‘Is this mine?’ I asked, wondering if it was some kind of joke

‘Aye, lovely, isn’t it?’

‘Wonderful,’ I replied in as cheerful voice as possible, ‘Does it have stabilisers?’

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 4

Previously …

‘Erm, you mentioned transport?’

‘Oh yes, come around the back.’

We went along a sandy path and through a gate. I wondered what sort of car it would be, a Mini perhaps or some hot hatchback. A BMW was probably asking for too much…

I looked up and down the service road and couldn’t see a car anywhere. Maybe Angus had gone to fetch it and we’d have to wait for a bit…

Sally went over to a wooden shed that seemed to be in fairly good shape, compared to the cottage, and opened the door.

She beckoned me over and she stood aside.

‘What do you think?’

It was a very pink Vespa scooter. Sitting on the seat was a very pink helmet.

And now the story continues…

‘Is this mine?’ I asked, wondering if it was some kind of joke

‘Aye, lovely, isn’t it?’

‘Wonderful,’ I replied in as cheerful voice as possible, ‘Does it have stabilisers?’

‘Och, you are funny,’ she replied digging me in the ribs.

‘I don’t know how to drive on of these.’

‘It’s ride dear.’

‘Ride?’

‘Yes, you ride one. You drive a car and ride a scooter.’

‘Erm, I thought that I might have a car.’

‘The council isn’t made of money. The previous person to do your job used a bicycle, but we’ve really pushed the boat out on this one and you now have the use of motorised transport.’

‘Oh.’ I replied, not knowing what else to say.

Thoughts of my running about in a BMW were now as far away as my having a hunky boyfriend.

I decided that I should put a brave face on things.

‘It’s a nice colour.’

‘Well, you won’t be missed driving about on that. Now, where that spare helmet…while I dig around for it, why don’t you take it for a spin then you can give me a lift back home?’

I sort of fibbed when I said that I didn’t know how to drive or ride a scooter. When in boy mode, I used to have a small pop-pop motorbike. This was before I was old enough to drive a car. I had passed my test at sixteen by some miracle and therefore I was licenced to drive this pink thing without L-plates. However the gears were different on the scooter, as was the shape and size of the thing, so I was a bit wary about trying to ride it.

Still, it was what is called a twist-n-go scooter, which basically means that you don’t have to manually change gears, as it’s fully automatic.

‘Should be easy peasy,’ I thought rather optimistically.

I was still miffed about not having a car, but I was trying to be positive.

I pushed the pink thing out of the shed, while Sally ferreted around a big box for a helmet she could use.

I put on the helmet and wondered what I looked like, then shuddered. A pink helmet was something that would not allow me to be inconspicuous. Come to think of it a pink scooter wouldn’t either. I bet that Audrey Hepburn would have balked at using a pink Vespa in Roman Holiday…

I took the scooter off its stand and sat on it. The seat was more comfortable than I thought it would be and that surprised me.

It took a bit of time working out where the controls were, but it all looked fairly simple. The key was in the ignition and I turned it clockwise. A little light came on the speedo thingie so I knew that I was doing the right thing.

I pressed the starter button and the thing jumped forwards and then stalled.

‘Lesson one,’ I thought, ‘hold the brake on, when starting.’

I tried again by restarting the engine and used the twist grip to rev the engine slightly. This was more like it. I gently eased off the brake and keeping the revs up, I started to move forward. I nearly fell off the back as I twisted the acceleration thingie a bit too far. After a moment of heart stopping terror, I managed to get more control and went off down the lane in more or less of a straight line.

Despite being miffed at missing out on a car, I found myself revelling in the freedom of biking — or is that scootering  ¬ ¬— all be it on a pink scooter, wearing a less than stylish shocking pink crash helmet.

I managed to turn around without falling arse over tit, as one of my colourful online friends would have put it and I made my way back to where Sally was standing, helmet in hand with a rather amused look on her face.

I screeched to a stop just in front of her.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it was great,’ I said enthusiastically.

‘You will be able to zip up and down the narrow lanes and go to places where they are too narrow for cars. The campsite is down one of those lanes on the other side of Peploe. There’s a tent and few camping things in the shed where the scooter is kept and you might want to try and stay at the site some time over the next two weeks.’

‘Good idea,’ I said enthusiastically.

‘Lets go for a little ride around so that you can get your bearings and then we’ll find Ma McTavish’s B&B.’

I nodded as that seemed like a good idea to me and without another word, she climbed on the back of the scooter and shouted out directions in my ear.

