Page 11 of A Highland Gargoyle's Lucky Star
She cups her wrinkled cheek in her hand. “How lovely. England cannae compare to the majesty of Scotland. Besides, I’ve always had a bit of a thing for brawny Scotsmen,” she admits with a cheeky little wink.
I laugh and wink back. “So do I. Or, at least, based on the movies and television shows I’ve watched, I think I do.”
She nods warmly. “Trust me, seeing a handsome man in a kilt for the first time is a memorable experience. One of the reasons I married my husband was because of how he looks in his.”
“I hope I’ll get the chance to see plenty of Scotsmen in kilts,” I admit.
“I’d say you need to demand a refund if you don’t!” she cackles.
This little old brownie lady is more fun and feisty than I imagined at first glance.
“Good point.”
She straightens her diminutive posture. “Now, why don’t I help you find where you need to be going?” Taking the lead like a very tiny general, she marches forward through the throng of travelers and guides me to the correct train, which she happens to be taking as well.
I’m still not sure what happened to me earlier on the plane, or why being touched by this woman seemed to affect me so oddly, but I decide to focus on the here and now. I’mfinallyhere on UK soil and I’m making one of my heart’s desires come true. As the saying goes, ain’t nothing gonna bring me down!
As we wait for our train to arrive, I tell Eleanor that my sleeper train to Scotland doesn’t leave until later this evening.
“I was hoping to do a little bit of sightseeing in the city before then. Do you have anything that you’d recommend?”
She considers this for a moment. “Well now, a double-decker bus tour might be a good way to start. Get the lay of the land, see if there’s anywhere you want to stop and visit. It’s a wonderful way to check out the city and get some photographs to remember your visit.”
I grin at her. “Sounds like a great idea. I’ll do that.”
Although my plane ride from Chicago was long and uncomfortable, I actually managed to get some decent sleep for once, so I’m full of energy and enthusiasm. I might crash later, but for the moment I intend to ride this wave while I can. After all, this is my first trip abroad, and as my mom told me, I need to make the most of it.
I don’t even have to worry too much about money. Although I don’t intend to throw away money like a fool during my travels, the inheritance my grandfather left me is plenty to support me for quite a while. I’m truly grateful that Mom followed Pops’s wishes and waited until the right time to give me that money. I might have frittered it away on something stupid when I wasyounger, whereas now it’s helping me achieve one of my dreams and giving me an opportunity to make memories that will last me a lifetime.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s helping me create a bright, new future.
I’m rather sad when my new friend and I eventually part ways, but we share contact information to keep in touch. Before long, I end up getting off at Piccadilly Circus station. The moment I make my way aboveground again, I’m overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the city. I’ve been told early October isn’t peak tourist season here, but I don’t know that I’d enjoy it when it’s even busier. It’s far more intense than what I’ve experienced in Chicago.
I’m not exactly a bumpkin, and I’m used to urban city centers, but London is truly a global metropolis on a scale unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
It’s still a bit early for lunch, but my stomach is already growling and demanding food, so I decide to stop for a bite to eat before sightseeing.
It doesn’t take long to find a cafe doing brisk business. I order a large cappuccino and a soup and sandwich combo, then take my tray to an open seat at a counter at the front window. While scarfing down my food, I people watch with enthusiasm, and the food and coffee do wonders for taking my energy to the next level.
Twenty minutes later, I’m practically skipping down the sidewalk in search of a double-decker bus tour.
In seemingly no time at all, I’m boarding a bright red bus ready to see the sights. Our driver is an elderly fellow who doesn’t say much, but our tour guide is an upbeat young woman who introduces herself as Emily and welcomes us aboard with enthusiasm.
I sit up on the open-roof second level and take in the view while also enjoying the tour guide’s narration that comes through the speakers. We pass historic landmarks like Westminster Abbey—which I make a note to come back to before I head home—Buckingham Palace, the London Eye, and so many more that I finally stop counting after a while.
Despite having only minimal talent, I manage to snap some decent pictures on my phone along the way until the weather takes a turn, and I start feeling raindrops. All of us on the second level hurry back down below where things get a wee bit crowded and I find myself in a seat at the very front by Emily.
We’re making our way back to where I boarded and I’m peering out the front window when all of a sudden the driver, who’s looking awfully pale and sweaty, groans loudly and clutches at his chest.
“Tom?” Emily asks, a sharp note of concern in her voice.
Instead of responding, the driver suddenly slumps forward, unconscious.
Almost immediately, the bus starts to veer out of control.
I don’t think. I just act.
Flying forward, I take hold of the wheel, turning just in time to stop us from careening into the fountain in the center of Piccadilly Circus.
