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!

I was dripping slightly from places where I didn’t ought to drip and strands of hair were plastered against my face. My nose was running and I wiped it with my arm; oh, very ladylike — not…

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 3

Previously …

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.’

And now the story continues…

I was dripping slightly from places where I didn’t ought to drip and strands of hair were plastered against my face. My nose was running and I wiped it with my arm; oh, very ladylike ¬—not.

Talking of faces, I looked at theirs and I realised that I may not have been making a good first impression.

I had done everything possible to look cool, efficient and dare I say it, trá¨s chic, but all that was gone now. I looked like a drowned rat and I wasn’t a very happy bunny.

My stockinged feet felt cold and uncomfortable against the hard concrete of the quay, jetty or whatever the damn thing was called.

I sniffed, wondering in passing if a dose of double pneumonia was coursing through my body due to the dunking and extremes of weather that I had just encountered.

‘Hello,’ said Angus McDougall somewhat doubtfully, ‘erm, are you erm, Chloe?’

I looked at him and he looked at me. I could see that I wasn’t quite what he had been looking for.

So much for me being the calm, collected woman of the world; ready to be cool, efficient and professional and be a force to be reckoned with in the cut-throat world of tourist development.

It was all too much and I burst into tears.

‘Angus, you beast,’ scolded Sally as she rushed up and hugged me.

‘What have I done now?’ asked Angus.

’If you don’t know now, you never will. Go and get the car.’

‘Yes Dear,’ he sighed.

After extensive hugs from Sally and the occasional ‘there, there, there’s,’ from her, I soon calmed down.

After the judicial use of several tissues in the Ladies, I was able de-raccoon my face a bit and look, more or less, human again. I scrunchied my hair so that I didn’t look quite like it had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

I still looked a mess, just less of one and I couldn’t wait to have a shower and change of clothes, but that was on hold. Luckily I had some sandals in my shoulder bag that I had forgotten about and I with a sigh, I slipped my feet into them. At least I could now walk about now with being crippled.

I had been told that I would be going back to Sally and Angus’s home for a wee bite to eat first. ‘Maybe,’ I thought, ‘I can change properly there.’

To save the car upholstery, I sat in the back of the car on a car rug that smelt suspiciously of dog.

Angus drove and Sally was in the front with him.

No one spoke and I thought that I understood why. I had a feeling that I was not what they were after. I mean, what sort of idiot gets themselves soaked through; loose their best pair of shoes in the sea and presented themselves for inspection looking like a refugee from a shipwreck?

To take my mind off my woes, I looked out of the window at the scenery going by; well it was us going by, not the scenery, as it stayed put, but you know what I mean.

We soon left the quay and the scene of my humiliation and proceed up a hill. To my left, I could see the sheltered bay and the ship moored at the jetty. It occurred to me that no cars had gotten off the ship when we were parked - sorry moored there. I didn’t notice it at the time as I had other things to think of, but the large stern doors had not opened and even now, as I looked down, the ship looked like it was making ready to leave for its next port of call.

So, only a few passengers had left when I did and no cars came off. This was hardly the thriving holiday destination that I had wished for. Still, maybe that was why I was here. I was to improve things for the tourist industry. An industry that looked to me as if it were non-existent. Whether I would still have the opportunity to improve things after my performance so far today, was a mute point…

The main street on the hill seemed to comprise of a few shops and several pubs. I wondered in passing if there was enough trade for so many drinking establishments, but knew that the Scots were known to like the occasional drink. Indeed my mother told me on a number of occasions that Granddad liked a few wee drams himself and could drink anyone under the table.

Muckle seemed to be in a bit of a time warp and I think that if I had visited the place in the 1950’s things would have looked very much the same. Most of the cars, of which there were few, looked a bit ancient and the bus parked at the bus stop, was out of a bygone age.

There were some people about, but it wasn’t the hive of activity that I would expect at that time of day. There were men standing outside the pubs gossiping and drinking beer, whisky or both.

Occasional knots of women of various ages were on street corners in little groups, presumably passing the time of day. I didn’t see any children about apart from a few tiny ones and assumed that older ones were all in school. There was a junior school on the outskirts of town, according to my internet enquiries. Senior school children evidently used the ferry and went over to Lamlash on the Isle of Arran, which must have been a bit of a drag. I had no idea what they would do if the ferry was cancelled for any reason; home school, I supposed.

We were soon at the top of the hill and passed a small kirk and churchyard. In the distance, I could see the rolling hills, dotted with fluffy bits that I took for sheep. Overlooking everything was one seriously impressive mountain that stood, almost central on the island, all rugged and almost menacing. It was known as Beinn Uaibhreachd and still had snow at the top and the mists rolled around the crags and crevices giving it an almost mystical look to it. I would hate to be stuck up there when the weather got bad.

I shook my head. The last thing I needed was more thoughts of the negative variety. I was more the glass half full rather than empty type of person and I had to try to be positive. I had had lots of setbacks in my life and that had to stop. I refused to allow myself to think that I would be anything other than successful working in Muckle, if I got the chance.

I looked at my broken nail and for some reason that upset me more than it should. I was always careful to have my nails at exactly the same length as I was heavily into symmetry...

I was so anally retentive at that moment, that I jumped as Sally spoke.

‘Do you like it here?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I squeaked, ‘it’s lovely.’

It was true it was lovely. Every time we turned a corner I could see a photo opportunity and my fertile brain was trying to work out angles to advertise the island.

I had a picture in my minds eye...

A woman in a long white flowing dress, her hair flying in the summer breeze running in slow motion towards a rugged, yet handsome man with arms stretched out. Behind them, a wild horse gallops through the surf, water flying high in the air. To the side, the breath-taking beauty of Muckle. The man and women run in to each other’s arms and kiss passionately.

Muckle, a place where dreams are made and memories last…forever.

I sighed; I was a bit of a romantic really.

I could not understand why this gem of a place wasn’t swarming with tourists. The hills and valley’s, streams, rivers and babbling brooks were all lovely and picturesque. As we went, I saw glimpses of golden sandy beaches, bays and inlets. It was a dream of a place.

The warmth was fuelled by the jet stream and according to good old Wiki, the lower than normal rainfall was a bit of a mystery or a quirk of nature. There were even some palm trees dotted abut, giving the place an almost Caribbean feel to it.

The island, as far as I could see, would be an ideal place for people of all ages to come and enjoy. Families would enjoy the beaches and walking in the hills and valleys and even sporty types could walk, run, cycle and even, if they were skilled enough, climb the mountain.

I was in a dream world and it took a few seconds to realise that we had turned off the main road (lane really) and into a narrower one that led up to a pretty two-story cottage.

It was your typical vine covered country cottage with chocolate box garden and views over the valley to the sea.

‘This is lovely,’ I said enthusiastically as we pulled up to the garden gate.

‘Yes it is dear,’ said Sally, getting out, ‘see you later Angus.’

Angus turned to me as made to get out of the car.

‘I have to go back to town on business; I’ll see you later. Sorry about earlier. I did something wrong evidently.’

‘That’s all right.’ I said, raising a smile.

He sighed.

‘I’ll never understand women,’ he said ruefully.

‘Do you include me in that?’ I asked.

He frowned and said, ‘of course. Is that a trick question?’

I laughed.

‘No.’

‘That’s good. No matter what you were born as, I think that you are very pretty and far too lovely to have ever been a boy. Don’t worry about your job. I can see that you might feel like you didn’t make a good impression on the quay, but, if anything, you showed some balls…’

‘Pardon?’

‘Oh God, sorry, I mean spunk…Oh bugger, I’ve done it again. Look I’m not very P.C. and occasionally put my foot in it up to my neck, but I mean well and as I say, you are a lovely girl with a shining personality. How anyone could come off that ship in the shape you was in and smile and say “hi I’m Chloe,” shows that you are made of strong stuff and that is exactly what the job needs…’

I went all gooey inside and felt tears trickle down my face.

‘Oh God, don’t cry, I’ll get the blame.’

I giggled at that. I was getting good at giggling. There was a Google app online that helped teach me and I passed the test with flying colours. I had just signed up for another course in how to pout and sulk effectively — but that’s another story.

‘See you later,’ I said.

‘Bye.’

I gave a little wave as he turned the car around and went off.

Just then I felt something wet and cold go up my skirt and sniff my knickers.

You must understand that I was a little bit fragile at that moment. I had been through hell and back and now I was being attacked from below by person or persons unknown.

I screamed and jumped about three feet in the air.

‘Hamish, you naughty boy, how many times have I told you…’

I looked down and there he was…a dog; a big dog; a big shaggy dog; a big shaggy dog that was trying to look innocent and failing miserably.

He was looking up at me panting, with tail wagging like a windmill on steroids. He didn’t look very sorry at his social faux pas.

‘Bad boy.’ I said adjusting my skirt.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Sally coming up to me, ‘he has the manners of a pig.’

‘I think that you might be insulting pigs there.’ I said.

We both giggled. Maybe she had been on the same online course as me?

I followed Sally into the house with my case and other bits and pieces.

‘Do you want to pop upstairs and have a shower and change of clothes. It might make you feel a bit better.’

‘Yes please ‘ I said gratefully.

It was nice to take off my clothes. I think the skirt was a write-off, as was the jacket, but the blouse was relatively unscathed and I had hopes of resuscitation when I had the time and patience to get it cleaned.

Soon I was luxuriating in the shower, with hot water washing my yuckieness away.

I sang as I showered. I did that a lot and I realise how sad that sounds. I had had lessons in speech to make my voice sound more feminine and the teacher said that singing helps. I wasn’t going to argue with her.

If a bubble bath isn’t available, you can’t beat a good shower using Lush Snow Fairy shower gel. The candy smell just cheers me up. All right, I might be a little old for it, but I missed out on my girly childhood and any excuse to wallow in this sort of thing was fine by me.

As the water cascaded down me, I pushed back my unwanted appendage between my legs and tried to imagine what it would be like without the thing swinging between my legs like a minute elephant trunk.

It worked for me.

I sighed; if I could only get over my squeamishness over having the surgery…

I washed my hair several times to rid it of seagull poo and then used industrial strength hair conditioner to make it go all soft and silky.

Soon I felt like a new woman as I dressed in clean panties. Next, my small, but growing breasts were nestled comfortably in my cross your heart padded bra (for those girls who needed just that bit of extra help). Then I slipped on a white eyelet peasant blouse and matching calf length skirt. It wasn’t exactly power dressing, but they looked pretty and were functional. I didn’t bother with tights, as it was still warm so, sitting on a chair I put on my sandals, pleased that my toenails still looked nicely painted in coral pink and not ravaged by the mishaps I had endured on and off the ship.

I had already found out that I would be having a bite to eat with the McDougall’s and then they would show me the cottage that had been found for me. One of the reasons why I accepted the post was the fact that it came with accommodation and transport. I was looking forward to seeing my new home and the car, but was too shy to ask about what I would be getting. I wanted to make a good impression and didn’t want them to think that I was only in the job for the perks.

I expected the accommodation to be a little flat or apartment and the car, a small run-around, which was okay by me.

I dried my hair with the hairdryer from my case. It wasn’t running very well, if anything rather slowly without much heat being generated, as if not much power was getting to it. I wondered if the electricity was a bit iffy there.

Eventually, my hair was dry and I brushed it out. I liked my hair, I was a natural blond and I had been growing it out for some time now and it was down to my shoulders. It was fine and dead straight with not a kink in sight. It needed a cut as I noticed a few split ends. I hoped that the island ran to a decent salon and tied a mental knot in my mind to ask Sally where the best place to go was.

Judging by the number of shops and lack of even a Tesco Extra local supermarket, I wondered how people managed to get bare essentials like ready-made meals, curries and pizzas, not forgetting clothes, jewellery and makeup. Maybe there was a shopping centre somewhere, hidden away and full of those things that make life bearable like McDonalds, Costa, Next and the all-important salon.

I applied some makeup, using the less is best technique. I was lucky enough not to have too many nooks and crannies on my face and it all helped me to look nice and not to need to trowel the foundation on. It took just a few minutes to make my eyes look smoky and interesting and my lips, pink and kissable. I was quite good at doing my own makeup and I was soon looking in a lot better shape than when I arrived.

It might sound as if I was full of sh…I mean full of it, regarding my looks. Well, as I have already said, I try to be positive and after years of doubt, my shrink finally got through to me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was pretty and putting myself down was detrimental to my health and well being.

Even in my office at Timpson’s, some people said, not too flattering really, that I was too pretty to be a boy. It was nice to hear that I was pretty when presenting as a girl, but when I was trying my hardest to blend in and pretending to be a manly man, it was, to say the least, a wee bit uncomfortable.

So now I accepted that I was nice looking and showed no outward signs of manliness, I embraced it and got on with life. That didn’t mean that I had the occasional time when I doubted myself; that was natural, but I kept a lid on it and made sure that I kept any negative thoughts deep, deep in my subconscious.

Looking at my watch, I realised that I had been nearly two hours. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun? After a quick spritz, so I would smell as sweet as my nature, I was ready. I still needed some emergency surgery on my damaged fingernail, but that would just have to wait.

As I went downstairs, I wondered at the lack of children. Then I remembered that Sally said that they were both on a school camping trip and were not expected back until Sunday night.

I could smell cooking type smells and went into the kitchen. Sally looked up from the pot she was stirring and said, ‘feeling better?’

‘Yes thanks.’

‘You look pretty.’

‘A bit better than earlier.’

We both laughed.

‘Can I do anything?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s all in hand. The master of the house should be back soon and then we can eat.’

I had a distinct feeling that I was actually looking at the master, or rather mistress of the house, but being diplomatic, I said nothing.

Hamish the dog was lying on the floor by the cooker, looking up expectantly, with tail twitching slightly. I think that he may have been hoping and wishing that some of the yummy smelling food might accidently drop to the floor and then he could help clean it up; but I think that it was just wishful thinking on his part.

Just then, his ears pricked up and he got up, stretched, yawned and then sauntered out of the kitchen.

I turned to the window as I heard the sound of a car approaching.

‘That would be Angus,’ said Sally, ‘he must have smelt the cooking.’

It did smell nice and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was some sort of beef stew. My mouth was watering in anticipation. I wasn’t one of those size zero types, who ate a lettuce leaf for dinner and looked like a stick insect. I was lucky enough to have a body that didn’t gain weight at the sight of a sticky bun, but I did have a bit of meat on me and was a size 12 in my stockinged feet, depending on which clothes shop I go to.

There was some barking as Hamish greeted his daddy.

Angus came in with a briefcase in hand.

‘Hello girls,’ he said going over to Sally and pecking her on the cheek.

‘My, that smells nice,’ he said sticking his finger in the pot and then saying, ‘ouch,’ as Sally hit his hand with a ladle.

He turned to me and said, ‘my, you look a pretty picture,’

I blushed slightly.

‘Don’t I look pretty?’ asked Sally as she fingered her ladle in a threatening manner.

‘Of course dear, you are, as always, lovely.’

‘Well stop gawping at us and go and lay the table.’

‘Yes dear,’ he sighed and then with a wink at me, he went out with Hamish padding behind.

A few minutes later we were sitting around the table and tucking into a wonderful beef stew. The meat melted in my mouth and the flavours were almost obscenely gorgeous. We had some red wine, Rioja I think, and it went very well with the stew and dumplings.

I nearly dropped my fork as Hamish found his way beneath my skirt again.

‘Eak!’

‘Hamish, get out of there,’ said Sally sternly, ‘sorry about that, he has some funny ways.’

Hamish came out from under the table and pretended to look innocent and as if butter wouldn’t melt in his slobbering mouth.

‘That’s all right,’ I said, ‘he’s an, erm, interesting dog,’

‘He’s a pearvert,’ said Angus, ‘he goes after anything with legs. The postman refuses to deliver and the local cats have made this place a no go zone. I think that he’s not right in his head. He’s had his bits cut off, so he shouldn’t be like that…’

‘Angus, we don’t speak of such things at the table,’ she looked at me apologetically.

I smiled wondering if Angus had just had another faux pas moment and not realised it. I wanted my bits cut off, well altered anyway and maybe, some day, I would have the courage to do it.

As we ate, we discussed the island and what part I played in its promotion.

‘The last lady who had the job wasn’t much good. She was a friend of a friend of a friend and we hoped that she was up to it, but she was a bit sex mad and went after all the eligible men,’ said Angus sipping his wine. ‘This meant that she wasn’t exactly focussed on the job in hand. She was the fifth person in three years to have the job since we took over as Mayor and Mayoress.’

‘Not many people got off the ferry when I did.’ I said, wondering if the job was a bit of a poisoned challis.

‘You see the problem. We need to get people out here. It’s a lovely island and we have to get the message out,’ said Sally.

‘We have a problem though,’ continued Angus, ‘we don’t have much money to spare for tourism. We are being squeezed dry by Holyrood and Inverness and they don’t seem to realise that the economy would benefit in this area with an infusion of funds to help promote us.’

‘So do I have a budget?’

‘At the moment, not much. We have asked for emergency cash and also some E.U. funding, but we don’t know if and when that will come. For now, you will need to be creative and make the best of it. What you need to do is have a look around, get some ideas and then get us on the map.’

‘Well, the first thing we need is a decent web site.’

‘What’s wrong with the one we’ve got?’ asked Sally.

I looked at her pityingly.

‘To be honest, its amateurish, almost like it was done by a ten year old without much skill…what?’

‘Erm,’ said Angus, ‘our son did it, he’s twelve.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…’

He sighed. ‘Don’t worry; we brought you in to sort this sort of thing out. I hope that you can make improvements.’

‘I’ll do what I can. I’ve dabbled with a couple of websites before, but we need it to look professional and so we may have to spend some money on web design from someone outside. I’ll get some figures together and get back to you.’

We continued our meal and the general consensus was that I would report back to them in a few weeks with my findings.

My office would be a small one in the council chamber and I was to go and have a look the next day. Today was the day for getting my accommodation sorted out.

After the meal, the dishes were left to soak and we made our way back to the car. I had thought that we would return to the town as I assumed that there would be accommodation there. I was wrong; as Angus explained.

‘It’s no good being in the centre of town; you need to be nearer the places where tourists will go. You will be in town when you visit your office, but the last thing you want is to work and live in the same place.’

I kind of agreed with that and after all they knew the local layout better than I did so I would obviously concur.

We went up and down lanes, past some nice picnic spots, over narrow bridges with streams flowing under; through a few ford and around some rather large hills, overlooked at all times by Beinn Uaibhreachd in the distance. Being a small island, you are never far away from the sea and I often caught glimpses of it on our journey.

I wondered where we were going and the McDougall’s were rather reticent about giving me any details about what would be my home for the foreseeable future. We climbed a hill and below was a nice sheltered bay. I surmised that we were on the other side of the island from where Halestead, the one and only town was.

We turned a corner and screeched to a halt as two mallard ducks and their brood of seven ducklings confronted us. They were crossing the lane in strict formation and were not in too much of a hurry to do it.

Angus bibbed his horn and Sally and I turned on him.

‘Don’t be so horrible.’ said Sally.

‘Poor little ducks,’ I said, ‘aren’t they sweet.’

‘We haven’t got all day,’ said Angus, drumming the steering wheel with his fingers as the final duckling waddled past and into the safety of a hedge.

‘I thought that this was an island where you can be laid back and relaxed?’ I asked innocently.

‘Not when I’m due at the pub for a darts match,’ retorted Angus.

Sally turned to look at me, her eyes heavenward.

‘Men and their silly games eh?’

‘There is nothing silly about darts,’ said Angus as he crashed the gears and continued on.

‘Yes dear, keep your eyes on the road. We don’t want you killing any defenceless wildlife do we.’

He mumbled something that I couldn’t catch, but sounded vaguely like a swear word.

We carried on up the hill and then on the brow, we stooped for a moment to drink in the beauty of the scenery.

Down below, I could see the full expanse of a bay, its golden sandy beach and deep blue sea lapping on the shore. On the hillside were a few cottages dotted about, with trees, bushes, wild plants that had a variety of lovely colours, as far as the eye could see.

Looking at the sea, there were several small islands or islets dotted about, as if dropped there by some giant unseen hand. It was all very pretty and I just knew that I would have to start taking photographs for the website. Places like these are hard to find even in the UK.

‘Wow,’ I said.

‘Yes, its lovely isn’t it,’ said Sally, smiling.

‘Lets get going then,’ said the no nonsense Angus. I thought that the call of the darts match must have been pretty strong for him to want to leave that wonderful place.

We went down the lane and it was fairly steep in places, but eventually we ended up at the shoreline. The road followed the beach for about a quarter of a mile. The sun was streaming in the windows. It would not have been hard to imagine being on a lush Caribbean island and the fact that this was Bonny Scotland was almost unreal.

The road ended abruptly and literally turned into sand.

‘We’re here,’ said Sally.

‘Where?’ I asked.

‘Your new home.’

‘Erm,’

I looked around; all I could see was sand sea and the hills. Was I expected to live on the beach?

‘Come on,’ said Sally, ‘let me show you. Angus, you can go now. We’ll make our own way back. Don’t drink and drive.’

‘If you insist,’

‘I do,’

Sally and I got out of the car and it was then that I saw a path leading away from the beach and around the side of a hill.

With a wave, Angus went off to the pub. Then I remembered that my bags were in the car. Also, I wasn’t sure how Sally would get back home and then I realised that my new car would probably be available at the accommodation and I could give her a lift back and collect my stuff at the same time.

Following Sally, I wondered what sort of magical mystery tour I was being taken on.

The path was well worn and not overgrown, thank goodness, and I easily kept up with Sally as she kept up a fast pace.

We must have walked about a hundred yards and then we came back out into the open again and there was another wide stretch of beach. If this was on the mainland, the white, fine powdery beach would be packed with holidaymakers. The sun was strong and I was almost blinded by it, as the glare hit my eyes.

Then the sun went behind a cloud and I could see properly again. At the back of the beach was a cottage and bizarrely, several palm trees!

The cottage had originally been painted white, but had seen better days and the walls looked a bit shabby in places. It was sorely in need of a lick of paint and the door and windows were peeling. There was no garden, as such, just a small patch of overgrown grass leading to a gate that went out onto the beach.

‘Here it is,’ said Sally, ‘what do you think?’

‘It’s lovely and the location is wonderful.’ I said doubtfully. I wondered what it was like inside. The spot was ideal and one to dream about, but I wasn’t so sure about the run down look of the cottage.

We walked up the short path with Sally leading the way.

The door wasn’t locked and Sally pushed it open.

A dozen rabbits ran out and headed for the hills. Then I could hear a bleating sound.

You guessed it, a sheep.

I followed Sally, who didn’t appear in the least bit concerned about the abundance of wildlife in the cottage.

I found myself in a hallway with three doors. The bleating was coming from behind one of the doors. Sally strode over and opened the door. I bravely followed her, using her body as a shield. Where was Angus when we needed him? I peered over Sally’s shoulder. In the middle of the room, a sheep with hay in her mouth looked up with casual interest.

‘Bloody Finlay Cameron, I’ll kill him.’

‘Erm, who’s Finlay Cameron?’

‘A farmer who thinks he owns this place. He doesn’t; the council owns it. He stopped paying rent in 1994 and wondered why we evicted him. He said that he has “rights”, well he doesn’t. If he thinks leaving a sheep in here gives him squatters rights, then he is sadly mistaken.’

With an ease of someone who knew how to deal with sheep, she ushered the quadrupedal, ruminant mammal out of the cottage while I was left to have a look around.

The place was a mess, with droppings of various animals littering the floor and also on the rather iffy looking settee that probably looked nice in the 1950’s but now just looked like a wreck. The table and chairs were plain pine affairs, covered in something unmentionable and it was obvious that the furniture had not been bought from Ikea, more likely being picked up from a rubbish dump.

The walls were covered with what looked like white wash but would be more accurately described as grey wash.

There were patches of damp on the brown and black stained carpet, which, I suspected, wasn’t water.

Then there was the smell, it was an animal smell and it wasn’t very nice to my sensitive nose. I went over to a door and opened it and then screamed as several bats flew out, started to circle the room and proceeded to dive-bomb me.

I had had enough. I was as brave as the next person, but I had my limits. It felt like I had wondered onto the set of Hitchcock’s The Birds. All right they were bats rather than birds, but still, you get the point.

I ran out screaming.

The bats followed me and then thankfully ignored me and flew off, up and then over the nearest hill.

Breathing in gasps, with sweat — sorry perspiration, pouring off me and overwhelming my anti p, I was just pleased to get out of there alive. I fully expected a black bear or something hiding in the broom closet and adders under the bed. To say that I was traumatised would be an understatement.

Sally had tied the sheep to a tree and the sheep, finding plenty of grass to nibble at, seemed quite happy. She— Sally that is, not the sheep— looked up at me and smiled.

‘There you are. So what do you think of the place?’

‘What do I think of the place?’

‘Mmm.’

‘There was a sheep in there.’

‘Yes, I’ll have a word with Finlay about that.’

‘And bats.’

‘Yes, the bats are a bit of a nuisance. They are protected you know, we can’t go around shooting them. Once all the holes are filled up and the windows re-glazed, they won’t be able to come back.

‘I can’t live there.’

‘Why not?’

‘I…I…it’s not liveable and I bet there are mice, rats, spiders, adders and other things in there too and then there’s all the mess; shi…I mean poo and wee and other things that look a bit mouldy.’

‘There probably are, so what’s the problem?’

‘Is she nuts, does she have a screw loose?’ I wondered

‘Sally I can’t live there.’

Sally turned to me frowning.

Had I blown it? Was I not made of the right stuff? Maybe this was a test to see if I could handle adversity or something.

On balance, I think that adversity sucks.

She giggled.

‘She is nuts.’

She came over and I stepped back, I contemplated going back into the cottage and slamming the door on her. Then my over-heated imagination took over and I could see in my minds eye, her smashing the door in with an axe and shouting ‘here’s Janie!’

‘Chloe, did you think that I would let you live here while it was in this condition?’

‘What?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I just wanted to show you the cottage and if you like it, I would have had it cleaned up, redecorated and made ship shape. It might appear to be isolated here, but we brought you here via the scenic route.

‘At the back is the service road and the village of Peploe is just over the hill, about two hundred yards from where we are standing. You have mains water, drainage, electricity and a phone line so you don’t have to worry about a thing. We have booked you in at Ma McTavish’s B&B in Peploe for a wee while and until everything can be sorted out.’

‘Oh.’ I said, feeling a bit foolish.

‘Oh, come here, hen,’

She opened her arms.

We embraced and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. One good thing about being a woman is that you can just let yourself go.

After recovering somewhat, I broached the other subject.

‘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.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Well readers,Chloe has seen more of the island. Will she be able to cope with the sheep, bats, quirky islanders and a pink vespa? 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!

‘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!

Ma McTavish was standing at the door of her delightful (not) B&B. She didn’t look very happy.

She was holding a heavy wooden rolling pin and it looked like she meant business...

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 5

Previously …

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.’

And now the story continues…

The dream was quite vivid and real, as many dreams are.

Ma McTavish was standing at the door of her delightful (not) B&B. She didn’t look very happy.

She was holding a heavy wooden rolling pin and it looked like she meant business.

Her foot was tapping, the curlers in her hair looked huge and her long pink winceyette nightdress, with yellow flowers, was painful to the eye. She had some sort of gunk on her face that was a sickly green colour. If she was hoping to improve on her wrinkly skin, no face cream in the world would do that.

‘What time do you call this?’ she asked with that whiny shrill voice that set my teeth on edge.

It was only ten in the evening.

‘Sorry, I got caught up.’

‘Sounds disgusting, we don’t want your deprived ways on our beautiful island.’

‘Don’t you mean depraved?’ I asked flippantly.

If looks could kill, I would be pushing up daisies.

‘How dare you contradict me!’

With that, she came closer and closer with that deadly rolling pin.

I turned and ran, or tried to. I was wearing a long white diaphanous dress, for some unexplainable reason and my legs got tangled up in the hem. I tripped up and fell headlong down the steps.

As I lay there, face to the ground, eye to tentacle with a passing slug, I suddenly felt a blow on my bottom where the mad woman hit me with her rolling pin…

‘Ouch,’ I shouted as I woke up suddenly, I had a distinct impression that I had not been hit with a rolling pin, but pinched on the bum…

Looking at the side of the tent, something or someone was pushing against the side. It was daylight and I could see an indistinct shape, pushing, pushing, pushing, against the side of the tent. I wondered in my vague befuddled state what it was that was pushing up against the side of the tent in that rhythmic way…

I had no weapon except my torch, which wasn’t much good as it was a small one. I had a knife and a fork my backpack, but that was outside, as my tent was smaller than a snails shell and I could only fit little me inside. I did have a teaspoon with my cup, but felt that it wasn’t going to go very far in protecting me against someone who might want to do evil and unspeakable things to me.

‘Go away you pervert,’ I shouted bravely.

I could hear nothing except some heavy breathing that seemed deep with menace. I wondered if he was deaf or something or was he some sort of psycho who got his jollies out of scaring poor defenceless people like me.

It was no good, I had to be a brave girl and go out there and confront him/her or it.

I took a deep breath and screamed ‘rape,’ fumbled with the zip, pulled it up as fast as possible and scrambled out, promptly tripping on a guy rope as I did so.

I found myself on my back facing the clear blue sky. Before I could scream again, a face appeared before my eyes and I nearly lost it.

I may or may not have mentioned it before, but I wear contact lenses, not those ones where you can wear for a month or two without changing them, but daily ones, which I have to take out every night. Well, the previous night I had taken them out.

My eyesight without lenses or glasses was worse than a myopic mole.

The face was vague, but hideously ugly.

‘Baa,’

‘Pardon?’

‘Baa,’

It was a sheep, even if my eyesight was a bit poor, even I could tell that it was a sheep.

I crawled back into my tent, fished around for my bag and then put on my glasses. Why I didn’t do that before, I wasn’t sure, call it stress if you like.

After the world got back into focus, I exited from the tent and there was the sheep, just standing there, chewing grass and looking faintly bored.

‘Hello Dolly,’ I said, ‘ how did you get in. I’m sure that I shut the gate…’

I glanced over to the gate and it was open.

Standing behind the gate, leaning on it was a man. Through the broken bars of the gate, I could see that the man was wearing a kilt and that he had rather knobbly knees. He looked about seventy and had that craggy, hills-man, look about him. I bet that he used salt with his porridge, rather than the Sassenach, softy sugar…

‘Who the hell are ye?’ he said gruffly in a Scott’s accent, which wasn’t surprising as we were technically in Scotland.

‘Erm Chloe.’

‘What sort of name is that? Ye not from then lowlands are ye, or maybe Engerland?’

He said it as if he had just stepped in some doggy poo.

‘I was born in London…’

‘I knew it. I can always tell. Sassenach’s…coming up here and ruining our lovely peaceful island and trespassing on me rightfully legal property…’

A little light went “ping” in my head.

‘Are you Finlay Cameron?’

‘Aye, that’s me. Bloody English…do ye know me?’

‘I have heard of you. I was told that you don’t live here any more, the mayor…’

‘…him and his interfering wife. Know it all’s, they are; thinking that they can run a poor man oot of his home. Anyway, my sheep is here grazing all the time and ye can’t evict her or me’

‘I don’t think that sheep have any legal rights regarding squatting and anyway, you didn’t pay your rent.’

‘That’s beside the point. How can a pooor man like me, without any pennies ter rub tergethor…’

‘I understood that you have plenty of cash in the bank.’

This was a wild shot but I had a feeling ¬—call it almost female intuition—that he was telling porkies*.

‘That’s a bare faced lie. The only money I have is for my old age.’

As he was already old, I wondered when he considered that he would qualify as being old enough to draw on this money, probably when he reached at least three figures, I assumed.

‘Well, I was told that you no longer lived here and that I was to be using it as a base for my job.’

‘And what job is that?’

‘Tourist Officer.’

He laughed derisively.

‘Another one?

‘What do you mean?’

‘We don’t want to be overrun with nasty wee tourists, takin’ up all the roads, fillin’ up the beaches, leavin’ litter everywhere. You’ll fail just like all the rest of em.’

‘Don’t you want improvements in services, decent roads, jobs for the people and money coming onto the island?’

‘What was good enough for our fathers is good enough for us.’

‘And what about the people who need jobs and haven’t got enough money like you for instance. If you had had decent income, you could have afforded to pay rent and be able not to default on payments for months?’

‘I don’t need telling what should and should not be happening here by some slip of a girl from England…’

‘I’ll have you know that my full name is Chloe Isla McKerrell and my parents, grandparents and all my ancestors are all Scottish born and bred. I was asked to come and help out because the island is struggling to keep up with the rest of the world. Kids grow up and move to the mainland as there are no jobs and the community is growing older and older, without the young people to keep the place alive. In a very few years this lovely island will have no one left to look after the aging population and that means you Mr Cameron.’

‘I’m not old; I'm in the prime of my life. I can lift a sheep above me head…’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Would you lift a sheep over your head?’

‘Because I can. Anyway, I’m away now to talk to that interfering busybody of a mayor and his stupid wife.’

With one more look at me that was full of disgust and loathing, he turned away.

‘Haven’t you forgotten something?

‘What?’

‘Dolly.’

‘Dolly?’

‘Your sheep.’

‘That’s not Dolly, its Agnes.’

‘Oh, right. Are you going to take Agnes?’

‘No, she’s happy where she is.’

‘But this is my garden now.’

‘Not if I have my way, hen!’

We a smile full of contempt for me and all that I stood for, he went off, whistling something tunelessly.

Agnes looked at me thoughtfully, while chewing some grass, seemed to sniff and then did a number two on the poor excuse of a lawn.

‘Charming,’ I said, ‘and you a lady too!’

I was in need of a loo too, but as I didn’t want to follow Agnes’s example, I wondered where I could “go”.

I looked over at the cottage and shuddered. I wasn’t going in there again without a full SWAT backup and a decontam squad.

I knew that I still had my little male hosepipe, but on a matter of principal, I wouldn’t and couldn’t just whip it out and go behind a bush or something. I could have squatted of course, but as I needed to go number twos, I didn’t much fancy that.

So, giving Agnes a wave goodbye, I picked up my ruckie and pink helmet, went out to where my pink scooter was and went in search of a public loo.

Being a seaside place, there should have been plenty of toilets available for the public use. I went up and down lots of lanes and minor roads in search of relief, but I could find no rest rooms around. It was early on the morning still ¬—about seven in fact—so I couldn’t even use a pub or café. I was starting to get desperate, but then I arrived in Halestead, the only town of note on the island. I made my way to the quay and there it was. The Ladies Toilet, open for business, although the place was still deserted apart from a few disinterested sea gulls.

I got off my scooter and ran, helmet still on, to the toilet. Modesty and good taste forbids me to go into a blow-by-blow account of what occurred inside the privacy of the toilet but suffice to say, the relief was palpable!

Now that my most pressing needs had been sorted out, I took the opportunity to have a quick wash at the sink. It was, surprisingly, not bad for a public toilet, with white tiles on the walls, clean sinks and big mirrors, there was even one of those hot air dryer thingies on the wall.

Who said that Muckle was prehistoric?

Anyway, I almost wished that there weren’t any mirrors as I looked at my reflection.

I sighed at the state of my clothes. I needed to change but I had left my things or most of them anyway at the B&B from hell. I would have to pluck up my courage and go and retrieve my belongings at some stage, but not now. I also grimaced at the look of my hair. It looked like it had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

I dragged the small brush through my hair and longed for a salon to make me look pretty or prettyish again. Even my nails, painstakingly painted before leaving London, looked like they belonged on a brick layer.

