As I sat in the lounge car of the Caledonian Sleeper Train with several other people, I looked out of the window, whilst drinking a cup of steaming hot chocolate, nibbling on a Danish pastry and trying not to get crumbs on my blouse…

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 2

‘Look, I don’t think that this is going to work. Thanks for the interview, but I withdraw from applying for the job.’

With that, I cut the connection and went into the kitchen for a restorative cup of tea.

My hand shook slightly as I made my drink and then went and sat down on my small sofa.

So, yet again my choice to live and be a woman had cost me. I had no friends, my family didn’t want to know me and now to cap it all, I couldn’t get a job where I could start over again and be happy.

Maybe I should cut my hair, have breasts reduction surgery, wear male clothes, talk deeply and be all manly. Perhaps, after that, society would accept me as ‘normal’.

Then I smiled. No I wouldn’t and couldn’t do that. I had made my choices and I would stick by them. I would wait and see. Something would turn up eventually…well I hoped it would anyway.

And now the story continues…

As I sat in the lounge car of the Caledonian Sleeper Train with several other people, I looked out of the window, whilst drinking a cup of steaming hot chocolate, nibbling on a Danish pastry and trying not to get crumbs on my blouse.

It was getting dark outside and the inside lights of the lounge seemed all the brighter for it. The sun was setting in the west and the clouds reflected redly against the fading blue sky.

I was the only person there by myself but I didn’t feel in any way lonely. I was used to being on my own and my thoughts were full of the reasons why I was sitting there enjoying the view and not sat in my flat, as I had on most evening’s for a very long time.

I smiled to myself as I recalled that fateful day which changed the whole direction of my life…

After my disastrous Skype type interview with the Mayor of Muckle, Mr McDougall, I thought that I had, once again, blown any chances of bettering myself and make a new start.

With a heavy heart, I went into the bathroom and did the necessary. Have you noticed that in times of stress, you tended to need to have a wee?

Too much information? Probably right.

Anyway, I returned to the sitting room bit of my bijou des-res, and with a hand that shook slightly, I sat down and had a think. Nothing came of that and after I thunked a bit more, bemoaning my lot and generally feeling sorry for myself, I had managed to calm down a bit and drank my tea.

I had the usual conversation with myself about what I should have said, whether I had been at fault and maybe I should contact him again and try to put matters right.

Then I thought, ‘Sod it.’

I wasn’t going to blame myself for the man’s attitude. I wondered how he actually managed to become a mayor, when he was able to put his foot in his mouth like that.

I shrugged, telling myself to get my act back together and be content with actually having a job, unlike so many people in the country.

After the cup that restoreth, I returned to my bedroom where my laptop sat on my dresser and I went to turn it off.

The Skype thingie was flashing at me:

I went to Decline the call, but my finger was still on the shaky side and I inadvertently clicked on Answer With Video

The webcam flickered into life and there was Mrs McDougall sitting there with Angus hovering in the background.

‘Bugger,’ I said then, ‘oops,’ when I realised that I had just sworn at the Mayoress of Muckle.

‘There you are dear,’ she beamed, ignoring my faux pass and ploughing on as if I had said nothing, ‘look I am sorry that my husband is a moron…’

‘Sally…’

‘Be quiet Angus, you have said enough, I think. Look Chloe, Angus didn’t mean to belittle or embarrass you. You have to remember that he is a man and therefore doesn’t know how to behave in polite company…’

‘Sally…’

‘Quiet Angus. Now dear, I know that you said that you didn’t want the job and I do not blame you after what that big lummox said to you, but he is sorry that he embarrassed you aren’t you Angus?’

‘Yes of course, it’s just…’

‘Be quiet Angus. Between you and me Chloe, he is really a nice person and has no hang ups regarding race, colour, creed or gender, he just puts his foot in it sometimes and his brain becomes disengaged with his mouth. That, combined with a man and watching far too much day time television instead of doing the business of running our community…’

“I say…’

‘Go and make a cup of tea, Angus…’

‘But…’

‘Go…’

‘Yes Dear.’

