Winston waved me off at the gates and I took off for another expedition. As time went on, his goodbyes became shorter. His once ‘good luck’s’ were now ‘take care’s’ – and no matter how many times I’d reminded him that he was indeed permitted to call me by my first name, he had forever stuck with Ms. Croft after wishing me well.
I’d never believed in four leaf clovers, rabbit feet or lucky horseshoes – I made my own luck. I’d always given myself credit for where it was due; if I didn’t believe I could do it, who would? I couldn’t rely on luck to get me out of the situations I’d found myself in.
My wits had to be razor sharp, my senses were heavily relied on – listening would overtake looking. There were times where I had escaped many near-death experiences by the skin of my teeth, but I had to keep going. The goals were always far too great to stop and hope someone else would save the day. My only saviour was myself.
I gave Winston a gloved wave back through the window as I sped off down the driveway, leaving gravel and dust dancing in my wake. I didn’t have to be a psychic to know that he would be going back into the Manor shaking his head with a smile. Although he’d rarely vocalise his concerns, I’d spent many a year both in Winston’s care and company to know that he did worry about me incessantly.
I shook my head to focus; I’d try and send him a postcard at least. However, in the picturesque chambers I’d found myself in in the past, they weren’t always that welcoming to tourists. Good luck trying to find a gift shop towards the exit of an unopened tomb.
The thrill of yet another adventure bubbled within me; the swirl of excitement ignited a fire in the pit of my stomach just like it always had. There was no such thing as a linear path in this profession – I simply had to remain focused and trust my instincts. Ultimately easier said than done, but luck wasn’t required. Just me.
Victoria Pheasey 