[Late October 2018]
Jak McGee returned home from another fruitless day of job hunting to find four letters waiting for him in his mailbox.

One was from his father. He already had a good idea about what it would say, so he put it to one side. The second was from a recruitment agency letting him know that they would no longer be sending him job vacancy details unless he signed up for their premium service at a bargain $79.95 plus tax per month. The third was a mystery. He thought that he knew the face on the stamp, but wasn’t sure. The envelope had no return address, which also puzzled him. The last was from his alma mater, wondering if he wanted to contribute to their alumni funds. As he was currently unemployed, he ignored it; besides, they’d done zilch to help him since he’d graduated, so they could ‘go pound sand’ as far as he was concerned.

Jak opened the mystery letter after consigning two of the four to the recycling bin. The origin and the lack of a return address soon became clear. It was from a solicitor’s partnership in Edinburgh, Scotland. The letter explained to him that his ‘uncle’ Calum McBride had left him a considerable legacy and that the company would like to discuss it with him in person at his earliest convenience. He laughed at their quaint use of English, ‘earliest convenience’? Who uses language like that these days?

He had to think for a moment. Then he twigged it. ‘Solicitors’ meant ‘lawyers’ in English.

Going to Scotland had always been on his bucket list, but his father, Robert, had always forbidden it with the word, ‘There is nothing there for you, understand!”. It had taken him ages to find that his father had a younger brother, Calum, who lived in Scotland. From his father’s reaction at the time, it was clear that they had bad blood. His father would not talk about it; what was worse, he had forbidden Jak from trying to contact his uncle, but his father, being his father, would not say why Calum was off limits. Calum had now died and left him something in his will.

Jak sat back and looked at the letter from his father, Robert McGee the Third. Jak smiled. Simply going to Scotland might be enough to put his father’s nose so far out of joint that he’d stop trying to get Jak to return home. Jak had resolved a long time before the arrival of the latest letter from him never to return home. If it meant becoming homeless, then it was something that he’d do. Even that was preferable to having his life controlled from morning to night by a man whom he now hated. His words, ‘I did what my father told me to do, and I am not doing so badly now, am I?’”

Jak knew that his father was into a lot of shady stuff. Exactly what he was never able to pin down, but his lifestyle and tax returns didn’t even come close to agreeing. He wanted nothing to do with that sort of thing.

More out of spite than anything, he read the letter from his father. The contents largely echoed their last phone call. All it said in three pages was, ‘When are you coming to work at the family business and remember where the money came from. ’
Jak had never expressed any intention of taking over the business, but his stubborn father had always assumed it. Going from the city of Boston to rural Kentucky would be, in his mind, a huge step backwards as well as very dangerous should anyone discover his innermost secret. The mention of money was a sore point between them. The promise of some money from his uncle Calum could mean that his threats would be a thing of the past.

Since graduating with a Master’s from MIT, his father had been turning the screw in his quest to get his only son to come and work for the family firm. First to go by the board was his monthly allowance. Then, the eviction notices started to come even though he was not in arrears. Money talks, and his father had lots of it, but as usual, it came with serious strings attached. Jak had talked to a lawyer, and after a threat of a harassment lawsuit, the threat of eviction had evaporated. A few cash-in-hand and ‘off the books’ jobs had given him a three-ßmonth breathing space with the rent on the small place that he now called home. So far, he’d resisted selling his one asset, but that time might have come.

Jak had changed a lot since leaving Kentucky. Attending college in New York City and then Boston had broadened his outlook on life. That first week in NYC was his very own ‘Holden Caulfield’ moment. Feelings that had lain dormant for years had come to the surface almost from the first day in the ‘Big Apple’. The new Jak was determined not to return to Kentucky. The letter from Scotland was the perfect opportunity to get away from the octopus-like tentacles of his father’s organisation once and for all.

It was all very well wanting to go to Scotland, but that would take some serious upfront money, money that he didn’t have, and without a proper job, going across the sea to Skye was a pipedream.