He sloped off with a bit of a hangdog expression and I couldn’t help but smile.

‘Good, now we can talk. Chloe, did you like the thought of working up here away from the big city?’

‘Yes I did.’

‘Have you read up about where we are and what goes on here?’

‘Yes some of it. It looks like a wonderful place to live and work.’

‘Well the job doesn’t pay much compared to what you are getting now, but it does come with accommodation and transport. The previous woman who ran the tourist office got herself pregnant by an American tourist and has gone to live in Chubbuck, Idaho, wherever that is.’

She told me a lot more about the job, which seemed miles away from what I had been doing up to that point and I really liked the sound of it, but I still had reservations.

‘It does sound like a wonderful opportunity,’ I said, ‘but it would worry me if the attitude to me and my position was hostile.’

‘You mean about you being transgendered?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well there are bigots everywhere, but our community is based on acceptance of others and tolerance. To give you an example, our son is gay and our daughter is a Goth, I think that she’s the only one on the island, but our children are happy to live here and have no problems with others. I don’t think that we have any transgendered people who are out of the closet here, but you never know, as if any of them look as good as you, no one would be the wiser. Mind you, some of the men up here are over fond of the kilt and that is a sort of skirt so I wouldn’t have thought any of them would complain about anyone who liked to wear a skirt regardless of gender. Then there is minister Blaine who wouldn’t be seen dead without his cassock and I think that that is a sort of dress…look, I’m babbling, what do you think, will you come and be part of our community?’

I thought for a moment, trying to get images of kilts and cassocks out of my head. What did men wear under the kilt? I had heard rumours…

I shook my head and tried to get my thoughts back on track.

What did I have to loose. If it didn’t work out, I would just move on. Anything would be better than the life I was experiencing now.

‘So I have passed the interview?’

‘Yes dear of course you have.’

‘What about your husband?’

‘What about him?’

‘Does he say yes?’

‘Of course, why do you think we called you back?’

I looked at her honest face and the twinkle in her eye and then decided without any further procrastination.

‘Okay, I’m your girl.’

‘That’s the spirit!’

I went into work the following day with the intention of giving one months notice. I had written out my letter of resignation, but before I had even taken my jacket off, I was called up to H.R or the Personnel Department as it used to be called. As I walked through the open office, with its banks of desks, there were some people clumped together in little groups in the department looking rather anxious for some reason. I only had thoughts about myself though and I just sort of ignored other people as I went upstairs to the next floor where HR had their offices.

I had the letter of resignation in my pocket and I was looking forward to handing it into the manager, who I didn’t like very much. She was one of those people who were all charm and smarm and you just knew that she was a two faced…

Never mind, it would all be over soon and the petty office politics would be a thing of the past.

I was whisked into The Presence and I sat on the rather hard plastic chair opposite Ms Meynard, who looked slightly dwarfed in her high backed, deeply cushioned, executive leather chair.

‘Mr McKerrell, thank you for coming to see me at such short notice.’

‘I wanted to see you anyway…’

‘Did you?’ she replied without any sign of interest and then continued, ‘I regretfully have to say to you that we are going to have to let you go. Timpson’s have suffered with the recession and we have to look at reducing costs. One of the major costs is staffing. You are one of the higher paid members of staff and as such, we cannot justify your salary, as your department is one of the loss making ones.’

She handed me a large brown envelope.

‘You will see when you read the details of your severance, that we are being more than generous and you will be paid three months salary in addition to the statutory payment, plus payment in lieu of your unused holiday entitlement. In addition, your pension contributions will be frozen so that when you retire you will have payment from the funds already in place, plus any interest accrued. I would like to thank you for the service that you have done for Timpson’s and I wish you all the best for the future.’

She then looked down at a list and ticked me off. She had sounded like she had the same thing to others before seeing me as it had all sort of tripped off her forked tongue.

