Skye and the City (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 9

Since we've apparently reached a stalemate with Ross based on today's curt email and the fact he's now ignoring me, I guess I may as well tell you more about the other mystery guy. It's only fair, I suppose; I've kept you hanging for a while. So I'll give you a bit more info; but I'm also going to ask that you try not to judge me too much, okay? Because I suspect I'm about to sound pretty silly.

So, first of all, we need to go back in time.

My gran on my dad's side  - 'Granny Annie', we called her, to differentiate her from "Grandmother': the battle axe who spawned my mum - had always claimed she had psychic powers. No one else really believed her, but, for some reason, I did. Maybe add "gullible" to my list of weaknesses if you're keeping any kind of log on me.

Granny Annie had "the visions", she told me on more than one occasion. They weren't frequent, but they were apparently pretty intense, and the side-effect would usually be a massive headache for several days. The fact these often coincided with her whisky benders was probably slightly related, but she would deny that until the cows came home.

She claimed she'd watched her own meet-cute with my Granda in high definition months before she even knew him (and presumably decades before high definition televisions even existed). She'd also pretty much witnessed the entire story of her life before it happened. "It's taken the fun out of the whole thing a little," she admitted once. "It would be nice to be surprised once in a while."

And when I was a pre-teen, she told me she'd had a vision about my own soul mate.

I took it with a pinch of salt, of course, at the time. I was approximately eleven years old and not even remotely interested in boys yet. They were boring and smelly and annoying, and the idea of even having to go near one, let alone - blurgh! - do "dirty stuff" with them was just revolting. So my granny telling me that I was going to be swept off my feet by a mysterious boy who appeared as if from nowhere didn't exactly impress me much, and I barely paid attention to her.

Then, several years later, Eddie entered stage left, and I realised Granny Annie was right, after all . . . Eddie must be my mysterious boy, the man from her vision. 

Or so I thought.

Until sometime last year, when I told my granny that Eddie and I had finally properly split up. "There's no going back now," I told her sadly. "I know you thought we'd be together forever, but I just don't love him anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Granny Annie's eyes had narrowed in confusion. "When did I ever say that?"

"You saw Eddie in your vision - my soul mate?" I prompted her.

"You thought Eddie was your forever love?" She scoffed as realisation clearly dawned on her. "Not a chance. That . . . Arsebiscuit was most definitely not the man in my vision."

"So who was it?" I asked, shocked by this revelation.

She snorted dismissively. "I canny actually mind the exact details now, hen. You should have asked me for more information at the time if you were that eager to know."

It seemed there was only so much space in my granny's brain to store her visions, and she'd apparently taped over the one pertaining to me. Useful.

At least now, though, I felt completely validated in fully relegating Eddie to the bin. He was not my destiny. He was not my meant-to-be. He was merely a mistake I'd been making for way too long.

Although, as I mentioned before, there was still the occasional slip-up. Girls have needs too, and Eddie knew my body better than anyone else. He was my first, after all - and currently, he still remains my only. I tried to resist, but sometimes I craved the intimacy my vibrator just sadly wasn't equipped to give me. (Someone really needs to work on that, by the way.)

Anyway, I meandered along in life, happily single with the occasional Eddie shaped blip . . . Until March 24th, 2023. 

That was the night that he appeared in my life. Mystery Guy Number One. Or Jay, as he called himself.

It was a busy night in the local. Apart from the bar within The Thorne Inn, the Village Arms was the only drinking establishment within several miles, so it tended to get a tad crowded at the weekend.

I'd, of course, frequented it since I was old enough to drink. I knew all of the staff, and the majority of the customers . . . It was basically a Scottish version of the pub in "Cheers" without the studio audience and toxic Sam/Diane relationship. Everybody knew your name, and they were (usually) always glad you came.

Pretty much anything of note that happened within those walls became village legend. Remember that time Ryan Thorne got ridiculously drunk and spent the entire night telling anyone who would listen his entire backstory with Iona, and basically made it glaringly obvious he was completely in love with her? Or who could forget the truly terrible occasion when Granny Annie was on one of her aforementioned benders and decided it made good sense to jump onto the bar and attempt a strip tease. (Thankfully this was way before my time, but the story lives on.)

Anyway, on that night, I was gasping for a wine and a big plate of chips. And he materialised next to me at the bar just as I was stuffing four or five chips into my mouth at the same time. Not my finest hour, admittedly. But he actually seemed charmed.

"Are you taking part in some sort of chip-eating contest?" He asked me, bright blue eyes twinkling. "How do I sign up?"

I choked on a laugh, as well as my chips. "I gave up junk food for Lent," I explained, raising my glass of wine to wash the chips down. "I also gave up wine. And I finally cracked."

"So,  I guess tonight you've given up . . . Lent?" He smirked, and it was adorable. He was adorable. Dark hair, glowing skin, curling eyelashes. He was gorgeous, in fact.

And he'd just appeared, as if from nowhere . . .