hair back, she sat up to check out where they were now. Leaning over she kissed him on his stubbly cheek, then she ran her hand along and between his thighs to run her hand teasingly against him, through his tight jeans. He smiled back at her and after enjoying her hand for a few seconds, he took it in his and spoke to her face close to his.

   "This must be Tyndrum. We’re quite far into the hills now – look." He pointed back down the road they had just travelled, as the coach resumed its journey again and began to zigzag the hill they were ascending.

   Away down toward the perfect symmetry and peerless forms of Ben More and Stob Binnein, both now clear of clouds under the cold blue sky above Crianlarich. They watched together the fields stretching and blending into the arms of the high surrounding hills, the isolated cottages and farm buildings, the lonely rails of the West Highland Railway and the soaring, dignified slopes of the many, many low hills, crags and high mountains. And again the showers of rain came down, hard and suddenly misty as the clouds moved back in.
 

   The hours slowly moved by as the coach wound it’s way up and over the high and seemingly endless moors of Rannoch. Buffeted by the high winds carrying the sprays of rain, the clouds again and again lifted and settled, obliterating and obscuring - then revealing in all their rain-sodden glory the graceful forms of the surrounding hills. The deer ran frightened and dignified from the sound of the approaching bus, and onto and over the brown peat wastes of the moor. Then down into and through the cloud choked chasms of Glen Coe, the rain sparkling and tumbling in the newly formed transient streams and burns over the grass and naked rock of the high, steep surrounding hillsides. The winds blew back the clouds and unveiled the blue skies as the coach rolled down out of the hills to cruise alongside the shores of Loch’s Leven and Linnhe.

   Such scenes and extremes, such colour and murk; Lyndsey had never seen views and visions like this before. Not even in the abundant countryside and rolling hills of her native Lancashire - not colours like these with the water in the air making the light so translucent and open. And to view it nestled against Tom’s dozing body with both her hands in his, filled her with the deepest of happiness. If only she could reach, reach out and take hold of any clock or watch so that she could freeze the here and now to this moment in this place.

   Reaching Fort William the coach halted for a quarter of an hour or so. Long enough for a small rest to stretch legs and spark-up badly needed cigarettes. They wandered away from the coach stop together, past the supermarket and over to the green overlooking the loch.

   "This is better than Glasgow…"

   Lyndsey spoke impulsively and dreamily to the air between them, not necessarily to elicit a response.

   "This isn’t Glasgow though, this is fantasy land." Tom spoke enigmatically and dismissively.

   Lyndsey was incredulous. "What do you mean?" She turned to face his face, looking back towards the town away from the hills.

   "This is where you slow down, this is where they come to when they’re old, tired or bored with the real world." He paused, but she was quiet listening to his opinion. "And those who are born here and can be bothered, well they move out as soon as... And turn up in the cities – in the real world."

   "Oh Tom, you’re so…" She trailed off exasperated and unable to finish her sentence.

   His lack, or narrowness of vision so much frustrated her as she sought agreement and understanding of the sensations and wonderment she was feeling now, as she viewed this boundless and wide scenery. The sense of space, the vivid colours, the cold, cold wind – the totally natural and un-artificialness of feeling. She felt so unlimited and so easy, but all that he could contribute was merely cynicism and prejudice. She was too new in the door to argue and to seek to educate him about his own country but… well it wasn’t just fact that mattered – isn’t what you feel subjectively just as important and 'true'? She tried again to make him see her vision and viewpoint.

   "This is so easy, so free… I don’t know, but the wind certainly blows fresher and more through you than on Byres Road."

   "Well it would, over that hill there’s fuck all. Certainly no houses, chimneys or factories." He cast away his spent cigarette and held out his hand, grinning at her eager, earnest, dreaming face. "Come on, you would-be-Teuchter, we’ve got a bus to catch."

   She looked one last time at the wee wisp of cloud just covering the summit of the hill on the other side of the loch, then she filled his hand with hers and they skipped away towards the waiting, soon to depart coach.

   The letter was passed from pocket to hand to post box. Lyndsey breathed out and let go. "There. It’s done now. They know and they can’t come looking for me."

   "What could – would they do if they did find you?" Tom was sat on a bench in the village square in Portree watching Lyndsey walk back from the post box.

   "Just don’t want them up here looking for me..." Lyndsey answered shortly not wanting to discuss the subject.