She looked up at me and smiled; a smile that barely reached her mouth, let alone her eyes.

‘Oh, there was something you wanted to discuss with me?’

‘Never mind.’ I said, still slightly shell-shocked at the verbal diarrhoea that I had just experienced.

‘Good. Now, please sign this form.’

I signed it, without really looking at it. It could have been signing my life away, but when I did finally read it much later, it was just a standard termination letter, approved by the authorities.

‘Could you now go to your office and clear your personal effects. You have half an hour. Please note that your computer password has been changed and that you will not be able to remove any company property or any information belonging to Timpson’s. Have a nice day.’

I looked at her and although I had intended to hand in my notice anyway and I should not have been upset, I felt angry at the way my services had been summarily dispensed with.

I could have said some nasty things. I could have told her that her roots were showing. I might have pointed out that she was the most obnoxious being on earth and that the lowest bug was far better than she was.

I could have slapped her face, scratched her eyes out, kicked her backside from here to eternity, not because I had been sacked, but because of the way she did it and the evident enjoyment that she had for doing what, to most fair minded people, would be an upsetting job.

But I didn’t do anything like that. I was presenting as a male and that would have been a ‘not nice thing to do.’ In girlie mode, I would have perhaps been more, shall we say, aggressive in my reaction to all she had said and done.

Instead, I put my hand out to shake hers.

She looked surprised as she put her hand out.

She had a paper cup full of what looked like vending machine flat cola on her desk and my hand brushed up against it. The drink spilt and just happened to cover her desk and the laptop keyboard with the dark sticky fluid and then splashed against her rather expensive looking skirt and silk blouse.

‘Oop’s,’ I said and then without further ado, I spun on my heels and left her.

Half an hour, to the minute, I had said goodbye to the others, most of which had been sacked like me, and left the building with a small box that had, humiliatingly, been checked by security before being allowed to take.

Previously, I had told Sally McDougall that I was contracted to give a months notice and she was pleased when I told her that afternoon that I could come in a week, after clearing things up at home first.

Even that week, while I was sorting things out like travel arrangements and letting my flat go, the time seemed to drag. I found out as much as I could about Muckle, but strangely, there wasn’t too much information on line about that remote island off the mainland of Scotland. That was strange, as the job of a tourism manager is to put the area on the map and shout about how wonderful the place was.

I assumed that the previous holder of the post wasn’t very good at her job and I couldn’t wait to get my teeth into it.

The flat had been furnished, so all I had to take was a couple of large suitcases a few bags and my trusty, if a bit old, laptop. The some total of my possessions didn’t seem to amount too much, but at least I didn’t have to hire a van to carry my things the hundreds of miles to Scotland.

Finally the day came to leave and I shut the door of my flat for the last time and put the key through the letterbox. It signified the ending of one chapter and the start of another. I had reservations about my decision to move on, but no regrets.

All my male clothes had been handed into a charity shop and I would now only ever dress as a woman and it was liberating, but worrying at the same time. This was the real life test and it couldn’t be more real to me.

I had considered burning my male clothes in some sort of ritualistic gesture, but, I thought, that would be a waste of good clothes and others might benefit form them.

So the clothes went and I presented as a woman 24/7 and it was somehow very liberating. No more would I have to pretend to be someone else. I would be the real me.

Still…

There was always the nagging doubts that came to the fore in times of uncertainty. I knew that I passed quite well, there was always the nagging worry that I would be ‘clocked’. Time would tell if I was right or wrong.

The train travelled through the night at reduced speed and the somewhat cramped sleeper cabin with it’s single bed was functional rather than cosy, but sleeping in the bunk was infinitely more comfortable than trying to sleep on a standard, hard train seat.

I cleaned off my makeup in the harsh light over the small washbasin. I was just wearing my bra and panties and after washing my face and brushing my now, just above the shoulder length blond hair, I looked at myself critically. I was lucky in as much as I had more of my mother’s more delicate features rather than my father’s.