Soon we were shooting up and down lanes and I was rather enjoying myself. I had forgotten the fun you could have on two wheels and with a throbbing engine under you. In our pre packaged and hermetically sealed lives, we have sometimes lost the ability to just go out there and let ourselves go. On the pink Vespa, all the fun element that had somehow been missing in my life came back to me and I remembered the freedom of the open road and the feeling of wind against my face and body. Mind you, I would have to do something about my skirt, as I was in danger of exposing myself to the local wildlife; maybe capris next time?

After what seemed like just a few minutes but was probably longer, we found ourselves back at the town. Sally who was holding on to me rather tightly, shouted in my ear and pointed the direction she wanted me to take.

The sound of the little engine seemed to echo and bounce against the walls of the houses and bungalows as we went up a side street and then out of town. There didn’t seem to be many flat bits on Muckle and sometimes I felt like we were going up and down a roller coaster, but it was all good fun and I got to see some more of the wonderful and eye catching scenery.

Eventually we arrived at the village of Peploe. At the end of a road of rather pretty multi-coloured cottages was a rather large, white washed house with lots of hanging baskets on the walls and a garden that was a riot of colour. The door and windows were in need of a lick of paint, but the house looked sound enough, if a bit neglected —not good if you wanted to present the place as a decent B&B.

We stopped outside and then Sally got off. I switched the engine off and then everything seemed rather quiet compared to the noise we experienced from Pinky…well I had to name her that, didn’t I?

I took my helmet off and shook out my hair. God knows what it looked like. Helmet hair was not the sort of look I was going for. Also my clothes had a number of deceased and squashed insects from our little journey. I could do with a nice refreshing shower…

‘That was fun wasn’t it?’ said Sally.

‘Yes, it took me back to when I was 16.’

‘Anyway, here it is, your B&B, Ma McTavish’s. She’s a bit erm, straight laced and set in her ways, but underneath all that, I think that she’s not too bad.’

I didn’t like the sound of that but thought that I could win her around with my lovely personality and decent, good manners.

There was a small, almost discrete sign on the whitewashed wall next to the front door that exclaimed that this was indeed Ma McTavish’s B&B.

There was a bell pull next to the door and Sally, erm, pulled it.

I could hear the clip-clop of heels and then the door opened.

‘Ah, Lady Mayoress, nice to see you.’ she said, smiling ingratiatingly.

Ma McTavish was a woman of about sixty with iron-grey hair. She was thin and was wearing a white cotton blouse done up to the neck, knee length tweed skirt and thick grey tights, despite the weather. I felt almost naked compared to her and I wondered if she felt hot under all that winter clothing —she would be cooler in a sauna.

‘Hello Molly, this is the new incomer we spoke of. Did my husband bring her cases?’

‘Yes, they are up in her room.’

‘Well Chloe, I’ll leave you to get yourself settled. Pop up to the house any time, but if I don’t see you before, we’ll meet up at the council chamber tomorrow morning and I can show you your office.’

‘Thanks for all your help.’ I said.

‘Och, you’re welcome hen.’

‘Did you want a lift back?’

‘No, that’s all right, I have to see a few people in the village and then I’ll get a lift from one of them. See you soon.’

With that she left us and I turned to Mrs McTavish.

‘You’d best come in,’ she said, the smile had disappeared from her face as if switched off.

I followed her in and closed the door after me.

I found myself in a small lobby with doors leading off either side.

Mrs McTavish turned towards me.

‘Ms McKerrell…’

‘Chloe, please.’

‘I don’t hold with such familiarity with my guests. As I was saying, before being interrupted, Ms McKerrell, the door to your left is the dining room is where breakfasts are served, promptly at 7.30 am, please do not be late.

‘The door to your left is the guest’s lounge. There is a television in there, but please note that I do not approve of it being too loud and I ask that it be switched off after 10.30pm.

‘The front doors are locked at 11.00pm and I would be seriously displeased if you ring the bell to come in after that time. You should make sure that you leave your room not later than 10.00am in the morning and not return before 3.00pm, this enable us time to clean the rooms. We do not approve of food or drinks being taken up to the rooms. A kettle and one sachet of tea and coffee are provided, but please do not be extravagant in their use…’

‘Is there an en suite?’

‘We do not provide guests with sweets…’

‘I meant en suit bathroom.’

She looked at me as if I had something dirty.

‘We do not have any rooms with bathrooms or showers. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor. There is as slot meter for using the hot water. We expect the bathroom to be kept clean and tidy at all times. Is that clear?’

‘Crystal.’

