A Tartan

This Brocade is by Jim and used the words Terror and Worry.

Jim Gilmore had been drinking. It wasn’t often he was able to afford the quality of Scotch that was available at the pub on High Street in Edinburgh. He kept buying for Liz Coates. He had met her on the University’s charter flight over from Toronto. She had seemed like a good time girl on the flight, and he was pleased when he ran into her on High Street. He was also pleased when she had accepted his offer of a drink. He had already downed a few and was happy for her company. After a couple of drinks, Liz had suggested they go for a walk. She wanted to walk up to Arthur’s Seat outside the town. It was supposed to have a beautiful view of the Firth of Forth as well as Edinburgh Castle. It did. He had spread the tartan blanket he had bought on Princes Street for his mother in a lea that seemed sheltered from both the castle and the path to the top of Arthur’s Seat. He then proceeded as if they were both on the same page.

But they were not.

He had slid his big hand inside her blouse and stroked her breast. He thought she had feebly tried to push it away. She was very frightened. She had never been with a man before. Jim moved his big hand onto Liz’ lap and felt the new paisley skirt she had bought yesterday. “Don’t, Jim,” Liz begged him. He slid his big hand up under the paisley skirt. “You mustn’t, Jim, you mustn’t.” But neither Jim nor his big hand paid any attention to her. “I’ve got to. I’m going to. You know we got to.” “No, we haven’t Jim. Oh, it isn’t right. Oh, it’s so big and it hurts. You can’t. Oh Jim. Jim, oh. Jim looked up at the castle again. Those people on the ramparts there, had they seen him? There was a middle aged couple slowly making their way up the path to the summit. Had they seen them? All the good double malt didn’t let Jim worry long. He laid back and fell asleep with his mouth open a little. Liz bent over and kissed him on the cheek.  Jim had taken no precautions. She pulled the tartan blanket up over Jim and started back down the path to the town.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.