I was quite thin, about five foot six and a bit inches tall with smallish breasts, thanks to the hormone cocktail that I had been using for some years now. I was lucky as I did not have an apparent Adams Apple and that meant that I might get away with not needing an operation to have it shaved off or whatever they did with it.

As I have mentioned before, in my opinion, I seemed to pass quite well and no one had screamed in horror at my being a freak of nature. I felt so sorry for those girls who were in a similar position to me but with bodies that just didn’t pass well. I don’t know how I would have coped with that and I had nothing but admiration for those girls who managed to survive and blossom under that disadvantage.

I stayed awake for some time as the train travelled through the night. I couldn’t stop thinking about my future and what awaited me the following morning. Then the gentle rocking motion sent me into a dreamless sleep, only to be awoken by a tap on the door and a cheery, ‘good morning,’ from the attendant who brought me in my breakfast.

‘Nice morning,’ he said as he pulled up the rollers.

‘Morning’ I said, trying to cover up my rather skimpy pink nightie with the quilt.

‘We will be arriving at Westerton shortly,’

‘Where is that?’

‘Near Dumbarton Miss.’

‘Is that far from Crianlarich?’

‘About a hundred miles.’

‘How long will it take to get to Crianlarich?’

‘About two hours Miss.’

‘What time is it?

‘5.30.’

‘Oh God, that’s the middle of the night.’

‘’You don’t want to miss the scenery Miss.’

‘If you say so,’ I replied as a tray was put on the shelf.

With a cheery, ‘call me if you need me,’ he went off to wake up another victim whilst I washed my face to wake myself up and then sat down to eat my breakfast.

As I finished my last slice of toast, there was an announcement over the speaker system.

‘Approaching Westerham, all passengers are reminded to pick up all luggage prior to disembarking.’

‘That’s pretty obvious.’ I thought.

I sat there, sipping my tea as the train slowed and then pulled into the station. I had forgotten that I was in a state of undress and the train stopped right where a man in a business suit was waiting on platform.

He saw me and smiled,

I smiled back and then realised that I was giving him a bit of a peek show.

‘With a small, ‘eek!’ I quickly pulled down the blind and then decided that as I was now awake, I might as well get dressed.

Half an hour later, I was suited and booted and sitting in the lounge car in a comfortable seat, watching the scenery go by.

I was wearing a nice tailored grey jacket, knee length skirt and a cream silk blouse. Nude tights and black sensible two inch heals completed the look and I felt that I was the business.

I had a cup of coffee on the small table beside me and took the occasional sip. I had sort of woken up properly now and I hoped that the coffee would keep me that way. The train was now stopping at various stations on the way to Crianlarich and it was interesting to note that even at this ungodly hour, people were getting off and on.

I was to change at Crianlarich for the Oban train and from Oban; I would take the ferry to Muckle. I just hoped that the sea was calm as I was, like Nelson, prone to sea sickness (prone being very apt in the circs).

After several stops and some very pretty, if rugged scenery, we arrived at Crianlarich Station. A somewhat remote looking place overlooking some serious looking hills and mountains.

With the help of the rather chirpy attendant, I got off the train with my luggage and was soon left standing there, alone, waiting for my connection.

The platform was empty of passengers and staff and I hoped that my train, which I had been assured would appear within thirty minutes, would actually arrive on time, barring incidents like/sheep/cows/deer on the line.

Coming from London and the heaving masses of people that you couldn’t avoid, I was feeling a bit agoraphobic. There was a little bit too much in the way of wide open spaces and scenery for my liking. Also the air seemed suspiciously fresh and I wondered if it would take long for me to acclimatise to this strange alien environment. I never thought that I would miss the smells of London like the multicultural takeaways and the car and lorry fumes…

I heard the sound of an engine in the distance and then saw that it was a tractor, seemingly going up an almost perpendicular farm track. Sounds seemed to travel great distances over those rolling hills and craggy mountains.