   Tom was more intrigued though. "You’re not a minor though – they couldn’t do anything or make you do anything you don’t want to. You are you – your own person. You don’t need to rely on anyone else, you shouldn’t be so obsessed with thinking about others – you need to think about you."
 
   He trailed off, aware he was straying into other thoughts he had about Lyndsey. Reaching the end of his pontification, he wasn’t speaking about her relationship with her parents now, but if she sensed or understood his shift of slant she gave no indication.

   "Can do without anymore aggro…" She spoke softly, then cast away her spent cigarette. "Come on, let’s go and find somewhere to eat."
 
   They rose together and walked down to the shore to find a warm bar.

Furrowed brow, mouth full of food; she looked up as he put his glass down and he spoke again. Clearly the subject wasn't closed, it wasn't going to lie.

   "But you are loved Lyndsey aren’t you? Your parents care for you in their own way."

   "Mmm…"

   She sighed. She could understand his perplexment at her negative attitudes, but she was unwilling to walk down a long road of introspection and angst, of pent-up anxieties, past arguments and silences. She looked up through the strands of her dark hair that had fallen over her eyes while she had been quietly eating. Looking up and into his open and interested eyes, she sighed again as she attempted to grapple with the subject.

   "My mother and father are two very good people," she spoke slowly and deliberately as she gazed into the middle distance concentrating on her subject and the peeling window frame. "They love me, I know. But they think – they’ve always thought they know best - best about everything. About what I should wear, think, do… What I should learn when I was at school, who my friends would be, my feelings, my views…"

   She paused as she turned her head to look at him. "My views – well there’s always been arguments whenever I have said what I want, what I think, what I would like to do. They have never agreed with me, never supported my point of view, they have always known best. So…so my friends at school – the ones I chose, they were told not to see me and I wasn’t allowed to talk to or see them. So even going to school wasn’t a release, I could never get away from the…" Lyndsey paused to calm her shaking hands, she managed to light a cigarette, and then she relaxed. She looked up again to continue to speak to his patient and interested face.

   "My subjects at school… I wanted to do sociology, psychology and art. My father chose for me – chemistry, literature and technical drawing..." She shrugged, "I could do them okay, passed all the exams – got an ‘A’ for chemistry, but…" She looked down at the table feeling her spirits falling and her emotions rising.

   "…It wasn’t what I wanted to do. Everything – all ideas for my opinions, clothes – all my fuckin’ outward demeanour. How I should talk, project myself – everything. Anything I thought or said, was wrong or should be changed."

   Her voice was rising now and shaking, the tears weren’t far away. Tom leaned over and took her spent, un-smoked cigarette from her fingers. He took hold of her hand and waited for her to gather herself again. She paused then spoke quietly again.

   "Guess I stopped fighting. Got tired of arguing – of trying to get them to agree, tired of trying to justify every last fucking thing. I just flew in their faces, dressed how they told me not to, said whatever they said I shouldn’t. But I stopped arguing and justifying, I never, anymore tried to say why I should wear this, say this, do that. And now…"

   The tears were running freely now as she bored her eyes into the table. "I'm…I'm so far into me. I've stopped communicating with almost everyone. I never complain, I'll just refuse and walk away. I'll just ignore the world, carry on and do my thing. And it’s so…so…"

   There was a long pause. She wiped her face and eyes and tried to concentrate to go on and purge herself for the first time of her thoughts, words and experiences.

   "My father once stood in front of the chair on which I was sat. I didn’t want go to the College they wanted me to go to, and I didn’t want a job. So I didn’t go to college, didn’t get a job. And I never said why, never explained – I just said no." She looked up again with eyes of deep, dark sorrow to meet his.

   "My father stood in front of me and started shouting. And when I didn’t look at him or answer his questions, he…he…" She was crying now as the misery of her past rode over her. But Tom let her continue, consumed with concern and interest, and wanting her to purge herself.
"He grabbed hold of me and made me look at him. And he shouted full in my face, ‘You dumb witless girl – when will you wake up and see sense…’"

   She trailed off into another long pause. She wiped her face once more, then lit another cigarette. "So I saw my sense. I never sat with them again, never had another conversation. Just stayed in here all the time," she tapped the side of her head. "Then a few weeks ago I woke up. I packed a bag, boarded a train and drifted off. There wasn’t me, they aren’t me… They could never understand or tolerate me; they loved me and cared about me – they do love me, in their own way, but they couldn’t see the fact that I didn’t see things their way. No… I was wrong, I was always wrong…"

   She trailed off and ended her catharsis. Down she stared into the bottom of her empty glass and listened to the sudden silence between them.