I dabbed on some foundation and applied some lippy and that made me feel a bit better. Smiling at my reflection, I decided that I would be positive, if it killed me. Chloe was a positive person and I wouldn’t let minor things like being chucked out of my accommodation and being assaulted by a sheep put me off being the best tourist Officer that Muckle had ever had.

After finishing my ablutions, I was raring to go. I was also starving hungry and I didn’t think that anywhere would be open. I was dying for a latte from Costa’s and I nice sticky bun or Danish. That was as unlikely as Finlay Cameron wearing boxer shorts under his kilt. Still, this girl was not for quitting and after leaving Pinkie the scooter where it was — lets face it, who was going to pinch a bright pink scooter? — I went for a walkabout.

I found myself on the quayside, which wasn’t very big, but had several fishing boats and small craft bobbing gently on the water. There were two pubs, a café and a rather shabby looking gift shop on the quay. Not much to work on as a tourist attraction, but I was an optimist by nature and maybe I could persuade the owners of those establishments to put a lick of paint here and there to make them look a bit more attractive to the punters.

Just then, the café door opened and a woman walked out, looked up at the sky, then licked her finger and put it up in the air rather suggestively and maybe even insultingly in other circumstances. She looked doubtful but then shrugged and then went back in the café and changed the closed sign to open.

This was all the encouragement I needed and I went over to the café and walked in.

Sadly the café’s interior reflected the outside in its shabbiness. If this was London, the health inspectors and style police would be hammering at the door with warrants and other legal stuff in order to have the place condemned and closed down.

It was a reflection on my state of mind and hunger situation that I didn’t just turn around and flee for my life. As it was, I just found the least dirty table (complete with plastic table cloth) and sat down.

A few minutes later, the waitress or owner, came out from behind some swing doors, wearing a rather out of date and slightly worn flowery dress under a stained pink check tabard. To add to her charming appearance, she had a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

She was a rather florid, plump woman, who was, I thought, quite pretty under the badly applied makeup caking her face and making her look older than her years. What she needed was a bit of exercise and to stop smoking. It would help a lot, but I wasn’t going to suggest it.

She seemed a bit surprised at actually having a customer, but she didn’t hesitate for long and she came over to the table.

‘Hi,’ I said brightly, ‘are you doing breakfasts?’

‘Aye, this is a café, that is what we’re here for.’

‘Riight, do you have a menu?’

‘No.’

This was a woman of few words. Maybe she was the strong silent type.

‘So what do you have to eat?’

‘On yon wall,’ she pointed to the wall and there in chalk it had what was on offer, which appeared to be everything fatty and chips, (baked beans optional).

I opted for a simple meal of eggs bacon and erm, chips and hoped that I wouldn’t get salmonella or raging tummy ninja’s.

I also ordered a cup of tea and I sat and drank it whilst waiting for my culinary feast.

I was in a reflective mood. Since coming to the island, things had not gone very well. I was, by nature, a glass half full rather a glass half empty type, but I was beginning to wonder if my metaphoric glass had cracks in it.

I had arrived on the Ship of Hope and I wondered if I would go on then Ship of Despair, a failure once again.

The people I had met on Muckle, apart from Angus and Sally all seemed hell bent on making my life difficult and were almost to a man and woman, objectionable, rude and self opinionated. They didn’t want change, they laughed at change. Change was something they had in their pockets and not in their souls.

Were all the people like that on Muckle, or had I just met the bad ones? I was doubting my abilities. It all seemed to be an ideal way to change my life around and do something worthwhile and rewarding. Perhaps I wasn’t cut out to be a tourist officer, charged with changing the ideal island into somewhere that attracted lots of visitors and maybe revive an economy that, even to me who struggled with my two times table as a child of fourteen, could tell was in dire need of cash injection and a kick up the proverbial backside…

‘He ye are lass.’

The plate was put down and I looked up. She actually had a smile on her face!

‘Thank you,’ I replied.

‘You’re welcome hen.’

With that she went back into the kitchen and I surveyed the plate before me.

It looked okay.

It smelt all right.

The plate was clean.

I did a few Hail Mary’s and crossed myself, which was strange as I wasn’t a Catholic, and then I took a tentative bite.

The food was delicious and I regret to say that I wolfed it down in double quick time. The place might be a disaster, style wise and the service a little off putting, but at least the meal was delightful.

After finishing, I sat back in the plastic seat and sighed. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all.

A few minutes later, the woman came back up to me. I looked up and smiled.

‘That was really nice. Thank you.’

Once again I got that brilliant smile that transformed her face completely.

‘Glad you liked it hen.’ She said picking up the plate, ‘do ye want anything more?’

‘Can I have another cup of tea please?’

‘Coming up.’

A few minutes later she arrived back with the tea. I decided to get into work mode.

‘Have you got a few minutes to chat?’

She looked around and smiled sadly.

‘I’m no overrun with customers hen. I’ll sit with ye a wee while, hang on a mo.’

She went over made herself a cup of tea and then sat down opposite me and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

‘Right, first of all my name is Chloe McKerrell…’

‘I guessed.’

‘How?’

‘Sally McD came in the other day for a snack. She told me that you were coming and why. She said that you were pretty and came from London.’

‘Lots of girls are pretty, not that I am,’ I hastened to add.

‘I say how I see. Anyway, we don’t get many visitors here and you fit the bill. So, Chloe McKerrell, what do you want with me?’

‘You said it. We don’t get many visitors here and I have the job of changing that. Can I be honest with you?’

‘Tell it how it is. I canna abide people who don’t do that.’

I took a deep breath.

‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but your café isn’t exactly welcoming to the visitor. The outside, quite frankly looks shabby and the inside doesn’t look nice either…’

‘What’s good enough…’

‘Sorry, I know what you are going to say. It’s always been like that and why change things? Let me ask you a question, do you get many customers?’

‘Quite a few.’

‘And they are all locals?’

‘Aye, we don’t get many visitors to the island.’

‘If you went on holiday to another island say and you came across your café, would you go in it?’

‘Well…’

‘I can tell by your face that you realise what I am saying rings true. You wouldn’t go in it, and why? I’ll answer that one too and you can tell me if you agree. Because the appearance would put you off. Am I right?’

I could see that she was struggling with some sort of reply that would make her feel better. I had just told her that her café was a dump. I think that I would be a bit short of my own words if someone, a complete stranger at that, had told her.

‘But my food is good!’

‘I know, I have just eaten and its delicious, but nowadays it isn’t enough to have good food, it needs be eaten in a nice setting, where people feel comfortable. Sorry but this isn’t nice or comforting…’

I could see a tear fall down her cheek and I felt awful.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Me and my big mouth…’

‘No lass, you’re right. I kept moaning at Sally that we don’t get enough visitors and I obviously canna see beyond the end of my nose…’

We talked for an hour, had several cups of tea and I had a sticky bun, because I needed fortifying. Beneath the rather unkempt exterior, I found that Molly (we got on first name terms rather quickly) was an intelligent person with a shining personality who had been down for some time since her husband left her a few years back, hence her appearance and the fact that she had let her business slide. It was interesting to note, that she only had three customers in that time and that told me everything I needed to know. She needed help and hopefully, I was the girl to do that.

If only other businesses would follow her lead.

By the time I left the café, with promises of returning to give her a hand once she decided how far she could afford to go in transforming it to a desirable place go and eat, it was mid morning and there were a lot more people around.

I had wanted to visit a couple of other businesses, like the pub, which, if anything outshone, if that’s the right word, the shabbiness of the café, but I had things to do and places to go and I would have to forgo that pleasure until another day.

The next thing to do was to go to County Hall, which turned out to be little more than a large house just off the quay front and see Angus and or Sally. I wanted to have a look at my office and also tell them about my run in with the landlady from hell and Mr Cameron.

As I walked in to the town hall, I noticed a lack of activity and I did wonder if it was closed but someone forgot to lock the doors.

Here was I thinking that this would be a hive of activity, with people running around and getting stuff sorted. This place seemed so laid back; it was in danger of falling over!

I turned a corner and saw a desk. Behind the desk there was a sign saying Enquiries. Needless to say, there wasn’t anyone around. On the desk was a bell push. It said Please ring for attention on a little plate by the side of the button.

I pressed the bell but heard nothing. There would have been more activity in a sealed crypt than the Town Hall of Muckle.

I wondered around trying to find somebody, anybody to ask where I should go, as I wanted to do other things that day and I was trying my best to be proactive.

I went up some stairs, along a corridor. There were plenty of doors, a few with names like Rates, Housing, Refuse and things like that on them. All the doors were locked and I thought that a bit funny, but we were, after all, in working hours and therefore everyone should, I thought, be beavering away, nose to the grindstone and all that stuff. At the end of a corridor, I noticed door with Tourist Information Officer on it.

‘Ah,’ I said enthusiastically, ‘My new office,’

It wasn’t locked and I opened it with anticipation.

Something was blocking the door. I pushed harder and I could hear a scraping noise. I managed to squeeze through and into the office. There were boxes and junk everywhere. It looked like my new office was being used as a dumping ground and storage area for everything unwanted. There were boxes, old desks and chairs a couple of ancient, steam driven computers, several typewriters that may or may not have been new in Victorian times…you get the picture.

The room beneath the clutter wasn’t exactly on the large side, I would say 12-foot square give or take an inch or so. However, it had a nice window looking out on the road.

I pushed a few things out of the way and saw a heap of boxes that stood higher than the rest. Fighting my way over, I moved some of the boxes and beneath was what I assumed would be my desk and behind it an office chair.

I was getting somewhere now.

I was about to do some more exploration when I was interrupted.

‘Hello Chloe, found your office then?’

I turned and there was Sally in the doorway with Angus hovering behind here looking a bit stressed.

She waded in, moving this, that and the other until she was standing beside me. She smiled and then turned to Angus.

‘Be a dear and go and get us some coffees, white with one wasn’t it?’ she asked turning to me.

‘Yes please,’ I replied.

‘Off you go Angus,’

‘Yes dear,’ said the mayor sounding a bit world weary for some reason.

Well, Chloe, what do you think of your new office.’

I looked around.

‘A bit cramped.’

She laughed.

‘It won’t be when our maintenance department clear it out.’

‘Your maintenance department; do you have a big team?’

‘Yes, Hamish McAllister is very big. He eats three Weetabix and tosses a caber every morning and…’

‘Sorry to interrupt, what about the rest of the team?’

‘Team?’

‘Yes, the maintenance team: I assume that you have others working at maintenance. You know, mending roads, keeping verges down, fixing building problems, stuff like that.’

‘No, its just our Hamish. Funds are limited and we ask everyone to chip in and help, but I must admit, the roads have more potholes than I would like…

I looked at her and wondered if I had bitten more than I could chew in taking this job. What more could go wrong?

I was soon to find out.

---

 
To Be Continued...

*porkies - slang for lies, porkie pies = lies.

Any thoughts of my possibly being a lesbian type flew out of my head, as I could feel myself get all hot and bothered at the sight of this Adonis...

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 6

Previously …

I looked around.

‘A bit cramped.’

She laughed.

‘It won’t be when our maintenance department clear it out.’

‘Your maintenance department; do you have a big team?’

‘Yes, Hamish McAllister is very big. He eats three Weetabix and tosses a caber every morning and…’

‘Sorry to interrupt, what about the rest of the team?’

‘Team?’

‘Yes, the maintenance team: I assume that you have others working at maintenance. You know, mending roads, keeping verges down, fixing building problems, stuff like that.’

‘No, its just our Hamish. Funds are limited and we ask everyone to chip in and help, but I must admit, the roads have more potholes than I would like…’

I looked at her and wondered if I had bitten more than I could chew in taking this job. What more could go wrong?

I was soon to find out.

And now the story continues…

Sally pulled out her mobile phone and speed dialed or whatever.

‘Hamish, are you there?’

She listened for a moment and then continued.

‘Well, you can have ye porridge later. I never knew a man who could eat as much of that as you. Now, get over here asap and start clearing out Chloe’s office. I told you she was coming here nearly a week ago and the place is still a mess. What impression do you think we are making with her? What was that… swearing at your employer is not helpful. Now get your bum into gear and be here in double quick time.’

She stabbed at her phone with some vehemence and looked at me.

‘Hamish is a bit temperamental, but a good worker. Lets go to the café and have a cup of tea and then we can have a wee chat about what’s going on.’

I wasn’t against that idea, so we struggled out of the rubbish-strewn room, only to find Angus coming in carrying two coffees.

‘Ah Angus, what kept you?’

‘I….’

‘Never mind that now. You wait here and sort out Hamish. I want this room cleared out straight away so that Chloe can get started. We are going to the café.’

‘What about the coffees?’

‘You and Hamish have them, but only after the mess is sorted out. See you later.’

As I walked with Sally across to the café, I wondered if I could be such a doormat as Angus seemed to be. As if reading my thoughts, Sally turned to me.

‘Angus is a sweet man but he needs leading sometimes. Don’t think that I always get my way. I normally win any argument that is trivial or unimportant, but given something that needs a real leadership decision and my Angus is your man. Anyway, if he doesn’t agree with my ideas, I soon know about it. As my Ma used to say, you can lead a horse to the pub, but ye canna make the thing drink Scotch whisky.’

I looked across the road. There was a child, I think a boy, but with longish hair, standing on the corner. As soon as he saw us, he seemed to look startled and then ran off down the road.

I shrugged perhaps he was shy.

I thought nothing more of it as I found myself back at the café where, to my surprise, the place was packed — well, there were three tables occupied, which seemed crowded compared to before. I couldn’t understand why the place wasn’t heaving with locals, as they must know what delish food was on offer, even if the décor was a bit crappy and naff.

I shrugged, maybe one day things might get better and I hoped that I could help the whole island to get on its collective feet and make a real go of it.

We sat at a window seat and a few seconds later, Molly came over and smiled at us. I noticed that she had changed her dirty tabard for a clean pink one and had actually brushed her hair. Small steps and all that…

‘Hello Sally, Chloe, what would you like?’

‘Oh Molly, so you’ve met our new tourism guru?’

‘Yes, she gave me a few pointers as to how bad I am at running a café.’

‘Oh sorry,’ I blustered, ‘I didn’t mean to…’

‘Och hen, don’t fret, I was joking. In fact Sally, she gave me some good pointers. I need to pull my stockings up and move on. Now what would you like?’

We settled on tea and scones and after Mandy served us, she left Sally and I to catch up on all that had happened in the last twelve hours.

I told her about McTavish, the Landlady From Hell and the horrible things she said to me. Then I described my encounter with Dolly…sorry Agnes the sheep and the obnoxious Cameron. I wondered if he was any sort of relative to that so called prime minister who had more money than sense…

For some reason she was laughing her head off and tears streamed down her face. It turned out that all the other customers in the café had perfectly good hearing, even though I had hardly been speaking above a whisper. They were also having a good laugh too!

I didn’t realise that I was such a good comic and it took a few moments to realise that what had happened to me was, in parts, quite funny — not the McTavish episode, but all the rest.

I smiled ruefully and wondered how long it would take for my adventures to be retold around the whole of Muckle.

After the polishing off the second cup of tea and the remainder of the excellent scones, cream and jam, things had settled down a bit and the rest of my audience, apart from Sally got back to whatever they were doing.

‘Well,’ said Sally, daintily wiping her lips with a paper serviette, leaving a red stain on it, ‘you certainly have been through the wars. I’ll arrange suitable lodgings for you tonight and get Angus to pick up your bags from the B&B. to be honest; I never thought that Ma McT would be such a cow about you. I suppose that as Angus and I don’t have any gender hang up’s, I assumed wrongly that others would be the same. I am sure that people like her are in a minority. As far as that old reprobate Cameron is concerned, I’ll deal with him in my own way.’

‘What way would that be? I asked.

She tapped the side of her nose with her finger.

‘What you don’t know about you can’t be responsible for.’

That sounded a bit ominous, but I said nothing. We moved on to other matters.

‘So, you have seen a bit of the island and have spoken to a few of our local, shall we say, characters. What are your first impressions?’

‘Of the place or the people?’

‘Both.’

I took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to pull any punches to keep my job. I had the annoying habit of being honest with myself and dealing with others. It didn’t always give me any brownie points, but I was brought up that way and I was too old to start being anything different.

‘The island is lovely, idyllic place that everybody should come and visit. The beaches, mountain and all the scenery in between is simply breath taking. I never believed that there could possibly be somewhere like this up here in the islands, and I am staggered that no one seems to know about it away from here. In fact I would say that it was the UK’s best-kept secret…’

‘On the island, we consider that we are Islanders first, Scottish second and a long way behind members of the UK.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because we have been forgotten. We seem to be last in line regarding funding. You can see the state of the place. We are not important even on the Scottish mainland. Mucklers, as we like to call ourselves, have had to manage for ourselves ever since the old Laird had to sell off and go to the main land eighty years ago. He had gambling debts and death duties to pay off and wasn’t able to pay anything as he was virtually bankrupted.

‘The manor house and much of the land was sold off to someone from Ayre who was a distant relative to The Laird and then passed on to another relative forty years later but we have no idea who it was that bought it or who owns it now, but ever since, the manor house has been kept clean and tidy and repairs have been carried out by local people employed by a firm of solicitors from Edinburgh who also collect the land rents.

‘It used to be that The Laird and his family looked after the people of Muckle and in fact owned most of the land, but when everything was sold off, the people had to fend for themselves and it has been like that since. As I said land rent is paid to the solicitors, but despite many attempts, no one has been able to find out who benefits from the income.’

‘Strange.’ I said after a moment’s silence.

‘Very strange; anyway, enough about that; what do you think of the people?’

‘What people?’

‘The islanders.’

‘Oh; well; apart from you, Angus and Molly, the only people that I have had a meaningful conversation with are Ma McTavish, Mr Cameron and Agnes the sheep. I am hoping that anyone else I encounter are a bit more friendly than the B&B owner, a disgruntled ex tenant and his bottom pinching sheep!’

We both giggled.

‘As far as the situation regarding the tourism or lack of it, I see a number of problems; the main one being that the island does not seem very welcoming to visitors. This café, the pub down the road that looks very shabby and the other shops and business premise’s haven’t had a lick of paint in years. Visitors like to see clean, well kept buildings and a welcoming smile from all the business owners, I haven’t seen much of that.’

‘Times are hard…’

‘…yes they are. We are living through very hard times. I lost my last job because of it. That means that you have to go that extra mile to make a difference or just roll over and die. That is what this island is doing. It is dying. Not the wonderful place itself, but those people that live on it and struggle to survive. A lick of paint here and there; a general tidy up, where everyone helps to make the place look smarter, can go a long way to kick start the tourist economy…what?’

Sally was smiling.

‘You are a breath of fresh air, Chloe. I just know that was made the right decision to get you to come here. What I want from you is a report of how you see things. I want it by next week, so you need to get on your little pink scooter and go everywhere and speak to everyone and then report back to Angus and me. I will ask my Aunt Aileen if she can put you up. She has a spare room since her daughter left for the mainland twenty-six years ago. Look, I’ll meet you back here after lunch, say at two. In the mean time, carry on what you are doing, meet people and have a general nose around. Now I have a meeting to go to and I’ll see you later. Thanks again Chloe, for helping to buck our ideas up. You are the best thing to happen to us in a long time.’

I felt my face go very red as I wasn’t used to such praise — any praise really.
With that, we got up, hugged and then parted after Sally paid the bill. I waved Molly goodbye and followed Sally out of the café.

After another brief hug, Sally went left and I went right towards Pinkie the scooter. She was waiting patiently at the curb by the toilets. Before mounting my trusty steed though, I went into the ladies and used the facilities and took the opportunity to touch up the old makeup. Sighing as I looked at my reflection, I rued the fact that there didn’t appear to be much in the way of beauty salons on Muckle. After the seawater dunking and attack by rabid seagulls the previous day, I didn’t look at my prettiest, despite the repairs that I had attempted to carry out at Sally’s place.

I gave myself a mental slap on the face. That was defeatist attitude.

‘I didn’t get where I am today by having a defeatist attitude’, I thought, wondering where I had heard that sort of thing before.

Shrugging, I girded my loins, then giggled slightly for some reason. Was I going doolally or to put it another way, was everything that had happened to me making me as nutty as a fruitcake?

‘Enough of this deep mental stuff, time to get to work!’

I exited the Ladies and glanced around. There were a lot more people around now and the area had more of a live feeling about it, although I could see no touristy types about; you know what I mean, people in bright unfashionable clothes that you wouldn’t be seen dead in at home. I imagined the place teeming with holidaymakers. My vision then expanded to lots of smart shops, street cafes swish restaurants and themed pubs.

I shook my head. I was getting ahead of myself. We needed to sort out what we had now and then look to the future.

A movement caught my eye and there was that child again; was it a girl or a boy? I wasn’t sure now; and why was he or she looking at me furtively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he or she was gone.

‘Are all the people a bit strange on this island?’ I mused.

Shaking my head at that unanswerable question, I went over to Pinkie and put on my helmet. A few days riding around the island on a pink scooter with matching helmet and even the sheep would recognise me. Maybe that was a good thing, not sheep recognising me, but the people.

I wanted everyone to know that I was here to help and not make there life more difficult.

I pressed the button thingie and the scooter engine purred into life. Soon I was out of the town and scooting along the twisty lanes, not really knowing where I was going but happy to let Pinkie take me to wherever I was going.

Somehow, Cliff Richard singing Summer Holiday got into my head and I started singing off tune.

We're all going on a summer holiday
No more working for a week or two
Fun and laughter on our summer holiday
No more worries for me or you
For a week or two

We're going where the sun shines brightly
We're going where the sea is blue
We've seen it in the movies
Now let's see if it's true…

I went around a bend and had to stop singing. There was a Porsche in the middle of the road. I wasn’t a car fanatic, well I was, a bit and read magazines where I was riding along in a sports car, the wind in my hair…well that’s another story…

Anyhoo, I knew that this was a Porsche 911 Carrera GTS soft top, a deep blue one. All right, I admit it. It’s really a boy toy, but it’s just that I simply lusted after it at first sight. I know that it was a man’s car and the people that drove them were probably aging and balding men with ridiculous ponytails with a nice paunch due to lack of exercise, but still it was a very nice car.

I chastised myself as I was a busy girl and I had things to do and places to go. I didn’t have time to be a dolly dreamer, so I just bibbed my little hooter rather impatiently. The lane I was in was rather narrow and even on my little pink scooter, I would be hard pressed to get by without a mishap.

Just then a head popped up from the front of the car. It was a man, not a pot bellied, over the hill, aging type (sorry about the ageist comment, but I was heavily into stereotype mode by then) but a rather dishy blond with muscles in the right places and a film star type physiognomy.

Any thoughts of my possibly being a lesbian type flew out of my head, as I could feel myself get all hot and bothered at the sight of this Adonis. Even though I still had some redundant male equipment that hadn’t so much as twitched for a long time due to my medications, my miniscule little hose pipe twitched, I felt a slight wetness in my panties and I had a sort of gooey feeling in my tummy that defies description.

I sighed and wondered if he was attached. Then I frowned, as I knew that I wasn’t quite ready for flirting, let alone love. Anyway, I wasn’t the sort of girl who threw herself at the first wonderful hunk she looks at.

He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I switched off my pop-pop engine and I could still feel and hear a sort of a throbbing, beating thingie. Then I realised that it was my heart, going all a flutter.

I dismounted, put Pinkie on her stand and walked over to the man.

‘Hi,’ he said in a deep, melodious voice with a mild and cultured Scott’s accent, ‘sorry about this, my oogleflanglewhatchermacallit has broken and I’m rather stuck.’

I think that that was what he said, but my mind was a bit fuzzy and didn’t take it all in. I wondered in passing whether he would mind if I squeezed one of his well defined pecs beneath his thin tennis shirt…

I giggled.

Then I felt myself go red. Giggling was not appropriate. I should have said something meaningful like, ‘wasn’t the price of turnips atrocious or how can we cure famine?’ But no, I giggled.

He smiled at me, his perfect teeth dazzling me with their brilliance.

‘I’m Alistair Craig and you are?’

‘Cooee,’

‘Cooee?’

‘S…sorry Chloe McKerrell.’

‘Nice to meet you Chloe. Look, I’ve phoned the garage and a man will be coming soon, it needs towing away.’

‘What does?’ I asked in full ditz mode.

‘My car.’

‘Oh, erm sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘For sounding dim.’

‘I have that effect on people.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Sorry, joke; look, you can squeeze by if you are careful.’

‘Can I?’ I asked breathlessly, my mind boggling at the thought of squeezing past.

‘Yes, give it a go.’

‘Right,’ I said automatically and turned away from that dazzling smile and walked back, rather stiffly to Pinkie.

I took my scooter off the stand and walked towards the megabucks car. No way was I going to ride through the narrow gap between the car and the hedgerow. Alastair was looking at me, a slight smile playing on his lips.

I decided that I was not going to swoon. Swooning was not an option. I was a go ahead tourist executive, tasked with bringing this backwater up to the twentieth and once that was done, the twenty-first century. I would not be influenced by base sexual urges. I would be aloof, strong and put any thoughts of getting into this man’s trousers swiftly behind me.

Somehow, I managed to get Pinkie past the Porsche without scratching the car. I somehow accidentally brushed against Alistair’s taught body and nearly had a seizure, as he bulged in all the right places.

I was very conscious of Alistair’s gaze. Was he looking at me longingly, or with pity? Was I nice enough looking? Did he have a girlfriend; worse, was he married or even worser (if that’s the right word) did he have a flock of kids?

I shook my head. I had to get a grip!

I was now, regretfully, past Alastair and the car shaped blockage and the lane was free of any other obstacle. I turned around and there he was, staring at me, that strange smile still on his lips.

‘See you around Cooe McKerrell.’

Smiling weekly, I went to put my helmet on and couldn’t find it. Then horror of horrors, I realised that I hadn’t taken it off!

‘He must think that I’m a first class idiot, training to be a moron,’ I thought despondently, as I waved at him, got on Pinkie, started her up and went off without a backward glance.

As I left him, I cursed my stupidity, ran through any number of things I should have said or done, but didn’t, but above all, I wondered if he thought I was a bit eccentric. Fancy my not even taking my flaming helmet off!

Without really thinking about it, I rode on and on, letting my sort of riding autopilot take over where I was actually going. I just hoped that I didn’t run over any bunny rabbits, as I wouldn’t have noticed in the turmoil that was my mind.

I turned down a lane, which was somewhat unused, as there was grass up the middle of it. It was a bit of a twisty narrow lane and I was lucky enough not to meet anyone coming in the other direction. There were tall hedges on each side of the lane and I only saw glimpses of the scenery beyond, which looked like heathland, with plenty of grass, gorse bushes, outcrops of rocks, streams and pools.

My mind still wasn’t all there due to my preoccupation regarding Alastair. I topped a hill and the lane went downhill rather sharply for about a hundred yards, and then went around a bend and petered out as I had now arrived at an open space.

Stopping, I switched off the engine and took off my helmet. My ears were ringing slightly in the silence. Running my fingers through my longish hair, I wondered if Alastair liked blonds. I would colour my hair purple if that was what it took to turn him on.

Sighing, I got off Pinkie and put her on her stand. In the little carrier box on the back of the bike, I had a bottle of water and I took the opportunity to take a few sips to quench my thirst.

I became more aware of my surroundings as I stood there for a moment. Over to the left was what appeared to be some sort of footpath. Carrying my water bottle, I walked over to the path and on a whim walked along it.

The ground was sandy and there were plenty of trees and bushes about. I could hear the gentle sound of the breeze in the trees and then as I continued on, waves breaking in the distance. Even under the canopy of the trees, it felt pleasantly warm.

Up ahead, it seemed to be lighter, where the sun managed to filter through the trees. The path meandered on and on and then I could see up ahead a gap in the foliage and beyond, the clear blue sky.

It still seemed a bit strange that it wasn’t bucketing down with rain and ferocious mosquitos weren’t attacking me. This was, after all, Scotland.

I walked on and in front of me there was what looked like a hill of sand or what is technically termed as a sand dune. I decided to climb the dune and took my sandals off. Puffing slightly, as I wasn’t exactly in good shape due the lack of any meaningful exercise since I was four; I scrambled up the dune. My feet was sinking a bit in the fine white sand which was hot on my bare feet.

I topped the dune, breathing like an asthmatic sheep and gasped, partly from lack of oxygen, but mainly at the sight before me. This island was full of surprises. Ahead was yet another sheltered bay that wouldn’t look out of place on a Caribbean island, complete with white sand, palm trees, and the sea, gently lapping on the shore.

In the distance were several small islands and I could see the occasional boat and a few yachts, with sails white against the deep blue of the sea and sky.

Overhead, seagulls flew, making the slightly raucous noise where, in other places, it might grate, but in that beautiful setting, seemed nice and somehow okay.

I walked down the dune, my feet sinking into the hot sand. Finally I reached the beach and walked along the shore, with my sandals still in my hand. The water lapped gently up the beach and over my feet. The water was a little cold but not unpleasantly so. My skirt drifted against my reasonably recently shaved legs, in the slight, warm breeze.

I felt a bit guilty about wandering aimlessly like this when I should be working hard and not just going for a stroll along the sandy shore.

My thoughts turned to Alastair. Before my chance meeting with him, I wasn’t sure of my sexual leanings.

It was one of those questions that didn’t really crop up with me. I had been so tied up in my gender problems that the thought of actually lusting after a he or she was furthest from my thoughts. The fact that I was taking pills that sort of killed any sexual urges that I had, made me all the more surprised when I could almost feel the earth move after seeing Alistair standing there looking yummy and edible.

Looking along the beach to the shore with the waves coming in and out…in and out; it reminded me of that scene in From Here to Eternity, where I was Debra Kerr and Alistair was Burt Lancaster. The sea was washing over us as he kissed me passionately…

‘I never knew it could be like this…’

Then I sighed ¬ as the picture faded from my minds eye. As far as Alistair was concerned, I was just a girl, maybe a girl like Debra Kerr (with luck) and not a girl with added extras and a surprise package in my panties that would make him feel that I was, shall we say, not as I seemed.

I moved up the beach away from the water and sat on the sand. I felt my eyes smart as a few tears started to flow.

‘Who am I kidding,’ I thought desperately, ‘he must have a string of real women hanging on his every word. I don’t have a chance.’

I shook my head violently.

‘Damned hormones,’ I whispered angrily.

My moods had more swings than in a children’s playground. One minute I was up and the next down. This was obviously a down moment. I would be okay in a minute, I was sure.

Pulling myself together, I stood up, brushed the sand off my skirt and then turned back up the beach. I would stop thinking about Alastair. I was a stupid girl and mustn’t think much daft thoughts about love and romance after a chance encounter with someone that lasted little more than a few minutes.

Trudging up the sand dune, I was soon out of breath.

‘I need some more exercise,’ I thought as reached the top, gasping. Going down was much easier and I reached the bottom quite quickly. Following the path back to Pinkie, I started cheering up again. How could I possibly be depressed in a place like this?

The path opened out to the clearing where Pinkie stood, waiting patiently for me.

As I put on my helmet, a movement caught the corner of my eye. I was sure that it was that child that I saw before. He or she, I still wasn’t sure, was cycling off down the lane on what looked like an old chopper bike.

I don’t believe in coincidences. Was I being followed? I needed to know, so I got on my scooter, started her up and pushed her off her stand. By now, the child had disappeared around a bend and I hastened to follow.

I set off determinately at a cracking twenty miles per hour in hot pursuit of this possible, all be it young, stalker. Rounding the bend, I fully expected to have the child on a chopper bike in full view.

The lane although rising steeply away from the coast, was almost arrow straight.

I stopped.

Was I having hallucinations?

Had my encounter with the dishy Alistair made me take leave of my senses?

The strange child on the bike had vanished!

Curiouser and curiouser.

---

 
To Be Continued...

I went on my way, puzzled at who the child was and why he or she was apparently following me. Or was I being followed? Maybe it was just a coincidence or I was becoming paranoid...

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 7

Previously …

As I put on my helmet, a movement caught the corner of my eye. I was sure that it was that child that I saw before. He or she, I still wasn’t sure, was cycling off down the lane on what looked like an old chopper bike.

I don’t believe in coincidences. Was I being followed? I needed to know, so I got on my scooter, started her up and pushed her off her stand. By now, the child had disappeared around a bend and I hastened to follow.

I set off determinately at a cracking twenty miles per hour in hot pursuit of this possible, all be it young, stalker. Rounding the bend, I fully expected to have the child on a chopper bike in full view.

The lane although rising steeply away from the coast, was almost arrow straight.

I stopped.

Was I having hallucinations?

Had my encounter with the dishy Alistair made me take leave of my senses?

The strange child on the bike had vanished!

Curiouser and curiouser.

And now the story continues…

I went up and down the lane and couldn’t see where the child could have gone, and then on the third sweep, I saw a narrow path leading off to the left. I had missed it before due to the fact that some hedges were nearly covering it.

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t a supernatural experience that I had just, erm, experienced.

I went on my way, puzzled at who the child was and why he or she was apparently following me. Or was I being followed? Maybe it was just a coincidence or I was becoming paranoid.

Shrugging my shoulders, I continued on my way.

As I rode along, I wondered once again who the child was. Maybe someone who was just nosy. Lets face it, a girl on a pink scooter wearing a pink helmet, must attract a certain amount of attention. The way this place worked, there probably wouldn’t be many people who didn’t know about me now.

~*~

As promised, I met Sally back at the café; and as I pulled up, I looked around for The Shadow Child but all was clear. I wondered if it was my overactive imagination playing tricks with me.

In the café, I had some sort of meat pie, as I was peckish. I was offered a haggis, but somehow, I didn’t fancy eating something that involved a sheep’s stomach, heart, liver and lungs.

Sally, who was on a see food diet; had sausages and chips. We both had the obligatory cups of tea.

I mentioned where I went and the fact that I saw the strange child around every corner, an exaggeration, but it made me wonder…

Sally shrugged.

‘It could be any one of the kids around here. There isn’t much to do and they tend to hang around on street corners. We don’t have much crime on Muckle and it’s a bit surprising we don’t have more trouble considering as there isn’t much to do on the island. Mind you hen, it helps that our policeman, Doughall is six foot seven in his socks and is fierce when roused.’

‘Hands on is he?’

‘You could say that; fists, feet and the occasional Glasgow kiss when the boys have a wee bit too much of the whisky.’

‘Glasgow kiss?’ I asked.

‘Head butt, usually onto the nose.’

‘Nasty,’

‘Very, but he doesn’t have to resort to that normally, his sheer presence is normally enough to quell even the most rowdy drunks.’

‘Doesn’t he just arrest them and let the due process of law sort things out?’

‘He doesn’t like the paperwork.’

‘Oh,’ I replied not knowing if that was a good thing or bad.

We talked of other inconsequential things and then Sally paid for our drinks etc, and we left the café. After the lunchtime rush of three couples, a fisherman and a dog named Spot, we were the last ones to leave and Molly shut up shop, as she wanted to do some shopping. I nearly said that she wouldn’t get much custom if she closed up in the middle of the day, but I held my tongue as I didn’t want to give her too many revolutionary ideas all at once. I could see that this was going to be a long haul.

Maybe I could suggest getting a youngster in doing work experience to hold the fort or even do the shopping while Molly kept the café open and earned some more money?

‘Right Chloe, lets go and see Auntie Aileen, Angus has already taken your case and other bits and pieces to her place. Leave your scooter here, it’ll be safe enough.’

‘So, she’s OK with me staying for a bit?’

‘Who, Auntie? I think so.’ She replied somewhat mysteriously.

