Page 6 of One Snowy Day
There was a delayed reaction, before Alyssa’s motor skills kicked back in and she slowly raised her head.
How to answer that question? Today should have been just another lovely day in the life that Alyssa Canavan had worked so hard to build.
But, instead, it was going to be the day that changed everything.
4
LACHLAN MORDEN
The plane hit the tarmac at Glasgow airport with a thud so strong that the bloke in the rugby top next to Lachlan gripped his arm, then flushed to the colour of his scarlet sweatshirt before clearing his throat and acting like it had never happened.
Lachlan went along with the pretence, continuing to stare out of the window at the thick flakes of snow that were falling on the runway, and beyond the perimeter fence, all the way to the white peaks of the hills in the distance.
The view reminded him of a previous time he’d landed here. Three years ago. He and Tanya had been on their way home from a winter ski break in Verbier and when they’d touched down in Glasgow, they’d been stunned to see a white-out that was just as stunning as the one they’d left in Switzerland.
Three years and a whole lifetime ago. Back then, the engagement ring he’d given Tanya a few days before, in front of a whole crew of cheering pals, was sparkling on her finger. Under her navy sweatshirt, her tiny bump was gently growing. And both of them had cheesy grins that probably made them fairly insufferableto everyone around them. If that couple could have seen what was in front of them, they’d never have believed it.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a rather chilly, snowy Glasgow. The temperature outside is minus two degrees and the heavy snowfall is expected to continue throughout the day. Please remain seated, with your seatbelts fastened, until we come to a standstill at our allocated gate…’
‘Coming home or just visiting?’ It took Lachlan a moment to realise that the question was coming from the bloke in the red sweatshirt and was directed at him. And it took him another moment to settle on the correct answer.
‘Both. I’m from here, but I live in London now, so just up for a meeting. You?’ Reciprocating the question felt like the right thing to do, even though he really didn’t care and would much rather just keep to himself right now. He had too many other things to think about.
‘Just coming back from my stag week in Vegas. Had to fly via London though, so feels like my arse has been on a plane seat for days.’
Lachlan was in too deep not to ask the obvious question. ‘Congratulations. When are you getting married?’
‘Christmas Eve. But the missus insisted we had the stag do early in case my mates shaved off my eyebrows. Said I’d need a few weeks to grow them back.’
‘Smart lady.’
‘Aye, but worrying for nothing. Eyebrows are still there,’ he pointed at the bushy slugs above his peepers. ‘The legs are a different story right enough.’
Two of his buddies in the row behind them must have overheard that little exchange because they let out a loud, goading cheer, while a hand came from behind to scrub the head of the groom.
Another memory. His own stag party. Not quite Vegas, but a brilliant night out in Edinburgh with twenty or so friends and Tanya’s brothers. His own brother, Jason, hadn’t been able to make it, but Lachlan hadn’t missed him. Tanya and his mates were his family. The one he’d chosen for himself.
He gazed out of the window again, to the soundtrack of beeps from a dozen nearby phones as they all connected to the networks now that they’d landed.
He checked his phone screen, assuming there would be nothing there, but he was wrong. Margaux. His friend since they were tossing a football back and forward over the fence that separated their homes growing up. She’d offered to pick him up, but he knew he wanted a car for the day, so he’d declined and suggested meeting up later.
Still on for lunch? Let me know when and where and I’ll free up a space in my hectic diary. Xx
He texted back.
Hey. Just landed. Lunch sounds good. Will let you know as soon as meeting is done. Lx
At least that would be something to make this day worthwhile, because there was no other part of it that he wasn’t dreading.
The seatbelt sign clicked off as the plane came to a standstill and there was the usual scrum of people jumping up and jostling to get their luggage out of the overhead bins. Lachlan reached down for the small backpack he’d stored under the seat in front of him. He wasn’t going to be here for long. He hadn’t even brought a full change of clothes, just a sweater to pull on after the meeting so that he could get rid of the shirt and tie. This was going to be one day, in and out. Home on the last flight tonight.
Although checking the weather ahead of time might have been an idea because in this suit, he was going to freeze his bollocks off out there today. Forward planning was usually his thing, pretty essential in his work. He was a builder, who predominately worked on bespoke new homes and extensions. He’d started life as a joiner on his father’s building sites, and Martyn Morden had been a perfectionist who’d demanded top quality work, especially from his son. Lachlan had always risen to the challenge, and had maintained those standards when he had branched out on his own, setting up his own construction firm when he was barely in his twenties. More than a decade later, and now based in London, the manual work was still what he loved most, but he ran a small but mighty team of subcontractors that included electricians, plumbers and labourers. He co-ordinated every job, but only after he’d worked with the client to make sure he knew exactly what they wanted, and that they both understood the end goal. Today his only end goal was to avoid frostbite, then get back on a plane and get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
‘Good luck with the wedding. Hope it all goes well,’ he told the groom.
‘Thanks, pal,’ his travel companion with the intact eyebrows replied with a wink, and Lachlan thought this was the thing he missed most about Glasgow. You could share one conversation with someone and instantly you were elevated to ‘pal’ status.
Among a sea of puffa jackets reminding him of his poor planning skills, Lachlan made his way off the aircraft and along the long peninsula to the main terminal building. He must have flown in and out of this airport a hundred times in his life, so he switched to autopilot: head down, just keep walking. He’d already booked the car hire online, so he made his way straight to theirdesk on the ground floor, veering round the huge, sparkly silver Christmas tree that stood in the centre of the terminal hall. If there was a desk that provided festive spirits, he should probably be first in the queue because celebrating special occasions seemed pointless now. Christmas Day in London would be just another day of consciously avoiding other people’s happiness so that he wouldn’t be forced to think about losing his own. Denial was a much better place to be.
