Love Hurts

Dr Logan raised an eyebrow then shrugged. "Six years in medical school and thirty years in practice and this is the first time my clinical judgment has been called into question. Ah well... I'll just have to call in another expert." He rapped on the bar and called out: "Alison! There's a young woman out here in need of an angel of mercy."

A woman came out from a back room and Dr Logan pointed dramatically towards me. "Alison, this puir lassie's in dire need of warmth and comfort but she's refused a whisky." Then in a hoarse stage whisper accompanied by a friendly wink he said: "She's unnatural—she does'nae drink!"

"You must be Alison Richie," I said, "My name's Marti Howard. Sergeant Moore at the police station said you might put me up for the night."

"Aye, come away in the back, pay no attention to these old soaks. They think non-drinkers are on a par with excise men and tax collectors." Smiling affectionately at her regulars, she gestured towards the doctor. "If he wasn't such a good medic I'd have drummed him out years ago."

'The back' was a small and cosy room with a welcoming fire in the grate and thick heavy curtains shutting out the gloomy night. Now I was able to get a good look at Alison. She had a pretty, make-up free face, lightly freckled, and a mass of red-gold hair tied back with a chiffon scarf. She was slightly shorter than me but not by much and I estimated her age to be within a year or two, either way, of mine. Her figure was womanly and she was dressed for comfort in a heavy sweater and corduroy slacks. There was something else: she was one of these people who seem to radiate a natural warmth.

"C'mon—Marti, you said?—let's get you out of these wet things. You're from England—holiday is it?"

"Something like that..."

"You've picked a poor time of the year for it," Alison said as she helped me off with my rucksack and jacket, "Lord, girl, you're soaked to the skin."

"I've got dry clothes in my bag."

"Not now, you haven't." Alison held up my rucksack to show me where a strap had somehow broken so that the rain had penetrated. "Don't worry. We're not much different in size, I'll lend you some of my things while yours are drying out. Now I'm going to run you a hot bath and when you've had that there'll be a meal waiting. Come with me and I'll show you your room."

* * * * *

The next morning I felt like hell, shivering, muscles aching, sore throat. The drenching I'd received on the two-mile walk hadn't done me any good. Overall tiredness from some of the hours I'd been working probably made things worse. For someone whose health is usually near-perfect, this was upsetting. I put Alison's dressing-gown on and went downstairs to the kitchen.

Alison took one look at me and sat me down in a chair. "You don't look too good, Marti. I think you'd better get back to bed."

"I'll be okay." Even the tough me didn't really believe that. "I'll have a cup of tea then pay you what I owe and get on my way to Aviemore."

Alison put a cool hand to my forehead and shook her head. "You'd not make ten yards from here. You're going nowhere, lassie, except back to bed, even if I have to drag you there. And don't fret, I'll not charge you tourist rates."

I didn't have it in me to argue. I did as Alison told me and later in the day she got Doc Logan in to have a look at me. "Ah, it's just a wee chill and I think exhaustion. A couple of days in bed for you, my girl, with aspirin and plenty of hot drinks and you should be all right." He shook an admonishing finger. "This'll teach you not to refuse a decent malt whisky when it's offered."

I was laid up for three days, sleeping much of the time during the first two. Alison took great care of me and by the third morning I was sitting up and feeling much improved. Alison brought me some breakfast and sat on the side of the bed to talk. "You might be feeling better but you'd still best rest up here for a few days. Now, is there anyone I can contact for you to let them know you haven't been well? Family... husband...?"

"No family worth mentioning and I'm a widow."

Alison laid a hand on mine. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be!" My tone was abrupt and far more harsh than it should have been.

A hurt look flitted across Alison's face and she took her hand away. Getting up to leave, she said stiffly: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

Ashamed of myself, I reached out a hand to detain her. "Wait Alison, please don't go—it's me who should be sorry. You've been so kind to me and that was rude. It's just... well... it wasn't a good marriage. In fact, it was a fucking lousy marriage."

Alison sat down again and her voice was sympathetic. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head.

"Some other time then, perhaps. You'll find me a good listener." She grinned. "I have to be with that lot in the bar nights."

