“You OK there, hen?” he asked. In my journey from the West of England to the North of Scotland, I’d been called “mate”, “love”, “hen”, “pet” and “wee lass”. I was starting to become accustomed to the variety of endearments used by complete strangers; it was quite sweet when I thought about it.
“I was supposed to be checking in, but I guess I’m early.” I tried not to look at the young man’s nipples, but he was quite a bit taller than me, so his chest was literally in my face.
“Well, my ma’s just on her way over.” He picked up my heavy suitcase with one hand.
I inhaled clean sweat as he moved, but was riveted by the sight of lean muscles that fl exed beneath his skin. He looked hard and solid. I licked my lips without meaning to.
I tore my eyes away from his delicious body, as a woman of my age came trotting up to us.
“Hello there!” she called in an accented voice. “You must be Molly.”
We shook hands. I glanced discreetly between the mother and her son. “I see you’ve met Adam.” She nodded to the object of my desire and sudden dread. “He’s helping me out today. Would you believe he’s just graduated from university, but the lazy boy won’t go out and find a proper job?”
“I consider this a proper job!” Adam called out over his shoulder as he walked to the nearest chalet.
“Ach, young people,” his mother said with a melodramatic sigh. “Do you have any children yourself?”
I shook my head. I’d never been able to conceive. After a few years, I’d stopped trying, got on with the rest of my life.
“He’s a good laddie really.” She ushered me to the chalet. Adam leaned against a wall near the door. He didn’t move as I squeezed by. All those good looks were obviously a veneer for a cocky attitude. He knew the effect he was having on me.
Adam’s mother explained which keys opened what doors, where the recycling bins were, when the launderette was open. But I heard little of what she said, as my eyes and my attention kept being drawn to her son as he moved around the small chalet. At one stage, he reached up to unscrew a light bulb from a ceiling lamp. I watched his jeans slide low over his hips; I glimpsed the tan line over the swell of his buttocks. He glanced down at me, shook the bulb gently.
“I’ll get ye a new one.” Two buttons on his fl y were open. A bulge was outlined against the denim. “I’ll pop by later, if that’s OK?”
I nodded, unable to speak. That would be more than OK.
They left me alone after I completed the paperwork. I had just started unpacking when a polite knock at the door signalled Adam’s return. I let him in, making sure that I stood at a discreet distance, but it was hard work. Something dark stirred in the depths of my belly; I felt desire move like a creature inside me. I wanted to reach out to stroke over his fine tanned skin. I wanted to get on my knees, and blow him. Why couldn’t the man take pity on me, and wear a shirt? I was going to get myself into trouble if this went on for much longer.
“Do you have any plans now you’re in our wee neck of the woods?” he asked, tilting his head. “I don’t know if it’s your thing, but there’s an event in Inverness tomorrow night. I’ll be performing there.” He pulled a little stool from beneath a nearby table, and then stood on it to get at the light fitting with ease. Once again his worn jeans drooped over the top of his hips. Against my better judgment, my murky mind took a plunge into an obscene fantasy. I pictured Adam stripping in front of a gaggle of screaming women, throwing discarded items of clothing into the fray. I swallowed, willed my voice to remain calm. I was forty-two, old enough to be the man’s mother.
“Can I ask what sort of performance it will be?”
Adam looked at me. His eyes were green, unblinking. “It’s Nos Ur.”
“Nos Ur?” I repeated, puzzled.
“It means ‘New Style’ in Scots Gaelic.’
“You speak Gaelic?”
“Aye, I speak it, I sing it and I love it.” He screwed in the bulb, fi xed the light shade in place, and hopped off the stool.
“Impressive.”
Adam stepped up to me, invading my space completely. “I could only use this language, once I knew I had it.” His voice was low, husky. “But sometimes words do me no good at all.” When his lips brushed against mine, I breathed in a thousand shades of green. Adam tasted of the wild land. His tongue met mine, and his fingers gripped my arm. I felt drawn in to his world.
“Ma will be around with cake in a little while.”
“What?” My eyes had trouble focusing.
“She does it for all the new visitors — cake for your first time, a bottle of wine for your second.”
“I don’t drink,” I said stupidly. “Anyway, I’m sure this won’t be my only visit here.”
“So will you come to Nos Ur?”
I nodded, smiled. The door to the chalet opened just as Adam took a few steps away from me. His mother carried a covered plate in her hands.
“Cake for the new guest,” she said with a smile. She set the dish on the table, and swept away the cloth to reveal what looked like a small fruitcake. “I hope Adam hasn’t been bothering you?” She shot him a look that meant she knew exactly what kind of bother he could cause.
“No he’s been very helpful.”
“We’ll give you some peace then.” She beckoned to her son, who gave me a wink before he followed his mother out.
The next evening I went to an upmarket venue in the heart of Inverness. Tall pine trees that framed the dark loch had given way to grey stone as the small city opened out, but I still felt that I was deep in the Scottish Highlands.
Nos Ur had brought some serious crowds to the concert hall. Ten bands would be playing, each one in a different Celtic language. There would be a vote for the favourite, and they would then go on to a bigger event that would be held in the Netherlands later in the year.
At Nos Ur, there were bands that performed in languages that I had never heard of before, like Cornish and Lowland Scots. However there were also some that were more familiar to me, like Welsh and Gaelic from both Scotland and Ireland. I was struck by the way the music united all the different languages and dialects. At one stage I even started singing along with a happy tune sung in Lowland Scots, which was the closest language to English. I wondered if this was how the world was before Babel. I didn’t have a hope of translating all the tongues I heard, but somehow I just knew what every song was about. I felt the magic of the area start to permeate my skin.
Finally Adam’s band came on. Two women played violins, a man played keyboard and Adam sung like a force of nature, howling into the microphone with passion. My eyes travelled over my young friend, taking in his unusual outfit. Adam wore what looked like very baggy trousers. I peered closer, leaning forwards in my seat to see that they weren’t trousers. Adam wore a skirt: a long black garment that swept the ground with every move. I’d expected to see men wearing kilts in Scotland, but not skirts like that. I knew where my vote was going tonight.
I may have voted for Adam, but a Welsh band got the majority, and they would be going on to the finals. I felt a little sad for Adam, but his music was so good, I just knew that a record producer would snatch him up real soon.
I found Adam after the closing ceremony. He looked somewhat down, but he still smiled as I approached.
“I thought you were great. Thank you for telling me about this.” I stroked his back.
“The Welsh boyos were grand. I voted for them myself,” he said.
“Really?”
Adam nodded, holding up a little disc. “I’ve even bought their CD.”
We both laughed until we doubled over.
I awoke late the next day with the River Moriston as the only sound in my world. I walked around the local area after my breakfast, trudging up pathways that led me through a dense pine forest. Little sparkling streams ran alongside me as I climbed higher, enjoying the fresh air, the peace and all that green. I imagined mysterious woodland creatures danced just out of view as I made my way through this special place.