His only asset was the ’69 Camaro that he’d lovingly restored while he was in High School. He’d been given it by his grandfather, much to the annoyance of his father. Jak loved driving the car, but he’d put it in storage before starting his master’s degree simply because he didn’t need a car when attending MIT. The storage unit was in Yonkers, NYC, so it looked like he’d have to say goodbye to Boston, at least temporarily. That was something he’d regret, but it was necessary if he was going to find out about this inheritance. The letter made it clear that he needed to present himself at these Law Offices and with appropriate identification for the inheritance to become his. Jak saw this as Calum trying to drive a wedge between him and his father. That would not be a difficult task, given the current standoff between the two. Then he cursed himself. Calum could not drive a wedge from beyond the grave. His father would gloat that he’d outlasted his younger brother for all of one second. Then, he’d return to making money.

A brief email exchange with the solicitors in Edinburgh confirmed that he had to go to Scotland. Jak gave a few possible dates to the lawyer dealing with the estate. From then on, it was down to him.

Jak started to clear out his apartment before heading down to NYC and trying to sell the Camaro. There was a lot of ‘stuff’ still in the boxes that he’d brought up from the Big Apple. He looked at them and decided to have an apartment sale. Each of the twenty-odd boxes held ‘stuff’. He had no idea what was in each one, so he priced them at $20 each, contents unknown. He hoped that someone would take a punt and buy at least a few of them. They all sold within a day once he’d announced it on Craigslist. That money would pay for his trip to New York and a night in a hotel, should he need it.

Ten days later, all that remained were a few clothes and essentials. All the clutter that he’d gathered over the years on the East Coast was gone. If needed, he could simply not return and terminate his lease by letter. The clothes went to Goodwill. His next task was to clean the apartment.

Jak worked all day and only stopped when the sun went down. He looked at the bare fridge and sighed. He’d have to go out for something. The funds from the sale of ‘stuff’ could just about run to a medium pizza as long as he didn’t go overboard with the toppings and still leave him enough money for the bus down to NYC and a couple of nights in a cheap hotel not far from the Airport.

Jak thought about Scotland all day until just before going to bed; he sent an email to Edinburgh confirming that he would be coming ASAP, probably within the week. Then, he composed another email to his landlord, giving notice that he’d be out at the end of the month and was fairly flexible when it came to the final inspection, but it had to happen before the last day of the month. That was filed away, ready for the day that he felt deep down in his gut would come sooner rather than later. That was it; he’d started to burn his bridges when it came to coming back to the land of his birth.

His father was a control freak when it came to his only son. Jak had experienced freedom in New York and Boston and was not going to give that up without a fight. Not having any ties to one location, he could return to just about anywhere in the 50 states and try to start again. That was his ‘Plan Z’ option. Plan ‘B’ seemed to be going to Scotland and not coming back.

The recent reports in the media about his father donating a large sum of money to a very right-wing Republican who was running for Congress worried Jak. That very candidate had recently spoken at a gathering where he told the world that everyone in the LGBT community were paedophiles and groomers. He told those present that he would make it his life’s work to get legislation passed that would send every one of them to ‘conversion camps’ and, if that failed, commit them to mental institutions for the rest of their hopefully short lives. He received a four-minute standing ovation at the end of his speech. The threat to everyone he’d walked with on the Pride march was as clear as day is from night.

Jak had known for well over a decade that he was part of the LGBT community. For better or for worse, that was how he’d been built.

So far, he’d not come out to anyone, but it was becoming harder and harder to live the lie that he had been for the past ten years. He had taken part in the Boston Pride march and events. For some reason, it didn’t matter what you looked like just for that one week a year. For the first time in his life, he felt at home and amongst like-minded people.

The next stop for Jak was New York City. To save money on a hotel, he took a bus that left Boston at 1:00 am the next morning. He managed to get a few hours of sleep on the trip, which, to him, was a bonus. Anything that would save him money was a bonus as far as he was concerned. He arrived at the Port Authority in NYC just after 06:00. He had a quick wash and brush-up in the terminal and breakfast at a nearby Deli.

Suitably refreshed, he headed for Yonkers and the storage unit.