After a week of resting up, the thought of Aviemore began to lose its attraction. The Lochverie Inn was a pleasant little place, warm and comfortable, and the wild surrounding countryside and the abundance of fresh air seemed to have a way of calling out to me. Me, a city girl born and bred. There was also something comforting about being in Alison's company. In fact, I found myself becoming attracted to her but... Don't go there, Marti, I admonished myself, you've screwed up one relationship—don't screw up a potentially good friendship. Anyway, for all you know Alison might have a boyfriend nearby. Not that I'd seen any evidence of that—Alison seemed to go nowhere and she wore no rings although these days that didn't necessarily mean she had nobody.

But I spoke to her about staying on. "That first night I was here, Alison, you assumed I'm on holiday. I'm not. I've been working my way round the country trying to escape some bad memories. I really like it here and wondered if I could work for you?"

"Thanks, Marti, but I couldn't afford any wages. I have enough trouble just making ends meet here." She sounded genuinely regretful.

"Well, I wouldn't really need pay," I told her, "I've got a regular small income from a rented property in England and I've got savings. Look, I know hotel work, I've worked as a barmaid, I've worked as a cleaner, I've done all sorts. The only thing I haven't done is work as a cook and I'm sure I could pick that up with a good cook-book. If you'd let me have bed and board I'll do whatever I can to help you out. If you get any other paying guests, then I can always sleep on your sofa."

Alison thought for a moment then nodded. "All right, let's give it a try—I've got to admit some company would be good. You'll not be disturbed from your bed often, I'll not get many other guests this time of the year. Truth be told, Marti, I don't get many even at the best times. Bit off the beaten track." She looked wistful. "There's a grand wee hotel in Glenverie I'd love to own, been empty for a while now and needs updating but it could be a little gold-mine—there's a first-rate golf course several miles outside Glenverie and visiting golfers often have trouble finding accommodation nearby. I couldn't afford the hotel, though. I don't own this place, you see, just rent it on lease. I barely scrape by. The whole of Lochverie's much the same. All the land and property hereabouts is owned by a man called Andrew McCullough. He's the laird and everyone, me, the village store-keeper, crofters, even Doc Logan, rent from him."

"The laird? That's something like what used to be a squire in England, isn't it? Sounds a bit feudal to me."

"Aye, maybe it is but there's a fair bit of it in the Highlands. To be fair, Andrew's a decent man, it's his son Jamie's the one to watch. He acts as Andrew's business manager and he's a bit too full of himself, a real little dictator. Got an economics degree from Edinburgh University and thinks himself so much superior to the rest of us. Fancies his chances with me too but I can't stand him. He's asked me to marry him a number of times, can't get it into his thick head I'm not interested. Ah, enough of him. C'mon, if you're going to work here I'd better show you around..."

* * * * *

Working at the Lochverie Inn wasn't too onerous. I did most of the dogsbody work such as cleaning while Alison cooked simple meals for the casual lunchtime trade. In the evenings we just had our regular customers and I quickly learned their names and favoured drinks. I was surprised that Doc Logan, for all his advocating the curative powers of single malt whisky, never had more than one drink which he nursed until closing time. Alison told me that he had been widowed about three years previously and came to the inn for company.

One evening, when I'd been there for several months, a dour, elderly man known as Old Tam regarded me for a few minutes while I served his whisky then said: "Well, Missie, ye may be English and ye may shun the drink, but ye're no a bad lass for a' that."

Alison put an arm around my waist and gave me a little hug. "I think you've just been accepted," she whispered. Her arm felt good and I was sorry when she took it away. I was becoming fonder of Alison all the time and I didn't know how to handle it. Times were when I had an urge to grab and kiss her but... I keep telling you, Marti, don't go there. During my disastrous marriage I had masturbated a lot and my fantasy had always been Niamh. Of late though when diddling myself, I found that Niamh had faded from my thoughts to be replaced by images of Alison. It was frustrating.

Some days Alison would go out for supplies and would take me with her. She had a clapped-out old Toyota Corolla so we were able to go into Glenverie and some of the other small Speyside towns. One day she begged keys from the local estate agent and showed me round the empty hotel. It was a bit run down and in sore need of some TLC but I could see that it had loads of potential. I had a little pipe-dream while we were in there, Alison and I as partners running the place with great success. That's what it was though, a pipe-dream.