‘Hmm, please note that smoking on these premises is strictly forbidden and I reserve the right to cancel your booking if any of our reasonable rules are not adhered to. I will now show you your room.’

I followed her up the stairs, which creaked alarmingly, and wondered how many people would stay at a place like this. It seemed to be run on the lines of a 1950’s guesthouse in Blackpool. I said nothing, as I was still processing all the rules and regs that I was supposed to remember.

My bedroom was plainly furnished and nothing matched. It would have been considered the height of B&B luxury in 1954, but everything in the room looked tired, old and in desperate need of renewal. The wallpaper was black with pink roses. The paint on the woodwork was a sort of mustard yellow colour that might have been white at some time, but not in my lifetime.

‘It’s a nice room and I would appreciate if you keep it that way. I’ll leave you now. Don’t forget the doors are locked at 11.00pm and breakfast is at 7.30…’

‘Sharp,’

‘That is correct.’

‘Are there many B&B’s on Muckle?’

‘Some, but we are the most successful, the others are rather shabby compared to our one.’

I looked carefully at her pinched face, looking for any sign of humour or irony in that ridiculous statement, but she seemed to have had some sort of humour bypass operation and seemed deadly serious.

With a nod, she was gone and I could hear her clomping down the stairs, leaving me alone to my thoughts.

My thoughts were not of the pretty kind. If this old battle-axe was anything like the other B&B owners and hotelier’s on the island, even if I managed to get people to come and stay, they would never come back.

I got out my trusty lappy, fired her up and made a few notes about the problem. Next, I decided to change as I was a bit wind swept and insect impregnated from my ride and I smelt of something unmentionable from entering the hovel that was to be my home.

I pulled out my toilet bag from the case and made my way down to the bathroom. If I was expecting a state of the art, up to date, modern bathroom, with power-shower wet room, Jacuzzi bath, wall-to-wall marble and gleaming chrome fittings, I would have been disappointed. My expectations were low and I was fully justified.

It was a dump. The bath was small enough to be a coffin and had stains in the bottom, as did the toilet bowl. The tiles were black and white check and the grouting was desperately in need of re-doing. The lino on the floor was also black and white check and had dents and slight tears in it. There was one frosted window and it was tiny. The place smelt of mould and damp and I hated it.

I was staying in the B&B from hell.

I quickly stripped and then remembered that I needed a 20p coin for hot water — the meter was on a side wall and looked the most modern thing in the room.

‘Blast,’ I murmured, as I opened the door and peaked out. I was naked as the day I was born. The last thing I wanted was to expose myself in front of other guests, so I put the one large, scratchy bath towel around me, covering what modesty I had, and then I ran down the corridor to my room, grabbed my purse, then I scooted back towards the bathroom and then slipped on a loose rug.

I started to fall over, grabbed the nearest thing, which was some sort of hallstand.

In an attempt to stop myself, I managed to push over the stand that just happened to have some horrendous china figures of cats and dogs on it and then landed on my back. There was a crash, bang and wallop and a china cat landed on my head before smashing into a thousand pieces.

There was the sound of steps coming up the stairs. I was a bit dazed. Shaking my head to clear it, I looked up and there in front of me was Ma McTavish and she didn’t look too pleased.

‘Cover yourself up,’ she said.

Looking down, I could see that the bath towel had opened up to reveal my private bits.

I scrambled to my feet, covering myself as I did so. I felt hot and I probably looked as red as a beetroot.

‘What is the meaning of this.’

‘I erm, slipped on the rug.’

‘No one else has managed that in twenty years. You will be charged for the damages.’

‘Sorry.’ I replied.

‘And why are you pretending to be a woman?’

‘I am not pretending.’

‘I was married to Mr McTavish for twenty-seven years and I occasionally saw the thing between his legs, so I know a man when I see one.’

‘No children?’

‘I was not blessed with children. That is beside the point. You dress as a woman but have male parts.’

‘I am trans-gendered.’

‘You mean a pearvert?’

‘No I do not mean a pear…I mean pervert. I am transitioning into a woman.’

‘That is not allowed.’

‘I can do what I like; anyway, what do you mean by saying that its not allowed?’

I was getting a wee bit annoyed by her now. Under my normal calm, almost serene exterior, I have my ancestors’ hot Scottish blood.

‘I will not have my guest exposed to…to…to such depravity.’

I was getting hot under my collar, or would have been if I was wearing one.

‘Tough, you old cow. I am a woman whether you like it or not and the last thing I want to hear is your low, bigoted opinion about something that you evidently know nothing about.’

She looked at me as if one of her guests had turned around and bitten her.

‘You can’t say that to me!’