We went up the hill away from the sea front and harbor. The town which was little as towns go, was such a picturesque place, it reminded me in some ways of that quaint place in Devon what was it called…oh yes, Penmarris.

All the buildings were brightly and and colourfully painted and looked more cheerful than down on the sea front where, I assumed, the exposure to the ravages of the coastal weather meant that painting and decorating would be required more often than usual.

Sally’s aunt (who was evidently her great aunt) lived half way up the hill. It was a terraced cottage, like many of the dwellings in them thar parts. The door was pink, a bit over the top. I thought, especially as the windows were painted sky blue. Well the windowsills and woodwork anyway were blue; as it would be silly to paint the actual windows, cos you wouldn’t see out of them if they were painted…I digress. Anyway it was a cheerful looking place and well looked after compared to the Landlady From Hell’s residence.

Sally knocked loudly on the knocker; I swear that you could here the noise in Edinburgh, and a few seconds later; I could hear the clump of sensible shoes coming down stairs.

The door opened and an ancient lady peered out at us.

‘Yes?’ she quavered.

‘Auntie, its me, Sally.’

‘Eh?’ she said, cupping her ear.

‘SALLY,’

‘Sally who?’

Your great niece, Sally, I SAY, YOUR NIECE SALLY!’

‘She’s a bit deaf,’ murmured Sally.

‘Your not kidding,’ I replied.

‘Hang on,’ said Sally and she leant forward and with her fingers searched behind her aunts’ ear. To be honest I don’t think that Aileen noticed.

‘CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW,’ said Sally.

‘You don’t have to shout, I’m not deaf.’

Well that was a whopper, if ever I heard one, but I let it go.

‘Is that you Sally?’

‘Yes Auntie,’ sighed Sally, ‘this is Chloe, we spoke earlier, do you remember?’

I went forward a bit so that she could see me more clearly.

Squinting, she looked me up and down.

‘Are you Margaret’s girl?’

‘No, my mother is called Helen,’

‘Why have yer got black eyes?’

I put my hand up to my face; obviously Max Factor wasn’t doing the job of hiding my bruises as well as I thought. Maybe she wasn’t as poorly sighted as I thought. I wondered why Sally hadn’t mentioned it, or anyone else come to think of it. Maybe people were just being polite?

‘Erm, I had a bit of a run in with a thug.’

‘Mmm,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘Do ye want me to send Horace over te give him a kicking?’

‘Auntie, Horace died twenty years ago.’

‘That was her son.’ she whispered aside to me.

‘Did he?’ said Aileen.

‘Yes dear, don’t you remember?’

‘Of course I do,’ she replied tetchily, ‘got killed in the war,’

‘No, that was Uncle Stuart, your husband. Horace got killed in the storm of ’93 in the fishing boat?

‘Oh yes, that’s right. Anyway, don’t stand there mythering, come away in.’

Aileen led the way as we went up some stairs and into a quaint rather old-fashioned kitchen that was probably the last thing in sophistication in 1950.

Soon we were drinking the inevitable tea out of the china teacups. The kitchen was much like the rest of the house, time-warped back to the 50’s, but it wasn’t out of place or looked strange, it suited Aileen and I could see why she didn’t want to change anything. The place reflected her age and probably the time of her life that she felt most comfortable with.

I shook my head; all this was all a bit profound for a simple girl like me!

I came back to reality, realising that Sally and Aileen were discussing me.

‘So is it alright for Chloe to stay here until her cottage is sorted out?’

Aileen peered at me?

‘Are ye clean?’ she asked.

‘Pardon me?’

‘Are ye deaf lass, are ye clean? Do ye keep yer room tidy and do ye do own washing up?’

‘Erm, yes,’ I replied, wondering where all this was going. Did she want to inspect my fingernails and the back of my neck for signs of grubbiness?

‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness,’ she said rather grandly.

She would get out the scriptures next and ask me to join with her in prayer. I wondered if this was all a big mistake. Maybe I would be better off sleeping in a hedgerow or something…

‘Now, now Auntie, don’t start to get all preachy on us.’

She turned to me and whispered, ‘she was last in church in 1998 and that was so that she could get out of the rain.’

‘What’s that you’re saying about rain?’

‘Just that it looks like rain Auntie.’

Glancing outside, I could see wall-to-wall blue sky and sunshine.

‘Aye, I can feel it in me bones, it’ll rain by sundown, mark my words,’ said Aileen, sagely.

‘Right Chloe, I’ll leave you to get settled in. Shall we meet tomorrow in your office, that is, if that lazy, good for nothing Hamish has got his finger out and actually cleared it out?’

‘OK,’

‘See you later Auntie.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Will ye see me later?’

‘Oh never mind, its just a figure of speech?’

‘Ye could loose a few pounds, but ye figure looks all right te me hen.’

‘I think we need to get your hearing aid battery changed.’

‘Eh?’

Sally sighed and then just waived goodbye, leaving me with Aileen.

I won’t go into the conversation that I had with Aileen as it gives me a headache just thinking about it. Somehow, with shouting and primitive sign language I managed to get shown my room and settled in. I was given a key and was told rather loudly that tea would be on the table at five sharp and the doors would be locked and bolted at ten.

It may sound as if (call me) Auntie was a bit of a battle-axe in the Landlady From Hell category, but she was rather sweet and dotty really and I could tell meant me know harm and indeed, I think that she liked the idea of me staying with her.

I left her dozing in the sitting room and decided to get myself organised and made my way upstairs.

My room was pleasant and airy and wallpapered in a flowered pattern. The window had a nice view of the beach and harbour, which was nice. The bed was single but incredibly comfortable when I bounced up and down on it. No duvet on the bed, but crisp white sheets, blue blankets and a sky blue quilt. There was a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a dressing table all, I think, in mahogany.

As promised, Angus had dropped off my things and I spent a few moments unpacking my case and putting my thongs, I mean things, away.

I didn’t have a lot of clothes, not nearly enough for my needs and I knew that at some stage I would have to go on the mainland and do a shop or two, but for now, I would make do with what I got.

First things first, I went down the hallway to the bathroom. No luxury of an ensuite bathroom at Auntie’s I would have to share with her. I just hoped that she didn’t need the facilities when I did, as there was only the one toilet.

The bath was quite small and narrow, but as I was small and narrow too, it wasn’t too bad and I was lucky that the water was nice and hot.

I sank beneath the waves of my bubble bath and sighed, as this was the first time that I had had a chance to relax since arriving in a bedraggled state onto the island.

I was in there for quite a while and contemplated on the things that had happened to me. All in all, I thought that things weren’t too bad and could only get better. All right, I had met some resistance and a few downright nasty types, but I wasn’t going to let that spoil things for me.

I glanced down at my body and smiled, my breasts although not large, were pert and nice looking. I didn’t think that I would ever like large breasts and genetics meant that unless I went under the knife, Pinkie and Perky would never be much bigger than they were at the moment.

I had a thought, I couldn't call Pinkie the breast Pinkie any more, because that was the name of my scooter. Mind you it was very juvenile thing to name your breasts, but who said that i would ever truly grow up?

I continued my anatomical self examination type thingie.

Further down my body, the unwanted appendage was still there. I would have loved for the willy fairy to take it away, like the tooth fairy took my toofypegs when I was little, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that eventuality.

One day, I would get the courage to make my outie into an innie or preferably get someone else to do it, as I wasn’t in to DIY. For some reason, my mind went back to a long running children’s program called Blue Peter, where the enthusiastic and bouncy presenters used to make things out of sticky- back plastic and loo rolls.

‘Now children, what we are going to do is just snip this and that off, turn this inside out, trace around this bit insert that bit; careful put it together using this glue and sticky-back plastic and there you are, a brand new vagina and you can’t even see the joins!’

I giggled, if only…

After padding back to my room in my robe, I blow dried and straightened my hair and than took a moment to decide what to wear.

I did have jeans and casual tops, but being a girly girl, I preferred skirts, pretty blouses and, of course dresses. I didn’t have much choice until I went shopping but I did have a nice peasant style top and black skirt which went down to mid-calf and that would do for now.

In panties and bra, I decided to put some makeup on before getting dressed.

My face still looked a bit Panda like from the black eyes and I spent some time with concealer and makeup to hide the damage. After carefully applying eye shadow and mascara, I think I did a decent job of hiding said damage. I wasn’t one for slapping on the makeup using a trowel, but needs must, as they say. I looked forward to when my bruises would fade and I looked more like a normal human being. I finished, by applying some pink, lip-gloss.

Satisfied with my look, I swiftly dressed and then brushed out my hair until it shone. Then I spritzed myself in all my delicate places and I was as ready as I could be.

After a final look at myself in the long mirror on the back of the door and deciding that I looked as good as I could, I made my way downstairs from where I could smell freshly baked cakey smells.

I passed inspection from Auntie who just smiled and said that, ‘I was a pretty wee thing,’ before she returned to her baking which, I must admit, smelt mouth watering.

Needless to say, I stayed in for tea, which comprised of dainty cakes and tiny crustless sandwiches washed down by the inevitable cup of tea or two. I nearly asked for coffee, but felt that it may be to revolutionary for Auntie.

After helping with the washing up, I went to my room, picked up my shoulder bag and ventured out into the early evening sunshine. I also took my red Pashmina; as it would probably get a lot cooler when the sun went down.

First things first, I went to get my scooter. I would take her back to Auntie’s and leave her in the shed around the back, as I had been told that it was empty apart from a few large hairy spiders. I wasn’t sure about the spiders, but at least Pinkie would be dry if, or rather when the heavens opened out and it poured down with rain.

Pinkie was waiting patiently where I had left her. I wheeled her up the hill to Aunties house as, if I rode her, I would have wild hair issues. I could cope with a lot but not that. I saw a few strange looks from the natives, but no comments except from a young boy who, while picking his nose and eating its contents, pointed at me and asked his mummy what that strange lady was doing. I didn’t hang about to hear her reply.

Soon I was at Aunties place and went around the back where the shed was. With some trepidation, I opened the door, wheeled Pinkie in and put her on her stand. I didn’t hang about as it was dark and dusty in there and I did not want to be attacked by big hairy things. I thought that I heard scurrying sounds, but that may have been my overactive imagination.

Soon, I was walking back down the hill. Over in the distance I could see a few fine weather clouds, fluffy white ones that just emphasised the fine weather we were having. I wondered why I had bothered with the pashmina, it was still rather hot and the sun wasn’t due to set for another few hours.

I reached the sea front and nodded to a few people walking dogs, children and in one case a cat. Strange, but who was I calling people strange when I could be considered one of the strangest people on Muckle.

I gave myself a mental slap around the face with a wet kipper. That talk was defeatist. I was a girl, a nice girl, a good girl. I may have started out life differently, physically anyway, but now my outside matched my inside apart from a little appendage, which would be removed sooner or later.

I walked along the prom, taking in the sites and scenery and imagining once again this lovely place heaving with happy holidaymakers in garish, ill fitting clothes, a bit like San Tropez.

At some point, I would start taking some photos of the islands best features. I doubted very much if the budget would run to a professional photographer and I was quite good at point and click type pickies.

In the harbor were several fishing boats. I, like most people, knew that being a fisherperson was a hard life with limited rewards, especially with the fishing quotas being so daft and restricted. What was the point of throwing non-quota fish overboard when they were dead anyway?

I shook my head and continued on; then I had another light bulb moment. Maybe the boats could be used for sightseeing? True the boats would have to be tarted up a bit and maybe a gallon or two of air freshener wouldn’t go amiss, but I bet that the idea could be a money earner.

I filed the idea away and hoped that there wouldn’t be too much in the way of red tape to make it work. The daft, over restrictive and downright loopy health and safety rules would be the death of me one day.

There were a few more clouds in the sky now, but they were high and there was little sign of the weather changing. I heard the sound of a throaty car engine behind me and turned to look. It was The Porsche and hunky Alistair Craig was driving, his blond hair waving gently in the wind, his muscly arm was resting nonchalantly on the open window of the open top car.

He saw me and waved. I finger waved him back, sighing as I did so and then after a sudden bang on my head I found myself on my back. I had collided with a lamppost, head first and I could see tiny twinkling stars and a few assorted flying fairies…

I shook my head to clear it.

From my prone position, I could see the Porsche continuing down the road, Alistair was obviously impervious to my plight, otherwise he would have come to the rescue of this damsel in distress—well I hoped so, anyway. I looked around and quickly got back up on my feet, feeling like a complete idiot. I was lucky that the road was empty and my collision had not been witnessed by anyone.

I rubbed the bump on my forehead and hoped that my fringe would cover the inevitable bruise.

I brushed myself down and then glanced across the road. That child was there, looking at me and grinning.

I was going to have it out with the kid; enough was enough. The last thing I needed at that moment was a stalker, and one that laughed at me, at that!

I picked up my shoulder bag, laying in the gutter and then looked left and right, as I had been taught at school. I was about to walk across the road …but stopped in my tracks.

The kid had gone, vanished into thin air, disappeared. In short, she or he had done it again!

I walked across the road, I was going to find out why the child had gone, if it was the last thing I would do.

I noticed a passage that I hadn’t seen before, down the side of one of the cottages and immediately went down it. Of course the kid wasn’t to be seen and unless I knocked on everyone’s door, I would never know which one the brat had disappeared into.

Turning back, I continued my walk, rubbing the bump on my head, once again, wondering if Alistair had seen my stupid antics involving the lamppost in his rear view mirror. No if he had seen it, he would have come to my rescue like the gentleman that he was.

Mind you, I had no idea if he was a gentleman, he might be a rogue for all I knew, but I had this impression that he was a nice man and he would have folded me in his arms and helped to make me feel better.

I sighed, I had read too many romantic novels and none of them included a handsome man coming to help or rescue someone like me, a girly transsexual. Would I ever find love?

‘Stop it Chloe,’ I said to myself and then looked down. A Heinz 57 type dog was staring at me.

‘What?’ I asked the dog.

The dog just looked at me, then gave a sniff, cocked his leg up against a wall, did his stuff and then sauntered off.

Was it me or something? Even the local neighbourhood dogs seemed to lack any interest in me. I had a bubbly personality and could even balance a spoon on my nose, essential for breaking the ice at parties, well it was when I was nine, anyway.

I sighed, these up and down moods would be the death of me.

I continued my walk and found myself around the headland. The road stopped abruptly and turned into a grassy path, leading gently up the hill, following the coast. Looking up, I could see that it was getting cloudier, but there was no hint of rain, so I walked along the path and it eventually led to the top of a hill, where I could see much of the coastline. It was a nice spot, so I sat down on the short grass and chilled out a bit.

The gentle breeze was nice, as was the peacefulness. All I could hear was the waves down below, breaking on the shore and the ever-present birds wheeling overhead. My head ached a bit still and I lay back on the grass and closed my eyes for a moment.

The sound of hooves woke me up with a start.

I sat up and from the left came a woman on a horse. It was a magnificent creature, the horse, not the woman, although I was sure that she was very nice…anyway, she, or rather they, changed direction and came up to me. The horse was breathing rather heavily, but seemed happy enough. The woman had a riding hat on, jodhpurs and all the usual riding gear.

‘Hi there.’

‘Hi,’ I replied, as the first drops of rain pattered down.

‘You’re Chloe, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, do I know you?’

She jumped down off the horse, who just stood there eating grass and then took her helmet off; the woman not the horse. I wondered fleetingly if I was a trifle concussed.

‘Probably not, but you are our famous tourist guru who will help to turn this backwater into something special.’

‘I hope so,’

‘Oh you will, you have already stirred things up. We need new blood here, people who can get things done and stop young islanders leaving for the mainland. I’m Isabel, by the way, head teacher at the one and only primary school. I’ll be dragging you in to help fund raising and stuff like that and you will be a governor of the school. You can also cook the school dinners if you like.’

‘Erm…’

She laughed.

‘Your face…’

She was about my age and had lovely long hair done up in a ponytail and a face to die for. I was immediately jealous, and then chastised myself for being so shallow.

‘I hope that I can help, with the tourist side anyway. I haven’t had much experience with children,’

‘You will,’ she said somewhat ominously and positively. She then looked up.

‘Its going to rain hard soon; want a lift to Aileen’s?’

‘You know her?’

‘Yes, everyone knows Auntie Aileen. So do you want a lift?’

‘On that?’ I said looking at what to me was a huge horse.

‘That is Sugar Plum; she’s a sweetie really and only eats people for breakfast.’

‘Ha-ha,’ I said doubtfully. I wasn’t a horsy person, but I felt sure that horses weren’t meat eaters.

It started to rain more persistently.

‘So do you want a lift?’

I wasn’t sure if riding on the back of three tons of horse would be a good idea, but, ‘she who dares wins,’ I thought, so what the hell.

Isabel put her helmet on, jumped up onto the horse energetically and then helped me up. I was sitting in front of her and astride a horse for the first time in my life. I was somewhat concerned about my lack of helmet or the provision of a seat belt, but I hung on grimly as Isabel decided to race off down the path.

I was told later that it was just a gentle trot, but to me it seemed like a hundred miles an hour. It actually stopped raining then and the sun peeped out of the clouds.

‘Lets do a detour,’ shouted Isabel in my ear.

‘What?’

‘Hang on tight!’

The horse suddenly went left down a narrower path and slowed down a bit, for which I was eternally grateful.

We went through some woodland and then out onto a beach. It was quite a long beach and the tide had just gone out, leaving the sand firm and wet. Sugar Plum seemed to know where she was going and that was more than I did.

I wasn’t sure if it was Isabel driving or if the horse was in charge as we went across the sand increasing our pace as we did so.

We headed straight for the sea and I wondered if she was ever going to stop her headlong dash to destruction.

I could hear Isabel laughing and I wondered if, like the horse, she was wee bit mad.

We arrived at the sea and I shut my eyes, wondering how long I could hold my breath as we went under the waves. We swayed violently to the left and I could hear the thudding of hooves and splashing of water. I opened an eye and I could see that we were racing along the shoreline as if we were in a erm, race of some sort. The wind whipped at my hair and my skirt was up around my waist showing my knickers to any passing seagull or pervert that happened to be training his or maybe even her binoculars at us.

The spray being created did nothing for my clothes and I daren’t even think what my hair looked like.

We carried on for quite awhile along the beach and I started to relax and then enjoy myself. It was very invigorating rushing along like that, with the waves crashing and the hooves splashing in the water.

We passed a few beachcombers and dog walkers and they all waved as we flew past. A few brave dogs tried to keep up with us, but Sugar Plum was too fast and we soon left them behind.

Eventually, we reached the end of the beach and then slowed to a halt.

We were all a bit breathless but I felt all of a tingle from my impromptu ride along that wonderful sandy beach.

‘That was great,’ said Isabel, ‘are you okay?’

‘Yes, fine; thanks for that.’

‘You’re welcome. Now lets get you back to Auntie Aileen’s.’

We went back up the beach, along a lane and then we were back in town. A few moments later, we arrived at Auntie Aileen’s house.

With a strong arm, Isabel helped me down off the horse. I nearly collapsed as my legs felt week for some reason, but I soon recovered my composure and thanked her once again.

‘No problem, I’ll see you tomorrow. If you have time, pop up to the school and I’ll show you around.’

‘I will. Bye then.’

Sugar Plum looked at me and I swear that she winked!

Isabel gave me a wave and then she was off, Sugar Plums hooves clip clopping down the road.

I went up the steps a bit wobbly and was just about to get my key out when something tugged at my skirt.

I turned around and looked down.

‘Can I talk with you?’

It was the elusive child.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

I looked at the child, more surprised than anything else.
‘Erm yes; okay. Do you want to come in?’
‘No, I want to speak to you where no one else can hear.’

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 8

Previously …

With a strong arm, Isabel helped me down off the horse. I nearly collapsed as my legs felt week for some reason, but I soon recovered my composure and thanked her once again.

‘No problem, I’ll see you tomorrow. If you have time, pop up to the school and I’ll show you around.’

‘I will. Bye then.’

Sugar Plum looked at me and I swear that she winked!

Isabel gave me a wave and then she was off, Sugar Plums hooves clip clopping down the road.

I went up the steps a bit wobbly and was just about to get my key out when something tugged at my skirt.

I turned around and looked down.

‘Can I talk with you?’

It was the elusive child.

And now the story continues…

I looked at the child, more surprised than anything else.

‘Erm yes; okay. Do you want to come in?’

‘No, I want to speak to you where no one else can hear.’

‘But Auntie is as deaf as a post.’

‘I don’t think that she’s as deaf as she makes out.’

‘All right, how about down on the beach, we can find a quiet spot, I’m sure.’

‘I’ll meet you down past the last beach hut.’

The child didn’t say anything more but just nodded and turned away, in seconds she had disappeared down an alley. Talk about a disappearing act!

I followed, just using the main road. The last thing I wanted was to get lost in the alleys and back passageways of that quirky place.

I thought about her while I walked along the cobbles. I was more puzzled than anything else. She had looked no more than eleven or twelve. Her hair was tucked under a red bobble hat and she was wearing an anorak and jeans. Her accent had been a sort of soft Scottish one and not anything like as broad as some of the people that I had spoken to here. She was well spoken and then I realised, I had called her she in my mind. I assumed by her face and manner that she was a girl. If that was so, why was she wearing what looked suspiciously like boys’ clothes? Talk about mixed signals!

Soon I was on the sea front and I made my way to the end hut, as requested. There weren’t any people about and the clouds had come over again. In seconds, it started to poor down with rain and I was getting wet through.

‘Where is she?’ I thought.

‘Hello,’

I jumped and there she was behind me. How did she do that?

It was now raining cats, dogs, mice and elephants and she motioned to me, then grabbed my sleeve and went over to the nearest hut. Dragging me in, I found myself in a small hut with basic amenities like a calor gas stove, sink, a small sofa-bed and such like.

She handed me a towel and I dried myself off while she did the same with another one.

Outside I could hear the sound of rain splattering on the roof. What happened to the tropical type weather, maybe this was a tropical storm?

Anyway, I had no more time to consider the weather as she spoke.

‘You are Chloe McKerrell?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are pretty.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I want to be pretty.’

‘You are.’

‘I know, but my da thinks that I shouldn’t be pretty.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was born a boy,’

‘So this is what its all about,’ I thought.

‘How can I help?’

‘Can you talk to him?’

‘Why me?’

‘Because you were born a boy too.’

‘Who told you?’

‘Everyone knows.’

‘So, no secrets here.’

‘How long have you known that you are a girl?’

‘For ever.’

‘What does your mother think?’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I can’t remember her.’

‘Oh,’

‘Will you do it then?’

‘What?’

‘Speak to Da?’

‘Da?’

‘My Dad.’

‘Does he know how you feel?’

‘About what?’

‘Wanting to be a girl?’

‘But I am a girl’

‘OK, fair enough, you are a girl, but have you told your dad about it?’

‘I did when I was a wee one, but he told me not to be silly as I was a boy and always would be. Then I asked again when you arrived on the island, but he said that I were daft and I should forget aboot it.’

‘Is your dad a nice man?’

I didn’t want him to hit me, so the question was relevant.

‘Aye, but he is a bit thick sometimes. How can he not see that I am a girl?’

‘Well, at your age, you could be mistaken for either. Androgynous they call it.’

‘Is that a sickness?’

‘No., it means that you could be taken for either a girl or a boy. When I saw you earlier, the way you are dressed you could be taken for boy or a girl.’

‘Oh; so will you talk to Da?’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘That I am a girl and I want to see the doctors, so that I can have pills and injections and then an operation to put me right.

‘But I don’t know you. For all I know, you could be pretending.’

‘I’m not pretending, why would I do that? Anyway, if I were pretending, what would be the point?

‘I don’t know. How old are you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘You look younger.’

‘I can’t help that, I’m wee for my age, even for a girl.’

‘So your father knows about me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what does he think about it?’

‘He's been told that you are pretty.’

‘I’m not pretty, passable, but not pretty.’

‘You are and you know it.’

‘You are very opinionated for a twelve year old.’

‘I am what I am. Will you talk to him? He might take it from you.’

‘Take what?’

‘The truth.’

I looked at her. She did look too pretty to be a boy, even taking into account the androgynous thingie. Maybe she had a medical condition.

‘Have you seen a doctor about your height and other issues?’

‘No, I’m scared of Doctor Mulligan, he’s old and his breath smells of whisky all the time.’

‘If you do want to be seen as a girl, you will have to see lots of doctors and the first port of call is usually your GP.

‘If I was seen as a girl, I would see his daughter, Millie Mulligan, she is the GP for all the women.’

‘That seems a bit old fashioned…’ I started and then realised what I was saying. This island was in a bit of a time warp and I shouldn’t be surprised about anything.

She looked at me expectantly. Why was it that I was already getting intimately involved with people’s lives on the island? Is this how it was in a closely-knit community? Was there any inbreeding here? It would explain a lot…

I sighed.

‘All right, where do you live?’

‘I’ll take you tomorrow; you might find it hard to get to it. Can you be here tomorrow evening about seven?’

I nodded.

‘Thanks; you are sweet. See you then.’

She jumped up, gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then before I could say anything else, she was gone.

‘Damn,’ I thought, ‘I still don’t know her name!’

I stayed on the beach and contemplated things for a while before returning to Aileen’s for the evening. Walking down to the shore, it was calming to hear and see the water gently lapping up the beach. I walked along the waters edge smiling, as I remembered the headlong horse ride just a short while ago. I would love to be able to ride a horse like that, but I was a bit of a coward where horses were concerned. As far as I knew, they could bite and kick you and I didn’t fancy that much. Maybe, Isabel knew of a horse that was as gentle as a lamb and perhaps she could teach me to ride.

All this would be something to think of in the future, as I had things to do and places to go before I could even think of things like leisure time.

I had only been on the island for a few days and already my life had changed dramatically from my previous one. The job description wasn’t anything like what I imagined it to be.

‘Still.’ I thought, ‘at least it’s interesting. But, what am I going to say to the girls father?’

I wasn’t an expert on gender matters. I was just a woman who had plumbing problems. Maybe the girl had issues that only a doctor could sort out. I would have to try to persuade her father to take her to the lady doctor, Millie Mulligan.

The sun started to set in the west, casting shadows over the rocks and hills to my left and leaving a long orange reflection over the water. The beach was virtually empty now, apart from a few dog walkers with their dogs, obviously.

It started to get a bit chilly, not surprising, considering how northerly the island was. I wondered what it was like on Muckle in the winter? Was it the opposite of how it was now? I would know soon enough, as long as I wasn’t run off the island as being some sort of subversive who wanted to change the way things had been around there for maybe hundreds of years.

I walked back up the beach away from the gently lapping waves that so soothed my soul. Ahead, in the distance, but seemingly quite close was the big mountain known as Beinn Uaibhreachd. It was so high, that the top was wreathed in mist as the cold air of the ground connected with the colder, higher regions.

I went up the steps from the beach and to my right was the pub, The Jolly Sailor. On an impulse, I went over to the pub and walked in.

Surprisingly, it was quite busy and not a little bit noisy. A juke box was pumping out annoying 80’s music.

Then Agadoo stopped and there was silence.

Everyone looked at me; everyone being about forty people.No one was smiling. There didn't seem to be anyone jolly in The Jolly Sailor.

I wondered what was wrong. Had I walked into a private party? Was this a Masonic Lodge meeting? Was my hair all mussed up?

There was a man behind the bar; he was polishing a glass so hard that he was in danger of breaking it. He looked pale and shocked at the sight of me.

He coughed as I walked over to the bar, my shoes making a certain amount of noise as I walked across the hard wood floor.

‘Erm, gin and tonic please.’

There was general intake of breath that depleted the oxygen in the room and made me feel somewhat lightheaded.

He looked as if I had insulted him. It made me wonder if he was going to pull a shotgun out from under the bar and then give me both barrels.

He seemed to find his voice.

‘I…I canna.’

‘You canna?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘You canna what?’

‘Serve ye here.’

‘Why?’

I wondered for a moment if he and all the other people in the room had a thing against the transgendered community and in particular me. It was a fleeting thought, but still…

‘Ye have ta drink in there.’

He pointed to the corner and there was a door marked, “SNUG”.

I should have walked out, but I didn’t. I could have said something, I should have said something, but I was a bit shocked. I went over to the door and walked in.

It was a small bar with maybe six tables, there were only two taken and the only people in there were women — four of them and they all smiled at me, which was nice and bit more friendly than the initial response received in the other bar.

Then my razor sharp mind finally twigged it. The main bar only had men and this small one only had women.

The lady behind the bar said, ‘what will ye have dear?’

I should have been pleased about the fact that the men in the bar thought that I was a real live true woman and that I wasn’t considered “manly enough” to drink there. I should have been pleased, but I wasn’t.

I felt a bit miffed.

I walked over to the bar.

‘Can I have a gin and tonic please?’

‘Of course dear; go and sit down and I’ll bring it over. Ice and lemon?’

‘Yes please.’

I went to go to an empty table but was stopped by a youngish woman with fine long black hair, she was incredibly thin and I was a bit jealous because she was also very pretty indeed.

‘Come and sit with us,’ she said pleasantly.

I walked over and sat down,

‘Hello,’ I said.

Her companion was older, perhaps about forty, and a bit plump, but she had a pleasant open face that I felt was welcoming.

‘You’re Chloe?’ asked the younger woman as I sat down.

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘I’m Morag and this is Claire,’ she said pointing to her companion.

‘Here ye are Chloe,’ said the lady from behind the bar. ‘My name is Fiona. Its quiet so I’ll rest a wee while.’

She sat down with us.

‘So Chloe,’ asked Morag, ‘what do you think about us?’

‘Us?’

‘The islanders.’

‘Oh, well, early days yet. Mind you it’s a bit of a shock this.’

‘What is?’ asked Fiona.

‘A pub where men are in one room and women appear only to be allowed in the snug.’

‘Aye, some of the men in this place should have been born in Victorian times. Mind you, it’s nice to get away from the men folk sometimes. Some of them are a pain in the tit!’

We all laughed at that.

As I sipped my drink, I wondered how I could persuade the landlord of the pub to drop that silly out-dated and possibly illegal segregation rule. Then I remembered that a golf course not many miles from where I lived in London had similar restrictions.

‘You didn’t really answer Morag’s question,’ said Claire, ‘what do ye think of us?’

‘Some people are lovely but I’m afraid not everyone seems to like me.’

‘Old Ma McTavish maybe?’ asked Morag.

‘Yes, we didn’t seem to hit it off.’

‘She’s a bigoted old woman who never forgave her husband for running off with a salesman.’

‘Salesman?’ I queried.

‘Yes it was a he.’

‘Oh.’

‘She got a down on anyone that doesn’t conform to her strict so called moral ethics, so you coming in as a erm, transy, wouldn’t have a chance of getting on the right side of her.’ said Claire.

‘I think you mean tranny or transsexual,’ I said, ‘so does everyone know that I was apparently born a boy?’

‘Oh yes,’ replied Claire, ‘everyone knows but most don’t mind a wee bit. Lets face it no one could possibly see you as a man. You are so pretty I could scratch your eyes out.’

She said that with a smile, so I took it as a compliment rather than any sort of violent intention.

‘So, ‘I asked, ‘ whose pub is it anyway?’

‘My husband Dougal,’ said Fiona.

I think that I may have shown my surprise.

‘I know what you are thinking. How can I allow him to have separate bars for men and women? Well the truth of it is that change comes slowly to Muckle. He married me ten years ago and I’m not yet considered a local. I come from Edinburgh and they would laugh at what we have to put up with here. Any changes take time but I’ve been trying to get him to see my way. But Hubby, bless him, is a cautious man and he likes the way things are now. If it came from me, it would seem that I, as an incomer was trying to alter the way of life here. A life that has been going well for God knows how many centuries.’

I rubbed my eyes. Suddenly I was feeling quite tired. Here was yet another sign of stagnation. People were resistant to change. Would I be able to change their way of thinking or would I fail as others had in dragging this wonderful place into the twenty-first century?

I couldn’t just jump in with both feet and try to make them change. I would have to be careful about approaching the people that matter and getting them on board with my plans.

Mind you, I had only been on Muckle for five minutes and I wasn’t sure what those plans might be yet.

I managed to get back to Aileen’s before lockout time. She wasn’t standing there with a rolling pin in her hands when I got back, but despite her hearing problems, she heard me open the front door quietly and nearly gave me a heart attack when she appeared from nowhere in her winceyette nightie, shocking pink candlewick dressing gown and curlers.

‘There ye are Jenny.’

‘I’m not Jenny.’

‘You’re not Margaret’s girl?’

‘No, I’m Chloe, remember, Sally introduced us and I’m staying here.’

‘Oh yes, there you are Chloe. Have a nice evening?’

‘Yes thank you.’

‘Off to bed are ye now?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Good night to ye then. Are you sure that you aren’t Jenny?’

‘Certain; good night then,’ I replied as I left her in the hall and made my way to my bedroom.

I was undressed and in my bed before I realised that she had heard me perfectly well. She might be a bit muddled and forgetful, but I wondered how deaf she really was.

The next morning I was up bright and early. I had things to do and places to go and as I was a very conscientious and hard working Tourist officer type person, I was keen to get started.

Auntie Aileen was still in bed, so I had some cornflakes and a cup of tea and then after checking that it wasn’t monsoon weather outside, but bright and sunny, I dressed accordingly in white capri’s and lemon top and then applied makeup. I wasn’t one of those girls who plastered the stuff on; I liked to be subtle.

I was now ready to face the world and with a hey, and a ho, and a hey-nonny-no, I swiftly went to the shed where Pinkie was and trying not to think too much about big hairy spiders hidden in corners ready to pounce on me, I took her off her stand and wheeled her out to the bright sunlight.

Soon we were going up and down some narrow lanes as I tried to get to know more about that wonderful island. Looking over to the mountain, I could see some clouds creeping over the peeks, hiding the summit from view.

I carried on my way and I found myself going down a narrow lane that I hope would lead to somewhere nice. I should have had a Tom-tom thingie as I hadn’t a clue where I was, but I couldn’t get lost on an island could I?

Of course, I got lost.

Well, it wasn’t my fault. Every little wiggly lane looked like any other and when you’ve seen one pretty beach you’ve seen them all. Okay that’s an exaggeration, but there were so many, I couldn’t be expected to know where I was all the time, could I?

I think that makes sense.

Anyhoo, I was looking at the mountain and those clouds that sort of covered the top of it and the next minute, the sun switched off and it went all dark and then there was thunder and lightning and then it poured down.

We are not talking about a gentle shower here. We’re talking full on cats, dogs, rabbit and cows type rain.

In seconds I was soaked. Then the wind started and as you may remember I was only wearing the skimpiest of clothing.

It was a toss up whether I would die of drowning or exposure, as the temperature plummeted to what seemed to me to be sub zero levels

Oh, did I mention that there were now trees all around me and the lightning and thunder were getting very close by now, so being struck by lightning was a distinct possibility. It didn’t help that I was sitting on a damp, pink metal scooter.

I nearly wet myself when I heard the sound of a hooter. What I mean by that is that rather than getting wet from the outside in, I mean the inside out as my bladder…well never mind about that.

Anyway there was this hooter car horn type noise coming from behind me.

I looked around and there was the car.

The Porsche.

The Porsche with its roof up.

The Porsche with what looked like the Incredible Hunk inside.

Alistair.

I would have gasped if my teeth weren’t chattering so much.

Her opened a window and gestured to me.

I put Pinkie by the side of the road and put her on her stand. Then, without a second thought, I ran to the car, wrenched the door open, swiftly got in and rather wetly sat down on the leather passenger seat.

He looked at me and I looked at him.