It was a bright sunny day now and I took my jacket off and sat on a station bench that was relatively free of, judging by the size of them, eagle droppings.

I kept glancing at my watch. Had it only been ten minutes since the Caledonian had left me?

I sighed; patience had never been my strong point. I wanted it “here and now” and that had always been my attitude. I loved to be busy, organising and doing things. This enforced wait was getting on my nerves.

I needed to chill out, let it flow, be at one with nature and be laid back.

‘Nope, that ain’t going to happen.’ I thought dismissively.

As I waited for the train, I wondered what Muckle was actually like. There was strangely, very little information about the place on the web. Population details, the name of the one small town and two small villages. The fact that it had nice sandy beaches and the climate being clement, that was about it.

I had read that the population swelled during the summer months, but the figures were vague. The single page muckle.com website was, to say the least, sparce, lacked much information and looked like it had been put together by a thirteen year old as a school project; a failed school project, at that.

Just then, I felt a breath of wind that made me shiver. Looking over to one of the mountains, I saw mist creeping over the still slightly snow capped summit. Then shortly after that, the mist shrouded the mountain and serious looking dark clouds started to cross the sky and cover it at an alarming speed. I didn’t look the look of that and I really didn’t like the sound of thunder that now echoed around me.

I stood up and then almost ran into the station waiting room. None too soon, as the heavens opened up and the winds blew and I could hardly see the end of the platform as visibility was now near to zero.

The temperature dropped alarmingly and I put my jacket back on.

In the gloom were flashes of lightning and the thunder claps were loud and quite frankly, I was close to wetting myself.

I sat (read cowered) down and waited for things to stop. The train was due in five minutes, but for all I knew, there might be landslides, floods and pestilence on the line.

Just then the door of the waiting room opened and someone staggered in. He was wearing a soaking wet, long black oilskin and a cap that said that he was the station master. He dripped onto the brown linoleum and quickly made quite a puddle.

Looking up at me, he said, ‘Nice day.’

‘What?’ I replied.

‘Nice day today, not much rain.’

I looked outside where it was coming down like Noah’s flood. I fully expected the ark to go floating by, with animals two by two…

‘It’s pis...I mean chucking it down.’

‘Och aye, but its no but a wee shower. It’ll pass soon enough. Where are ye heading?

‘Oban, to catch the ferry.’

‘The train’ll be here soon enough.’

We sat there for fifteen minutes. The station master read his paper and sucked smokily on his pipe, just beneath the sign that said No Smoking and I got aquainted with every nook and cranny of the waiting room and the one poster on the wall said Come to Sunny Scotland!.

Outside the rain stopped as if turned off at the tap. The clouds parted like something that Moses would have been involved with, and suddenly, there was sunlight.

The thunder rolled off into the distance, and apart from the wet platform, steaming slightly in the heat, there was little sign of the torrent that we had just experienced.

The station master took off his coat and I saw underneath his slightly shabby uniform. To be honest he looked about eighty and maybe a bit long in the tooth for the job, but I wasn’t going to be ageist about him.

‘The weather seems a bit changeable around here.’ I remarked.

'Aye,' he replied without elaboration.

Just then I heard the sound of a bell coming from the direction of the signal box.

'That'll be your train, only thirteen minutes late,' he said glancing at his pocket watch.

‘Is that good?’

‘As good as it gets,’

We went onto the platform as the train pulled in. The station master kindly gave a hand with my cases and I thanked him for his help as I got on the train.

‘No problem hen.’ He said with a toothy smile and then waved goodbye as the train slid out of the station.

There were only about fifteen people in my carriage, all adults, no children, so I could pick a nice seat. I sat facing the front, as I wanted a good look at where I was going. A few of the passengers looked at me curiously, I assumed that it was because I was sort of dressed for a business meeting rather than casual as they were.

I always liked to look smart and wasn’t into jeans and very casual tops. I suppose that I wanted to accentuate my femininity, but on reflection, I was probably just drawing attention to myself.

