That’s not at all what I want from my life. Yes, I want kids, but I also still want to practice medicine even if it’s part-time. Why can’t I do both?
9
Luca
“I’m so sorry, but it’s tradition,” Lilly apologizes for the hundredth time.
“It’s just dinner at a pub. How bad could it be?”
Her eyes widen. Is that fear that I see behind those blue eyes?
“It will be an experience.” She gives me a wary smile. We’re currently standing in the snow out in front of the village pub. It’s Christmas Eve, and apparently, it’s tradition in the village to all come down to have dinner at the pub.
“Like, everyone,” Lilly said.
There should be about a hundred people there, but standing in front of the small building, I don’t understand how that many people can fit inside.
“Stick close to me. Don’t answer any questions you don’t feel comfortable with. Tell them to keep their noses to themselves, or even better, pretend you don’t speak English.”
“Why would they be giving me their noses?” What an odd term.
She laughs. “No, they don’t give you their noses. Just saying that they’ll try and stick their noses into your business. They want all the gossip.”
Right. I understand. Little does Lilly know that I have dealt with people like that all my life. I know how to handle gossips.
“Are you ready?”
It sounds like we’re about to blast off on a mission to Mars with the serious tone in her voice. But she grew up here, so I guess she knows what we’re in for, so I brace myself.
Lilly pushes the large wooden door open, and the once-noisy pub falls silent—all heads turn and stare at the intrusion.
“Is that Lilly Simpson?” A big, balding man makes his way over from the bar.
“It’s the one and only.” She smiles at him, then gives him a big hug. He picks her up off her feet and swings her around. Lilly’s laughing, her giggles filling the old pub.
“Yer back from saving the world.” The man’s accent is so thick, it’s making it hard to translate.
“I am, I am. Missed you all too much.” The room erupts into laughter at Lilly’s joke. I can see she is well-loved by the village.
“And who’s the young Jimmy wit ye,” the old man asks.
“My name is Luke, not Jimmy.” I hold my hand out to the old man, who just stares at it for a couple of moments before taking it in his meaty paw and shaking it to death. He bursts out laughing, a deep belly laugh, and the whole room erupts in unison. I think the joke has been lost in translation because I don’t get it.
“Jimmy is the Scottish word for man,” Lilly translates for me.
Oh, I see, and I give the old man a smile.
“I’m Wallace, ah ain this pub.”
Okay, that can’t have been English, so I look to Lilly for help.
“Wallace owns the pub.” The old man is puffing out his chest while slowly breaking my hand.
“It’s nice,” I tell him, looking around at the establishment. It’s not really where you would find me normally, but it has a kind of rural charm about it. The dark wooden beams, the stone floor that’s covered in old, well-worn rugs, and there are leather bar stools around the bar. Old photographs of Scottish towns line the tartan wallpapered walls. An old stag head sits proudly on one wall, a stone fireplace sits across another. There’s a scattering of leather booths filled with people, candles flickering in the middle, giving it a rugged kind of ambiance. There are more wooden tables scattered around, all set for dinner, with people of various ages dining, and they’re staring right at me. Some with curiosity, some with indifference, and even some with disdain. I’m guessing they aren’t fond of outsiders.
“Luke’s Contessa’s nephew.” Lilly sticks with the same lie she told the other day.
“Och, Contessa, she was a bonnie lassie,” Wallace tells me. “God rest her soul.” I understood those words and move my attention to the floor in respect.
“We met briefly at the funeral. Lauren has asked him to come out for the holidays to look after the cottage while she and Alistair went on holiday.” This all sounds pretty close to the truth.
“She went to see you. Why are you not there?” a woman pipes up from the corner.
“That’s because I came home to surprise her, Seonaid,” Lilly tells the woman. “And she went to Africa to surprise me… a series of unfortunate events.”
They all nod at her comments.
“But what about that young man you were dating… the doctor?” another woman in the corner asks.
Lilly visibly stills, being put on the spot like that in front of everyone can’t be easy. I place my hand on the small of her back, and Wallace eyes me suspiciously. “Unfortunately, Rob and I are no longer together.” There are gasps from the captive audience. “He wasn’t at all who I thought he was.”
The women seem to all nod in understanding.
“Ne’er liked him anyway,” replied Seonaid, who I remember Lilly telling me was the town gossip. Then she adds, “Thought he was too good for folk like us,” she adds.
I hear murmurs from the people filtering through in agreement.
“Is he yer Jimmy?” she asks.
“No, Seonaid, he isn’t my new man. We’re just friends.”
I’m pretty sure we’re not ‘just friends.’
Lilly’s cheeks are red from the interrogation.
“He’s very cute,” another lady pipes in.
“Wynda, behave,” Lilly scolds the old lady with the bright blue curly hair, who winks at me.
“I wouldn't behave with him in my cottage.” The women all squeal with laughter at the old lady’s brazen remarks.
“Italians make good lovers,” a lady from behind the bar adds.
“All right, Donna, am standin’ rite ‘ere,” Wallace says to the woman.
“We Scots make the best lovers, dear.” She blows the giant man a kiss, he rolls his eyes but winks back at her.
“Noo, c’mon, let’s git ye a drink,” Wallace says,