He was sooo lovely looking, but I had to keep a level head. I was the hard-nosed business woman, with steely resolve. Someone not to be trifled with and in full control of the situation.

‘Hello Chloe McKerrell.’

‘Hi.’ I breathed, well gasped really, but still…

‘You look wet.’

He obviously had powerful skills of observation.

‘Y…yes,’ I replied, shivering with the cold.

‘Grab that blanket from the back. Look you need to get dry; my place is about a mile down the lane. I’ll take you there and then you can get out of those wet things and into something a bit more comfortable.’

‘Gosh.’ I replied as the car accelerated down the road, nearly leaving my tummy behind in the rain.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Sorry about the delay in posting. I have a lot of real life things going on at the moment. I hope to post more in the future.

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

I had to assume that as far as he was concerned, I was a man dressed up as woman. To him, I must be an aberration, someone to be pitied maybe...


Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 10

Previously …

Was she Alistair’s girl friend, lover, wife and had he been lying to me about being unattached?

I sobbed, wondering whether it had been a good idea to hide myself away in that strange quirky island with its even quirkier inhabitants, where whatever I did, seemed to go pear shaped.

Then I heard it in the distance; the unmistakable sound of a Porsche engine coming my way, very fast.

I darted behind a handy hedge and waited for it to pass.

As the sleek sports car roared by me, I could see the passengers clearly, if very briefly. It was Alistair and the mystery woman.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

I listened to the throaty roar of the Porsche’s engine as it rapidly went away.

Standing there, I wondered what the hell I was doing. He had given no indication that he felt anything for me and I had acted like a silly, immature love struck schoolgirl and had run of in some sort of hissy fit.

So, he had complimented me, but he probably did that with all the girls; but then again, he probably did know that I wasn’t like other girls, so what was he up to? Lets face it; privacy was at a premium on this island with its closely-knit community.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Alistair had been playing some sort of game with me. He said that he lived alone, was that a lie too? Was this mysterious girl his live in lover?

I felt so stupid.

Obviously I was nothing to him and that was understandable. What was I to him?

I had to assume that as far as he was concerned, I was a man dressed up as woman. To him, I must be an aberration, someone to be pitied maybe.

Why had he strung me along like that?

Or had he strung me along and were the messages I had been getting, just me being fanciful and wishful thinking?

I had to get real and get on with my life. If love happened to come knocking at my door, then I would deal with it but for now, I had a job to do. I decided there and then not to live on cloud cuckoo land.

Alistair was history.

I took a deep breath and continued down into the village.

No more head in the clouds and fanciful notions. I was there to do a job and I would be a hundred per cent focussed on it.

Feeling sorry for myself was not what I wanted. I should be happy as a dog when you scratch behind its ears and not a moping mini-mop.

I arrived back at Aileen’s house and let myself in. there couldn’t have been too much wrong with her hearing as she immediately came out of the kitchen and confronted me.

‘Is that you Jenny?’

‘No Auntie, its me Chloe?’

Your not Maureen’s girl?

‘No Auntie.’ I said wondering if this scene was going to be repeated every time I came back, a bit like Ground Hog Day.

‘Och yes, that’s right, Chloe. Where ha’ ye been?’ she asked.

‘Erm, why do you ask?’

‘Because the police ha been lookin’ for ye.’

‘Why?’

‘Doughall was looking for ye.’

‘Doughall, oh yes, the rather tall, beefy policeman, covered in muscles.’

‘That’s him. He was telling me that he found ye wee funny pink scooter and ye was nowhere to be found. He was worried that you had gone over a cliff or something.’

‘No, no cliffs; I was picked up by someone.’

Her interest seemed to increase and she looked at me piercingly.

‘Picked up, ye say, by whooom?’

‘Alistair; he was passing and saw that I was getting a soaking, so he gave me a lift to his place to dry out and then I left.’

The explanation seemed a bit lame to me, but no way was I going to tell her an why I left.

‘I ken that ye fancy him.’

‘I do not fancy him as you say. I do not fancy him or any man, or woman for that matter. I’m here to do a job and I have no time for anything of that sort.’

‘Ye face says different. Ha’ ye been crying?’

‘I’m going upstairs to change.’ I replied, not wanting that conversation to continue, ‘where is my scooter?’

‘Brian, the mechanic has brought it back and it’s in the shed around the back.’

‘Oh, right, erm how much do I owe this Brian?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Why’s that, is he the local A.A. man*?

‘No, B.B?’

‘B.B?’

‘Aye, Brian’s Breakdown.’

I got undressed and in my robe. Then sighing, I sat on my bed and put my head in my hands.

I wondered what else would happen to me; talk about an eventful few days! I had left London for the quiet life in a rural place, far from the madding crowd.

However, I had had enough things happen to me in the short time that I had been here than I had ever had in my life. I wondered if I should just go back to London, for the quiet life!

My phone chirped.

‘Hi Sally.’

‘How are things with you?’

‘Fine,’ I lied.

‘Hmm; you don’t sound fine. We need a girly chat. Meet me at the café, fifteen minutes.’

With that she disconnected without giving me the chance to make my excuses.

I sighed and then stood up. Looking out of the window, I could see that all signs of bad weather had gone and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I wasn’t fooled though, as I now knew that it could be all an illusion and that a have squall might appear at any moment. The weather around Muckle was a bit jekyll and hydeish. Still, I couldn’t go out wearing a sou’wester, so I took a chance and after washing my face and applying a little makeup, I slipped on some clean knickers, a yellow sundress and some white strappy sandals.

I was ready to be seen in public again - maybe.

I arrived at the café in two shakes of a Labradoodle’s tail but Sally had beaten me to it. I rather suspect that she had rung me from the café but I had no proof of that. There were several people in there, who all looked up as I walked in, making me feel rather self-conscious for some reason. I walked over to Sally’s table and quickly sat down. I didn’t like being the centre of attention much.

Molly, the café owner and my new friend came over with a smile on her face.

‘Hello there Chloe, what’s this about your wee scooter being abandoned?’

‘Is nothing secret here?’ I asked the room in general.

There was a general reply from most present in the negative.

I sighed; I might just as well tell everyone what was going on in a loud voice, as I would hate to think that people were straining themselves hearing me…

‘Can I have a cup of arsenic…I mean tea please?’

‘Of course dear,’ replied Molly, ‘we can talk later, when all the gossips have gone.’

‘In your dreams,’ I thought, ‘she’s the worst gossip of the lot!’

‘So,’ said Sally, ‘tell auntie what the problem is.’

‘Auntie? You are not much older than me.’

‘That’s very kind of you to say, but I think that I might be a bit more, shall we say, worldly wise. Now, tell me what has happened between you and the delicious Alistair.’

‘You think that he’s erm delicious then?’

‘Any alive and breathing woman would.’

‘Oh, right.’

I stayed silent for a moment.

‘Well, tell all.’

‘I can’t here, too many ears.’

I could see everyone seemed to be ear wigging and it was rather disconcerting.

Sally looked around.

‘I think that I might need to check on overdue council tax…’she said, leaving the words hanging in the air.

Suddenly everyone was not looking at us and getting on with their own business. I looked at Sally with a new respect. She knew how to control a room all right and I wondered, not for the first time, who was the boss; her, or her rather nice but maybe not so assertive hubby.

‘Right,’ she said turning back to me, ‘spill the beans.’

I didn’t want to do any bean spilling, but it was obvious that I wasn’t going to get any peace until I told her the whole sordid story.

So I quietly told her all about it. I won’t go into all the details as you know what happened if you read the previous chapter but for those that haven’t, I stopped my scooter as I was getting drenched, due to the fact that it was weeing down with rain and Alistair was there like a knight in shining armour (the Porsche being the shining armour bit) I went back to his pad and I threw a wobbly when this drop dead gorgeous girl turned up as if she owned the place.

(Note to self, do my over-the-pond and antipodean readers understand any of the above or do I need to use sub-titles?).

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I had to go. I wasn’t going to stay there and be humiliated by anyone, especially after he said I was beautiful or words to that effect and obviously didn’t mean it. So I left and then made my way back home. End of.’

‘So you didn’t even say goodbye?’

‘No.’

I was a bit upset and my eyes were leaking a bit, but at the time I wasn’t conscious of it. Sally looked at me with a puzzled look on her face. Then she smiled.

I don’t know why she smiled. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to smile at or about.

‘What?’

‘Was the girl blond?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Tall?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Pretty?’

‘In an obvious way.’

‘That would be Morag.’

‘Morag?’

‘Yes Morag.’

‘You know her?’

‘Yes.’

‘So how long have they been seeing each other?’

‘All their lives.’

‘All their lives?’

‘Yes.’

‘So they are childhood sweethearts.’

‘No, that would be disgusting.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they are brother and sister.’

‘Oh bum!’

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me, but of course it didn’t.

Once again I had made a mess of things.

Sally looked at me with a sad look on her face.

‘I think that you may have misread the situation,’ she said, ‘am I right?’

I nodded, not wanting to put into words what my thoughts were at that moment.

‘Lets get down to the nitty-gritty; you fancy him and have the hot’s for him; he came and rescued you from a watery grave, bless the wee man. Fast forward to the cottage, where you got your knickers all twisted as you thought that you had every chance of getting up close and personal and then Morag turned up to spoil the party and you ran off without a moments thought?’

I nodded again. I was still sans voce as I think the Welsh say.

‘So, what are ye going to do about it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you just sitting there and saying to me that ye do not intend to sort it out?’

‘There’s nothing to sort out. I made a mistake and anyway, I don’t think Alistair would even be interested in me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you forgotten what I am?’

‘A pretty wee girl lacking in the self assurance department?’

‘Thanks for saying I’m pretty, I suppose I don’t scrub up too badly, but let’s face it, under this skirt, there’s an extra bit that other girls don’t have.’

She looked at me with a puzzled look on her face and it cleared as she finally got the message.

‘Oh, you mean your dingle-dongle.’

‘Dingle what? Oh you mean my penis,’ I whispered looking around to make sure that no ears were tuned in our direction.

‘Aye,’

‘Do you think that he might have a problem with it?’

‘It depends which way he swings.’

I fleetingly had visions of Tarzan swinging through the trees…

‘He must know about me.’ I said.

‘I am sure that he is aware of your, shall we say, unique problem and I am equally sure that it doesn’t matter to him, otherwise, why do you think that he keeps running into you?’

‘You think?’

‘I do; now, I repeat, what do you intend to do about it? You did rush out of his cottage without a word of explanation and that could be construed as being a wee bit rude.’

I squirmed on my plastic seat.

‘I can’t do anything about it. I’ve messed everything up. He must think that I’m stark staring mad or something…’

‘ Chloe, don’t be silly. Just explain and apologise and that will be then end of it. You have the tendency of over dramatizing…’

‘ I do not,’ I said emphatically, standing up and waving my arms about.

Everyone was staring at me and Sally had a self-satisfied grin on her face. Red in the face, I sat down again and smiled ruefully, thinking that she might have a point.

‘Look,’ said Sally, ‘you need to sort this out. At some point you will come across each other. This is a small island and you know that you’ll meet sometime soon. Now wouldn’t it be better to face up to things and get it over with?’

‘I suppose.’

‘Good, that is that out of the way. Now about your office; it has been cleared out and it has a desk chair and other officey type stuff in there. Here is the key to the front door of County Hall and also your own office door. Come and go as you please. Don’t forget that I want a report soon about how you intend to get things moving on the tourism front.’

‘I do have some ideas and I’ll put them down on paper and then we can have a chat.’

I was pleased that the conversation had veered away from more personal matters.

‘Any idea about what is happening about my cottage. Auntie Aileen is nice, but I would like my own space.’

‘Yes, some of the villagers are clearing it out and then a couple of the local builder’s are going to make it more habitable. I hope that you will be able to move in soon, about a few weeks if we are lucky and the weather holds, of course.’

‘The weather is a bit changeable, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, you can say that again.’

Soon after we left and went our separate ways.

She took the High Rd and I took the Low Rd and found myself down on the beach again. I liked the beach, it was nice and peaceful, and nothing like Brighton. Don’t get me wrong, I like Brighton, but the beach is full of huge pebbles which are hard to walk on and uncomfortable to sit on and in the hot sunny weather, tourists were wall to wall with not a lot of room to spare.

I remember one occasion when a kid dropped his ice cream and it landed on my head…

I could never imagine this place getting as crowded as Brighton, for one thing, it’s a long way from civilisation as I knew it and for another the rail/boat links were, to say the least, flaky.

But it was my job to get the tourists flocking in and I would try my hardest to do that. It was a pity that Muckle didn’t have enough flat bits to have an airport on it...

There were always helicopters; hmm…

My mind was, as always, thinking about what I could do. I hoped that my aspirations might come true.

The sand on my feet was cool and that was nice. The sun wasn’t as hot as it had been the last time I had walked on it. I remembered my exhilarating horse ride with Isabel and how alive I felt. I hope that I could repeat that experience soon and maybe even take horse-riding lessons with her. Did I need a driving licence and L-plates for that?

I sat down near the waters edge, watching the waves lap gently up the shore. It was so peaceful here and I wondered if it would be like that in a year’s time, if what I wanted to do came to fruition. I didn’t think that I should worry too much as there were plenty of beaches to go around even if we had ten thousand visitors.

Thinking over what Sally said, I knew that she made sense. Later on, I would get Pinkie out and go and see him and try to explain what a fool I had been. For now, I just lay back and then shut my eyes. It had been a fraught few days and I hadn’t really slept very well. I was rather tired and soon, before I knew it, I was asleep.

I awoke with a start as the water lapped gently against my feet and, unaccountably my face was being licked at the same time. Sitting up, I noticed that the tide had come in and that I was in danger of getting my knickers wet. Not only that, a rather bedraggled looking dog was looking at me expectantly. It was, I think, a Jack Russell crossed with something else. She (for it was a girl) was looking at me with her head tilted to one side and tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.

‘Hello,’ I said.

She just barked and then ran off down the beach.

I stood up and brushed the sand of my skirt. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, as I had no watch on my wrist. Still feeling a bit tired from my snooze, I picked up my sandals and then walked up the beach.

I heard the sound of breathing behind me and turning around, there was that dog again.

She barked and then shot off down the beach again and went behind a pile of rocks.

Shrugging I carried on.

The clock tower on the small promenade said that it was five minutes to twelve and the distant thunder that I had been hearing was in fact my tummy rumbling.
I wondered what I should do.

I didn’t fancy the pub and going through the testosterone charged bar to get to the snug where the ladies were allowed to congregate.

Then the obvious choice came almost without much more conscious thought.

The café was quite empty when I walked in, the little bell on the door tinging as I opened the door.

Molly came through from the back and smiled.

‘I think that I’m going to have to give you a loyalty discount soon,’ she said smiling, ‘you are becoming my most regular customer!’

We both laughed as I sat down and ordered a low calorie meal of two sausages, eggs and chips, to be washed down with a pot of her finest tea.

Soon I was tucking into my meal. Other people came in shortly after so I wasn’t able to have a chin wag with my favourite café owner, as she was quite busy.

Being near enough exclusively a local trade as not many tourists were evident, the café had short periods of busy trade, like breakfast lunch and tea times, interspersed with long periods were not much happened. I hoped that I could help with that problem by getting more visitors to the island. Only time would tell if I was successful in that.

After my meal, I said my goodbyes to a still busy Molly and left the café.

I stopped short as I stepped out as there before me, sitting on the pavement was the dog. She had this look on her face of expectation.

Then she stood, barked and wagged her tail.

‘What?’ I asked the panting doggie.

She wagged her tail again and then shot off down the road.

‘Even the dogs in this place are eccentric.’ I thought despairingly.

Pinkie was in the shed where Brian had left her. Luckily all the spiders were having a snooze or something and I couldn’t see any that might attack me, although one of the webs did shiver a bit, making me do the same.

I had decided, on the spur of the moment, to go for a ride to my soon to be new home, just to see what, if anything had been done to the old, run down place. I knew Sally had said that it had been cleaned out and everything, but I was just nosy and I wanted to see what it looked like without the disgusting rubbish that was there the last, memorable time I went.

I just hoped that the place had been cleared of spiders and other animals!

Did I mention that I don’t like spiders?

I wheeled Pinkie outside and there she was, the little dog, standing there again, looking bright eyed and bushy tailed.

‘What do you want?’ I asked.

She cocked her head to the side again, seemed to consider my question for a moment and the barked twice, making me jump nearly out of my sandals and wet myself to boot. How could such a small dog have such a loud bark?

She gave me one more glance, another earth shattering bark and then shot off down the lane as if being chased by something large and somewhat unpleasant with big sharp teeth and claws.

‘That dog has issues,’ I mumbled as I sat on Pinkie and started her up.

The ride to my cottage didn’t take long, one advantage of being on an island. In London, just going one mile could take ages.

Proceeding slowly through the sleepy village, the sound of the little engine echoing around the walls of the cottages and waking a sleeping cat lying full length on a garden wall, I soon found myself going along the little lane that led to what I considered to be my cottage, even though I wasn’t even living there yet.

I drew up outside and in front of the cottage was an old rickety lorry that looked old enough to have been in use during world war two. I stopped Pinkie, switched her off, took off my helmet and then put the scooter on the stand. After de-crumpling my helmet head hair and checking to see that I had no midge bodies on or around my face, I decided that riding a scooter wasn’t very good for my appearance. But I had to make do with Pinkie and to be honest, I was getting rather fond of her.

An ancient old man I estimated to be about a hundred, give or take a year or two, tottered out of the cottage, coughing violently.

I wondered if the inside of my new home was still toxic and then I noticed a foul looking cigarette - you know the ones, roll up’s, I think they are called - droopily protruding from his wizened old lips. A grey haze of smoke was wafting around him and I deduced, with Holmes like clarity that the man had a humongous smokers cough.

He had a peaked cap on that had seen better days, probably during the Boar War. It was covered in dust, as was the rest of him. Looking up as I approached, I could tell that his eyes weren’t as bad as I thought as he gave me a rather leering once over that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable. How he could possibly think of anything sexual at his age and state of health, I wasn’t sure. It must be something in the water, or whisky, more like…

‘Och, ye must be Chloe, ye pretty wee thing.’

‘Erm, don’t know about pretty, but I am Chloe.’

‘I’m Sandy McBride Junior.’

‘Junior?’

‘Aye, ma brother Sandy Senior is much older than me. Whell, young Chloe, Sally asked me and some others to tidy things up for ye, so you should be as snug as a bug in a rug before long.’

‘Thanks, for all you are doing, I do appreciate it.’

‘Och lass we all muck in on Muckle.’

At that he wheezed and coughed violently. I was surprised that the cigarette didn’t move from his lips while this was going on and I wondered if it had been superglued in place.

‘Get it?’ he gasped, ‘ muck in on Muckle!’

I then realised that the wheezing wasn’t signs of imminent fatality, but he was actually laughing.

‘Oh yes, very good.’ I said smiling with relief.

‘I haff te go to the pub for me lunch. I’ll be back later. The lad is still in the hoose doing some work, he’ll see te ye.’

I smiled and waved to him as he got into the lorry, eventually started it after four tries and then trundled of down the lane in a puff of smoke, the lorry, not Sandy, mind you...

I shook my head, wondering if anyone on this island was sane or normal.

Over to the side of the cottage was a large pile of old furniture, including the horrible smelly sofa and the rotten carpets. I was pleased that they were gone and looked forward to getting some nice furniture for my new home.

I could hear some banging and bashing coming from inside the cottage and I wondered in and could see that the place had been virtually cleared of rubbish and it smelt a bit less like a pigsty.

I heard some more banging coming from the kitchen and then a loud ‘bugger, my finger.’

I walked through the sitting room and into the kitchen.

Sitting in the middle of the kitchen was the dog. She had what looked like a silly grin on her face. I hoped against hope that she wouldn’t bark. Apart from the earth shattering headache that would cause, I wondered if the windows would take it.

She wagged her tail.

Then I noticed in the corner, a man with his back to me He was wearing an old t-shirt covered in paint and other unknown substances and faded jeans. He had a rather nice bum, but that was beside the point. I was off men…

He was fiddling about with something on the wall.

‘Hello.’ I said, smiling.

The man turned around.

He had his finger in his mouth and looked faintly ridiculous.

But that wasn’t what I was thinking at the time.

‘Hello Chloe,’ he said removing his digit. ‘I see that you have met my dog, Rosie,’

It was Alistair.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Sorry about the continued delays in posting. I have a lot of real life things going on at the moment. I hope to post more, larger chapters in the future.

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

*A.A. – The Automobile Association, car recovery service.

Get A Life 11

‘A…Alistair, its you!’
‘In the flesh.’
‘Oh.’


Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 11

Previously …

Sitting in the middle of the kitchen was the dog. She had what looked like a silly grin on her face. I hoped against hope that she wouldn’t bark. Apart from the earth shattering headache that would cause, I wondered if the windows would take it.

She wagged her tail.

Then I noticed in the corner, a man with his back to me He was wearing an old t-shirt covered in paint and other unknown substances and faded jeans. He had a rather nice bum, but that was beside the point. I was off men…

He was fiddling about with something on the wall.

‘Hello.’ I said, smiling.

The man turned around.

He had his finger in his mouth and looked faintly ridiculous.

But that wasn’t what I was thinking at the time.

‘Hello Chloe,’ he said removing his digit. ‘I see that you have met my dog, Rosie,’

It was Alistair.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

‘A…Alistair, its you!’

‘In the flesh.’

‘Oh.’

There was one of those pregnant pauses where I had no idea what to say and judging by the grin on his blasted face, he seemed to like my discomfort.

‘So, you’re here.’ I said lamely.

‘Aye, just doing my helping the community bit.’

Rosie the dog then started sniffing around me and then, regretfully stuck his nose up against my rear end and sniffed loudly.

‘Eeek! Can you please control your dog?’

‘She’s doing what comes naturally.’

‘There is nothing natural about what she’s doing. Is she some sort of shaggy pervert?

‘You don’t know much about dogs, do you?’

‘They have four legs and a tail and they bark.’

‘But they are man’s best friend.’

‘What about women?’

‘Them too.’

This was getting us nowhere, so I changed the subject after shooing Rosie away from my nether (or is that never) regions for the tenth time.

‘Erm, you may be wondering why I hurried off from your cottage.’

‘Hurried off? Oh yes, you disappeared when my sister turned up. She has that affect on people sometimes.’

‘I was erm, under the impression that you were having relations with her.’

‘I was.’

‘What!’

‘She is a relation, she’s my sister.’

‘Are you being facetious?’

‘I would be, if I knew what you meant.’

I looked at him and realised that he was extracting the Michael. I took a deep breath.

‘Look, I’m sorry I ran off like a scared schoolgirl…’

‘Yes you did, but I forgive you.’

‘Forgive, what is there to forgive?’

‘You just said sorry.’

‘What? Oh right.’

I stood there not knowing what else to say as he looked at me with a smile playing on his lips.

He came over and put his hands on my shoulders.

‘Shall we start again?’

‘If you like,’ I replied, trying unsuccessfully to sound nonchalant.

I had to know. Looking up at his strong manly face and then quickly back at the dirty floor, I said, ‘you do know that I’m not what I seem?’

‘You aren’t the prettiest girl around here?’

‘No, yes, what? No don’t start that. I mean that I might be a girl inside and dress like one, but until I have the dreaded operation, I’m not all woman.’

‘You look all woman to me.’

‘Yes, but, but I…I was born a…a male and have extra bits that no sane, normal woman would have.’

‘Like what?’

‘Don’t make me say it.’

‘Oh, you mean a penis?’

I nodded, not even liking the P word being mentioned in polite company.

‘There is nothing wrong with a penis. I have one and I’m rather attached to it.’

‘Well, I wish I wasn’t attached to mine.’

My eyes were leaking a bit. I assumed that it was because of the dust in the room…

Before I knew it, I was in his arms.

‘Oh Chloe, what am I going to do with you?’

Without giving me a chance to answer, I felt his warm lips on mine and I lost the ability to think about anything…

A few years later, or it may have been seconds, as my sense of reality and the space time continuum had gone a bit haywire, I came up for air and there he was, looking slightly flushed, almost boyish and with a wicked grin on his face.

‘Erm,’ I said intelligently.

‘Chloe, look at me.’

I looked up into his deep blue eyes and could have dived in without water wings.’

‘You are beautiful and you are a woman. It doesn’t matter that you have those extras. It wouldn’t matter to me anyway, as I’m AC/DC….’

‘What a member of the group, you look too young…’

He sighed.

‘No, you innocent child; I am bi-sexual.’

‘Golly, so you bat for both teams?’

‘Yes, although I rarely bat for anyone at the moment as I’ve been off my game for a while.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I suppose that I have been looking for someone that would excite me and make me happy.’

‘And have you found someone?’ I breathed.

‘Yes, it’s the milkman, there’s something about the way he handles his bottles that really gets me going.’

I thumped him ineffectually on the chest.

‘You pig.’

‘Oink!’

As it was rather dusty inside the cottage, we went outside holding hands and sat on the grass, which, thanks to the various sheep, goats and other animals that seemed to wander in and out at will, was cropped quite short. Mind you, we had to be careful where we sat, as there were copious droppings dotted about.

Rosie appeared and sat down beside us. She seemed to think about things for a moment and then lay down and fell promptly to sleep. I wished I could sleep like that as I was a bit of an insomniac.

Alistair told me a bit about himself and his family. There were various aunts, uncles and cousins dotted about the island and of course he had a drop dead gorgeous sister who I hated naturally as she was prettier than me. Hey, I never said I was perfect and jealousy was part of my nature.

His parents were dead and had been for a number of years. They had died in a car accident in Glasgow, leaving Alistair and Morag to be looked after by an aunt and uncle.

They had been left comfortably off in the will and didn’t need to work, although Alistair was a solicitor and Morag and accountant.

Morag evidently lived with the local vet in another cottage at the other end of the island, close to the foothills of the mountain, with a babbling brook running through the garden. They were deliriously happy, although the local busybodies thought that they should marry and not live in sin.

So my jealousy and tantrums were all for nothing.

I told Alistair more about me. I wont bore you with the details, as unless you fell asleep reading it in a previous riveting chapter, you already know the juicy parts.

‘So, you have always thought that you was a girl?’

‘Yes, I could tell the differences between boys and girls ever since nursery school. Mandy Smith pulled her knickers down in front of everyone and pee’d on the floor. Strange girl, even then.’

‘Riiiight, but just because she did that, you thought that you were a girl, despite the fact that you were penissed?’

‘Nice word, did you just make that up?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Well, it was more the fact that she was pretty and wore lovely dress and her hair was nice and long and tied with ribbons. She, like the other girls like to play girlie games and with their dolls and soft cuddly toys and the boys were expected to be all rough and tumble and do things more manly and general like to get their hands dirty. I was never like that and I shied away from it and sort of found myself more in the company of the girls rather than the boys. The fact that she was sans penis was just a confirmation that girls differed from boys.’

‘Well, I would never have thought that you were a boy in a million years.’

We went over and stood by the garden wall. The beach in front was lovely, with its wide stretch of white sand and the sea breaking gently about a hundred yards away.

‘What a place to live,’ I said, sighing.

‘Yes, it’s a nice spot and because of where it is and the fact that it’s sheltered by the headland, you don’t get problems with high seas.’

We turned to each other and kissed again our mouths opened and our tongues danced the tango. I had never French kissed before and it was doing something to my insides…

We broke off.

‘Look,’ I said rather breathlessly, ‘you hardly know me and I you; should we rush into things too quickly?’

‘Well, I’m not about to rush you into my bedchamber and have my wicked way with you, but I think that I can say that I’m very happy with the way things are going, are you?’

‘Well, if you want to show me your etchings, I wouldn’t…’

Alistair didn’t wait for me to finish, as he leaned in and started kissing me in a way that made me feel as if I might swoon at any moment and make me want to get up close and personal with his etchings, sooner rather than later.

We were interrupted as we heard the sound of a rattling lorry. The engine labouring and coughing as it came closer.

Reluctantly we stopped exploring each other’s tonsils and turned towards the noise, which sounded mechanically terminal.

‘Oh, its Sandy McBride,’ said Alistair, ‘talk about snoggus interruptus…’

We walked over to the road just to see the lorry wheeze to a halt and then Sandy got out, wheezing almost as much as the lorry.

He had a dodgy looking cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and before he could say anything he started coughing. That episode lasted for about a minute with his face getting redder and redder. I was getting a bit concerned for him, but judging by Alistair’s attitude of ignoring it, I assumed that this was Sandy’s normal condition.

After Sandy recovered enough not to require artificial respiration (thank the Lord) he looked us up and down with his rheumy eyes.

‘So, are ye sweet on each other?’

‘Erm,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said Alistair with a grin.

‘Aboot time,’ said Sandy as he wandered off into the cottage without further comment.

‘Does everyone know our business?’

‘More or less. You have to remember; everyone knows everyone and half the people are gossips and the other half listeners. Look, I had better go in after him. He’s a danger to himself when he gets hold of his sledge hammer.’

I suddenly went all shy and didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t so experienced in this boyfriend/girlfriend scenario type of thing.

‘OK,’ I had better be off; people to see places to go and all that.’

I turned away but before I could take one step, He grabbed my arm and I was in his embrace once again. I could get used to this.

Rosie’s bum sniffing trick sort of spoilt the moment and I hoped that she could have therapy or something to cure her of her erm, affliction.

‘Stop that Rosie,’ said Alistair sternly.

Rosie looked up all innocent, as if saying, ‘who me?’

There was the sound of hammering and bricks falling and then a cloud of dust came from the cottage.

The was a fit of coughing and then what sounded like some juice Scottish sayings like ‘up yer erse wi' it,’ and ‘ah yer chanty wrassler.’

‘What’s that in English?’ I asked.

‘Never mind; look, I have to go in before your cottage is demolished. See you tonight, I’ll pick you up at about eight, we’ll find somewhere nice to have something to eat.’

‘As long as it’s not the café.’

He laughed.

‘Don’t worry there is at least one nice restaurant on the island. Smart casual though. Leave the posh frock and tiara at home.’

‘What about my earrings, necklace and bracelet; they are, of course, dripping with expensive cubic zirconia diamonds?’

‘Next time.’

We both laughed.

Then I remembered, I had to see that child’s father about her not so little problem and she was going to meet me at seven.

‘Look, can we make it a bit later as I have something to do first. A small friend has a bit of trouble and has asked me help to sort things out.’

‘Anything I can do?’

‘No, I think I can manage.’

‘All right, how about eight thirty at Auntie’s.’

‘That sounds fine. I’ll see you then.’

After another kiss, I let him go and pootled off down the road on Pinkie, thinking that I was happier now than I had been in a long time. I just hoped that it wasn’t just a dream.

At five to seven the front door bell rang and I was out of the door before Auntie had a chance to ask me anything except, ‘is that you Jenny?’ For someone who is supposed to be as deaf as a post, she had incredible good hearing or does she have bluetooth or radar, like bats?

The child was standing there, wearing white shorts and a blue t-shirt and an unfashionable black woolly bobble hat. For the record, I was wearing a pink top and white crops.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Hi, are you coming then?’

‘Yes, lead on, but first, I need to know your name?’

‘My girls name is Maisie Macgregor but Da calls me Jamie.’

‘Well, Maisie lets get on with it, shall we?’

We walked out of the village, saying hello to a few people I didn’t know but they obviously knew both of us. After a few minutes, we went down a side track, through some woods and onto a path that looked well trodden and then we reached a small lane.

As we walked, I wondered how I could help Maisie. If her father was against any notion that his child was a girl, how could I, who was new to the island and had never met him, ever persuade him otherwise?

I was very concerned that Maisie might do something silly if she wasn’t helped. I was under no illusion that the medical profession made youngsters go through hoops before anything is allowed to happen and I understood that as the last thing anyone would want is to make a mistake that couldn’t be rectified. But that leaves girls or boys with similar problems to Maisie’s, very vulnerable. What Maisie needed was sympathetic help, but could I persuade her father to allow her to be helped?

Too many questions and not enough answers.

After walking a further ten minutes without any sign of habitation, we turned a corner and there in front of us was what I would call a traditionally built crofter style cottage, well looked after and really rather pretty.

Maisie was about to go up the path, but I stopped her.

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘No, but if he won’t listen to me, maybe he’ll listen to you.’

‘Does your father know that I’m coming?’

‘Aye, but I haven’t told him why.’

‘He knows that you consider yourself to be a girl?’

‘Mmm.’

Maisie went up to the front door and pushed it open, it wasn’t locked; most doors that I had encountered on the island were not locked, it was that kind of place.

‘Da. I’m home and we have a visitor,’ she shouted.

Just then a big yellow Labrador came rushing up and nearly knocked Maisie over.

‘Och Sandy, get away with ye,’ said Maisie, laughing.

Sandy saw me and with tail wagging she came over and gave me a quick lick on the hand and then rushed back inside.

‘Don’t mind her, she could lick ye ta death but that’s aboot it,’ said Maisie grinning, ‘come on in then.’

I followed Maisie and we went down a short corridor and then turned left into the kitchen. Sitting in a wooden chair was Maisie’s father, stroking Sandy with a slight smile on his face. He was a big man, but he did have a kind face, so that was something.

‘Hello Mr Macgregor,’ I said.

He turned towards me and I noticed for the first time that his eyes were closed. Then I saw the white stick by the chair and deduced with Holmesian clarity that Mr Macgregor was blind.

‘So you are Chloe McKerrell?’

‘Y…yes.’ I said, taken aback slightly.

‘I ken that Jamie didn’t tell you that I do not have the sight Ms McKerrell?’

‘Please call me Chloe, erm no s…he didn’t tell me.’

‘Sorry,’ said Maisie, ‘I forgot.’

‘It makes no difference, I am only sorry that you cannot see, Mr Macgregor.’

‘Call me Peter, please. I lost my sight in the same accident that I lost my wife. Jamie was only three and he has no recollection of what happened or who is Ma was. He was luckily with his Nana and not in the car or he might have been hurt too. Now sit down and I’ll make us a cup of tea.

I sat down and then Mr Macgregor did just that. He never faltered or bump into anything and made the tea quickly and expertly. You would never have known that he was blind and the way he moved about the kitchen with such assurance was a marvel to behold.

Soon I was sipping my tea and wondering how I would broach the subject that I had come about. Maisie kept giving me meaningful glances and on one occasion, she prodded me on the arm. I could tell that she was sick with worry.

‘Ma…Jamie, I think Sandy needs to go to the toilet.’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Go to the toilet…outside, you know?’

‘Out…oh, aye she does want te go, she’s crossing her wee legs. I’ll chust go outside with her then; I wont be long. Sandy walkies!’

At that magic word, Sandy was up on her feet and she raced out of the room as fast as a thoroughbred greyhound with Maisie following in her wake. I had a feeling that Maisie was glad to be out of it.

It was quiet for a moment after they left.

‘So, Chloe, to what do I owe this visit?’

‘Jamie asked if I would speak to you.’

‘On what matter?’

I took a deep breath.

‘This is none of my business and I would in no way tell you how to raise your child. Jamie is lovely and I think is very unhappy at the moment.’

‘Why is that. I have no notion of him being very unhappy.’

This was difficult and I wanted to choose my words carefully.

‘You know about me, I suppose?’

‘That you are the particular friend of Alistair, you mean?’

‘Word gets around very quickly on Muckle.’

‘Indeed it does.’

‘You are aware of my being born a boy?’

There was no expression on his face except perhaps a slight tightening around his lips.

‘You are transgendered and believe that you are a woman.’

‘I don’t believe, I am a woman.’

‘You canna have babies.’