The train stopped at a couple of stations, with passengers getting on and off at each one. The scenery was nice and sometimes breath-taking, especially as we followed Loch Awe and the banks of Loch Etive.

All the time, my expectations rose as I wondered what my destination was like. I wasn’t there yet and I still had a trip on the ferry, but thoughts of Muckle and my part in it’s future made me more excited than I had been in a long time.

Eventually, we pulled into Oban Station and with some difficulty and the help of a strapping looking man who probably tossed a few cabers before breakfast every morning, I managed to get my two cases and bags off the train.

I thanked the kind man and then made my way out of the station and then had a bit of a walk to get to the Oban Ferry Terminal. Ten minutes walk got me there and in no time at all, I found myself on the MV Loch Alainn, which went to Barra but stopped on the way at Muckle. The trip would take about three hours and evidently, the weather was calm and I had no worries about seasickness.

I was a bit hungry, so I went into the Coffee Cabin and had a coffee and a sandwich, which was enough to get rid of my pangs of hunger. Being a suspicious person, I wasn’t confident that the smooth crossing promised would actually be like that. I remember as a child going to France on the ferry and we had as full English breakfast in port, only to find that there was a storm of epic proportions, or what seemed like one anyway, as soon as we left the sheltered coast. I have never been a good sailor and I didn’t want to spend three hours heaving in the toilets, thank you very much!

The three hours to Muckle were not boring by any means as I watched the Scottish coast; Loch Linnie and Mull go by. Then we were out to sea proper and all too soon the mist covered hills of Muckle came up on the horizon.

Despite the brightness of the day, Muckle was under a cloud and it appeared to be raining. I hoped that that wasn’t a bad omen for me.

The journey had been exciting, if a little exhausting and this final leg had been wonderful. It felt like I was going to a foreign destination, but of course, Muckle was part of the UK, all be it a somewhat remote one. We passed the small rocky island known as Muckle Flugga with its lighthouse to warn of the treacherous rocks thereabouts and then headed directly for the Isle of Muckle, Flugga’s big sister.

I wanted to use the loo before leaving the ship, so I went in, did my stuff and the prettied myself up. I wanted to make a good impression for my new employers who had promised to meet me when we docked.

Even though I say so myself, I looked rather nice. My jacket and skirt looked immaculate, despite the long journey. My hair was perfect as I had managed to stay out of the wind and I had industrial strength hair spray to keep it in place. I needed to touch up my makeup and I made the minor necessary repairs in just a few minutes.

There was an announcement on the speakers that we would be arriving at the Isle of Muckle shortly and after a final look at myself, I smiled nervously, picked up my cases and bags and went to the exit where foot passengers had been told to assemble.

The ferry was quite full and I fully expected for there to be a mass exodus for those going to Muckle, but there were only two people waiting to get off and they looked like back packers.

‘Strange,’ I thought, ‘where are all the tourists?’

It was the first week in June and I would have thought that there would be a lot more tourists visiting Muckle than two student, backpacker types. The ferry was a roll-on-roll-off one, known sometimes as a RORO ferry. That meant that there were cars on board. So it was possible, if not probable that the majority of visitors to the island would have cars. Mind you, there wasn’t exactly a very extensive road system on the island so I was doubtful that Muckle could take large amounts of tourist cars.

We came ever closer to the island and I could see it a bit more distinctly now. Dark clouds seemed to be sitting over the island and it still appeared to be raining. A few minutes later, that was confirmed and the rain reached us on the ship and it started heaving about a bit.

We were approaching the harbour now, but there was a bit of a swell and the ship started to go up and down in an alarming way. I counted the number of lifeboats nearby and wondered whether I should ask one of the crew members if they had thought that breaking out the life jackets was advisable, but no one seemed as bothered as me and I didn’t want appear concerned.

However if there just happened to be a call for women and children first, I would bravely muscle my way to the front and get the best seat on the lifeboat.