‘I just have.’

I stood there and fumed. Then before she could say anything else, I continued.

‘I will not stay in this place if it’s the only B&B on the island. I will take my things and leave immediately.’

‘No one else will have you, not when I tell them what you have done to my lovely home.’

‘Lovely home? The bloody place is a disaster. There are mud huts up the Zambezi that are better than this.’

‘How dare…’

‘Oh, shut up.’

I turned to go back to the bedroom and then remembered my clothes in the bathroom.

I padded back to the bathroom, carefully avoiding the smashed china, and grabbed my clothes and then returned to my room. All the time she followed me saying things like, ‘we don’t want your sort here,’ and ‘disgusting,’ and, ‘depraved.’

I switched off, not really listening to the bile coming out of her mouth.

‘There are no refunds,’ she finally said, spitefully.

I slammed the door in her face, quickly dressed in clean clothes, I had some pink shorts and a white strappy top and I wore those, as they were the most practical things that I had and were ideal for riding my scooter.

I repacked my case, then picked up my rucky, put my laptop and other personal things in it like spare nic’s and then left the room.

She was standing outside the room and was just about to start again so I just held up my hand.

‘I will send someone to pick up my case, if anything is missing, I will inform the police. I will be reporting you to the council and probably to the Equality and Human Rights Commission. Good day to you.’

That shut her up and she neglected to follow me. As I walked downstairs and out into the sunshine, I realised that Mrs McTavish would not include me on her Christmas card list and I was pretty OK with that.

I got on the scooter, put my helmet on and then pondered what I should do now, as I had nowhere to stay and felt a bit like Little Orphan Annie.

I could have phoned Sally or Angus but I didn’t want to make waves just yet. I had met a few bigoted people in the past and I realised that I would never make everyone like me. I would just have to make the most of it and hope that my winning personality and charm would shine through and not be extinguished by people like Mrs McTavish.

I started Pinkie and rode away from The B&B that Time Forgot and made my way through the village and out into the country. I had no idea where I was going, so I just let the little scooter have her head and I just went along for the ride.

I went up and down a few steep hills, all the time the mountain was to my left. There weren’t many people about and I expected that, as this wasn’t London and the population was sparse at the best of times.

I turned left down a lane for no particular reason except that it was there. The lane narrowed until it was little more than a single track, but that didn’t stop me from continuing.

It was still warm, although the heat of the day was now fading. The sun was getting lower, so I would have to make my mind up as to where I should go. I didn’t fancy sleeping on the beach to find myself waking up as the tide came over me or crabs started to nibble my toes…

I sighed; my overactive imagination would be the death of me.

I couldn’t see much to the side now as high hedges hid my view. I knew that I was getting close to the sea again. That was no surprise on a small island.

I had a full tank of petrol and that was good. Imagine running out there, when there was no phone signal and little chance of help just turning up.

I topped a hill and suddenly I was out in the sunshine again. Ahead was a sandy bay with a lovely sandy beach. On the horizon were a few low islands. The sea was calm and the sky blue. This was Scotland for goodness sake, not the Caribbean. Where were the cold winds, the rain, Scottish mist and polar bears (joke)?

The lane stopped at the beach and I got off the scooter, put her on her stand and then, after taking off my helmet and leaving it on the seat, I went over to the beach. I took off my sandals and walked down to the shore.

The sand was warm on my feet as it trickled through my toes. Walking down to the water, I dipped a toe in and then gave a minor shriek. The sand might have been warm, but the sea was freezing!

I followed the shoreline to the edge of the bay where the rocks were. Then I sat, my back up against a rock and looked out to sea.

I recalled what that horrible woman had said to me and I suppose reaction set in as suddenly I started crying.

I wasn’t as tough as I thought I was.

I sat there feeling sorry for myself and not quite knowing what to do. I couldn’t sit there all night, no matter how peaceful and idyllic it was. I knew how quickly the weather could change in this part of the world; one minute almost tropical and the next minute, storm and tempest.

I took a tissue out of my pocket wiped my eyes and blew my nose, making a slight honking noise. That made me feel better somehow and I was in a better frame of mind now to make decisions. This girl was not for quitting!

I was looking at a couple of seagulls fighting over the remains of some sort of fish and then, close to my ear was a loud meeooing sound.

I nearly jumped out of my skin and stood up suddenly. Wheeling around, there was the cutest little seal pup you could see, all big eyes and lovely soft fur, sitting on a flat rock not ten feet away from me. He or she was looking at me as if I was his/her mummy or something.