‘Nor can many women.’

He paused for a moment and then continued.

‘True, but what has all this to do with me Chloe McKerrell?’

‘Jamie says that he has spoken to you twice about the fact that he is a girl.’

‘If Jamie is a girl, why are you saying he instead of she?’

‘Out of politeness to you. To me Jamie is Maisie and I always say she and her.’

‘A boy cannot be a girl.’

‘Do I sound like a girl?

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘I trained my voice so that it would sound feminine although I have always been softly spoken and that helped. Can I come closer to you?’

‘If you wish.’

I got up and walked over and then knelt before him.

‘Please feel my face.’

He shook his head.

‘It would not be polite and…’

‘Please for your child’s sake.’

With slightly shaking hands he touched my face, nose eyelids, hair and neck.

‘What do you feel, a man’s face or a woman’s face?’

‘A…a woman.’

I didn’t get him to touch my breasts as that was a bridge too far and anyway, we had only just met.

I stood up and then went over to my chair and sat down again.

‘To look like this, I had to have treatment. Laser hair removal is painful and not cheap. In addition to this I have had other treatment that I won’t go into but once again, painful and not cheap. Maisie–sorry I have to call her that– because she is a girl, needs to be seen by experts who will tell you and her that this isn’t just fantasy or wish fulfilment, but that she genuinely believes that she is a girl inside a boys body.’

I could see the pain on his face.

‘I…I have lost my wife, I do not want to lose my son too.’

Once again I got up and went over to him. Kneeling down I put my hands over his.

‘Is this what its all about?’

He nodded.

What could I say; I wasn’t an expert on anything except being me. Everyone’s experience is different. I could only try to put myself in his shoes and try to think how I would react.

‘Peter; Maisie has, for as long as she can recall, always been a girl deep inside. You haven’t lost a son, as there never was a son. You have a daughter, who has pretended to be Jamie just for you, but she hasn’t changed, she is how she has always been, a child that loves you. If your wife had given birth to a child that was physically a girl, would you have loved the child any less?’

‘No,’ he whispered.

‘Maisie hasn’t instantly changed into someone different. She is the same person, with the same temperament, upbringing and the same love that she has for you. She is deeply unhappy at pretending that she is a boy and now wants help. Will you give her that help?’

He said nothing for some time. I could see on his face that there was an inner turmoil and that he was struggling to come to terms with what I had said. I continued to kneel there with my hands over his and I could feel him trembling.

I had said enough. It was now up to him to decide.

Just then Sandy walked in and I stood up. Close behind was Maisie who, if anything looked more worried.

‘Sandy, SIT!’

Sandy did as her master ordered and sat down immediately; looking every inch the perfect guide dog she obviously was when on duty.

I felt a little sweaty hand in mine and I looked down. Maisie was trembling and I gave her a cuddle.

Peter stroked Sandy’s head, absent-mindedly for a few moments and the he nodded and the faced us.

‘So, its Maisie is it?’

‘Oh Da!’

She let go of me and then rushed over to her father and buried her head in his chest. They were both crying.

With a lump in the throat, I walked outside and stood in the garden. This was a moment of privacy that needed no audience.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Sorry about the continued delays in posting. I have a lot of real life things going on at the moment. I hope to post more, larger chapters in the future.

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

After putting the scarf on over my hair, I felt a bit like Audrey Hepburn in that film, Roman Holiday and I just wished that I had her looks.

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 12

Previously …

‘Sandy, SIT!’

Sandy did as her master ordered and sat down immediately; looking every inch the perfect guide dog she obviously was when on duty.

I felt a little sweaty hand in mine and I looked down. Maisie was trembling and I gave her a cuddle.

Peter stroked Sandy’s head, absent-mindedly for a few moments and the he nodded and the faced us.

‘So, its Maisie is it?’

‘Oh Da!’

She let go of me and then rushed over to her father and buried her head in his chest. They were both crying.

With a lump in the throat, I walked outside and stood in the garden. This was a moment of privacy that needed no audience.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

I stood looking at the scenery for some time before I heard a noise coming from behind me.

Turning, I could see that Maisie looked so very happy; as if the weight of the world was off her shoulders.

‘Thank you Chloe, Da understands now. We are to make an appointment with the lady doctor and he will come with me. He said that until then, I can dress like the girl I am inside the house and see what the doctor thinks about being a girl outside.’

‘If only it was that simple,’ I thought. But now wasn’t the time to tell her about all the pitfalls and problems that she would encounter on the long journey that would hopefully end with her being the person she wanted to be.

After giving her a hug and promises of further visits, I left her then as I had a rather important date that I had no intention of missing.

On arriving back at Auntie’s, I evaded her questions, pleading the need to get ready, and rushed upstairs to my room to try to get myself looking as pretty as possible in the short time that I had available.

It took forever to decide what to wear for our date, for that was what it was, and I was painfully aware of the deficiencies of my wardrobe. I would need to break into my piggybank and get some more decent clothes quite soon as I didn’t want to show Alistair up by looking frumpy or God forbid, a fashion disaster.

I finished up wearing a white blouse and cream skirt, not exactly the sort of thing to set him on fire, but I looked nice and feminine and it was what I considered to be as smart cas as I could get with the limited means at my disposal. I finished things off by a pair of white strappy sandals and had my trusty cardi to carry, just in case it got cold later.

I did what I could with my hair and promised myself a trip to the salon, if I could actually find one on the island. I would ask someone if such a thing existed here as soon as possible.

I had heard that there was a sheep shearer somewhere…

I took care over my makeup and chose the simple less is more technique, as I didn’t want to look like I trowelled makeup on. If I say so myself, I have nice skin and I was lucky enough to be reasonably wrinkle free, so I had made the best of what I had available.

As I carefully applied my makeup, I still marvelled that Alistair liked me. My self-esteem, never high at the best of times, had taken a beating lately and the fact that he and I were “an item” made me go all squidgy inside.

~*~

I was picked up by Alistair dead on the dot of eight o’clock. Auntie answered the door and he stepped into the hallway. I had been waiting in the lounge cum snug and walked out to greet him.

Auntie was saying something and I caught the end of it.

‘Now, you look after Jenny and make sure she’s home by eleven at the latest.’

‘I will Auntie, I promise.’

Alistair turned to me and his eyes went up. Sometimes it was easier to just agree with Auntie and not add to her confusion.

He was wearing a smart dark blue jacket, sky blue button down shirt and cream trousers and I could have eaten him up on the spot.

He kissed me gently on the cheek and whispered, ‘you look lovely,’

I answered, ‘so do you.’

‘None of that nonsense here, this is a respectable hoose.’

We both looked at each other and found it difficult not to laugh.

After saying goodbye to Auntie, we went outside, with Auntie standing at the door like a fussy mother hen. The Porsche was there in all its glory with its hood down. Alistair opened the door for me and I sat in, making sure to keep control of my skirt as I didn’t want to shock Auntie by flashing anything that shouldn’t be flashed.

I was prepared for the open top and had a silk scarf in my bag. The last thing I wanted was blow away hair.

After putting the scarf on over my hair, I felt a bit like Audrey Hepburn in that film, Roman Holiday and I just wished that I had her looks; not now, of course as she’s dead, but then, when she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Sorry, when I’m nervous, I think and say silly and rather inappropriate things. I was just pleased that I didn’t utter the above out loud.

It took about twenty minutes to get to the restaurant, which overlooked the sea on McLeod’s Point. For once, Alistair wasn’t pretending that he was driving in the Le Man’s 24 hour race and we arrived without me having to do the white knuckle holding on for all I was worth thing. The restaurant was an old Victorian edifice that looked slightly out of place and a tad gothic.

And so it came to pass that I found myself sitting at a table in a restaurant that was rather nice, if a bit quaint and old fashioned. I wasn’t expecting TGI Fridays or some swish sophisticated place, as Muckle, as far as I knew, didn’t do sophistication.

Still it was nice. The waitress was a bit ancient and took forever too take our order, not helped by the fact that she had left her order pad in the kitchen and had to go back for it and then forgot her pen and had to go back for that too. She was reminiscent of a character played by Julie Walters in a sketch called Two Soups.*

We were the only customers and for that I was grateful, as any more than three or four tables and we would have had to have waited at least three weeks before we finally got something to eat.

Alistair ordered some wine and we sipped and spent the time waiting to talk about ourselves. I didn’t have much to say for myself as I had led an exceptionally unexciting life, apart from the transgender thing.

Alistair came from a loving family, cruelly torn apart when he lost his parents.

It was obvious that he and his sister Morag were close and had a special bond that was unbreakable. I looked forward to meeting Morag when the right time arose, but I had to ask the question.

‘Does she know about me?’

‘That you are beautiful and I love you to bits?’

‘Don’t be silly, you know about my being transgendered?’

‘Yes, in fact she encouraged me to ask you out and get to know you more intimately. She knows Sally quite well and they spoke of you long before you actually arrived.’

‘Are there no secrets here?’

‘Not many; that’s the island life and if you want to live here, you have to expect inquisitive neighbours. ‘

‘So everyone knows about us?’

‘What is there to know?’ he asked.

‘Well, that we are seeing each other.’

‘How quaint a term. What does that actually mean, you know we are “seeing each other”. I “see” the milkman, that doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I don’t know, he has a nice bum.’

I put my hand up to my mouth. Why did I say that?

‘So you prefer the milkman to me?’

‘Well his gold top milk is something else, all thick and creamy.’

I felt myself going a deep shade of red.

Where was this all coming from? I didn’t do the double entendre thingie; it wasn’t me, a good upstanding girl who should go to church on Sundays but is normally washing her hair…

Alistair laughed.

‘You are something else, Chloe McKerrell, do you know that?’

‘Sorry, it just came out. My mouth doesn’t always know what my brain is thinking.’

‘I like your brain and mouth just the way it is.’

He took hold of my hand and kissed it.

‘Gosh!’

The meal was nice, if a bit delayed by the service, but as I had wonderful company, the time it all took didn’t really matter.

Over the minuscule cups of coffee, Alistair quizzed me a bit more about my past.

‘What do your parents think about your change?’

‘They died in a car accident five years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need to be. I had been estranged, if that’s the right word for it, ever since I told them about the fact that I was a girl. That was about when I was eighteen. I looked for their support but all I got was a lot of hate and grief. They ceased to be my parents then.’

‘You sound hurt.’

‘Yes, even now I am hurt. They cut me out of their lives and even out of their will. I didn’t go to the funeral as, when I found out about it, it was over.’

‘Any other relatives?’

My paternal grandfather is, I think, alive and somewhere up here in Scotland, but he hadn’t kept in touch with my parents for years. I don’t think that he approved of my parents marriage and quite honestly I can’t blame him. He must be quite old now.’

‘It’s a pity that you couldn’t make peace with your parents.’

‘Its water under the bridge. I have moved on now.’

‘So,’ asked Alistair, changing the subject, ‘what was it that kept you from me earlier?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Well, originally we were going to meet at seven but you had a little friend with a problem?’

‘Yes.’

‘So were you able to sort out the problem?’

‘I sense a fishing trip, well there wont be any fish biting tonight. You are as bad as everyone else around here.’

He put his hands up in terror.

‘Who me?’

‘Yes you!’

We both laughed.

Later on we walked along the small promenade hand in hand. I was pleasantly full and all felt right with the world. Overhead the moon was shining and millions of stars twinkled in the sky; a stark contrast to London where light pollution ruined sight of any but the brightest stars.

It had been a lovely evening and when Alistair dropped me off, it was with a sense of sadness that it had ended. Mind you, the kiss he gave me was enough to almost give me the vapours!

‘Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’ he asked after he had put me down and I had recovered my breath.

‘Why?’

‘I have a little boat and we could sail around to one of the secluded bays and make a picnic of it; if the weather’s nice.’

‘That’s sounds lovely, but I can’t swim very well.’

‘I’ll break out the water wings then,’ He said laughing.

I punched him ineffectually on his manly chest. He did have nice muscles!

After a few more knee trembling kisses, we were interrupted by a gentle cough.

‘Its getting late Jenny,’ said Aunties silhouetted in the doorway.

I sighed. It was pointless telling her that I was Chloe, as she tended to forget things rather quickly.

After a brief hug and a grin, Alistair went off in his car, tyres screeching and engine racing.

I sighed, ‘those boys with their toys.’ I thought

Next morning I was up with the lark – well seagulls really and I was out on Pinkie, tootling along before Auntie had risen from her bed.

It was nice at that time of the morning. Everything was fresh and it looked like it was going to be a fine day.

I was wearing a lemon short sleeve top and white capri’s as I rather liked to continue the Audrey Hepburn theme. I only hoped that the flying insects were still in bed, as I didn’t want to get covered in tiny bodies…

As I was gong to take time off that afternoon to be with Alistair, I had decided that I would start work early. I was meeting Sally later at the town hall to see my office and tell her what I had been up to. I didn’t consider my love life to be part of the information that I would be sharing with her, but she was a bit like the Gestapo as she had ways of making you talk!

I was beginning to have a feel for the island and its weird and quirky characters. Being a weird and quirky character myself, I felt that would fit in quite well on this strange, lovely island.

I was going along merrily, Pinkie’s little motor pop-popping away nicely and all was well with the world. For some unaccountable reason my thoughts turned to Alistair and his pert bottom. I know, I can’t help it, I am a bottom girl, I try to fight it, but it’s a loosing battle. I just wanted to grab Alistair’s neat, muscly bum and…

I screeched to a halt. I was confronted by several sheep walking along the road. And there amongst them, as large as life and wearing a filthy kilt that did nothing for him and with exceedingly knobbly knees, was Finlay Cameron. The man whose cottage I had taken over after him evidently not paying rent since the early nineties.

He looked at me and gave me a toothy grin, when I say toothy, I meant that he had one tooth on show and that didn’t look like it was going to last too much longer, the others having left his mouth some time ago at a guess.

I tried to go around the flock but they were too widely spread across the road and Finlay didn’t seem too bothered about moving them out of the way.

I switched off Pinkie as I didn’t want to waste petrol and increase my carbon footprint, whatever that means; I then awaited developments. I should have just turned around and gone back but I had a stubborn streak and anyway I didn’t want to be seen as weak in front of the disgruntled Cameron.

He walked up to me and leered unpleasantly in my face. I was pleased that I was wearing my pink helmet for safety. On a side note, even the visor didn’t stop the bad breath wafting towards me, making me want to gag.

‘So it’s the McKerrell girl.’

‘Hello Finlay.’

‘It is Mr Cameron to you, girly. So, ha ye moved inta ma cottage yet?’

‘It isn’t your cottage. It is owned by the council and you haven’t paid rent for many years on it.’

‘I ha squatters rights, ye ken?’

‘Putting Dolly the sheep in there doesn’t not constitute squatters rights.’

‘Her name is Agnes, I’ll have ye know. So, ye Sassenach, ye think that you know the law do ye?’

‘No, but Sally does…’

‘She’s a woman who should mind her own business. That wee cottage is mine and no one else’s and I’ll have no wee slip of a girl take what’s mine. Be warned, ye don’t want me as an enemy. Take my advice and get off the island, while ye can.’

Now I may or may not have mentioned it, but I have a bit of a short fuse. I think that I must have got it from my ancestors, who probably roamed the mountains, hills and valleys of the highlands with Rob Roy or some other Scottish hero, carrying nasty pointy things and living on nothing more than locally caught haggis, porridge and of course whisky. (So I’m a romantic, get over it!).

The red mist came down and I disengaged my brain and let my mouth do the talking.

‘Don’t you dare threaten me Finlay Cameron. You do not frighten me and never will. I am not a Sassenach as I think I have told you before. I might have an English accent but I have Scottish blood and have every right to be here. I am trying to drag Muckle into the twenty-first century and bring visitors in from all over the world. That means that the economy benefits and so do you. We don’t need bigoted, self centred louts like you trying to stand on their “rights”. What we do need are friendly islanders willing to help this place be successful.’

I started up Pinkie and revved the engine. It was a puny roar as Pinkies motor was hardly a Harley Davidson but it had the effect of making Finlay jump out of the way and the sheep part to each side of the road like Charlton Heston managed to do with the water in that film about Moses.

‘And by the way,’ I said before moving away, ‘Get your teeth seen to; your breath smells disgusting!’

With that neat parting shot I moved off. As I passed one of the sheep, I swear that it smiled. I have a feeling that it could have been Agnes, but if you’ve seen one sheep…

I calmed down somewhat as I rode along, regretting what I said, but glad of it anyway, as Finlay had been getting on my tits, as we girls say. Mind you, I hoped that Sally and Angus didn’t get to hear about it, as I was a representative of the island council and it didn’t do to shout and insult the locals.

I shrugged and started singing Que sera, sera, slightly off key in my poor attempt at a Doris Day voice.

On I went, not really knowing where I was going and frankly not caring. It was a nice day and my little scooter was purring contentedly under me as we explored the island to its fullest. Some of the lanes were in need of repair and I made a mental note to have a word with Angus as to if there was any sort of budget to sort out things like that. Maybe if we can show a need, we might get something from the EU, although I wasn’t holding my breath on that. Now if we were a French island, that would be different…

I went around a bend and up a bit of a hill. I wasn’t quite aware of where I was, but that didn’t matter, as there was the mountain to the left of me and somewhere on the right was the sea. I was confident that I couldn’t get lost on an island but what with all the narrow lanes and tracks, I could find myself getting a bit confused. I didn’t have satnav after all and what can a girl do without that?

At the top of the hill, there was a long wall just above head height that stretched out of sight either side of me and in front was some large wrought iron gates. To the side was a sign that simply said The Manor.

The gates were open and I decided to go and have a look see, as there were no signs that said Keep Out Chloe McKerrell or Dogs Loose Aroond the Hoose.

It was an open invitation as far as I was concerned.

Riding up the long sweeping drive, I could see that the place was quite well looked after, with neat lawns and flowerbeds, a lake and quite a large park.

The drive went through some trees and then, breaking out into the strong sunlight again, I saw The Manor. It was large, very large, in the Georgian style and like the gardens, the buildings looked well looked after. I remembered Sally or someone telling me that it had an absentee owner and I wondered why it wasn’t lived in and who would not want to live there.

I rode up to the front door; well door would be an injustice as we are talking two great big doors to be accurate.

I stopped Pinkie’s engine and my ears buzzed slightly in the absence of the noise. Taking off my helmet, I shook out my long hair, Put my scooter on the stand and leaving the helmet swinging from the mirror, I got off and had a little look round.

I wondered at the cost of cleaning The Manor’s windows. It looked like the fictitious Forth Bridge painting job, where when you have finished doing one coat it was deemed necessary to start all over again. A bit of an exaggeration, but there was a lot of windows there.

I wondered why the Manor had been built. It looked a bit out of proportion when you bore, or is that bare in mind the size of Muckle. Then I recalled that the whole island or much of it anyway had been had been owned by one family since the year dot. It was a bit of a mystery where the current owner was.

To the side of the house were some wide steps that led to a garden terrace. Looking around I could see no sign of anyone, so I took a chance and walked up the steps. My excuse, should I need one, was that I was the tourism officer and I wanted to introduce myself.

Like the rest of the park and gardens, the terrace was immaculate and well tended. And had some nice borders and flowers in bloom. Don’t ask me what the flowers were as I don’t have green fingers and would struggle to identify a rose from a weed, but even I can appreciate beauty and the designer had pressed all the right buttons in making this place achingly beautiful.

I stood by the terrace wall looking out onto the estate.

Nearby was a lake with a single jet fountain in the middle that threw water high in the sky. I looked away from that, as the sound of running water often makes me want to find a loo and there’s never one when you need it, is there girls?

In the distance, on the right was the Mountain, Beinn Uaibhreachd, partially covered in mist as it often was, even on the sunniest days.

‘I will try to go to the top of that one day.’ I promised myself. ‘I wonder if they have Sherpas here?’

Being on a hill meant that the views over the island were lovely. I could see the spire of the church in Halestead, some meadows where sheep (probably including Agnes) dotted the hills like small puffy blobs of cream and white. To my left was the sea, glistening in the bright sunlight. I could even see a ferry making its slow way across the water. I wondered if it had stopped at Muckle and then remembered that as far as tourism was concerned, it seemed an unlikely event unless the locals had to go to the mainland for such essentials as a salon and the occasional latte…

I heard a cough behind me.

I turned around and an elderly imposing looking woman was standing there in a rather severe styled white, lacy collared long sleeve blouse, tweed skirt clumpy heels.

She had the look of a person who was about to tear someone off a strip before having him or her whipped and then forcibly ejected from the property.

She stared at me intently, looked shocked for some reason and then she went deathly pale. Her mouth opened and then she sort of squeaked. Her eyes started bulging and I wondered for a moment if she was a little bit mad.

With another squeak, her eyes closed and she sank to the ground. She was either dead or in a dead faint. On feeling the pulse on her neck and noticing that she was breathing, I sighed with relief. I didn’t want someone’s death on my conscience.

Her head was on the hard ground. I had no jumper close by, so all I could do was to make her comfortable by sitting down and laying her head on my lap.

She had the ageless look of someone who had led a good clean, honest, Christian life and could have been any age between sixty and eighty. Her colour began to come back after a few minutes and I could see signs of her regaining consciousness.

After a few moments her legs began to move slightly and then her arms. Shortly after that, she came around and stared up at me.

‘It can’t be,’ she said, sitting up.

‘Sorry, I don’t understand?’

‘It is you, isn’t it?’

‘Can I help you into the house?’ I asked ignoring the strange question.

‘What, oh yes, the house, thank you,’

I helped the woman to her feet and with her leaning on me rather heavily, I managed to take her into The Manor, using some French doors I hadn’t previously noticed that conveniently opened out onto the terrace.

Inside it was a bit cooler and there were antique chairs dotted about the ornate room that had a high painted ceiling, huge chandelier and walls that were covered with works of art.

I sat her down by the unlit fireplace. She kept looking at me with a bewildered look on her face. I wondered if she was just another one of the collection of weird and wonderful people that lived on the island.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked.

‘No thank you ma’am.’

‘Not ma’am please, I’m Chloe, Chloe McKerrell.’

‘McKerrell?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Chloe?’

‘In the flesh.’

‘You’ve come.’

‘Yes, I hope you don’t mind. The gates were open and I just wanted to have a wee peek.’

‘A wee peek, you?’

‘Yes; as I say I just wanted to see what the place was like, for the tourists, you understand.’

‘But you must have known?’

‘Known what?’

‘Who you are; it can’t be just a coincidence. I thought that the lawyers could not find a living relative.’

‘I’m sorry; you have me at a disadvantage. What lawyers?’

She ignored my questions but ploughed on as if she hadn’t heard me.

‘We knew of a David McKerrell but not a Chloe. The lawyers hunted high and low but could find no trace of him and the trail grew cold once his parents died. Stupid feud between them and the Laird. He hadn’t spoken to them for more years than I can remember. Are you his sister, we had no idea that he had a sister?’

‘Who’s sister?’ I asked, totally bemused and befuggled.

‘David McKerrell’s.’

‘No I’m Chloe now.’

‘You said that, but you are a girl and we have been looking for David, a boy. Are you his sister or cousin maybe?’

I looked at her. She didn’t seem mad, perhaps a bit confused, but that was all.

I wondered if I should tell her and get the nonsense out of the way. I had to get back so that I could meet Sally at my new office. I didn’t want her hanging around for me.

‘Look, Mrs?’

‘It’s Miss Claire Templeton,’

‘Thanks; look Miss Templeton, I don’t know what this is about, but I used to be David, but now I’m Chloe. I am transgendered. I was born as David but soon found out that I was a girl inside. I wont go through the boring details. But I am living as a girl now and will always be a girl for as long as I live.’

‘So you were David and now you are Chloe?’

She didn’t seem bemused by the fact that I was a girl rather than a boy. Perhaps she was beyond being surprised?

‘You lived in London?’

‘Yes.’

In Maida Vale?’

‘Yes, how do you know? For a while after I left home, my parents did not want to know me after I told them about my being a girl, so I didn’t want to have anything to do with them. After Maida Vale, I moved around a bit and then, finally, I came here as Chloe and found a new job being the tourist officer. Now can you please explain what is going on and why you keep looking at me and then at the wall?’

Colour had returned to her cheeks and she sat up straighter in her chair.

‘It must be some sort of divine intervention…’

‘Please stop talking in riddles and let me know what is going on here?’

My temper was rising and I tried desperately to keep it in check. I could just see the headlines, ‘Murder At The Manor, Tourist Officer helping police with inquiries.’

She took a deep breath.

‘Please answer just a few questions and then I will tell you all. What was your grandfathers name on your fathers side?’

‘Andrew Donald McKay; I never met him. Some sort of row kicked off and my dad was cut out of his will. Dad changed his name to my mothers maiden name then and so we have always been McKerrell.’

‘I see. Let me give you a bit of history. Phillip McKay was your great grandfather and when he died there was some confusion as to who would take over the lands and property. Eventually it was decided that your grandfather, Andrew would come into the title and all that entailed. He lived here a short time but had a weak heart, especially after his wife Constance died.

‘The Laird was not a healthy man and he lived much of his latter years in a nursing home. However, he made sure that the Manor would be kept fully staffed and maintained in his absence. I believe that he hoped that one day he would be well enough to come home, but it was not to be. He wanted to make peace with your father but found out that your parents had died in a car accident but was survived by one son, called David.

‘Efforts were made to try to contact you, but you had, as far as our investigators were concerned, disappeared. The fact that you have moved and changed genders are more than likely the reasons why you were not found. I must say, I would never even think for a moment that you are anything other than a very pretty girl. I must inform the solicitors that you have been found at last and then we can make arrangements…’

‘Please, hang on. What are you trying to say to me?’

She had stood up by now, but I was rooted to my chair. What she had told me had confused me and I was still not quite with it.

She put her hand to her head and rubbed her brow.

‘I am so sorry. This is all new to you, but I have lived here all my life as my parents and grand parents had. I am in charge of the manor and all things to do with the running of the estate. You know nothing of this and it must all be something of a shock to you.

She sat down beside me and took my hand.

‘Your grandfather, on finding out that your parents had died, felt a terrible guilt that he had not made peace with them. On finding out that they had a son, he bequeathed everything to you. Also as you are his only direct heir, the titles and estates come to you. If you were a man you would be Laird, as you are not, you will, after the legalities are sorted out, be known as Lady Peploe and much of the island, apart from that owned by the government, is, for all intents and purposes, owned by you. Some of the properties were sold off when the Laird died to pay off death duties, but due to wise investments by his advisors, much of the estate is intact and you are, in fact, a very rich woman.’

I sat there for a moment, trying to take all this in. you may have expected me to shout with glee and dance around with happiness, but this was all a bit much for me. My parents did not speak about the family and I wasn’t aware of any of this. The family history had been kept from me. I knew the name of my grandfather and his wife but little else.

I looked at her kind face.

‘Are you sure that you aren’t mistaken? There must be quite a few McKerrells about and then again there must be other relatives that could claim the title and lands.’

‘There are a few distant relatives, but you are the one who is the only direct descendent of the Laird. Anyway, as soon as I saw you, I knew.’

‘Knew what?’

‘That you are the one or perhaps the sister of the one.’

‘Why, how?’

‘Look above the mantelpiece.’

I looked up and there was a portrait of a strikingly pretty woman.

I now knew what she meant. I had stared at my reflection often enough and the likeness was uncanny.

It could have been me in that portrait.

I looked at the portrait again, my eyes pricking with tears. It was all a bit much and I felt overwhelmed.

It looked like my life was going to change, yet again.

---

 
To Be Continued...

* Julie Walters and Soup, Soup: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6aYLOf8CUQ&feature=kp

Sorry about the continued delays in posting. I have a lot of real life things going on at the moment. I hope to post more soon.

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

Get a life 13

Miss Templeton then handed me a letter.

‘I’ll leave you alone to read it and then I’ll come back in about ten minutes Ma’am.’

‘Thanks,’ I said distractedly, fingering the letter that was addressed to David McKerrell in spidery handwriting...

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 13

Previously …

‘Are you sure that you aren’t mistaken? There must be quite a few McKerrells about and then again there must be other relatives that could claim the title and lands.’

‘There are a few distant relatives, but you are the one who is the only direct descendent of the Laird. Anyway, as soon as I saw you, I knew.’

‘Knew what?’

‘That you are the one or perhaps the sister of the one.’

‘Why, how?’

‘Look above the mantelpiece.’

I looked up and there was a portrait of a strikingly pretty woman.

I now knew what she meant. I had stared at my reflection often enough and the likeness was uncanny.

It could have been me in that portrait.

I looked at the portrait again, my eyes pricking with tears. It was all a bit much and I felt overwhelmed.

It looked like my life was going to change, yet again.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

‘You are the spitting image of her.’

‘I am?’ I whispered, ‘I’m nothing like as pretty as her.’

‘Oh, but you are. How could anyone ever think that you were a man? Lady Constance was even lovelier in the flesh.’

I would have loved to have known her. If her portrait was anything to go by, she must have been a real beauty.

‘How was she related to me?’

‘She was your grandmother; she died about eight years ago and The Laird never got over it.’

‘When did Grandfather die?’

‘Just under a year ago, peacefully in his sleep. He left a letter for you, if you were ever found. I will go and get it.’

She left the room and I sat down in a large easy chair. It was all a bit of a shock and I wondered if I was dreaming. How could all of this have happened? I was just a girl trying to make a new life for herself. I had come to the island for a fresh start, not dreaming that I had very strong roots here. Roots that seemed to mean that I was somehow in charge , well not in charge, but the owner of much of the island. What did that mean to me? Would I still have a job? Did I want a job or was I expected to take over and run the place?

I was still puzzling over things and giving myself a bit of a headache when Miss Templeton came back. She was carrying a tray. She put the tray down on a table.

‘Tea?’

‘Yes please.’ I said.

A few moments were taken up with pouring and doing the ‘one lump or two’ thing and then she handed me the cup and saucer. Being strictly a mug girl (no comments please), I wasn’t used to such finery and the cup rattled a bit, but that could have been due to my shaking hands. I put the cup and saucer down on a table by the chair, before I spilt the tea on the very expensive antique looking carpet.

Miss Templeton then handed me a letter.

‘I’ll leave you alone to read it and then I’ll come back in about ten minutes Ma’am.’

‘Thanks,’ I said distractedly, fingering the letter that was addressed to David McKerrell in spidery handwriting.

I put the envelope on the table and picked up the cup. Taking a few sips of the sweet strong tea, I put the cup down again on the saucer. I noted that I could see the lipstick marks on the cup.

‘I will have to refresh my lippy soon,’ I thought.

I kept looking at the envelope, feeling reluctant to open it but then, taking a deep breath, I picked it up and slit it open.

Inside was one sheet of folded paper.

With a sigh I read the letter.

---

Dear David,

If you are reading this, I have hopefully gone to a better place.

It is difficult for me to put into writing my feelings; feelings that I have kept bottled up for many years. Your father and I never saw eye to eye on anything, I suppose we were both stubborn and liked to have our own way.

Your father brought your mother up to Scotland before they were married. I did not approve of the marriage, as I believed at the time that she was more interested in money than any love that she had for your father. I told him in no uncertain terms that I did not approve of the marriage and if he went ahead with it, I would cut him off.

Your grandmother did not agree with this and argued against such draconian action, but my stubborn side won out and I never saw either of your parents again.

I understand that Constance did keep in touch with your mother and father for a while, but the replies to her letters dried up and that was that.

I was only made aware that I had a grandchild many years later, through my solicitor of all people, who did some conveyance for your father and also arranged a deed pole to change your family name. He should not, of course, told me any of this, but he was a close friend and he was always trying to effect a reconciliation between father and son.

Time passed and your parents moved again and used another solicitor for that and so I lost any contact details. When my Dear Constance died, I realised that life was too short to harbour old animosities and so I tried once again to try and find your parents and in fact used a detective agency for that purpose. Eventually he tracked down where your had parents lived and I then wrote to my son in an attempt at reconciliation.

I received a reply saying some rather hateful things. It appears that your father blamed me for everything and that he never wanted to see or hear from me ever again. He did say that you were no longer living at home and had gone off after having a row. Somehow, I was to blame for this, although no details were given as to why you had left home.

I still wanted to make peace with your mother and father, but then learnt that they had both tragically died. My grief was almost overwhelming that I had been unable to make peace with my son and his wife, but it was not to be.

When I knew that I had not much longer time to live, I searched through my conscience and realised that I still had a grandson that could take over when I was gone. I could do nothing for you while your parents were alive but now I could try to make some small amends for my rejection of my son and daughter-in-law. To date you have not been found, but as you are now reading this letter, although I cannot speak to you face to face, I will try to talk to you this way.

You may have made a good life for yourself. Perhaps you have a wife and children. If so I am happy for you. However, the situation on Muckle is a serious one. Although I have not been on the island much over the last few years due to my failing health, Claire Templeton has kept me informed as to the affairs of the estate and the island.

Young people are leaving for the mainland, as there is not much to do. Some of the properties on the island need repairs done. Businesses are going under for the lack of customers. The roads are getting worn and the state doesn’t seem interested in helping and grants are few and far between even though representations have been made to the Highlands and Islands Enterprise on a number of occasions.

Although the island council do as much as they can, they are bound by the rules and regulations of central government.

What I am leading up to is this. The island needs a leader and the Laird is that leader. My health and other concerns have made me loose touch of the situation. Claire and her assistants do what they can, but she has to constantly seek approval for any improvements and I am fast coming to the stage when I am unable to help. Indeed, now that you are reading this letter, I am beyond helping anyone.

David, you are my legal heir and you have the responsibility of carrying forward the future of Muckle. I know that it might be a sacrifice to drop everything and go and live on the island, but the lives of all the islanders rest in your hands. You will have the help of Claire and others and the assistance of a legal and accountancy team in Edinburgh to make sure that you keep inside the rules and regulations that can and do cause many a headache.

It is up to you whether you take on this task. I have tried influencing others and it does not always work out the way it should. If you do not agree to take over, then the government will or the Scottish National Trust, a fine organisation but not always in tune with the people. I have always believed that I had a duty, as my father did, to look after the island and its people. Although you do not live there, I would like to think that you would, for the sake of family and responsibility, take up the reins and help our island to prosper and go forward.

I am tired now and will need to finish this letter. David, I do hope that you will be found and that the future of Muckle will be safety in your hands. I wish that I were able to get to know you, but it was not to be.

I wish you well for the future.

Sincerely yours

Andrew McKay, your grandfather.

---

I put the letter down. So I was now Lady Peploe, tasked with the responsibility of looking after the island and its people. It was all a bit much to get my head around.

I wondered onto the terrace and looked out on the park; my park if everything I had heard was true.

I would have like to have met Andrew and Constance, my grandparents. I was denied that possibility by a stupid family feud.

‘You have read the letter, I see?’

I turned around and saw Miss Templeton. She stood there looking a bit concerned.

‘Yes.’

‘I do not know the contents, but assume that your grandfather has cleared a few things up.’

‘I think so; I need to think things through. Its all a bit much to take in a the moment. I came here to have a nose around and then if I was asked I was just going to say that I was the tourism office and that I just wanted to introduce myself. Never in my wildest dreams that I ever considered that all this was effectively mine. Its like a silly, hard to believe novel.’

‘Its no novel and its more like fate. No don’t smile like that ma’am, I am not mad. You came on this island for a purpose and now that you are here, you can be a big part of things and help us to grow and prosper.’

We went and sat on a bench overlooking the ornate gardens. I noticed a few gardeners, hoeing or whatever they do, but I wasn’t thinking about them, but all the other things that I had found out.