Jak opened up the storage unit and breathed a sigh of relief. The Camaro was still there. He whipped off the dust cover and smiled. To him, it was a sign of beauty. Although he’d not driven it any distance for well over two years, it looked like it was ready to drive off into the sunset with his hair streaming in the wind. It wasn’t a bet he could dream of.

Jak had relied on the four flat tires, the car being up on bricks, and no battery in the lockup, to deter any casual thieves, but you could never predict human frailty. Jak had six hours to get her running and legal again before showing it off to a prospective buyer in Islip on Long Island, thanks to an ad he’d placed on an internet site.

Thankfully, he’d made the cab that he’d taken from the Port Authority Terminal to the lockup stop at a battery shop on the way. He’d phoned ahead and ordered a new battery for collection that morning.

Jak soon had the new battery fitted, and the beast was purring away nicely. With 12V power available, he was able to inflate the flat tires. Jak was sad that it would be soon in someone else’s hands, but it had to go if he was to fly to Scotland this side of 2024.

The jack that he’d used to put it up on blocks was in the trunk. One by one, he pumped up each corner, removed the bricks and lowered it onto the ground. After a quick polish, she was ready to go.

His first stop, after a short run to check everything out, was the nearby NY State DMV Inspection Station. For the past three years, this had been almost as far as the Camaro had been driven. Jak was sad because this was the last time ‘his baby’ would be getting inspected with him behind the wheel.

“How come you have only travelled twelve miles for the second successive year?” the inspector asked.
“I’ve been working away from the city in a place where it is easier not to have a car.”

“Eh?”

Jak thought on his feet.
“I’ve been working in Scotland. They drive on the wrong side there, and many of the streets are too narrow for this beauty,” he said, remembering some scenes from the movie ‘Trainspotting’.

The inspector signed off the car for another year.
“See you next year?”

Jak just smiled back at him and went to pay the registration fee.

Luckily, it was still early, and the traffic going out to Islip was light, and Jak was able to enjoy his last drive in the Camaro. Once again, thanks to an online marketplace, he’d agreed to sell the Camaro to someone who lived on Long Island.

An hour later, he was on an LIRR train heading back towards the city. A very large wad of notes was burning a hole in his pocket. With any luck, he could get to Kennedy, pay for his ticket and fly off that night. His fallback was having to suffer a couple of nights in an airport hotel.

His luck was holding when he started looking at flights to the UK. While the single flight to Glasgow was full and with a long ‘standby’ list, he was able to get on an early flight to London’s Heathrow Airport. It wasn’t ideal, but at least he would be on the right side of the Atlantic Ocean.

“You had better get moving,” said the woman at the ticketing desk.
“Your flight is boarding.”

Her words shook Jak out of a small feeling of complacency that had set in when he handed over a load of money for the flight to London and back.

Jak made it by the skin of his teeth. As the sun set, he watched the NYC skyline disappear behind him. It was then that the nerves set in. Uppermost in his mind was the question, ‘Was he doing the right thing?’. It was too late to back out now, or at least until he arrived at Heathrow. Buying a ticket, even in coach, at such a late stage had put quite a dent in his funds, and he still had to travel the 400-odd miles to Edinburgh.

He put some earplugs in his ears and tried to get at least a few hours’ sleep.

Thanks to, or not, depending on your point of view, to the power of the Jet Stream, the captain announced that they’d be landing almost an hour early. Zero dark at 4:30 am or 11:30 pm, according to his body clock, was not an hour that he enjoyed. He would much rather be tucked up in his bed back in the Waltham suburb of Boston. Streams of bleary-eyed passengers queued up for Immigration. Jak and the rest of his flight had gotten lucky thanks to the tailwind and didn’t have to queue up for very long.

“What is the purpose of your visit, Mr McGee?” asked the Border Control agent.

“I’m here to tie up the affairs of a recently deceased relative in Scotland.”

“I hope you are successful,” said the Immigration Officer as he stamped his passport.

“The thing is that I have no idea about how to get to Edinburgh.”

The man chuckled.
“Airport Information can help with that. They are on the arrivals concourse after baggage reclaim.”