While on these outings, Alison introduced me to a number of local people including Andrew McCullough and his son. The laird was pleasant and friendly enough but Jamie McCullough, although coldly polite, looked at me as if I was something he'd picked up on the sole of his shoe. While I was talking to Andrew McCullough Jamie beckoned Alison to one side and they seemed to have a heated discussion which ended with Jamie clamping his lips tight shut and stalking off. Alison told me later that he had once more proposed marriage and she had turned him down.

I also met the Minister from the local kirk with his wife. Both could almost have been caricatures of austere Scottish Presbyterians, he tall and thin and stern-faced, she equally tall and thin and looking as if she'd enjoyed nothing more than reading sermons condemning the pleasures of the flesh.

* * * * *

Early one afternoon, straight after lunch, Alison closed up shop because we'd had no customers and suggested a walk. I looked out of the window. "Weather's a bit uncertain, isn't it?"

Alison's Highland burr was usually soft and gentle but she could lay it on thick when she wanted. "Och, ye great soft peely-wally Sassenach, a wee bit o' weather'll do ye nae harm."

We stared at each other for a moment and then we both burst out laughing. "Where shall we go?" I asked.

"I'll take you to see Loch Verie, the real loch that the village is named after. It's about half-an-hour's walk over the hill. A bit of exercise and fresh air'll do us both some good."

Alison was right, it felt good to be out in the fresh air, even if the sullen sky did threaten bad weather. There was a path of sorts leading up the hill. Starting from behind the inn it was toughish going, strewn with jagged pebbles and small rocks which meant taking great care where we walked. As we neared the crest I noticed a small building off to one side, something like a single-roomed cabin roughly fashioned from stone. "What's that place?" I asked.

"That's a bothy," said Alison, "A shelter for travellers, walkers and the like. Look, there's the loch."

We had reached the top of the hill and continued on the downward path. The slope gradually became more gentle, evening out as we reached the loch. The ground beneath my feet started to feel soft and I could see muddy water oozing out from under them. "Don't go any nearer," Alison warned, "It gets pretty marshy near the edge and you could get stuck and lose a boot."

The darkened surface of the loch was still with not even a single ripple, reflecting the surrounding hills and mountains and the amassing blanket of cloud. It was like looking into a black magician's scrying mirror. A deep silence pervaded, not even a solitary birdsong breaking it, and the whole scene was one of unremitting bleakness. I shivered slightly.

"What do you think?" asked Alison.

"It's sinister," I said, "Almost scary—makes you understand some of the old legends about evil fairies and monsters and the like."

Alison considered. "Aye, I suppose you've got something there. Me, I'm so used to it I wouldn't have thought that way. If you're still around, I'll bring you up here on a fine day in the summer when the heather's out on the hills. It's grand then, looks so very different."

Suddenly some great splashes of rain hit us and Alison grabbed my hand to drag me back up the hill. "We'd better get into the bothy before we get soaked."

We made it into the small hut just as the storm hit in earnest. I slammed the door shut and we heard rain hammering against the roof. The bothy was a surprise. I had expected it to be nigh derelict and filthy. Instead, it was obviously cared for if somewhat crude. I mentioned this to Alison who said that local people always made sure the bothy was kept in good order. A bench ran along one wall, long enough for several people to sit, and there was a makeshift table holding a number of candles, several in metal candlesticks, and five or six boxes of matches. Alison busied herself lighting a couple of the candles and we sat side-by-side, almost touching. "It shouldn't last too long," she told me, "Some of these storms pass quickly, maybe half-an-hour or so, perhaps a little longer."

We sat in silence for a while before Alison said: "Are you happy here, staying at the inn?"

I nodded slowly. "Could be content's a better word. I'm more content here than I've been for a long time."

"Maybe it's none of my business, Marti, but at times you do seem to be sorely troubled. Is it because of your bad marriage? It might help you to talk to a friend and I hope I'm your friend."