I put my business hat on.

‘Right Claire, may I call you that?’

‘Please do that, ma’am.’

‘On one condition, you must call me Chloe, no I insist. Being a ma’am makes me sound and feel old.’

She looked at me, struggling with herself.

‘My father would spin in his grave if I did that.’

‘Alright, how about if its Claire and Chloe when we are alone and Miss Templeton and ma’am, if you have to, when we are in company?’

She thought for a moment and then smiled, ‘are you ordering me to do this?’

‘Yes I am Miss Templeton,’ I replied, grinning.

‘Well in that case, I will accede to your wishes…Chloe.’

‘Right Claire, tell me what happens now?’

‘I have your authority to inform the relevant people and organisations?’

‘Yes, if you will, that would take one worry off my shoulders.’

‘I am here to take as much of that worry from you. One thing The Laird taught me was get the right people working for you and delegate as much as you can.’

‘One thing my title, Lady Peploe, do I need to sign anything or prove who I am?’

‘I will ask Mr Campbell the solicitor to come up to us as soon as possible to clarify matters, but I assume that your name is Chloe and not David McKerrell?’

‘Yes, I changed it by deed pole some time ago.’

‘You still have your birth certificate and other proofs of identities under your previous name?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Then that should suffice. I need to tell you that while my father was running the estate for The Laird, I studied estate management, which, as part of the degree course, included elements of the law, accountancy and a few other useful things. Being an only daughter, he always wanted me to take over from him and The Laird was very supportive and actually paid for my education, bless him. What I am saying is that I am aware of the law regarding certain matters, in particular inheritance and I believe that we should not have any problems with your somewhat unique situation.’

‘Then you accept me as I am, a woman and not just a bloke in a dress.’

She looked at me searchingly.

‘I treat as I find and I find you to be a lovely young lady. I am not sure of your legal status, whether the law considers you to me a man or woman, but you now have the legal clout to overcome many obstacles. As I say, you are a lovely woman and cannot imagine you as being anything else. ’

My eyes started watering a bit then and I turned away and looked at some swans flying across the lake.

‘Thank you for that Claire.’

I took a deep breath and turned back to her.

‘I think that until we get everything sorted out legally, we say nothing of this to anyone.’

‘Why is that, may I ask?’

‘Because, when it is known, I expect I will be pressurised to do things that I might not want to. I want to help as much as I can, but I need to know exactly what I have inherited and what I can and cannot do before my position is generally known. I do not want people turning up at the door with a begging bowl if I haven’t the means to fill it.’

‘I don’t think that you need worry about a lack of money, but you are right. We need to make sure that everything is place before we make any announcements official or otherwise.’

‘I will carry on doing my job for the moment. One of those jobs is to see as much of the island as possible and report back to the mayor and Mayoress with suggestions on how to increase tourism. I will use the opportunity to see in what way I can help.’

‘Will you tell Sally and Angus?’

I considered for a moment.

‘No, I do not want to jinx things by telling everyone about it until we have the legalities sorted out. Do you need me to do anything else?’

‘Can I have your phone number. We can talk if we need to and of course, please come back as often as you can; it is your real home after all. When I have spoken to the solicitor, I will let you know when he can come.’

We spoke a bit more and I promised to return the following day. She gave me a sheaf of papers to read including the portfolio of the properties that I owned, the employees and the financial status of the estate and lands. I glanced at the figures and my eyes widened at the amounts stated.

I hugged her before I left and she was a bit embarrassed about that, but I wanted her to be a friend as well as an employee. I think that, despite our age differences and her reluctance to be seen as acting ‘above her station’, we would get on famously.

I smiled as I waved and then left on little Pinkie, her tyres crunching on the gravel drive as I went down the long lane leading to the road. Claire had said that I should have used one of the cars in the garages as they were mine, but I declined, as people would ask questions. I also didn’t feel comfortable about using anything from the estate until I had confirmation that I had in fact inherited, rather than some long lost relative that suddenly came out of the woodwork.

On my ride back, I tried to think about my incredible news. Perhaps Claire’s assertion that it was fate that brought me to Muckle was true. I had no idea, but what I did know was that nothing would be the same again.

I felt a bit mean about not telling anyone about my good fortune, but I had to be sure that this wasn’t just a mistake. Too often in my life I had faced disappointments and I believed that if I went around telling everyone that I was Lady Peploe and mistress of all that I surveyed then there would be an awful spanner in the works that would make me fall flat on my face.

Should I tell Alistair?

Once again, I was full of doubts. It would undoubtedly change the way he perceived me and I wasn’t sure that he would be happy for my change of status. Men are funny creatures and I was so frightened that he would not like for me to be the recipient any forelock tugging.

I reached the top of a hill. Pinkie was a bit out of breath and I wanted to give her a breather before continuing, so I pulled over to the side of the road and put her on her little stand. Taking off my helmet, I shook my long hair out. Helmet hair is one of the downsides of scooter riding and I always carried my trusty hairbrush to untangle my wayward locks.

There was a grassy hill over to my left and I walked up it and at the top, I sat down, avoiding the occasional sheep doo-doo as I did so. With a sigh, I looked across the field. The sea was glistening with the reflection of the sun. Over to the left, in the distance was another island, I had no idea which one, as my internal compass was non-existent and geography was never my strong point. I could paint my finger and toenails with precision and panache but without Tom-Tom, I haven’t a clue where I am, which is one of the reasons why I strayed off the beaten track and found my new ‘home’.

I looked around; it was a good vantage point where I was sitting. I could see along the coast a bit and the mountain was there in the distance, ever present and overlooking everything. I promised myself that I would go up that mountain when I could, but not on a day when it was shrouded in mist like it was now.

I was suddenly quite emotional. My girly pills did that to me sometimes. Well I blamed the pills anyway. One second I felt as high as a kite and the next second full of doubts. This time it was because I loved the idea if everything panned out, I would be able to help everyone and then realising that the responsibility was very daunting. I didn’t want to do anything wrong and I also did not want to drive away my friends like Sally, Angus and more importantly Alistair. People might treat me differently and I was just getting used to being seen as an ordinary girl…

Then, what would be the reaction of the locals to my good fortune? I wondered what Ma McTavish, the landlady from hell would say and what about the obnoxious Cameron? I bet that he would insist that he get his cottage back.

I liked that cottage and dreamed of living there. Under all the muck and mess there lay a lovely picturesque cottage. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to live there. I would be expected to live up at The Manor. I remembered that the cottage was a council one, so that was that…

I looked over at the island in the distance and noted that in the short time I had been sitting there, clouds had crept up and the island was now shrouded in mist. It looked like we were in for another belt of rain and it was heading my way.

Sighing, I stood up, brushed the grass of my once white capris that now had a green tinge from where I had been sitting on the damp grass, that I wasn’t aware was damp.

I could hear thunder in the distance as the clouds raced towards Muckle and so I hurried to Pinkie, running as fast as I could in my sandals. I then put on my rather unflattering, lime green coloured waterproofs, as I didn’t want to get a soaking and then starting Pinkie, I raced back to town to try to avoid getting a soaking.

I nearly made it to the café, where I was going to have a quick lunch, but got soaked in just a few seconds, twenty feet from salvation.

I dripped into the café and Molly looked up from behind the counter. There were a few people in the café but it was hardly packed. Maybe I could help her…

I shook my head; time enough for that later, if I could.

‘Ah Chloe, it is you then, what will ye have?’

‘Can I have a pasty and a cup of tea please?’

‘Coming up in a jiffy, take that stuff off, you are making a puddle.’

I took off my wet waterproofs and left them by the door and then growled as the clouds rolled away and sun came out.

I would never get used to the changes in the weather!

After a jiffy and a half, Molly came over with my lunch and two cups of tea and then, after seeing to me, she sat down opposite.

‘Any news then, hen?’ she asked as she eyed me speculatively.

I looked up in alarm. Did she know about me? I knew what it was like on Muckle, if a red squirrel farts on top of the mountain, it would be news in the town and all outlying villages before he or she finished blushing.

‘No news, why, have you heard anything?’

‘Och, only that ye had a meal with Alistair and ye appeared to be getting on rather well. Also, that man Cameron was shooting his mouth off to his cronies in the pub. He told everyone who wanted to hear, and some that didn’t, that he had given ye a peace of his mind and that he warned ye off living in his cottage.’

‘Never mind about Alistair, we are just good friends, but Cameron, that slimy toad wouldn’t know the truth if it hit him in the face. I told him what I thought about him and scared the pants off him. He is all bark and no bite.’

Molly nodded.

‘I thought as much. He lies in his sleep, that one.’

I had to be quick, as I had agreed to meet Sally over at the council office. Also, I didn’t want any more searching questions that I couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. So I ate up as quickly as I could, said my farewells to Molly and then made my way over to the council office.

Pushing the door open, and went in. As usual, the place was empty, I wondered if anyone actually worked there, or was it some sort of Marie Celeste thingie.

I made my way to my office and knocked on the door. I stepped back as the door was opened by a big, correction, very big man.

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘you must be Hamish McAllister?’

‘Yes, an you are Chloe McKerrell, my but, you are a bonny wee lass.’

I felt that he was undressing me with his eyes. He was looking down at my chest with his tongue hanging out and hadn’t bothered with my face.

‘I’m taken.’ I said suddenly.

‘Whit?’

‘My boyfriend is Alistair.’

‘Och, I know that, everyone does, but there’s no law against lookin’.’

‘As long as you don’t touch the merchandise,’

‘Don’t mind me lass, its chust my way.’

He finally looked at my face.

‘Whell, ye dinna look much like a man. Ma McTavish told the milkman, that you were a man in a dress…’

I heard a noise behind me.

‘Hamish McAllister, I have told you before to keep a civil tongue in your head. Now have you finished?’

‘Aye, it’s fit for a king, sorry queen now.’

‘Be off with you, Hamish, I’m sure that you have other things to do.’

‘Aye, I haf,’

After a final leering look at my chest and a sigh, he left the room and it immediately seemed bigger without his bulk taking up so much of it.

‘Well Chloe,’ asked Sally, ‘What do you think?’

I looked around and I saw that it had been tidied up now. All the boxes and rubbish had disappeared and the table and chairs were in their allotted spots and an ancient looking computer and screen was on the desk, I wondered if it ran on gas...

Over in the corner was a filing cabinet that was probably old during the second world war, but it looked functional enough. There was a phone on the desk and I had to blink twice, as I had not seen dial phone other than on old TV programs.

‘Erm fine.’ I said.

‘Sorry about the ancient stuff, but it will keep you going until we can find the funds to update things a bit. That phone is a laugh isn’t it? You had better use your mobile and put the costs down to expenses.’

‘I’ll dig out my laptop too,’ I said, ‘that computer was old before I was born,’

‘Ha-ha, very funny.’

We both giggled.

‘Look, lets go and have walk along the front; it’s a nice day and I think that we’ve had our allocation of rain and thunderstorms for the day. Angus wanted to be here, but he’s on the mainland, trying to ask for some grants from yet another government scheme. Little chance of that, but we have to try. There’s a danger that we might have to raise more funds by increasing the rates and people can’t really afford it. Anyway enough of that.’

I agreed to the walk along the front and we soon found ourselves strolling along the short promenade. We sat down at the end and watched the waters lapping gently up the shore. A few children were playing on the beach and the occasional dog walker. It was quite peaceful.

‘So Chloe, you have had a chance to have a look around, what do you think?’

I had a crisis of conscience; I couldn’t do it. Sally and Angus had trusted me and gave me a job without even seeing me in the flesh. On top of that I considered that Sally was a good friend, even though I had only known her only for a short time.

I know what I had said before to Claire and also to myself, about keeping things under wraps but I needed to tell Sally. Earlier, I had glanced at the bank balance and investment portfolio and had wondered why things had been left to slide here. The trouble was, I believed, that Claire had not had the power to do anything much except keep things going until inheritance matters were finalised.

I made a snap decision and hoped that I wouldn’t regret it or that things would go pear shaped.

‘I don’t think that financing will be a problem.’

‘Its always a problem. We have to fight for every penny…’

‘Not any more.’

‘Why have you been up to the mountain and found a gold deposit?’ she laughed.

‘No,’

‘Then spit it out girl!’

‘You see, I own the island,’

‘WHAT!’

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

‘You had me there, Chloe.’ she gasped, ‘ I didn’t realise that you were such a joker…’


Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 14

Previously …

I made a snap decision and hoped that I wouldn’t regret it or that things would go pear shaped.

‘I don’t think that financing will be a problem.’

‘Its always a problem; we have to fight for every penny…’

‘Not any more.’

‘Why, have you been up to the mountain and found a gold deposit?’ she laughed.

‘No,’

‘Then spit it out girl!’

‘You see, I own the island,’

‘WHAT!’

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

Gulls were frightened off by her loud voice and the air was filled with flapping wings.

A dog dropped the ball on the beach in alarm, whilst its owner clutched at her heart.

A man on the prom was lighting his pipe and snapped through its stem.

I merely jumped a few feet and grimaced. Sally’s voice should carry a government health warning.

She gave me a searching look and then smiled. The smile turned into a chortle and the chortle into a full on laugh.

‘You had me there, Chloe.’ she gasped, ‘ I didn’t realise that you were such a joker…’

I waited until she calmed down a bit and then once she had recovered and her colour had returned to normal, I continued.

‘I know that its hard to believe Sally, but its true.’

She looked at my face with concern.

‘Erm Chloe; has there been, and I say this with your interest’s at heart, erm, any insanity in your family? Mother thinking that she’s a teapot; mad aunt living up in the attic and setting fire to the house or maybe you thinking that you own this island, that sort of thing?’

I sighed, this was going to take time.

‘I am not mad or have bats in my belfry. Right, you know my name?’

‘Yes, Chloe McKerrell.’

‘Well my surname is my mothers. My father had a row with his father and it resulted in a breakdown in communications between my parents and grandparents. A breach that was never healed and we changed our name, I suppose in protest.’

I could see that I had her attention and all signs of mirth had gone from her face, to be replaced by a puzzled look as she tried to take all of this in.

‘What has this got to do…’

‘Please let me explain my way. I went up to The Manor earlier the gates were open and I went in to have a snoop and maybe introduce myself to the owner… ’

I explained all that occurred between Claire Templeton and myself; how she fainted at the sight of me and then the incredible news I received about my inheritance and finally, I gave Sally details about the letter my grandfather left for me to read.

‘So,’ said Sally, ‘let me get this straight, you are in fact Chloe McKay?’

‘Sort of.’

‘What do you mean, sort of?’

‘Well I need to change my name back to McKay and I intend doing that, as the only reason why we were called McKerrell was because of a stupid row, a row that is now irrelevant.’

‘So you will be Chloe McKay when you get it changed by deed pole or whatever?’

‘Not strictly, well yes I will be but not only that…’

‘What are you blathering about girl?’

‘Erm, I will also be known as The Lady Peploe; that is because of my grandfather being a viscount, marquess or something. I’m not sure of the details; I might even be a viscountess because of some exemption to the rules handed down from James the sixth, who was evidently pals and bosom buddies with one of my ancestors; but the lawyers, according to Claire, will look into that. Do you know that most titles are only handed down via the male line?’

‘What!’

‘For now, you may call me Ma’am.’ I said with a straight face and then I couldn’t hold it and giggled.

It took a while to sink in. I think that Sally thought that it was all some sort of wind-up. Then I showed her a few of the papers about the estate that Clair gave me and then, finally, she believed.

‘You’re a lady? ’

‘Yes.’

‘You own the Manor?’

Yes.’

‘And most of the island?’

‘Correct.’

‘Bloody hell!’

‘I said “gosh” when I found out.’

‘You would’

Sally looked at me keenly.

‘If all this is a shock to me, how do you feel?’

I considered for a moment.

‘I’m not sure that its not all some sort of dream and that I might wake up and find out that its all not true. Then I pinch myself, that hurts by the way, and I know that this is reality.’

‘Do you want this?’

I looked at her and shrugged.

‘Yes and no; I don’t want to let people down and I know that will have to make decisions that might not please everyone. And then there is the case that certain people on the island won’t like the decisions that I make, but I suppose that comes with the territory.’

‘I take it that we will have to look for another tourism officer.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, you have another job now; you know, being the big boss and head honcho, that sort of thing.’

I thought for a moment and then smiled.

‘What are you grinning about?’

‘I can still do my job.’

She looked at me as if I was mad.

‘You can’t; whatever gave you that idea?’

‘I’m not being silly…’

‘Listen, you appear to be as rich as Crassus…’

‘Not quite,’ I protested.

‘Well, maybe not. Let’s at least agree that you can give most rich people in Scotland a run for their money. So you don’t need a job, any job, except the running of the estate.’

‘Its not about need, its about want. Ever since I have been here, not long, I know, but I have felt an affinity with the place. Call it mysticism; call it blind faith or whatever you like. Anyway, I want to help drag this lovely place up out of the doldrums. I can help. I know about holidays and what holidaymakers want. I have a staff (I can’t believe I’m saying that, but its true) and as Claire told me, it’s good to delegate. I can let Claire and her team do the day running of the estate and that will leave me with time to do what I can to help. Does that make sense?’

‘Well…’

‘I can carry on what I’m doing and see what needs to be done to attract people here. If I see anything that can be changed or improved, I will try to accomplish it, without anyone but a select few knowing about it. I’ll be a sort of Robyn Hood type person. I think, at the moment anyway, that my involvement in any of the changes should be kept as secret as possible. Otherwise I will be inundated with silly requests and I know of at least a few people would try to take advantage of me.’

‘You, never.’

I laughed.

‘Was that a hint of sarcasm I heard in your voice?’

‘Chloe, you can’t help being nice, sweet person, it’s in your nature.’

I shrugged, ‘ I am what I am. Anyway enough of the character assassination, what do you think?’

‘Will you want paying?’ she asked slyly.

I laughed.

‘I don’t think that that will be necessary.’

‘You know that tongues will start to wag and the jungle drums will get hot with use?’

‘People will think what they like, but I won’t be telling them anything yet. Not until I am happy about them knowing anyway.’

‘And what about Alistair?’

‘What about him?’

‘You haven’t told him, I take it?’

‘Not as such.’

‘Does that mean no?’

‘Sort of,’ I answered awkwardly.

‘Why won’t you tell him?’

I thought for a moment before replying.

‘I want him to love me for who and what I am. I don’t want him to think that I’m different now.’

‘How are you different?’

I looked at her with surprise.

‘Derr… Look at me? I now am so different from what I was before. I’m rich, have a title and probably own the very ground we are standing on. That is what I call different.’

‘Chloe, you silly moo. Your circumstances have changed and you have had a bit of good fortune, but you are still the same. You have a lovely personality and I know that you won’t let all these riches go to your head. Underneath you haven’t changed. Anyway, Alistair will love you no matter what and if he does not, he isn’t the man for you and it would have never worked. You can’t keep this away from him because lovers should have no secrets, well not important ones anyway. Hubby doesn’t know half of what I get up to, but that is beside the point. Important things we do not keep from each other and you should not do it either.’

‘What if he hates my being Lady Peploe or God forbid, a marchioness? What if he doesn’t like me being richer than him or having more property? What if…’

‘What if nothing; you have to tell him or your relationship is doomed.’

I knew, in my heart that her words made sense; although I dreaded the outcome when I told him.

My phone chirped.

‘Hello?’

‘There you are Ma’am. I have spoken to the solicitor, Mr Campbell and he will be here in three hours. Will you be able to come to The Manor for a meeting?’

‘Three hours, that’s quick.’

‘He will use a helicopter. The estate has use of one on a contract basis and it is always, with its pilot, of course, on standby. Although it isn’t used much, it is cost effective. Both Mr Campbell and myself agree that the sooner we get things moving, then the sooner it’s settled.’

‘All right, I will come up in three hours. Claire, whilst you are there, I might as well tell you that I have told Sally and I will be telling my erm, friend Alistair, but I will tell them to keep everything secret for the time being.’

There was a pause.

‘To be honest, I expected you to tell people close to you. Let us hope that others don’t hear of it before we are ready to let the cat out of the bag. Do you want Douglas to come and pick you up?’

‘Douglas?’

‘He is our gillie and has use of the Range Rover. He is very discrete and his family have been on the estate as long as mine.’

I thought for a moment and Sally pointedly looked the other way, trying to ignore the conversation; although I could tell that she was dying to know what was going on.

‘It would be better if I come on Pinkie.’

‘Who is that, a horse?’

‘No,’ I laughed, ‘it’s my little scooter. If I’m seen being driven about in a big car, it might make people think that there is something going on.’

‘OK, you’re the boss.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’ I replied, realising that this was the first of many decisions that I would probably have to make.

‘It might be a good idea to get you a car, perhaps from the mainland. You won’t want to ride about on erm, Pinkie if the weather gets bad, as it sometimes does.’

‘We’ll talk about it later.’ I said, ‘see you soon.’

‘Bye.’

I put my phone away and Sally looked at me.

‘Well, things are moving.’

‘You heard that?’

‘Well, Claire does have a rather loud voice and my hearing is 20-20.’

‘I thought that was for sight; you, know 20-20 vision.’

‘Lets not quibble.’

‘Hmm; anyway, you are right, things are moving along rather quickly. I still think that I am dreaming and I will wake up in the tent at the cottage with that damned sheep, Dolly or whatever her name is, head butting me and pinching me on the bum through the tent walls…’

‘Rather a disturbing picture that,’ said Sally, ‘anyway you are awake and this is no dream. You have decisions to make and rather quickly. I will be here to help you if you like.’

‘Would you? It will be nice to have a friend to lean on.’

‘What are friends for,’ she said smiling, ‘and anyway, you are important now and I do like to suck up to near royalty; I could do with a new TV...’

‘You aren’t shallow at all, are you Dear Sally?’

‘Who me?’ she replied shrugging and looking innocent.

We both giggled.

I went back to Auntie’s place and she was luckily out. I say luckily, because although she was about a hundred and twenty years old, she was as nosy as anything and I believed that she was a member of the grapevine movement, where everyone knows everything, quicker than a rat goes up a drainpipe.

I was not as convinced as I should by her deafness; perhaps it was selective.

As usual, the rain and damp weather had turned into a gloriously summer day. After putting Pinkie to bed in her little shed, I hung up my wet weather gear on the line outside in the garden and it steamed slightly as the hot sun dried it all out.

I realised that as I would be going out in all weathers, it would be a good idea to take up Claire’s offer of a car. Pinkie was lovely to pootle about on in the nice weather, but I didn’t think that she would be very practicable in the depths of winter.

Maybe I would get that BMW I lusted after…

After returning to my room, I found myself looking in the mirror; I was not a happy bunny. I would have to change and also wash my hair. I looked like I had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Sighing, I stripped off and then grabbing my silky robe, I slipped it on, as the last thing I wanted was to give Auntie a heart attack if she arrived home suddenly.

I went along to the passage to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I would have liked a shower, but there wasn’t one and so I had to make do with the narrow as a coffin bath.

The water gurgled in the pipes as the tub filled and I took the time while I waited to text Alistair.

We need to talk – soon Love C xxx

I received a reply almost straight away.

C? is that you Clarisse, or maybe Charlotte – no it must be Camilla…

Giggling, I replied, It’s Chloe, you bonehead!!!

Oh, sorry Chloe is it? Are you the one with the knockout legs and knockers?

No, bandy-legged and small knockers. I do have a large rear end though.

That’s good; I always was a bum person.

‘Enough, you idiot. Can we meet tonight?

Why, do you want to do something naughty but nice?

I would love to, but not until we have a little chat first. Business before pleasure.

I’m thinking, covering you all over with chocolate sauce and licking it off…

Down boy; chocolate is fattening. Mind you strawberry source sounds yummy.

I would get fat for you darling. OK meet you at 8 if that’s all right.

Sounds great, see you then. Got to go, my bath is calling me.

Calling you what?

Dirty.

I love it when you talk dirty

Go away.

Gone.

I giggled as I put my phone down. I was getting very giggly in my old age; it must be the fresh country air or something in the water.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I was pleased with the result. In view of the business type nature of my meeting with the solicitor at The Manor, This was not a Pinkie transport occasion and as a result, I had booked a taxi, which was arriving in a few minutes hopefully.

I had taken the opportunity to posh up and as a result I had put on one of my only two nice frocks. This was a Karen Millen dark blue stretch cotton dress. It had short sleeves with cut-out detail at the back. It was truly scrumptious and had cost me an arm and half a leg to buy.

With the carefully applied makeup, perfect nails and hair brushed to within an inch of its life, I thought that I looked rather nice, even though I say so myself!

No way would I ride on Pinkie with that dress on!

I slipped on my sandals (low heeled, as I didn’t want to trip over myself in business mode) picked up my bag and then finally, I was ready.

I heard the beep-beep of a car horn downstairs and picking up my cardi (just in case) I went downstairs.

‘There you are Helen. Going out?’

How had she crept in the house without me knowing?

‘Its Chloe; I’m erm, going out to meet someone?’

‘Well be careful, there’s a war on. Be back before curfew.’

‘Erm, right; see you later?’

‘Isn’t that skirt a bit short?’

I looked down; it covered my knees – just.

‘It’s the new style.’

‘What about your hat?’

‘What about it?’

‘You aren’t going out without a hat on or at least a scarf.’

‘Umm, I don’t need a hat or scarf where I’m going.’

‘Cant abide these new fashions, in my day…’

The taxi hooted me again.

‘Sorry Auntie, I have to go. Don’t wait up.’

‘But Helen…’

I rushed out with a quick wave before she finished her sentence. The sooner I made alternative arrangements the better.

The taxi driver looked about 12 years old, but as I got older young adults started to look younger…

God I was only 29; I was beginning to sound like my mother, God forbid!

He opened the door for me and said something in unintelligible Scots I smiled and got in. The car was quite old and I think that it was a Ford under all that dirt. This was another thing that I would have to look at; transport on the island. Luckily the inside was clean enough for me to sit on the faux leather seats, so my lovely dress was not going to get dirty.

As we drove off he started to talk to me, but his language was so broad, I couldn’t understand a word that he was saying. I just nodded and smiled and said the occasion ‘mmm’. Mind you, the exhaust had blown and the engine sounded as if it had gone around the clock several times, so conversation would have been strained even if I could understand him…

I needed a car, if all the taxis were like that one. I had seen the occasional bus on the island, but they too were ancient and on one, I swear that I saw a sheep looking out of the window at me, or that might have been an optical illusion…

Miraculously, we arrived at The Manor, more or less in one piece, apart from a piece of the tailpipe that clattered off when we hit a particularly vicious hump.

With a screech of brakes, we pulled up outside the house and with some difficulty, as the door was creaky and jammed slightly, I got out. With a shaky hand, I paid him.

I think he said that he would come and pick me up when I had finished but I declined his kind offer.

He replied ‘Och Wheel.’ And then drove off with a cheery wave.

Perhaps the Gillie would give me a lift if I asked him nicely. To hell with the secrecy thing; I wanted to live for a bit longer.

Claire came out and greeted me. I gave her a hug that she didn’t expect. She had to realise that I was a touchy-feely person and she would have to get over it.

‘Mr Campbell is in the study,’ she said, after I had put her down.

I looked to my left and I saw a helicopter on the lawn I wondered in passing how much all this sort of thing actually cost; then I shrugged. I would have to get out of my miserly mind-set and start thinking a bit more positively.

Mind you money doesn’t grow on trees…

I gave my self a mental slap around the face with a metaphoric wet kipper. I was in danger of being of the stereotypical mean Scot; the way things were going. Now did I bring the key to the padlock on my purse?

Mr Campbell, apart from being in the dreaded clan, hated by one and all bereft Scots who had ancestors at Glencoe, seemed like a nice man and I wasn’t one to hold grudges anyway.

He was tall, dark haired, about thirty and had a bright smile that showed that he cleaned his teeth after every meal or had a very good dentist. He looked yummy, but I was taken for…

‘Lady Peploe, how nice to meet you, at last,’ he said as he came over and shook my hand.

‘Hello Mr Campbell, I bet that you are surprised to see me.’ I squeaked, my voice sounding uncharacteristically Mini Mouse like.

‘Truthfully, yes I am, I was expecting someone, erm different.’

‘A man perhaps?’

He had the grace to look embarrassed and then laughed.

‘You have me. Anyway, it is nice to finally see you, Lady Peploe.’

‘Please call me Chloe and don’t give me that look Claire.’

‘I’m saying nothing Ma’am.’

I turned back to the solicitor.

‘Anyway, should you be calling me by my title. Have I got to go in front of the queen to confirm it and by the way, do I have the right to the title as I am still, physically anyway, a male?’

‘All questions will be answered, I hope; but first, shall we sit?’ he asked, ‘Claire has, with her usual efficiency, managed to scramble up some tea, I see.’

The ritual pouring of the tea took a few moments and once we all had settled down Mr Campbell or Hamish as he insisted on being called, finally got to the point.

‘Well Chloe, to answer your question first, any title automatically goes to the next in line. Your parents are regrettably dead and therefore the title goes to you. Your father would have been The Marquess of Peploe and would have been addressed as Lord Peploe. If you were in, shall we say male persona, you would be called the same. As you present as a woman and indeed are transitioning, I believe, it would not be too much of a problem for you to be referred to as The Marchioness of Peploe or Lady Peploe.’

‘What if I just want to be known as Chloe McKerrell or perhaps McKay?’

‘Within reason and with the use of a deed pole you can be called whatever or maybe whoever you like. For example you could refer yourself as Chloe McKay, Marchioness of Peploe, although that is a bit of a mouthful.’

‘Are you considering a change to McKay?’ asked Claire.

I shrugged.

‘I’m not sure, I might even go double barrelled; you know McKerrell-McKay?’

‘That’s even more of a mouthful.’ laughed Hamish, ‘anyway, for the moment lets keep it simple, would you mind being called Chloe McKay, Marchioness of Peploe, then everyone will understand that you are a member of The Family?

I thought for a moment. After the fallout with my parents, the name McKerrell did not have the same meaning to me as before. I had never known any of my relatives on my mother’s side, so being known as a McKay might smooth things for me.

I nodded.

‘OK, I agree to that; can you get the ball rolling?’

‘Yes, I will get some paperwork for you to sign and also, if you can give me the details of your bank and other people you need to tell, I will arrange everything. We will need to get your drivers licence and passport sorted out. Your birth certificate might be a tricky one to change, but we will get to that at a later time; any questions?’

‘No, that seems straight forward enough. Now what about the estate?’

‘Much of the work has been carried out; taxes have been paid and all we need to do is for you to sign some papers. Then, as far as you are concerned, you are the owner of the estate, portfolio and to be honest, much of the island. You also own several parcels of land in England and Scotland, have a rather large house in The Hamptons…’

‘Where is that?’

The USA, to be exact, The Hamptons, Southampton, New York, an exclusive and rather expensive place to live, I understand. You have a number of other properties in London, Rome, Paris and Berlin, I will be sending you details of those shortly.’

‘I don’t understand, why is the family so rich and how did we pay for all this?’

Hamish shrugged.

‘Shrewd investments, getting out at the top and buying at the bottom; knowing somehow when the market is about to crash. Your ancestors, almost to a man and woman were pretty good at making and almost more importantly keeping money. They always backed the winning side.’

‘So, what happens next?’ I asked, not wanting to know how they had managed the winning side thing and whether there had been much blood spilt in achieving their aims. Scotland’s history was a bloody one.

‘You sign lots of papers, I go away and do what I do and then, its all sorted out.’

‘Do you have the papers?’

‘Yes; they have been ready for some time. All I have to do is fill in the name where needed and then you sign and that is it.’

He looked at me and smiled.

‘I must say that you are the image of your grandmother; its almost eerie.’

‘So Claire was telling me.’

‘She was a lovely warm and generous person and I can see that you are in a similar mould.’

I went red, as I always did when being flattered.

‘Do you always flatter your clients? I think that you need glasses.’

‘Only to see you better.’

We looked at each other for a moment more and then both burst out laughing.

‘I think that I have the measure of you Mr Campbell.’

‘And I don’t think that many people can put one over you, Lady Peploe.’

Claire looked on at this verbal jousting with an indulgent look on her face.

‘Hamish, I will be having a word with your wife unless you are very careful, and Chloe, you should be ashamed of yourself; Alistair would not be impressed.’

‘What did I do wrong? I protested.

‘It was more the way that you were looking at Hamish.’

Both Hamish and I looked sheepish. I hadn’t gotten used to the man-woman-flirting thing and I immediately felt guilty about such carnal type thoughts. I had no idea what Hamish thought, but assumed by the look on his face that he had similar thoughts.

We spoke more about things that needed to be done; red tape and other boring stuff to everyone except the legal profession. Eventually, the end result was that I was, in fact, the legal owner of all I surveyed and that I had a number of titles, all of which evidently made me what the paparazzi would call, a member of the A list.

Hamish, Claire and I agreed to meet up again in a few days, to tie up a few loose ends and then we could make more concrete plans for the future. I said that I would ask Sally and Angus to come too, as I wanted their input as to what could be done in the wider community.

Douglas, the gillie, complete with kilt and a wicked looking sporran and even wickeder dirk, gave me a lift back into town. If anyone asked, I would just say that I hitched a ride. I had no idea how long my big secret would actually stay that way, but I would try my hardest not to make it easy for the nosy islanders to find out what was happening.

I thanked Hamish for the lift and as I only got a grunt in reply (he was not what you would call a talkative man), I just smiled and waved as he went off in the Land Rover.

‘Is that you Helen?’ asked Auntie as she came out into the hall.

‘Its Chloe.’

‘It is cold dear; how you can wear such thin clothes I dinna understand.’

I gave up. Having a conversation with Auntie was like talking to a brick wall; only you would get more sense out of a wall.

‘I’m just going upstairs; I will be going out later.’ I replied.

‘Aye, the sun might be out soon,’

I just waved and went upstairs.

When I was back in my room, I sat down on the bed for a few minutes. A lot had happened today and I must admit that I didn’t take everything in at the time, but now it was sinking in and I hoped that I was up to the various tasks and decisions that I had to sort out.

‘Oh blast,’ I said, remembering that I had to go to the little shed where Pinkie lived when she was not in use. It kept her clean and dry when the weather was a bit iffy.

I recalled that I had left the key in the ignition and my front door key was on the ring too. If I was late back, I would have to let myself in, so I decided that I had better go and fetch my keys, whilst it was still on my mind.

Auntie had her TV on loudly and so I didn’t have to run the, ‘is that you, Helen?’ gauntlet.

As I walked around the back, I wondered what I should wear when I met Alistair. It wasn’t a date as such, more of a meeting to tell him my news. I did hope that he wasn’t one of those jealous; I want to be the breadwinner Neanderthal types.

I suppose I was thinking in terms of eventual wedding bells and maybe I was being a bit presumptuous but I had a feeling in my water that he and I were made for each other and I wanted desperately for things to work out between us.

I had more or less decided to have the dreaded operation so that (if he asks) and that happy time comes, we could marry as man and woman and enjoy more or less normal sex, but that would have to wait That made think about whether he would have a title, if we ever did get hitched?

All these thoughts were going around in my head as I went to the shed and pushed the door open; it wasn’t locked, it never was. I was usually a bit wary about going in there, due to the distinct possibility of spider attacks, but this time I had other things on my mind.

There was Pinkie, on her stand, eagerly waiting for me to get on her and go for a little run somewhere, her tail pipe wagging in anticipation. Maybe I was anthropomorphwhatsitting a bit, but I didn’t care…

There was something wrong.