   "And is it here? What is here?" Tom spoke breaking the peace.

   "What? What do you mean?"

   "Why Glasgow? And is what you want here?

   "Glasgow… I don’t know." She was speaking thoughtfully and dreamily again. "I like the place and it’s still new enough to stimulate me  - and shock me. But I have found something. Something I have been looking for…"
 
   She finished enigmatically, then reached over to put her hands into his; looking deeply into his eyes she gave him no doubt as to what she was really saying and thinking.

   Tom was large-eyed and quiet, looking back into her lost gaze and thinking of what to say after her extraordinary speech. There were many tender and loving words or actions he could use, but he couldn’t truly carry any of them out with real sincerity. He had a lot of time and affection for this girl, but…

   He suddenly had a vision of how she saw him and what she thought of him, and he thought coarsely for a moment of their different perceptions of their sexual relationship. She - under him, passionate, clutching, clinging and crying. And he – on top, in control, her urging and shrieking him on. But now he didn’t feel the same sense of pride and basic joy that he had enjoyed previously as he had thrusted away above her. He could now see the alternative reason for her passion and the scratch marks on his back.

   He saw himself now as a handhold she was clinging to, a tree she was sheltering under and embracing during a storm. He was a guide and mentor, not a friend and bed-partner. Their mutual feelings were appallingly imbalanced; if he was ankle deep in the water, she was way, way under the waves. And now perhaps he was that thing she had maybe needed when she had left home, he was there to stem and maybe end those tears. He watched one trickle down now over her cheekbone and into the corner of her quietly smiling face. A tear of happiness… He shuddered inwardly as he pondered on how many more tears of a different kind she would soon probably cry. Of course it didn’t need to be – have to be, but…

   ‘…But you cannot make that what is not...`

   The remainder of the day was grey, cloudy and rainy; the up-beat showers and brightness had gone and they had walked around, explored and exhausted Portree. Tom would have been ready to return on the evening bus, but Lyndsey wanted to stay the night, so he agreed. There were no more real conversations that day, just chatter and laughs.

   Lyndsey felt better at letting out some of her anguish and feelings, but there was a dull itch somewhere that she couldn’t find. And as she lay awake in bed that night, she probed her new anxiety, but it lay elusive just under the surface. Why should there be anything wrong? She had laid herself open, been honest and had all but told him she loved him. They had stayed together after, had laughed together, talked together, even made love together. But he had kept his eyes closed and the passion was noticeably muted. But this could be anything… tiredness, drink, dope, or maybe just nothing at all. And although he had gone to sleep shortly after, he had dozed off holding her hand.

   She softly kissed the back of his neck and cuddled up close to his warm, sleeping body. It was good to be back in a real bed again, and she felt easier and lighter as she stopped her pondering and concentrated on the moment now. The thoughts in her head weren’t as muddy since her words and spoken-thoughts earlier that day, and the angst and depression in her soul didn’t feel as heavy. And now as she moulded her little body into every nook and angle of his, and right now as she moved closer and welded herself closely into his shape…
 
   Right now she wouldn’t be anywhere else.

   Cold, clear, bright and only sunshine, the clouds and rain had been blown away and had left no wind. Lyndsey and Tom left the guesthouse they had stayed at early after breakfast, and now they walked together into the small town centre of Portree. Their bus back to Glasgow was leaving early that afternoon and Lyndsey wanted to see the sights and the town, but especially the sea again.

   "But it’s so calm… and you can’t see so far." She stared out from the quayside, looking over the millpond ripples of the harbour. Looking out past the assorted work and fishing boats to the nearby Isle of Raasay obstructing any longer, more distant views.

   "What did you want to see from the harbour front in Portree?" Tom sat a little further back from Lyndsey, quietly smoking. He wasn’t particularly interested in their current activities, but he wasn’t impatient to change what was happening; for now he would play along with what she wanted to do – later he would be home and back to some semblance of reality.

   "I want to see big, big waves, all foamy and white with sea birds screaming and circling as they fall around it all." She was stood gripping the rail with a cold clenched hand, her eyes wide, her mind many aeons away the relative tranquillity of Portree.