"Thanks, Alison. Yes, perhaps you're right—bottling things up isn't good. Okay, I'll tell you about it, I reckon it'll be a relief. If I'm to be honest with you, though, there's something you must know at the outset: I'm a lesbian. I'm telling you that because it's relevant." I don't know what I expected, Alison to run away screaming perhaps, leaving me talking to myself in an empty bothy. I hoped not because my attraction to her was as strong as ever, futile as it might be. She didn't run—instead she simply nodded so I continued: "There was a girl called Niamh..."

It all spilled out then, every bitter word about the events in my life which had eventually led me to Lochverie. By the time I'd finished the account, tears were streaming down my face, mixed tears of rage and remorse. Alison put an arm around my shoulders and held me close. She smelt clean and lovely of some lightly-scented soap. "Didn't you try to get back with Niamh after Paul died?" she asked.

I sat up and wiped my eyes. "No, I never saw her again. It was too late by then anyway—even if she'd been willing to take me back, I don't think she'd have ever trusted me. Anyway, I'm not sure it would have lasted long-term, I'm probably too much of a rough diamond and she's too much of a young lady. No, it's okay Alison, I'm over Niamh now, romantically that is. It's the guilt that's stuck, I can't seem to rid myself of it. I'd like to see Niamh, to tell her what happened if only to let her know I'm not a complete bitch."

"I don't think you're any kind of bitch," Alison soothed, "only a poor, troubled soul through no fault of your own, trying to find your way." She looked up towards the roof of the bothy. "I think the worst of the rain's stopped. Let's get back before it starts again."

The downward path towards the inn was slick and muddy following the downpour and I felt myself slipping several times. "Here, take my hand," said Alison and we supported each other the rest of the way. Alison unlocked the door and as we entered the bar she suddenly pulled me towards her and kissed me firmly on the mouth. "There, I've wanted to do that for a long time."

I had been dreaming of kissing Alison—more than kissing even—but her move was so unexpected I was taken aback. My shock must have showed for she said: "I'm sorry, Marti, have I done the wrong thing?"

"No... not the wrong thing... it's just... you..."

She took both of my hands in hers. "Marti, I've known what I am since I was a lass. You didn't think the big cities had an exclusive on gay women, did you?"

"No... but you... I didn't realise... you took me by surprise ..."

"And I didn't guess about you until you told me," Alison commented, "I reckon neither of us has got very good gaydar. So what do we do now, Marti?"

In reply, I wrapped my arms around her and returned her kiss.

* * * * *

But it went no further than that, not for some time anyway, and that was my fault. Alison was keen to take our relationship to the next step immediately and was forthright about it. Weather permitting, we'd taken to having a long daily walk in the hills. We automatically held hands now or put our arms around our each other's waists and both felt good. Yet I couldn't stop thinking about the way my affair with Niamh had ended and didn't want to repeat the disaster with Alison. All the one-night stands I'd had didn't matter for that's just what they were, one-night stands. We'd said goodbye in the mornings and that was it. But I could see long-term potential with Alison and wanted to be sure that it was right.

Once we were standing near the bothy looking down on Loch Verie when Alison said: "Look, Marti, I'm very attracted to you and I think you are to me. We could be lovers now, so why are you holding back?"

"I'm very attracted to you too, Alison, have been almost since I came here. But I screwed up one relationship horribly and I don't want to wreck another. That's why I'd like to take things easy for a while, see how things go between us."

"Screwing up that relationship wasn't your fault, can't you accept that? You thought you were protecting Niamh. You didn't know Paul was lying to you. From what you told me, it sounds as if he was very plausible. Sociopaths often are."

"I'm sorry, Alison," I said, "If it'll make things easier for you, I'll leave. Maybe try Aviemore after all."

Tears came to Alison's eyes and there was quiet exasperation in her voice. "No you don't! Don't you dare think I'm letting you slip through my fingers. Okay, Marti, we'll play it your way, see how things go—I'll wait for you as long as it takes. At least say I can kiss you sometimes."

"Yes, I'd like that."

"So you bloody well should, you great daft Sassenach. Come here!" Alison pulled me close and gave me a long kiss. I wrapped my arms about her, feeling her tears damp against my face and I tightened my embrace. I think that was the moment I fell truly in love with Alison. God, Marti, hope and pray that this turns out right and will go the distance I told myself.

* * * * *

"We're going to have a wee break in Inverness, three days," Alison told me.