I walked over to Pinkie and gasped. Her seat had been ripped to shreds and on the handlebar was taped a note made with cut out letters from a newspaper.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

I could have cried, I should have cried, but I wasn’t in the crying mood. I was in the red-hot temper mood. I didn’t lose it all that often, but my blood was the blood of the Scots and we don’t take prisoners…


Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 15

Previously …

There was Pinkie, on her stand, eagerly waiting for me to get on her and go for a little run somewhere, her tail pipe wagging in anticipation. Maybe I was anthropomorphwhatsitting a bit, but I didn’t care…

There was something wrong.

I walked over to Pinkie and gasped. Her seat had been ripped to shreds and on the handlebar was taped a note made with cut out letters from a newspaper.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

Stunned, I looked at the note again.

Who would do such a thing; I was a nice person, wasn’t I?

Pinkies seat was ruined. There was no need for that. Why take it out on a poor defenceless pink scooter?

I could have cried, I should have cried, but I wasn’t in the crying mood. I was in the red-hot temper mood. I didn’t lose it all that often, but my blood was the blood of the Scots and we don’t take prisoners.

It wasn’t often that I lose my temper, but my mind had been through a lot of ups and downs and my brain was tripping out and thinking a lot of nasty thoughts about what I would do to the person or persons unknown who had defiled my lovely little scooter and left the poisonous cowardly note for me to read.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone form its little pocket in my bag and stabbed a number.

‘Hi Chloe…’

‘Alistair, something has come up, can you come to Auntie’s and I’ll explain.’

‘You sound a bit erm, angry. Nothing I have done, I hope?’

I took three deep breaths.

‘No honey, its not you. Look, I’ll explain when you come. Will you be long?’

‘About ten minutes.’

‘See you soon.’

‘Bye.’

After taking the note off the handlebars, I left Pinkie and went around the front of the house, standing by the corner, out of sight of Auntie’s sitting room window. I just didn’t want to have any sort of weird unworldly, off the wall conversation with Auntie: I just couldn’t cope with that in my present frame of mind.

Soon, I could hear the unmistakable sound of Alistair’s car in the distance. His Porsche hove (if that’s the right word) into view and he screeched to a halt three inches from the little painted toe of my right foot.

I sighed, wishing for once that he drove like a normal person and not one who had just driven off a motor circuit.

The ten minutes (or eleven minutes fifteen seconds, if you are being picky) wait after I spoke to Alistair on the phone had given me the chance to calm down a bit from boiling to simmer mode and I was therefore more receptive to thoughts other than murder, mayhem and other assorted violent actions. I now merely wanted to half-kill or perhaps break a leg or two and maybe crush the occasional arm of the disgusting person who had done the dastardly thing to my Pinkie.

Alistair smiled as he got out of the car, came over and before I could say anything, gathered me up in his arms, hugged me and then gave me a French kiss that I felt right down to my dainty sandals. If I had been capable of an orgasm, I was sure that I would have done something messy in my panties; as it was, I felt a definite tingling down there and a certain dampness…

After coming up for breath, he looked at me quizzically.

‘Well honey, what’s up?’

I, being the strong willed, titled head of the island and Lady of all I surveyed…burst into tears.

Without saying another word, he picked me up as if I was a feather and put in the passenger seat of his Batmobile-cum-Porsche. We roared off and before I knew it, we had driven to the edge of a cliff with drop dead gorgeous views over the sea and in the distance a couple of islands.

By this time, I had stopped crying, as Alistair’s mad driving had erm, driven away the tears. My mind had been on other things like, would I survive his maniac style of throwing his car around, and would I ever be able to get my hair get back in control again.

He switched the throbbing engine off and turned to me.

Pushing the hair away from my eyes, I looked over at the lighthouse, tall and strong and wondered if I would ever get out of the Freudian mind-set that I was in, ever since I got to know Alistair, shall we say, more intimately.

‘Tell me about it.’ he asked.

I took several deep breaths, tore my eyes away from the erect lighthouse and looked into his deep blue eyes.

‘The last twelve hours have been a bit traumatic.’

‘Why, sweetheart?’

I just loved it when he called me honey and sweetheart.

I thought that I should deal with the nasty note first and pulled it out of my bag and handed it to him.

‘What a cowardly thing to do; was it left at Aunties for you?’

‘Sort of, it was sitting on top off Pinkie’s, my scooter that is, handlebar. Also her seat was slashed and ripped.’

‘Whose seat?’

‘Pinkie’s.’

‘Your scooter?’

‘How many other pink scooters are called Pinkie?’

‘Riiight. So let me get this straight, this note was left on erm, Pinkie and erm, her seat has been ripped?’

‘And slashed,’ I corrected him.

‘As you say, and slashed. Look there are silly people everywhere and some are vindictive and nasty. That is the way things are. It will be difficult for us to prove who did this, but we should bide our time and hopefully this might just all go away. We’ll tell the local plod though and ask him to keep an eye on things. We aren’t used to crime on the island, apart from the occasional missing sheep, so he hasn’t much practice in the line of sleuthing; but he might stumble across something or someone might blab. I can’t believe that anyone would have it in for you. Let’s face it Chloe, you are not exactly much of a danger to anyone.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, wondering if I had just been insulted.

‘No… I didn’t mean it like that, its just that you are such a nice, kind and caring person, anyone would have to be ten pence short of a shilling to ever consider you to be a threat to the community.’

‘Aah.’ I said.

‘Aah?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You said aah.’

‘Erm,’

‘Erm?’

‘Stop repeating me like a parrot.’

‘Well stop aahing and erming at me. Tell me what the problem is.’

‘It can’t have anything to do with it. No one knows except a few people who have the secret and they wouldn’t divulge it anyway.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Me.’

‘I gathered that, but you are not making sense.’

‘Nor would you be able to make sense after what I have been through.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘What’s what?’

He seemed to count to ten under his breath for some reason and then spoke to me as if I was ten years old.

‘Chloe, tell me what has been going on to make you so upset?’

The poor lamb looked confused. I was about to add to his confusion.

This was it, the crunch time. Would he accept me or would he go off screaming into the hills, never to be seen again?

I turned to him and looked into his eyes.

‘Do you love me?’ I asked.

‘Yes; God knows why; you are strange sometimes. I know that you have issues but so does everyone. I love the way you smile and look at me. I can see you undressing me with those eyes and it’s both nice and distracting at once. You are fun to be with, you make me smile and laugh and forget myself and I think that you are very beautiful, but you don’t see that in yourself. Now, before I strangle you and throw you off this cliff in frustration, tell me what is going on.’

I took a deep breath, yet another one. I was in danger of hyperventilating if I wasn’t careful…

I turned away and looked out to sea.

‘I…I found out something today that startled me somewhat.’

‘What?’

‘You need to know something about me.’

‘I know all I need to know…’

‘You don’t Alistair; let me finish and tell you without interruption, please. I have told you about my parents and how they didn’t accept me for what I am, a girl. I also told you that they died before we had the chance at reconciliation. Although unlikely, I always hoped that they would come to l…l…love me again.’

I fought back the tears as I continued.

‘I went up to the Manor today. I was being nosy and I wanted to have a look around in my capacity of tourism officer. There was no one about, so I went up to the house and onto the terrace. As I was looking out on the gardens from the terrace, I heard a noise behind me. When I turned around, a woman was there. To cut a long story short, she took one look at me and fainted. I don’t normally have that effect on people and I was a bit puzzled to say the least. After finally coming around, she told me a fantastic story that I found hard to believe…’

I recounted what Claire Templeton had told me, vis-à-vis that I owned the island, several expensive properties abroad, that I was very rich and that I had more titles than I could shake a stick at. All the time, I wasn’t looking at him. I daren’t, as I had no ideas how he was going to take all these revelations. Once I finished I felt drained.

There was silence and I turned to him.

‘Well, don’t sit there like a stuffed duck, say something.’

‘What? Yea, right. Look this isn’t a wind up is it? No, I can see from your face that it isn’t. Then why are you crying?’

‘Because you might not want to know me.’

‘Bloody hell woman, do you think that I’m that shallow?’

‘No, it’s not that…’

He was quiet for a moment.

‘So you are Chloe McKay and your granddad was Andrew Mckay and your grandmum Constance?’

‘Yes.’

‘And it isn’t an April Fools joke.’

‘Its not April.’

He was quiet for a moment more and I wondered what was going through his mind.

He looked at me squarely and smiled.

‘Of course this means that things will have to change between us. There’s the title thing, do I call you Ma’am or just Lady Peploe and how often will I be required to bow and scrape? And then, of course, there are the financial implications. Will I still have to pay for things when we go out for meals?’

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you are a stupid prat?’

‘Well my parents did and my sister does. All my teachers thought that I was beyond the pale and, oh never mind them. Look here you silly arse; I love you because you are you. I couldn’t care less if you are rich, although that’s nice and you have a title and that’s nice too, as one day I might get my hands on some of both, not that I’m shallow or money grabbing or snobbish or anything…

I punched him on the arm…

‘Ouch, I feel like a battered boy friend. I can just imagine one of your grasping ancestors thumping the Sassenachs with a Claymore and his more intimate enemies with a craftily concealed sgian dubh*. I have a feeling, Chloe McKerrell-McKay, or The Lady Peploe, or even the Marchionesses of God Knows What, that you are harder than you look, but as long as you don’t hit me, I think that I can handle it.’

He rubbed his arm in a rather exaggerated manner and winced bravely. I swear had barely touched him…

‘So you aren’t against still being my boy friend?

‘No, I’ll be brave and still keep you on. By the way, can I have a new Porsche? If I can, I will pay for a new seat for your Pinkie; I can’t be fairer than that!’

I did love this silly man.

I laughed through my tears and soon we were embracing and kissing and…well, enough of that.

---

 
To Be Continued...

Sorry for the short chapter, real life was biting me in the leg again!

*The sgian-dubh is a small, single-edged knife (Gaelic sgian) worn as part of traditional Scottish Highland dress along with the kilt. (Thanks Wiki!)

Please leave comments and/or maybe a kudo, cos its nice to hear from you.

After a protracted session of naughty stuff, I finally put him down, as he was turning a bit blue…


Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 16

Previously …

I punched him on the arm…

‘Ouch, I feel like a battered boy friend. I can just imagine one of your grasping ancestors thumping the Sassenachs with a Claymore and his more intimate enemies with a craftily concealed sgian dubh*. I have a feeling, Chloe McKerrell-McKay, or The Lady Peploe, or even the Marchionesses of God Knows What, that you are harder than you look, but as long as you don’t hit me, I think that I can handle it.’

He rubbed his arm in a rather exaggerated manner and winced bravely. I swear had barely touched him…

‘So you aren’t against still being my boy friend?

‘No, I’ll be brave and still keep you on. By the way, can I have a new Porsche? If I can, I will pay for a new seat for your Pinkie; I can’t be fairer than that!’

I did love this silly man.

I laughed through my tears and soon we were embracing and kissing and…well, enough of that.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

After a protracted session of naughty stuff, I finally put him down, as he was turning a bit blue. I didn’t know I had the strength, but enough of that.

Our talk turned to what was going to happen next, for both of us.

‘You know that every woman of a certain age will now be jealous of you and every man will want to get more acquainted with you.’

‘I’m aware of the fact that many people are materialistic. As far as the jealous thing, apart from the money, titles and that fact that I have you, I don’t know what they have got to be jealous about.’

We looked at each other and laughed.

After another bout of tonsil wrestling, my mobile started making noises.

I put my man down and dived into my bag for my phone.

It was Claire Templeton.

‘Hi Claire, wosup?’

‘Pardon, what? Oh sorry to disturb you Ma’am…’

‘Chloe; any more of that Ma’am nonsense and I’ll set the dorgs on you.’

‘You sound rather flippant and breathless Ma…I mean Chloe.’

‘Information is on a need to know basis and you don’t need to know. So what is it? Have I got to go and have tea with the Queen at Balmoral or arrange the hanging of some sheep rustlers?’

His lordship did spend some time there and you will almost certainly be expected to do so in the future.’

‘Gosh!’

‘Regarding crime and punishment issue, I think that you may be overstepping the bounds of your perceived position Chloe.’

‘So I can’t even have people horsewhipped, put in irons and all that stuff? There is a certain wastrel with a fondness of sheep that I would dearly like to arrange some unpleasantness for.’

‘I think I know who you mean and can sympathise, but it would be frowned upon in certain quarters. Now, can you come up to the house tomorrow morning if you have the time? We need to go over a few things.’

‘I think that should be okay. What’s it all about?’

‘Well, nothing to worry about, just admin and things.’

‘That sounds a bit boring.’

‘It is a bit, but unfortunately, it comes with the job.’

‘Och well, noblesse oblige I suppose.’

‘I didn’t know that you spoke Welsh.’

‘Ha ha, very funny. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. About two do you?’

‘That will be fine.’

After the usual goodbyes I put the phone back in my bag and turned to Alistair.

‘Well, it looks like this Lady of the Manor stuff is going to keep you busy.’

‘Yes, I don’t like the sound of this admin stuff she was going on about, but I suppose I must do my duty.’

‘Never mind, I’m sure that there will be enough time in your busy schedule to enjoy yourself a bit.’

‘Only if you are there, my sweet.’ I replied, batting my eyelashes, hopefully provocatively.

‘I think that I might arrange my timetable to be available for anything that involves having a good time. Something in your eye, Chloe?’

‘I’ll have to practice my lovemaking techniques.’ I thought.

Although we were supposed to meet up that night, Alistair had forgotten that he had already agreed to go to some rotary club do, that sounded more boring than watching paint dry. He was going to cancel and go out with me, but to be honest, I was a bit tired after all that had happened and would welcome an early night. So we agreed to see each other for lunch the next day and after a coe-turling…I mean toe-curling kiss, we parted and I decided to have an early night.

Auntie was in the hall when I got back and wanted to know all the whys, wherefores’ and other things regarding my movements that day. Considering that I had seen her just wee while before, she should have remembered, but her brain wasn’t always all there and she tended to forget things other than juicy bits of gossip. Knowing as I did, that she was a member of the secretive and yet effective Muckle rumour-mongering ring, I told her very little, because the things that she did seem to remember were the things I didn’t want her to know about.

I knew that I would have to move out and soon and it seemed obvious to me that I would have to live in the big house. I had wanted to live the little cottage down by the sea that was being renovated, but that now looked increasingly unlikely and that was a shame as it was a lovely spot. I came back to the present.

‘I’m having an early night Auntie.’

‘That’s fine Helen, ye need ye beauty sleep.’

‘Erm, right. See you in the morning.’

‘Fine, don’t forget to shut your curtains, there’s a war on, you know.’

‘Right, okay Auntie.’

I went upstairs, wondering if Auntie was taking any medication and was it my business anyway. Then I thought that it was my business and I would ask her the next morning if she was seeing the doctor about her little memory problem.

Although still light outside, I undressed and got into my nightie. Then I closed the curtains and tried to decide what to do. I wasn’t very hungry, but had a stash of biscuits. After making myself some hot chocolate, I lay on my bed and dunked a few shortcakes and settled down for the evening with a good book. Pride and Prej, my favourite.

After an hour, I had read several chapters and ate several biscuits. I was now rather tired so I decided to call it a night. I remembered suddenly that I had an appointment with my local friendly bank manager at ten the next morning. The appointment had been arranged the previous week, as I wanted to change my branch and transfer my details to the local one; much easier if you need to sort out standing orders or direct debits. I could have done it all on line, but mistrusted online banking and preferred to deal with friendly faces.

I awoke the next morning as fresh as a daisy with a hey nonny no on my lips. It was obvious that my early night and a good sleep had restored me and made me feel great. Not normally being a morning person, this surprised me. I usually woke gradually, with some reluctance and like a bear with a sore head. It usually took a power shower, several cups of coffee and a Danish or two to quicken my pulse enough for me to face the day with some equanimity.

The good, clear, Scottish air obviously did positive things to me. Even Auntie’s comments about the length of my skirt and lack of a hat when I left the house, didn’t put a dampener on my good mood.

I arrived at the bank five minutes before my appointment with Mr Marley, the bank manager.

I was asked to sit on a hard seat outside his office by a rather harassed looking lady who I took to be his secretary. It all reminded me of the time that I sat outside the headmaster’s office some years ago. An unpleasant time, as I had just been sent there by my form teacher for farting in class. The fact that it hadn’t been me but Pongy Thomas, sat at the next desk who did the wicked deed, made little difference as I was not believed. It did not help, as Pongy was the class bully and what he said was, according to everyone in our class, the full-unvarnished truth. So I got the blame, as usual and it resulted in a hundred lines of 'I must not break wind in class'.

Anyway, I was kept waiting for twenty minutes before being ushered into the presence of the bank manager.

He didn’t get up when I walked in, but waived vaguely at a chair for me to sit on while he did things on his computer screen.

Eventually he stabbed at the enter key and then looked up.

‘Miss Chloe McKerrell?’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘You are here because?’

I didn’t like his attitude, but being brought up polite, I didn’t go for his eyes with my artificially lengthened nails and just smiled and said ‘Yes.’ for some reason.

‘Yes?

‘How can I help you?’

He said it as if he had no intention of helping me but was just saying it just for forms sake.

‘I would like to transfer my account to this branch.’

‘Why.’

‘Because I live here now.’

‘Hmm.’

He looked at his screen, played Beethoven’s 5th on his keyboard and then looked at me again.

‘I understand that you have changed your name from David to Chloe McKerrell; is that permanent?’

‘Yes it is, although I don’t see the relevance…’

‘Just making sure that we have the right details. We have a non-discrimination policy at this bank, but we need to ensure that we have the correct information and it helps to know if this change is transitory or permanent.’

‘It is permanent, although there may be a change to my surname shortly.’

He frowned, as if I had said something that was unpleasant.

‘Hmm, please keep us informed of any changes that might be pertinent to your account with us. Now, I see that you have an overdraft with us of one thousand pounds, but the income that you are showing does not warrant this. You had a job in London which paid enough to cover the facility, but looking at your first monthly salary that has just been credited to your account, this falls somewhat short of this amount.’

‘Yes, but…’

He put his hand up to silence me.

‘If I might finish; I regret that we can only allow an overdraft of five hundred pounds. The remainder will either have to be paid back or converted into a loan...

‘And what if I didn’t agree with that?’

He looked at me pityingly.

‘Then, I regret that we will have to call in the facility and we would have to insist on you paying the full amount owing plus administration fees, of course.’

I looked at him. He was the sort of smug, self-righteous wanna-be, jobs-worth that I hated with every fibre of my being. I could feel myself getting hot and I was finding it hard not to throw the large paperweight sitting on his desk at him...

‘Excuse me.’ I said politely, putting a lid on my emotions with some difficulty.

I pulled out my mobile and rang Claire.

‘I’m busy. I really don’t have the time to wait…’ remarked the manager, self-importantly.

I held up my hand, much the same way as he did with me a few moments before.

‘Hi Claire, sorry to trouble you. Where does the estate do their banking? I thought so. I’ll ring you back later.’

I looked at the manager.

‘So,’ I said, ‘you do not feel that you can let me keep the overdraft as it is?’

‘I have checked with the credit agencies and…’

‘Excuse me, aren’t you supposed to ask my permission before you do that?’

‘When you signed the agreement for the overdraft, there would have been a clause stating that from time to time we can check your creditworthiness in order for us to help you.’

‘Or refuse to help?’

‘We have the fiscal responsibility not to give loans to people who cannot afford to repay them.’

‘Is that why the banks failed miserably just a few years ago and had to be bailed out by the taxpayer?’

‘Be that as it may, I am sorry, but I have another appointment with an important client in a few moments.’

‘But you were fifteen minutes late for my appointment.’

‘I was unavoidably delayed.’

‘There was nobody here when I came in…’

‘Miss McKerrell, this appointment is now over. I will write to you confirming what we have just discussed…’

He sat back in smug mode and steepled his fingers.

Enough was enough.

‘I wish to close the account, effective tomorrow. This will enable me to go next door and make other arrangements.’

‘Changing accounts is not always an easy matter, especially with your credit rating.’

‘Which is?’

‘I am not at liberty…’

‘I bet you’re not. I repeat I wish to close my account. I am sure that my new bank will make all the arrangements to transfer the accounts.’

‘There is only one account, I believe.’

‘You are mistaken. I rang Claire Templeton up at The Manor. I understand that the Peploe Manor Estate Limited is with your bank?’

‘I am not at liberty to divulge information regarding accounts other than your own.’

I stood up and leaned across his desk.

‘That is good, because all the accounts in the name of Peploe Manor Ltd are to be transferred as soon as possible to your direct competitor, The Scottish Liberal Bank and I wish to inform you that I am, among other titles, Lady Peploe so I have every right to do this as effectively, I am the owner of the company, much of the island and I suspect the very building that we are in now.’

‘But…but…’

‘But me no buts, Mr Marlow. Your attitude towards me and I suspect other customers is little more than contemptuous. I was going to explain myself and my change of good fortune but you gave me no opportunity to do so. I think that you may have to explain to your superiors why you have let a multi million pound account leave the bank due to your actions. I bid you good day and then you can then have your meeting with your important client.’

With one last look of disgust, I walked out.

I looked neither left or right as I left the building. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a bench looking out to sea.

My heart was thumping and I was close to crying. I wondered where all that had come from. Perhaps I had more steel in me than I thought. Reaction had set in and I started to shake.

I hated bullies of all kinds going back to that bully at school, Pongy Thomas, who made my life a misery. I could imagine that Mr Marley had been like that and still was. I could see by the gleam in his eye that he enjoyed putting me down. Well, I would be surprised if he was still in a job when the bank realised what he had done.

I didn’t like being nasty to anyone. I considered myself to be a nice and considerate person. I wanted my good fortune to be a blessing and not a curse to all those on the island. I just hoped that people like Mr Marley were in the minority.

I had learnt one thing, I wasn’t a pushover and I had a feeling that I would sometimes have to make some harsh decisions if I wanted to achieve good things on the island.

I sighed as I realised that I had to make a phone call and it was one that I wasn’t looking forward to.

I pulled out my phone and quick dialled.

‘Hi Claire. Erm, I have done something that I hope won’t cause problems…’

---

 
To Be Continued...

Please leave comments and/or maybe a thumbs up thingie, cos its nice to hear from you.

Claire didn't seem at all surprised about the run-in with Scrooge...I mean Marley, the despotic bank manager...


Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 17

Previously …

I hated bullies of all kinds going back to that bully at school, Pongy Thomas, who made my life a misery. I could imagine that Mr Marley had been like that and still was. I could see by the gleam in his eye that he enjoyed putting me down. Well, I would be surprised if he was still in a job when the bank realised what he had done.

I didn’t like being nasty to anyone. I considered myself to be a nice and considerate person. I wanted my good fortune to be a blessing and not a curse to all those on the island. I just hoped that people like Mr Marley were in the minority.

I had learned one thing, I wasn’t a pushover and I had a feeling that I would sometimes have to make some harsh decisions if I wanted to achieve good things on the island.

I sighed as I realised that I had to make a phone call and it was one that I wasn’t looking forward to.

I pulled out my phone and quick dialed.

‘Hi Claire. Erm, I have done something that I hope won’t cause problems…’

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

Claire didn't seem at all surprised about the run-in with Scrooge...I mean Marley, the despotic bank manager.

'He's been a thorn in our side ever since he joined the branch about six months ago. Mr Fletcher, the previous manager was very nice and I got on well with him. He was moved to another branch and then we were saddled with Marley. Strangely enough, the bank arrangements were one of the things that I wanted to discuss with you. I do not have the authority to change banks.'

'Well I seem to have sorted that one out for you. Can you make arrangements to see the bank manager for The Scottish Liberal Bank as soon as possible? I don't want to just walk in there and anyway, you would need to be with me.'

'That shouldn't be a problem. Maybe I could get him to come here tomorrow when you come up?'

'That would be good, if it can be arranged. Also, another thing, I'm staying with Auntie at the moment. It isn't ideal, she's a bit nosy and I need to be discrete in some of my dealings, I think. Her memory is bad, but she seems to remember all the things I don’t want her to and I am sure that she passes on snippets of information to half the island.'

'I know what you mean. For someone as deaf as her, she appears to pick up rather a lot, despite her memory issues.'

'Is she under the doctor for that?'

'Yes, she has been for years.'

'Good, to get back to the point, would it be okay to move into the Manor?'

'Of course it is. The place is yours after all and it would be nice to have you here. But when you move in, it means that everyone will know your status.'

I sighed.

'I think that very soon everyone will know about it anyway. It’s like running against the tide. I can’t imagine that Mr. Marley will keep quiet or the bank staff either, despite claims about confidentiality and all that. I think that my idea about keeping things under my hat was never going to work out that well.'

I sighed again and hoped that it was going to be a habit, the sighing thing I mean.

'I'll come up at about nine o'clock,’ I continued, ‘it’s not too early for you?'

'I would have been up about three hours by then.'

'Good for you,' I replied, not impressed by someone who gets up in the middle of the night, 'anyway, see you then.'

I put my phone back in my bag and sat back, looking at the pretty scenery but not really taking in the beauty of it. How my life had changed after just a few brief weeks. I touched the cheek below my eye and winced slightly from the still lingering pain from my attacker's assault.

As I was musing, I felt something lick my ear and I nearly jumped six feet in the air.

‘Baaa.’

Turning around, I was face to face with a sheep, on a lead of all things. She looked vaguely familiar.

‘Dolly, is that you?’

‘It’s Agnes, ye wee eejit.’

Holding the lead was Finlay Cameron. Why he was walking his sheep like a little doggy, I didn’t know and didn’t want to get into that.

‘So, ye have come inter some gooud fortune then?’

He grinned and I could see what teeth he had were in sore need of dentistry and industrial cleaning.

‘What do you mean?’

He tapped the side of his nose and winked at me.

‘You’ll no be wantin’ my cottage down by the sea then?’

‘You’ll have to ask the council that. It’s to them you owe the back rent.’

‘I should ha had rent rebate. I’m poor as a kirk mouse.’

‘That wasn’t what I heard.’

‘That’s a bare faced lie. I am poor except for a wee bit of cash to keep for my poor wee pension.’

‘Take it up with Angus and Sally, not me.’

He stood there, as Agnes attempted to eat a weed by the side of the seat, and stared at me.

‘Things ha changed since you ha come and I don’t like it. Why don’t ye go back te the smoke where ye belong?’

‘I belong here and nothing that you say or do will change that.’

‘We’ll see aboot that. Come on Agnes, the smell around here is somethin’ awful.’

I silently agreed, I wasn’t sure who smelled worse, Agnes or Finlay.

Agnes looked at me, I swear apologetically, and went off down the road with Finlay muttering to himself and darting looks at me as he went.

I shook my head; how he had known of my change of circumstances? I didn’t know, but at least he couldn’t have known everything, or at least I hoped that he didn’t.

I forgot about Finlay and his demented sheep for a moment and just relaxed and looked out to sea again.

This was all miles away from London and all the problems I had there. I now had a different set of problems which were rather more pleasant (apart from Finlay and a few others). I just hoped that I was up to the challenge that had literally dropped in my lap.

My eye caught a movement down by the shore; it was a horse and rider. I recognised the horse as Sugar Plum and the rider, of course, Isabel, the primary school head mistress. They slowed to a trot and then a canter and finally, they walked up the beach towards the spot where I was sitting, Sugar Plum blowing a bit, but looking frisky after her run through the tide.

I stood up as they arrived.

'Hello Isabel.'

'Hi Chloe, how are you?'

'Fine thanks, lovely day for a ride on the beach.'

'Yes it’s been great. Can I tempt you into joining the riding club? We’re small but quite good.'

'I might. Erm, I think that to might have access to a horse or two up at The Manor, I might be able to have the use of one from there. Mind you, I will need lessons.'

'Yes, The Manor has several horses and a few are loaned out to the kids in the club to use. Clair's good like that. I’m sure we can arrange lessons for you. So you've been up to The Manor then?’

‘Yes, Claire has been very welcoming.’

‘She has her work cut out looking after the estate.’

‘I believe so. I’m going to sort of help out when I can.’

I felt bad about my little white lie but knew that the timing of the announcement of my ownership, title and the rest of the complicated situation was important and I wanted the news to get out when I wanted it rather than at any other time, or so I had hoped before my little contretemps with Finlay.

‘Oh, so what I heard was true.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That you are the queen bee around here now, own most of the island and you are, in fact Lady Peploe.’

‘Who told you?’

‘I can’t remember, it might have been the baker’s daughter or the post mistress or someone else. You know how these things get around.’

I groaned. What was the point…

I arrived back at Aunties about half an hour later. I had promised to go to Isabel's stables in a few days time. She didn't seem all that phased about my position. I fact she thought that it was a hoot! I just hoped that others would take the same laid back attitude to me now.

Auntie was watering her hanging baskets outside the cottage. She saw me and smiled.

‘Can I help you?’

‘It’s me Auntie, Chloe.’

She looked a bit puzzled.

‘I don't have an Auntie Chloe and anyway, aren't you a bit young to be my aunt?’

‘No Auntie, it's me, Chloe. I’m staying here with you, remember?’

‘Then why didn't you say so; confusing poor wee woman like that. Have you had your tea?’

‘Erm yes, I had a bite a bit earlier.’

‘That’s good. You need to eat more if you are to go on and be the Lady of the Manor.’

I looked at her in astonishment. Was she having me on? Was all this confusion and dottiness ac,t a disguise for a woman who could give MI5 a run for their money?

I went upstairs rueing the fact that all my plans for secrecy were falling about my ears. So much for my being a sort of secretive Robina Hood giving to the poor and being an all round nice egg…

As I lay in my bed that night I wondered what else might happen to me. It all seemed so surreal. Here was I, a poor wee wannabe girl who left the lights of London after getting the sack and being assaulted for being transgendered. I arrive at, to me anyway, a mystical and magical island only to find that I was the owner and in charge of everything I surveyed.

It all defied belief. What were the chances of this happening? On top of that, I had met the man of my dreams and he was fully aware of who and what I was and he still loved me!

I turned over and then relaxed. There was no point in dwelling on things that would keep me awake. Tomorrow would be another day of excitement and revelation, I was sure, so I decided that I would just wait and see and try to get some sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of thunder and heavy rain pattering on the glass of the windows. The wind was howling and it looked like it was going to be filthy weather even for the ducks.

I stretched, looked at the time on my bedside clock and realised that it was time for me to get up.

Walking over to the window whilst scratching my bottom in a most unladylike way, I drew back the curtains and nearly jumped out of my skin.

There, on the window ledge, staring at me intently, looking bedraggled and as if it had been dragged through a hedge backwards, was a woebegone seagull; it's feathers all askew and looking very sorry for itself.

Beyond was a picture of what the weather can do. The seas were very rough, from what I could see through the spray and the torrential rain. Auntie’s place was a wee bit off the sea front but even from there I could see that this was a humungous storm of epic proportions.

I pitied anyone rash enough to go out in weather like that. Then I remembered that I was supposed to go up to the Manor this morning. Pinkie was not going to be used, even though she was saddle sore from the attack on her, I could not have ridden her today, in that weather.

I picked up my phone and rang Claire.

‘Hi Claire, I’m not sure that I can make it this morning. The weather is awful and I can’t use Pinkie.’

‘The weather isn’t that bad; a touch of rain and wind, perhaps...’

‘You have to be kidding me. Weather like this was mentioned in the bible, I swear, apocalyptic I think the word is. I was going to ring Noah and ask if he had room in his ark for me and a stranded seagull.’

‘You exaggerate. Douglas the gillie will pick you up at 8.30, you should get cracking!’

‘Yes Mum.’

‘Cheeky minx!’

We both laughed and she hung up, the phone not her.

Sandra the seagull was still looking at me so I pulled the curtains across. I hated to be stared out whilst getting ready.

Auntie was still in her bat cave when I stood outside waiting for Douglas. A few minutes past 8.30 and he hove or is that hoved, into sight.

Luckily, the weather had improved to a minor hurricane, so things could have been worse. Even so, I was rather wet, although I was wearing my Pinkie type waterproofs.

I scrambled into the Range Rover and after a grunt of welcome in answer to my cheery, ‘good morning,’ we were off.

The ground was wet and the roads full of puddles as we wended our way through the lanes to reach The Manor. There was a scarcity of people on our journey which was hardly surprising considering the weather conditions. I tried to strike up a conversation with Douglas, but my happy chat was met with a stone wall of silence and animal like grunts. I began to wonder if he was unable to speak English and at that point and gave it up as a bad job.

We went up a particularly steep hill and at the top was a lay-by and Douglas pulled the car over to the side and switched off the engine.

I looked at him enquiringly and wondered if I was going to be attacked, raped or murdered. You hear of things like that happening and Douglas’s attitude to me had been far from welcoming and friendly the both times we had met.

As a matter of interest, I have a vivid imagination and said imagination was working overtime at that moment. Where was the pepper spray and stun gun when you needed it? I fingered the door handle, just in case I had to make a run for it and then he looked at me and sighed.

‘Sorry Ma’am I ha te know.’

‘Know what Douglas?’

‘The rumours are that we are all te be laid off and ye will sell up an go back te the mainland. I haf a wife and two bairns and a tied cottage and I need te know.’

‘Douglas, I don’t know what you have heard, but the last thing I want is to lay anyone off. I am staying here; it is my home and a place where my ancestors were born and raised. If it wasn’t for my dad having a row with my grandfather I would have lived here all my life as well. What I want is for things to improve here and to ensure that your kids and everyone else’s on the island will want to stay and have jobs and prosper. I can promise you that I will do all that I can to help with that.’

‘Ye promise?’

‘I do.’

Then he smiled and his whole face changed, for the better. It seemed that I now had at least one fan!

Ten minutes later we arrived at the Manor and as we went through the gates, the rain stopped and the sun came out. Muckle’s quirky weather had done it again. It was now like summer and I began to steam in my waterproofs.

As soon as we stopped, I thanked Douglas, got out of the car and stripped. Well not stripped everything, only my waterproofs. Under them, I was wearing a white top and cropped trousers, which wasn’t very office or business woman type clothes, but I wasn’t into that style and I wanted to start as I meant to go on and be casual when I could.

Claire came out to greet me and I went over to hug her. I don’t think that she was used to that sort of thing and she seemed a bit stiff. That would have to change.

‘Hi Claire, the weathers improved a bit.’ I said cheerfully as I put her down.

‘It does that; one minute nasty the next lovely.’

‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘Well first coffee and croissants in the conservatory and then we go through some paperwork. Mr Campbell your solicitor is coming up again…’

‘He’s delicious...I mean croissants are delicious.’

‘Behave, he's married and you are attached at the hip to Alistair. Where was I, oh yes, then we have a meeting with our accountant and finally you new bank manager.

‘So, the new bank wants us on their books then?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

‘Mr Marley won’t be happy.’

‘No he will not. In fact, he rang me last night almost pleading for us to stay with his branch and I had the greatest of pleasure in telling him that we would no longer do business with his bank. I left him almost crying. I wasn’t sure if that’s because of the bank’s loss or the fact that he is almost certainly in big trouble with his head office.’

I shrugged. After what he said to me, I felt little sympathy for him. A man like that, I wouldn’t put in charge of the stationary cupboard. Was I getting hardnosed? I didn’t think so, just realistic.

And so I started on my morning of meetings. It was strange, when I was a nobody, everybody treated me as unimportant, like Marley, and of no consequence. But now I was titled, rich and all the rest of it, I was the best thing since sliced bread according to those who seemed to think it mattered.

I just hoped that people would see me as I was and not as a consequence of what I had.

At the end of the morning u knew more or less where I stood, bar some paperwork. I was the Marchioness of Peploe, I had agreed to take the family name of McKay; not because of any angst about what happened with my parents but more to keep things simple.