“Thanks. You have been very helpful.”

Jak collected his bag, and after consulting with the people at the Information Desk, he followed the signs to the Tube and Railway Station. Once there, he bought a ticket to Edinburgh or rather failed. He only had USD as currency, and his one credit card was maxed out. With a shake of his head, he went back to the terminal, which was, by now, much busier with people arriving from flights and others waiting to greet friends and loved ones.

On the concourse, he easily found a place to change money and, armed with the cash, he returned to the ticket counter.

A short train ride took him to Paddington Station. A ride on the Subway took him to King’s Cross. His train was due to leave in twenty minutes. That gave him just enough time to buy some breakfast from one of the shops on the concourse before settling down into his seat for the four-hour journey north. The breakfast was just a Danish and some Coffee. It would have to do for now. He resolved to get some decent food inside him before the day was out.

The train, despite the relatively early hour, was pretty busy. To his annoyance, a woman with a small child came and sat opposite him. All he wanted was some sleep. He closed his eyes and prayed for the god of dreams to come quickly.

Jak was feeling a lot more alert when the train slowed for Newcastle. The woman with the child, who, to his pleasant surprise, had been very quiet for the entire journey, left the train. From then on, he had the table to himself. His seat on the right-hand side of the carriage gave him the perfect view of the Northumbrian Coast. That view and a perfectly calm North Sea allowed him to even briefly think that he might like living in that part of the world.

Then, and all too soon for a weary Jak, the train was slowing for Edinburgh. His first thought was the absence of skyscrapers apart from a few fairly small Tower Blocks well away from the city centre. The New York and even the Boston skyline is dominated by skyscrapers. Jak saw the spires of Churches and the Gothic style of the hotel that was adjacent to the station. The second thing he observed was the accent. New York has a definite accent and dialect, as does Boston. While they were different from the voice of his home state, they were nothing like as different to what he was hearing people all around him speak. After less than 10 minutes in Scotland’s Capital, he knew that some of the locals spoke in ways that would take a great deal of getting used to.

Soon, he found himself on Princes Street and looking for Queen Street. A city map told him that it was a few blocks north. After forgetting about the traffic driving on the wrong side of the road and almost walking off the sidewalk into the path of a bus, he resorted to obeying the crossing lights like most other people. His rumbling stomach reminded him that he’d not eaten the food that he’d bought in London. The Lawyer could wait at least for a while. A familiar sign drew him in, and armed with a Big Mac, Fries and a Coffee, he emerged into the lunchtime crowd.

Princes Street Gardens provided a welcome green space in the middle of the city. A lot of workers were using it for their lunch breaks, so he followed suit. There, he got his first view of the imposing castle perched high on a big black rock. He’d never been in a city even remotely like this one. Something inside him said that this was where he was meant to be.

A loud bang coming from the direction of the castle brought his daydreaming to an end. He looked around, and only a few of the others in the Gardens had even noticed it. Everything must be ok. If no one had run out of the park screaming or dropped to the ground in mortal fear for their life, then everything must be cool.

Growing up in a place where many people carried guns with them 24/7, New York and Boston were different, but this place was strange. Being in a place where being armed was just not a thing would take some getting used to. That aside, he already felt at home in this strange but beautiful place.

Feeling suitably refreshed, he went in search of MacKay, MacKay and Browne, Solicitors. He found their nameplate on the front wall of a Georgian building. He went inside and mentally groaned. The offices of MacKay, Mackay and Browne were on the third floor. As he was about to turn away, he counted the floors. He reset his mind. He was to go up to the fourth floor. He muttered to himself, ‘These crazy people need to learn to count!’

Slightly out of breath from lugging his suitcase up four flights of stairs, he paused outside the offices that were his destination. Once more, he cursed the lack of an elevator.

A few minutes later, Jak pushed open the door to the Solicitor’s Offices. He found a woman sitting at a desk operating a computer.

“Well, helloo! Can I help you?” she asked in an accent that seemed to be less brusque than some of the ones from the Train Station. Her smiling face brightened up the otherwise pretty, dark and dismal office.

[to be continued]