The ship started turning towards the entrance to the sheltered bay, which was the natural harbour leading to the town on the far shore.

Just then a wave crashed against the side of the ship and I was covered in spray. This had the effect of soaking me to my bra and knickers and at the same time, my hair spray gave up the ghost and my hair started to have a life of its own, whipping about my face and getting into my eyes. Where was my emergency scrunchie when I needed it?

I stepped back so that I could shelter in a doorway and didn’t realise that the deck was now somewhat slippery. I slipped over onto my backside. I was wearing two-inch heels, which, on reflection, was not ideal footwear for the conditions. In addition to this, the shoes were slightly too large for my feet, but I loved the style and I just had to have them, despite the distinct possibility of permanent foot damage. As I landed on the cold, hard, wet deck, my legs went up in the air and my shoes flew off my feet and went through a gap at the bottom of the gate where the exit ramps were attached to when in port.

I was helped up by a grinning sailor and just stood there looking and feeling like an idiot. The two other foot passengers, I could see out of the corner of my eye, were tittering for some reason, but I ignored them. We were now through the port entrance and coming closer to the landing stage thingie.

The rain stopped just then and the sun came out. If I had only timed things right, I could have avoided all this…crap.

The wind dropped and the sea was as calm as a millpond now we had entered the harbour.

I would have loved to have time to change into something more comfortable, but I had no time. So there I was, standing by the exit gate looking like someone had dunked me into the sea.

Seagulls were wheeling about and making raucous noises that grated my nerves. I looked up and just then a seagull passed overhead. I saw something white come down and I ducked my head. I felt something wet and slightly warm hit my head and then ooze down the side of my face. With a shaking hand, I felt my cheek and then saw the white with green tinged gunk on my fingers. I could have died with embarrassment.

Everyone’s attention was now on the quay so I grabbed a tissue and tried to clean myself up. It wasn’t successful as all I was doing was spread the mess on my hair and face and doing yet more damage to my once immaculate makeup.

I wanted to go to the loo, to see if I could savage something, anything from the disaster, but I had no time as we now parked up or whatever its called at the quay.

My stockinged feet were freezing cold by now on the metal deck, even though the sun was getting stronger as the clouds started disappearing to the east.

I wondered if I should just go back into the lounge, sit down and forget about getting off the ship, but I was made of sterner stuff than that and with a stiff upper lip, I just stood there, ignoring the strange glances from passengers and crew and just pretended that there was nothing actually wrong.

Ropes were attached to the bollards on the quay, the gate was opened in front of us and a ramp placed up against the deck with a jarring metal clang.

I let the others go in front of me and I sort of trailed behind.

There were some people on the quay, some with luggage, being passengers about to board, no doubt and a few others probably just being nosy and two other people who I instantly recognised as the Mayor and Mayoress of Muckle.

My courage nearly disserted me as I padded down the ramp, my almost bare feet feeling the strain on the hard, bobbly, metallic ramp. I looked and felt a mess. My jacket and skirt were wet and filthy. My tights had holes in them; my hair felt like it had been dragged through a mangle and as for my face, I probably looked like Coco The Clown.

Oh yes, to cap it all, I had broken a nail.

I could have cried and maybe I should have cried, just to help relieve the pressure cooker of my emotions.

But I didn't cry. We McKerrells are made of strong stuff and I would not give in.

All too soon we reached the bottom of the steps. The back packers left me standing there as they went off in their sensible walking shoes.

In front of me stood Sally and Angus McDougall. They were looking all around as if to see the person that they were waiting for.

I gulped, put on my happy face and walked up to them saying brightly. ‘Hi, I’m Chloe McKerrell.’

---

 
To Be Continued...

Well, Chloe has arrived at Muckle, (at last, I hear you cry!). What will she think of the island and its inhabitants and just as importantly, what will they think of her? Tune in next time and see!

Please leave comments and kudos if you can manage it. Still waiting for the chocolate cake and a nice glass of Merlot...thanks for all the kind comments and PM's!