   Tom pricked up his ears at her wandering words and was about to add a few dry, derisory words of his own, but she began again and cut him off.

   "I want to feel, to stand amidst the rushing, blowing wind and feel the spray from the waves showering me. Just to stand in a big unpolluted space, feeling all of nature around me and to feel so…so... alive."

   She whispered her last few words as she drifted off then re-joined the world around her again. "Sorry, I was just speaking my mind again." She turned and grinned at him, a little embarrassed at herself and her fluid ramblings.

   "S’okay – you were just being you." He pretended to poke fun at her and she laughed.

   "But where are the big beaches?" She looked at him earnestly and eagerly. "The big, big beaches and the wide…"

   "Okay, okay I get it," he interrupted her hastily. "Don’t ask me pet, I don’t really know. But further north and hidden away all over the West coast are big beaches and massive seas when the weather is up. But I don’t know really, I've never been – it’s too wild and lonely."

   She looked back out to sea, her eyes misty and dreamy again. "We should go there…"

   "You can go whenever you want to – if you want. It’s always there Lyndsey – it’ll always be there."
 
   Tom turned and began to walk back towards the main road and the town centre. Lyndsey stood motionless for a moment, watching his retreating back with a suddenly sinking heart. And for why, she didn’t know.

   The rocking and jerking motions of the bus had sent the tired pair to sleep. The bright day had brought out the scenery, clear and sharp; but they missed it all. The recent rains bringing the burns full, alive and noisy; the petulant, shy white of the first snows of the winter contrasting sharply against the ochre browns of the autumn hillsides; they passed through and underneath them all as they returned south. As the coach lurched and motored its way back to the metropolis they dozed fitfully against each other.

   Lyndsey slept alone that night for the first time in quite sometime. On arrival back at the squat, Tom had heard about a party going on over in the west end of the city, and had immediately decided to go; there were friends of his there he hadn’t seen for quite some time. Lyndsey was much less interested though. She was tired and had a head full of thoughts, not words. A night spent talking and socialising with folk whom she didn’t know held little appeal for her. So she had declined to go, he had departed for the night, and she had turned in for bed – an early night. The squat was quiet and almost empty, just a faint radio could be heard somewhere; but mostly everyone was either at the party or out. But most likely no one else was in and trying to sleep early like her.

   She had fallen asleep easily at first, her tired body relishing the end of the journey and an opportunity to stretch out and relax comfortably. But later she awoke in the small hours and this time she had problems making it back to sleep. She was warm and comfortable, the room was dark and quiet, but her mind was active and was in a mood to talk to her and torture her with herself.

   "Where is Tom?" – well I know…
 
   "Yeah, but where exactly?” - …don’t know.

   "Who is he with?" – his friends.

   "Which friends? What kind? What sex?" – don’t know.

   "What is he doing now – right now?" … I dunno. I dunno...

   No, Tom wasn’t actually a flirt. But he was a good talker, confident and casual in his manner. He could easily entertain, chat with and charm anyone for… long enough. But it would of course only be talk wouldn’t it? And he had those who knew her with him too – Helen, Jon and Santa. Helen…

   She thrashed over in her sleeping bag getting hotter and hotter while feeling sleep recede further and further away. This was past tormenting thoughts now and well on to paranoia. He had told her Helen was history – that she was just a friend. His words made Helen’s words to her, clearer and more understandable. But still she turned to the thought that now – right now, anything… anything could be happening. And especially while she wasn’t there to see that it wasn’t.

   She sighed and turned over again. This was madness, she was only torturing herself but still she couldn’t slow her mind down, try as she might. The last couple of emotional days had made her more prone to angst and introspection; it seemed that now that she had started inspecting and analysing her feelings, she suddenly couldn’t stop looking inside herself to examine where it hurt. And she knew that these unreasonable and unwarranted thoughts about Tom were only making her feel lower.

   But she had started now, and she was finding it difficult to stop. Once again, here she was standing peering over and out, into the abyss and at the black inky waters far below. Once again her head was feeling heavy because the day tomorrow – all the days tomorrow -  their lustre and sheen were blurring and fading in her vision. For the first time since leaving home she was beginning to despondently think and live the same thoughts as she had before she had arrived in Glasgow, and this time she had no apparent reasons or people to blame her feelings and state of mind on.

   Something wasn't working, something was failing, was falling down. And she didn't know why.