‘Hello little one,’ I said, forgetting my troubles in an instant, ‘where’s your Mummy?’

All I got for that question was another Meoow sound and some heavy, doe eyed looks.

I sat by it and made cooing noises. My heart melted, I wanted it as a pet so that I could cuddle and play with it and…

‘Arr, arr, arr.’

Mum had arrived at the scene from behind a large rock and she was a big girl, still sweet, but perhaps not quite as cuddly.

I stood up and brushed the sand off my shorts. Mum and baby disappeared behind a rock and I had still had not made my mind up as to what to do. Should I go and see Sally or maybe visit a few B&B’s or hotels and throw myself on their mercy?

I shook my head. I didn’t want to have another ‘incident’ with less than friendly landladies and I also did not want to bother Sally or Angus. I was, I suppose, as stubborn as a mule and I wanted to be independent in mind, spirit and body. That meant that I had to make my own decisions and not rely on others.

I looked out to sea where the sun was now getting lower. Another thirty to forty minutes and then it would give up for the day and disappear over the horizon. I would have loved to have stayed there and seen the sunset in all its glory, but I had things to do and places to go, but where?

On an impulse, I decided to go back to the cottage where, hopefully, would be my home when all the repairs were carried out. I would try to make a room habitable or something…

Soon I was back on the road. I am blessed with a good sense of direction, and it didn’t take long for me to reach Peploe and then, via the service road, I was back at the cottage, which, by the way, was called Seashell Cottage. It was called that because there was a pattern of seashells with that name embedded on the wall.

I put Pinkie to bed in the shed and then went over to the cottage. I had a key and I unlocked the door. I fully expected a stampede of animals to charge by me, but all was quiet.

Going in, I switched on the light, as it was rather gloomy and then had a bit of a walk around. The smell was still awful and the place in a complete mess. The kitchen was a nightmare of dirt, grime and greasiness, the lounge, full of animal poo and dried wee and the single bedroom dark was depressing and smelly. There was a bed in there, but the stains on the mattress made me shudder.

Then there was the scurrying behind the walls.

I didn’t like scurrying.

Scurrying meant little fury animals with sharp teeth that bit and scratched…

I hurriedly left the cottage. No way José would I be staying there before complete bio-contamination and pest control had been implemented.

I stood outside to ponder and then a little light-bulb went ‘ping!’ inside my head.

In the shed was a tent.

The lawn at the end of the garden wasn’t too overgrown as Dolly the Sheep had kept it down. I would camp overnight and make fresh arrangements in the morning.

I went to the shed, grabbed the tent bag and then, after several minutes of unladylike cursing, I managed to put the tent up. It was one of those bendy pole type tents, which was relatively easy to put together if you had a degree in engineering. I had a degree in N.A.L. (not a lot), so I had more than a few problems. But I was ready, willing and able and despite breaking yet another nail, the tent was finally up and I had accommodation for the night, all be it a bit wonky and not exactly symmetrical.

The washing facilities comprised of an outside tap and the toilet was behind a bush at the back of the garden. It wasn’t ideal, but it was much better than Ma Mctavish’s house from hell.

The ground was fairly soft and that would have to be my mattress for the night.

I didn’t have much to eat, but I did have a few crumbly crackers and some cheese left from my sea journey, which seemed like ages ago, but was only a few hours ago. I ate them sitting in the entrance to the tent.

‘I will have to look for a takeaway tomorrow,’ I thought.

It was peaceful there in the garden of the cottage overlooking the fine beach and the darkening sea beyond. The sound of the sea lapping on the shore and the gentle breezes all made me feel more contented and calm than I thought that I would be after the day that I had just experienced.

As a child, I went camping a lot with the cubs so I had a fair amount of experience sleeping under canvas, or nylon as this tent was. I wanted to be in the brownies, but I wasn’t allowed…

I yawned as the sun met the sea and reflected gold and red on the water.

I had had a strange day, full of incidents and angst, but despite that, my optimism was returning.

With one final look at the setting sun and the clear darkening sky, I decided to have an early night. I had no clothes other than what I was wearing, but I would manage and then sort myself out in the morning.

As Scarlett said in Gone with the Wind, ‘Tomorrow is another Day.’

---

 
To Be Continued...

Well readers, will Chloe be able to find another place to stay? Can she overcome the prejudices of certain islanders? Is there a McDonald's around the next bay or will she be forced to eat healthy food? Tune in next time and see!

Please leave comments and kudos if you can manage it. Many thanks for the for the virtual chocolate cake and Merlot (the real stuff tastes nicer though)...and thanks for all the kind comments and PM's!