After the solicitor Hamish Campbell had finished with me, he left and was replaced by the accountant.

Mark Norris, the accountant was a nice man, if a bit dry. He was in his early fifties I would say and was what I would call of the old school; conservatively cut suit and tie, very correct English speech without any sign that he had been born north of the border. He was a nice man, nevertheless and I wondered vaguely if he ever let his short hair down at the office Christmas party. ’My Lady...’

‘Please call me Chloe.’

He looked shocked at the mere suggestion.

‘Please, if we might keep this formal, I feel more comfortable and anyway, you should be proud of who you are not be concerned when people use your title.’

I just shrugged and smiled, thinking that I would work on him another time. I was anything but a quitter.

‘As I was saying My Lady; Drinkwater, Laker, Smart and Norris have been looking after the affairs of the estate for eighty years. In that time we have advised your family regarding all matters appertaining to the accounts, investment portfolio, personal financial affairs and many other matters that fall within our purview...’

‘Sorry, purview?’

He looked up and smiled.

‘Sorry, in effect it means dealing with matters within our authority, influence, or knowledge. We are here to advise you and let you know what you should or shouldn’t do. Of course, the decisions will always lie with you and your team and as I say, we are here to advise and give support.

‘Thank you Mark, I can call you Mark?’

He nodded and smiled. We would get on first name terms sooner or later, but that was a start.

‘So, Claire here has told me something about what I or the estate owns and I have seen some paperwork that, to be honest, goes over my head a bit. Can you tell me within the nearest, I don’t know, thousand pounds, how much the estate is worth and how much am I worth personally. I only ask because I need to know how much I have to spend on a number of projects that I hope, with Claire’s help, to initiate. Also I want to buy a car and fix my scooter.’

‘I don’t think that a car or scooter repair will trouble your bank balance much; now let me see...’

He looked through some papers, then dug out his iPad and fiddled about a bit and then looked up.

‘The estate has a net worth of two hundred and fifty.’

‘Thousand?’

That didn’t sound much, perhaps property up here and abroad might not be worth as much as London...

‘Million.’

‘What?’

‘Two hundred and fifty million pounds.’

‘Oh, erm ,that’s obscene, did the family rape and pillage for that or is that purely drugs maybe money laundering?’

Claire had been sipping her tea and she snorted tea all over the Axminster carpet.

I frowned at her before turning back to Mark.

‘Well?’

‘The money and property was legally obtained, I can assure you. What happened in the time of the Stewarts, I cannot say.’

‘The estate and all the other stuff; it’s a limited company isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, erm, I can’t just go and spend company funds on anything I like, as I would answer to the board of directors and the shareholders, is that right?’

‘Correct, you have grasped the facts.’

‘Do I have many shares?’

He looked through the papers again and looked up.

‘Oh, for god’s sake Mark, stop faffing around and tell the poor girl.'

I looked at Claire who had a mixture of anger and amusement on her face, not an easy thing to do...

He smiled at Claire and then turned to me once again.

‘Sorry, I am prone to dramatics a bit. I did have a word with your solicitor about your position. We are both executors of the estate and he’s a golf pal, anyway, he confirmed what I already knew. There are several shareholders. twenty-five percent of the company is owned by a number of charities, five percent is owned by Claire here, although she didn’t know that until a short time ago and you My Lady, own the rest.’

‘What?’

‘You own seventy percent of the company.’

‘Gosh, that means that I can help a lot of people.’

‘Well much of the assets are tied up in property but you have a very healthy balance to play with, if you feel the need to do good works and in any case, its tax deductible, especially if you funnel everything through The Peploe Trust.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A charitable trust set up to help the community and to be honest, it made sense, tax wise.’

‘Well,’ I said, rubbing my hands, ‘that all seems good to me. Now...’

‘Sorry to interrupt My Lady but you also asked what you are worth personally.’

‘Haven’t you just told me?’

‘Well no; the company is technically an entity in itself. It has its own legal identity and...anyway, the gist of what I am saying is that you can draw on its available funds if you wish. Now regarding your personal wealth, after the paperwork and legal side of things are sorted out, you will be independently very wealthy. You know already that you have properties around the world, those are owned by you personally as is much of the island, the rest being estate property. The values of these properties soon to be in your name have been estimated to be in the region of seventy million pounds. You have, as of Friday’s bank balances in your various accounts, funds totalling fifty-two million, seven hundred and twenty seven pounds and thirty-two pence, give or take a hundred thou and a similar amount in bonds and shares. Of course, deductions have been made already to account for death and other duties, so you can see that you won’t have to worry where the next meal comes from...My Lady are you all right?’

I didn’t think that I was all right, because at that moment, I fainted.

---

 
To Be Continued?

Please leave comments and/or maybe a thumbs up thingie, cos its nice to hear from you.

I woke up and wondered in passing if I was still dreaming.
I swore that I had just been told by a dry old accountant that I was filthy rich...

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Chapter 18
Previously …

‘Sorry to interrupt My Lady but you also asked what you are worth personally.’

‘Haven’t you just told me?’

‘Well no; the company is technically an entity in itself. It has its own legal identity and...anyway, the gist of what I am saying is that you can draw on its available funds if you wish. Now regarding your personal wealth, after the paperwork and legal side of things are sorted out, you will be independently very wealthy. You know already that you have properties around the world, those are owned by you personally as is much of the island, the rest being estate property. The values of these properties soon to be in your name have been estimated to be in the region of seventy million pounds. You have, as of Friday’s bank balances in your various accounts, funds totalling fifty-two million, seven hundred and twenty seven pounds and thirty-two pence, give or take a hundred thou and a similar amount in bonds and shares. Of course, deductions have been made already to account for death and other duties, so you can see that you won’t have to worry where the next meal comes from...My Lady are you all right?’

I didn’t think that I was all right, because at that moment, I fainted.

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

I woke up and wondered in passing if I was still dreaming. I swore that I had just been told by a dry old accountant that I was filthy rich...

‘Chloe, are you okay?’

I realised that I was on the floor and I looked up to see a concerned Claire and an accountant with a rather bemused look on his face peering down at me.

‘I’m not dreaming then?’

‘No; it’s all for real,’ said Claire with a smile, ‘let’s help you up.’

She took one arm and Mark took the other and they helped me onto one of the settees that were dotted about the room.

I was given a cup of strong tea and that seemed to revive the brain cells that had refused to function for a while.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Claire, her voice full of concern.

‘Numb, shocked, out of my head, traumatised, but other than that, fine.’

‘That’s good; The McKay blood is much thicker than water, much like treacle in fact and I’m pleased to see that you are not one of the those fainting violets...oh you did faint didn’t you?’

‘No, I was just resting on the floor and sort of fell asleep.’

Mark snorted out some tea for some reason.

I sipped at my tea, my hands shaking slightly, and felt the strength gradually returning to my body, as the magic drink’s restorative qualities weaved its magic.

Soon I was able to string more than one sentence together without drooling.

‘So erm, Mark, were those figures you gave to me accurate or do you like to give people heart attacks?’

‘Oh, they are fairly accurate; perhaps on the conservative, cautious side, but you can treat the figures that I have given to you as the minimum.’

‘So, I could be worth more then?’

‘Yes, due to the diversity of your investments, you earn hundreds of thousands every week without doing anything yourself. It’s true what they say, money makes money.’

I took a deep breath.

‘How much control do I have over the estate and my finances?’

‘You have absolute control; although there is a board of trustees to help with the estate and aboard of directors responsible for the day to day running of the group of companies, but those are answerable to the Laird or in this case now – you.’

‘How much interference would I get from the various departments at Holyrood, Inverness and I suppose London, if I want to make changes?’

‘Angus and Sally McDougal would know more about this,’ said Claire, ’but, I believe that we are left very much to our devices most of the time. Being a sort of hybrid crown dependency, we don’t have much in the way of funding from the mainland. That is the problem and why much of the island is run down. Jersey, Guernsey and the Isle of Man, the other dependencies, have an income from tourism and banking amongst other things. We are small and more dependent on hand-outs. Since The Laird became ill and then subsequently died, our hands have been tied regarding most things financial. Indeed we have had to go cap in hand to London and Holyrood for financing. We have applied to the E.U. but we do not have any real standing with them and well, you can see how your arriving is something of a godsend to us.’

‘I’m surprised that the UK government have not tried to take over the running of the island.’

‘Oh they have, but their hands are tied due to the fact that the lands were given to your forefathers by the Stuart King and it would be extremely difficult for the UK parliament to take over without the consent of the islanders. They did hold a sort of referendum here twenty years ago, but the islanders are fiercely independent and it was thrown out nine to one.’

‘So the British Government are not liked here?’

‘No, and the Scottish one fairs little better.’

‘It looks like we will have to do things ourselves then. Can I make decisions now or do I have to wait for the paperwork?’

‘What decisions would that be?’ asked Claire and Mark in unison; it was like listening to stereo.

‘To put things right and to help the community.’

Claire sighed.

‘I can see that we are going to have interesting times around here Chloe. Tell us what you want to do and we will tell you what you can and cannot do.’

I sipped at my tea, now getting a bit cold, but no less potent, as it gave my brain a kick-start to make some decisions.

‘Right, I want a Disney Theme Park, complete with a Thunder Mountain type steam railway that goes up our mountain and all around the coast. I want free fish and chips for all visitors and most importantly, I want to have a championship golf course and hotel complex where Halestead is. The town is run down and won’t be missed and I always wanted to play golf. We could…what? ’

Claire and Mark looked shocked.

‘But...but...’

I couldn’t hold back and I started giggling.

‘Got you both going, didn’t I?’

‘Chloe, you’ll be the death of me. I hadn’t thought that there was insanity in the family...’

‘Are you calling me nuts?’

‘Erm...’

‘Sorry, I should be more Laird like. Perhaps I should grow a beard and have more gravitas...perhaps not; I don't want to be called the bearded lady.’

Mark looked bemused by all this and kept opening and shutting his mouth with an excellent imitation of a halibut.

‘Very funny,’ said Claire, trying not to grin, ‘so what serious ideas do you have and what do you want to do?’

I took a deep breath and was about to tell them, when I had a thought – I do have them, you know.

‘Can we ask Angus and Sally to come up to discuss things, if they are free? I have a feeling that they have their fingers on the pulse of the community and I would value their input.’

‘That’s a good idea, we often talk over the problems,' replied Sally, getting up and going over to the phone.
I looked at Mark.

‘Have you lived on the island long Mark?’

‘Yes My Lady...’

‘Mark.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Drop the My Lady and ma’am stuff please, it makes me feel ancient and I’m not the queen. Call me Chloe or I might just take my business away from you.’

He smiled, knowing that my threat was an empty one. I think that he knew instinctively that I wouldn’t do that; I’m too nice.

‘Alright, M...Chloe; you asked how long I have lived on the island; all my life.’

‘Do you like it here?’

‘I love it; although my office is on the mainland and I get to spend only a little time here, my heart is and always will be on Muckle.’

‘So you approve of my wanting to drag things into the twenty-first century?’

‘It would be an improvement if you would be able to drag the island into the twentieth century.’

We both laughed.

Claire returned and sat down.

‘Angus has gone fishing with a couple of his drinking pals. He has a small day boat and they often go out when the weather is fine enough. Sally will come up straight away and should be with us in twenty minutes. She can’t wait it hear what you have to say.’

‘She’s sweet; I like her and Angus, a lot.’

‘They are fine people,’ said Mark.

‘Can I use the loo?’ I asked.

‘It’s your loo,’ replied Claire, smiling.

‘I suppose it is? Erm, where is it?’

‘Which one? There are fifteen of them the last time I counted.’

‘Gosh, the nearest one would be nice.’

‘Out of that door, turn left and it’s at the end.’

I left them chatting as I made my way out to find the neccesarium, which turned out to be about a hundred yards down an ornate hall with walls encrusted with portraits. It took a bit of time to realise that most of these glum faces were probably my ancestors; none of them looked particularly happy and I wondered why the painter didn’t ask them to say cheese; a small smile can go a long way.

Just as I reached the end of the near endless corridor, I heard a small cough coming from the side. I nearly jumped out of my skin and wet myself as a man walked out of a side corridor.

‘Can I help My Lady?’

I instantly recognised the man to be none other than Caruthers, the butler.

‘Trying to find the toilet.’ I said through gritted teeth, my legs by now almost crossing. It took an iron will not to hold myself in...

‘Just at the end Ma’am.’ he said pointing.

‘Thanks.’ I replied as I shot along the corridor wrenched open the door, slamming it behind me and then ran several more yards before I was able to drop my knickers in blessed relief.

‘I will have to get a map of this place, either that or Google map it!’ I thought. A couple of scooters on each floor wouldn’t be a bad idea.’

Then I giggled as I imagined the starchy butler tearing along on a scooter!

After attending to my toilette as we posh girls say, I was ready to face the world once again without distraction.

Returning to the room from whence I had come, as we aristocrats are wont to talk like, I found that Sally had arrived.

‘Hi Sally,’ I said giving her a hug. I was getting to be a huggy-feely person in my old age.

‘Hi to you too. Have you been drinking the cooking sherry again?’

‘Only the tea,’

‘Powerful stuff; anyway what’s all this about; Clair was a bit mysterious on the phone.’

We all sat down and made ourselves comfortable. The ball was in my court and so I took a deep breath and started spelling out a few ideas.

‘As you know Sally, I have come into a bit of money…’

Clair and Sally laughed and Mark snorted like a horse for some reason.

‘Enough of the interruptions already; anyways, where was I? Oh yes, I appear to be well off and I wanted that well-offness to translate into helping others and getting this place up and running, so that we can all benefit. I want to use the money generated by the estate and the various other businesses to do this. Any objections?’

No one said anything so I ploughed on.

‘I understand that there is a charitable trust in place already and we can channel funds into that. We need to get suggestions for projects such as road improvements, a proper bus service, smartening up the quay and sea front areas, so that any visitors feel more welcome. Every shop, restaurant and pub needs a bit of a facelift and some of the houses could do with more than a lick of paint. I’m sure that there are many other things that we can do, but that will be good for starters. On an individual level, Sally, are there any residents that are suffering hardship at the moment?’

‘Yes, some are, especially the elderly and a few of the families with young children. We do what we can but its hard.’

‘We have to set up a sort of needy fund to help people in that situation. I don’t want this to be a free cash for all fund and it has to be for people who genuinely need help. Not others who try to take advantage of the situation. Is that possible?’

‘Yes, we already have something in place at the moment and it’s run by a committee under the leadership of the ministers wife, Agnes. Its very underfunded though…’

We talked further about what could be done and many decisions were made that I won’t bore you with. Suffice to say we went a long way to establish a framework to sort out many of the problems that Muckle and its residents had had to put up with.

After Sally and Mark had left, full of enthusiasm and hope for the future, Claire and I sat outside overlooking the lawns and the lake and spoke of more personal matters.

‘Claire, I want to move in straight away, if that’s possible.’

‘Of course, its your place to move into.’

‘I also need a car. Pinkie is not in a fit state to ride and sometimes I just need four wheels instead of two.’

‘We have several cars in the garage and a number of estate ones. Take your pick.’

‘You don’t happen to have a red sports car, I suppose?’

‘Sorry no.’

‘Oh,’ I replied, sighing with disappointment, ‘a girl can only wish…’

‘There is a silver one though…’

‘Gosh!’

Later that day, the bank manager turned up at the door, cap in hand, grovelled before me and did a good impression of Uriah Heep. He wasn’t quite as bad as that, but he was a lot more deferential than our previous bank manager and once he got over his misplaced inferiority complex, I found him to be a rather nice, if quiet person who could do with a good woman behind him (he was, according to Claire, a confirmed bachelor).

‘Hmm,’ I thought, ‘maybe we need some sort of dance or ball up at The Manor and we could invite eligible and available young people to come. Emma Woodhouse* has nothing on me and anyway, we needed to increase the population. Servants don’t grow on trees…’

I giggled; I was getting silly in my old age. Uriah, I mean Duncan, the bank Manager was speaking and I had to pay attention...

The transfer of the various bank accounts were set in action and I was told that our new bank would sort out the details and that I wouldn’t have to have any dealings with Marley, our previous, evidently, now disgraced bank manager. I would also have what he called a platinum plus credit card which meant that I could pop into the local Rolls Royce car dealer and buy one if I flashed the card. The only trouble being that I would have to pay for it at a later date. There’s always a snag.

After finishing with all the boring financial stuff and leaving the finer details to Claire and Duncan to sort out, I decided to get things rolling regarding my change of accommodation.

I hitched a lift with Douglas, my now friendly gillie and went into town. I wanted to go to Aunties’ to collect my things. Staying with her had been interesting, but I needed a bit more freedom than she was able to provide and anyway, I realised that it would be better if I stayed at the mansion, as that would now be the hub of my activities as the titular head of Muckle and now unpaid tourism guru.

Looking out of the car window at the wonderful scenery, I tried to get my head around all that had happened to me in such a short space of time. My circumstances had changed so much, it was almost like a work of fiction, but they say life is stranger than fiction and that was certainly true in my case! I was very conscious of the fantastic luck and chance that brought me to where I now was and I promised myself that I wouldn’t let it all go to my head.

Douglas waited for me as I went into Aunties house and got my things together. After putting my case and nick-nacks in the Range Rover, I went back I and knocked on Aunties sitting room door.

She opened it and peered out.

‘Och its you Helen. You’re off are ye?’

Auntie’s accent varied between broad Scots and Cockney, making me wonder whether she had a chequered past. I gave up trying to correct her common mistake of mixing up people’s names.

‘Yes Auntie; do you remember, I phoned and told you that I’m moving and you told me that you were going to stay with your sister Morag and she’s coming to pick you up soon?’

‘Yes, I know. My memory is as good as yours, young Helen.’

She paused for a moment.

‘Is Morag coming?’

‘Yes.’

‘When again?’

‘Soon.’

I looked at her and sighed.

‘Auntie, I’m parched, can I have a cup of tea?’

She smiled.

‘Of course Helen, I’ll put a wee drop of something in it to keep out the cold.’

‘I’ll just have a word with Douglas, I won’t be a moment.’

I went out to the car.

‘Douglas, sorry to be a pain but can you pick me up a bit later. I need to stay with Auntie until her sister comes to pick her up.’

‘No problem ma’am. Just give us a call on your wee mobile. Mind you, that Morag is as nutty as a fruit cake.’

I groaned.

Morag turned out to be just a little bit eccentric, rather than fruit cake challenged and I was relieved that Auntie was going to be looked after, as she was getting more that a bit forgetful and needed protecting from herself. According to Morag, things came to a head when Auntie put the electric kettle on the gas stove and lit the gas…

I was pleased and relieved when I finally waved the two elderly ladies off.

Before finally leaving, I had gone back into the house and made sure that everything that should have been turned off, had been.

I left my key on the telephone table in the hall and then I was ready to go to my new home – a small cramped place, but sufficient for my needs, (joke).

Douglas came to pick me up shortly after Morag and Auntie had left.

‘Thanks Douglas.’ I said as I scrambled in the seat beside him.

‘No problem ma’am.’

‘Call me Chloe,’

He looked shocked.

‘I will do no such thing ma’am, my Da would turn in his grave if he heard me referring ter ye in such a manner.’

‘I thought that your father was still alive.’

‘He is, but if he were dead he would turn in ‘is grave.’

From then on, my life was very different for me on Muckle. I had arrived on the island looking like someone who had just been washed up on the beach – it would take a while to get over the trauma of my epic sea voyage – Angus and Sally had welcomed me and made me feel at home. Alistair and I were now officially an item and many of the eligible ladies on Muckle hated me for some reason.

Some of the residents resisted change, as I knew they would, but I hoped that once things started to get better, we would bring them around to our way of thinking. Two residents in particular would not add me to their Christmas card list, but all in all, I had found the islanders to be a friendly, welcoming bunch and for that, I was truly thankful.

It turned out that Finlay Cameron, the sheep lover and wastrel was the one responsible for defacing and harming Pinkie, my scooter. He bragged about it after the fourth pint in his local pub.

He refused to apologise and to make good the damage and for that, I felt less than inclined to recommend to the council that he take back the tenancy of the cottage down by the sea. I did find out that the cottage was in fact mine. The estate had loaned the cottage together with many others to the council so that they could help the homeless. Part of the agreement was that we had the right to refuse tenancy of anyone not considered suitable and he wasn’t, as far as I was concerned, in any way shape or form, suitable.

The only nice thing that I did regarding Finlay was to not press charges. It turned out that he was considered to be a social pariah for what he did and was banned from every pub in the island. It was suitable punishment for someone so fond of the liquid amber.

The next week was relatively quiet for me as we needed a framework set up for all things we hoped to do. I won’t bore you with the details as it bored the heck out of me. Suffice to say, Claire was in her element and her and Sally in particular helped get the ball rolling with the setting up of various committees and work groups needed to administer the day to day workings and administration of the now revamped charity.

I wasn’t very good at delegating, being a hands on sort of gal, but I soon realised that I wasn’t cut out for all the meetings sort of stuff, so I left them to it and just nodded and shook my head when required.

One thing I did need to do was to employ someone to look after my side of the paperwork and to field phone calls for me. Regretfully, I began to receive many begging letters and phone calls asking for money for this, that and the other. Some of these calls were not from Muckle residents but quite often from many parts of the UK and even other places of the world. How the news had got around that I was rich, I never did find out, but the result was that I was a target for the less reputable elements. Hence the need for someone to filter and field these for lack of a less polite word, enquires.

I put an advert in The Muckle Times and got back a total of seventeen replies. Eleven were begging letters, two for double-glazing, another one telling me that a Nigerian chap wanted details of my bank account so that he could transfer funds to me. I also received an interesting one from Auntie who said that she was seventeen and raring to go; another came from Finlay Cameron requesting (read demanding) funds to set up a sanctuary for lost and fallen sheep and finally one from a girl called Megan Blair aged 16 and three quarters who thought that working for me would be a blast.

I made suitable replies to Megan and Auntie, the others I ignored.

I waited a few more days in the hope of finding someone, anyone to help me. I was so surprised as I was sure that people would be keen, but no, there wasn’t a sniff at a reasonable offer.

I was sitting in the study one day, looking through some papers and wanting to be out and about rather than do what I was doing, when there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’ I called.

One of the footmen came in (yes, we have footmen, get over it!)

‘Ma’am, there is a young lady to see you.’

I was intrigued.

‘What does she want?’

‘It was about the position.’

‘Position?’

‘The advertisement Ma’am, about the job.’

‘Oh that position; right, wheel her in.’

A few seconds later a girl was shown in.

It took a moment to take her in. She was wearing a mixture of clothing. Starting with her head, she had a green beanie hat on, but I could see ginger hair poking out from underneath together with large silver loop earrings dangling from her lobes.

She had a thick cream coloured Angora jumper on, despite the heat of the day. Her skirt was so short, it could have been mistaken for a belt. On her feet were some blue, orange and green ankle socks and shoes that looked more like boots.

‘Erm, hello,’ I said.

‘Hi.’

‘You are?’

‘What?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Megan, Megan Blair.’

‘Meg…oh, you wrote to me.’

‘Aye.’

‘About the job?’

‘Chust so.’

‘Take a seat.’

She walked over and slumped down.

‘I though that I wrote to you about the position.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The job.’

‘Didna get the letter.’

‘Oh, right, well I was looking for someone maybe a bit older.’

‘What’s wrong with me age?’

‘Nothing, I wish that I was still your age, but that’s by the way. Are you related to Tony Blair?

‘Who?’

‘Never mind. Why do you want the job?’

‘Its work init?’

‘Yeeees, but specifically, why do you want to work here?’

She seemed to struggle with the question and then looked up.

‘Left school at sixteen, seventeen now. Not got any money. Heard that ye were a good person an’ I want te make something o’ meself.’

She looked uncomfortable and I could see under all that makeup, that she was blushing and her eyes, behind the mountain of mascara, looked somehow, intense. Perhaps there was more to this girl than I thought?

‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ I asked.

‘Tea’s for olduns, got a coke Miss?’

I smiled, much preferring to be called Miss rather than Ma’am.

‘So, what you are saying Mr Douglas is that Pinkie, I mean my scooter may be out of commission for several days, if not weeks until a new seat is delivered?’

‘Aye, an; its no good yer comin’ here every day and askin’ aboot it. I told yer yesterday that it will be fixed all in good time.’

I drove back up to The Manor in a foul mood. I had missed Pinkie and all the good times we had together. I would just have to be patient and wait. I was using my Grandmothers green Morris Minor; I had wanted to blend in and going about in a silver Maserati would not have been very blendfull. Also, call it silly, but I didn’t want to flaunt my wealth about.

Arriving back, I met Claire in the hall and told her the bad news about Pinkie.

‘Your scooter isn’t a family pet, Chloe; its an in animate object that gets you from A to B – slowly.’

‘Wash your mouth out with soap and water. Pinkie has a soul…’

She laughed.

‘If you want to go about on two wheels, why don’t you use a bike? We have several at the back of the garage. Some of the staff use them to get about the estate and it’ll keep you healthy. Pick one your size and have a go.’

‘That’s a good idea; I could do with the exercise. The big meals I’ve been having here do not help my figure.’

Twenty minutes later, I was down in the garage picking out a bike. They came in all shapes and sizes and I found a mountain bike that would fit me like a glove – well not a glove, but you know what I mean. There were also a few helmets lying around, one brand new one, still in its box. I wasn’t one of those people that felt that cycle helmets were for wimps, as I valued keeping my brain inside my scull, so I unboxed it and put it on. After adjusting the straps, I was ready for my cycle ride.

I hadn’t been on a cycle type bike for years, but its something that you never forget and I was soon peddling like mad down the lanes of Muckle. I was quite proud of myself and loved the speed I was going.

Until I hit my first hill.

My bike turned from something jet-propelled to snail paced in the space of ten seconds flat and I now knew that Victoria Pendleton** was in no danger from me. I got off and walked to the top of the hill and then cycled down it; something repeated several times until I had had enough and then turned for home, my legs feeling like wibbly-wobbly jelly.

I was cycling gently down one hill singing ‘raindrops keep falling on my head,’ a fact as it had started drizzling, when I heard it; the sound of an engine coming my way. I went around a bend and I saw a tractor coming toward me. The tractor had a trailer. On the trailer was a sheep. Driving the tractor was Finlay Cameron who, rather than paying attention to the road, was swigging something from a bottle.

I knew then that I was not in a good place, as the tractor came hurtling towards me…

---

 
To Be Continued?

I’m sorry for the delays in posting. Real life gets in the way sometimes!

Please leave comments and/or maybe a thumbs up thingie, cos its nice to hear from you.

*Emma Woodhouse is the 20-year old protagonist of Jane Austen's novel Emma who loved to match-make.

**Victoria Pendleton, Olympic gold medallist – cycling.

Get A Life!

By Susan Brown

Final Chapter
Previously …

My bike turned from something jet-propelled to snail paced in the space of ten seconds flat and I now knew that Victoria Pendleton was in no danger from me. I got off and walked to the top of the hill and then cycled down it; something repeated several times until I had had enough and then turned for home, my legs feeling like wibbly-wobbly jelly.

I was cycling gently down one hill singing ‘raindrops keep falling on my head,’ a fact as it had started drizzling, when I heard it; the sound of an engine coming my way. I went around a bend and I saw a tractor coming toward me. The tractor had a trailer. On the trailer was a sheep. Driving the tractor was Finlay Cameron who, rather than paying attention to the road, was swigging something from a bottle.

I knew then that I was not in a good place, as the tractor came hurtling towards me…

And, och aye the noo; the story continues…

My bike went one way and I went the other. The bike landed in the road and I landed in a thorny hedge.

There was screech of brakes and crunching sound as the tractor went over my bike. The engine was switched off and there was a sudden silence, except for the plaintive bleating of the sheep.

Looking up, I could see Cameron starring down at me. He had a bottle in his hand and it wasn’t orange juice. I could smell the whisky fumes from my supine position. He had gone grey in the face and no wonder as he had nearly killed me and had in fact murdered my bike.

To say I was unhappy would put it mildly, to say I was angry would be closer, to say that I was ready to throttle him with my bare hands would be close to the truth, to say…

‘Are ye alright?’

‘What?’

‘I didna see ye, lassie.’

The sheep made tentative bleating sounds, no doubt wanting to give her point of view; I ignored her.

‘You could have killed me!’

‘Och no, I have the quick reactions.’

‘You hit my bike.’

‘Aye, but I didna hit you.’

The logic escaped me and I struggled to get to my feet.

‘Och good, ye are alright then. I’ll be on me way. Oh I won't charge ye for scratching me tractor and frightening me sheep. Good day te ye.’

He then burped, smiled and then carried on driving over my mangled bike with his tractor and trailer. As she passed, Dolly or whatever the damned sheep was called looked at me with what I considered a superior and haughty expression - or was that a smirk?

‘I’m having lamb chops for tea.’ I shouted.

Did I see fear in her eyes or was it just a trick of the light?

I picked myself up, dusted myself off and checked around for damage. Apart from a few scratches, lumps and bumps, I was in surprisingly good nick, although when I walked a few steps, I felt a wee twinge in my ankle. My bike however would never have my bum sat on it again. She was a dead bike, deceased; gone to that bike heaven in the sky. In short, she was a write-off.

I was upset. She had been a good bike on my brief acquaintance with it. Technically it was my bike as it belonged to the estate and as such, I wanted full restitution from the mad drunk that had gone over it with a bloody great tractor tyre, reducing it to less than its component parts.

Something would have to be done about Finlay Cameron…

I had my trusty mobile phone and luckily it wasn’t damaged. I was just about to ring for assistance when I noticed that there were no bars and consequently, no service. Reception in the area was iffy at the best of times and I wondered how much it would cost to improve things like area masts and such like. I filed that in my wee little brain and then tried to work out what I should do. I managed to pull the bits and pieces of the bike over to the verge, as it was beyond earthly help.

Sighing, I started to trudge back to what I now considered to be my home, The Manor. I had gone about half a mile and my foot was beginning to hurt a lot and was inflating like a balloon. Of course the inevitable happened; it started weeing down with rain. So in addition to my slightly battered body and dodgy foot, I now had to contend with the drippy wet stuff; I was, as you might imagine, far from happy. The only thing that kept me going was devising various different ways that I could do physical and mental damage to Cameron.

So deep was I into my introspective ruminations, that I didn’t hear the car coming up behind me until its horn went off, making me almost wet myself. Well I was wet already, but you know what I mean…

Turning around, I saw Alistair looking at me through the windscreen of his Porch. He had a smirk on his face for some reason, but I ignored that as, without further ado, I opened the passenger door and squelched in

‘Hi Chloe, been out for a little walk?’

‘Ha ha, very funny. Can you take me home?’

‘Which home would that be, Auntie’s or the ancestral pile?’

‘I’ve moved into The Manor as I’m sure you already know.’

‘I did hear something about that. Did you want to strip down to your undies and wrap up in the blanket behind your seat?’

‘And have everyone around finding out and saying nasty things about my lack of chastity and other character assassination type things.’

‘There’s no-one here but us two.’

‘I wouldn’t even trust the rabbits on this island. You know about the jungle drums. A gnat breaks wind at one end the island at the other end, it’s the news of the day.’

‘Okay, okay, get pneumonia then, don’t come running to me when you kick the bucket.’

‘How can I run to you if I have kicked, as you say, the bucket?’

‘I was speaking metaphorically.’

‘I don’t even know if you understand that word.’

‘Chloe?’

‘What?’

‘Are we having our first row?’

I looked at him and did the only thing I could do, I burst into tears.

Somehow, I found myself in his arms, not an easy thing to do in a Porsche, which isn't noted for its space.

'Oh honey, what's wrong?' he asked with real concern in his voice.

I told him the whole sorry tale about being run over by Cameron and being left there by the side of the road as he went off without a care in the world.

'I'll kill him,' said Alistair through gritted teeth.

I just sobbed; unusual for me as I was normally the strong silent, steely type...it must have been the shock. Mind you it was nice to be held by a nice strong man...

After I put him down, Alistair drove me home and it took all of my resolve to hold things together before I got there.

I knew being a transsexual wasn't an easy thing to be. I had experienced in London the hatred of people who couldn't or didn't understand that some people are different. It did not make us bad people. I wondered whether I could handle this. I had left London to live the dream, to get away from all the nastiness.

Finlay Cameron knew that I wasn't a normal girl, as did that cow of a landlady, Ma McSavage...sorry, McTavish. How many others felt the same about me? This was a small island where everyone seemed to know everything about each other. Was I going to experience more of this crap?

When we arrived home, Alistair helped me into the house and then when he was sure that I was being well taken care of by Claire he left, saying that he had some business to attend to. What that business was, I had no idea, but I was pleased when he said that he would come back to see me later.

None of my injuries were serious but Dr Millie said that I would have to keep off my ankle for a few days. Things moved quickly regarding Finlay Cameron, once his stupidity was exposed. It wasn't because of the accident; accidents do happen, it was because of his attitude and the fact that he left me by the side of the road and treated me so badly.

He was arrested by Doughall, our 6 foot seven inch in his socks policeman, and then sent over to the mainland. He rashly resisted arrest as he was drunk in charge of a tractor and attempted to run over Douglas foot. A silly thing to do, as Doughall promptly dragged him off the tractor and put the cuffs on him. On the mainland, he was charged with several offences, including resisting arrest, grievous bodily harm, reckless driving and leaving the scene of an accident. When asked about the injuries to his face, he was reticent about divulging the cause, but I had a shrewd suspicion that Alistair had something to do with that, but he, of course, denied it strenuously!

About a week later, I was back to my normal, happy and cheerful optimistic self. The residents of the island seemed to take to heart the fact that Finlay Cameron had been nasty to me and it went against the grain for someone to be that way towards anybody, let alone the one person that could bring prosperity and great improvements to their lives.

It would have been too much to hope that everyone would accept me; one person in particular, Ma McTavish, the horrible B&B owner, was one that came to mind, but the vast majority knew that I was a force for good not evil and they made me feel welcome.

I must admit, when the news had got out that I owned the island and was exceedingly and obscenely rich, I was worried that I would get people bending my ear about this that or the other pet project or just the barefaced request for money, but the islanders were a proud bunch of people and didn’t like the idea of charity, so it was all that we could do to get them to accept some help.

I went for a walk in the grounds one day; the doctor said that i should exercise it a bit, as it would help the healing process, so who was I to argue?

I passed a few of the gardeners and was a bit disconcerted when they doffed their caps at me. I just smiled and gave them a finger wave. Not very regal, but I wasn’t into this serf - mistress stuff.

I dreaded the thought of one or more of the servant type girls curtsying me. I would probably have a fit of the giggles! Claire kept telling me that I should act with more gravitas, but I wasn’t that sort of girl and people would have to take me for what i was, warts and all.

Anyway, back to my walk, I was passing a pasture and I glanced over and then did a double take. In the middle of the pasture was a sheep. The sheep looked up and then ambled over to me.

‘Baa.’

She looked at me expectantly and then came over and nudged my arm with a wet nose.

‘Baa,’ she repeated.

Her vocabulary wasn’t very large, but she seemed to put more meaning into the latest ‘baa.’

You could say that all sheep looked the same, but there was something in her eyes…

‘Dolly, I mean, Agnes?’

I swear that she nodded and then she licked my hand like an over-inflated pseudo-poodle.

‘What are you doing here?’

I jumped as someone spoke behind me.

‘Och Ma’am, it’s ma cousins sheep. Ye dinna mind her stayin’ here until ma stupid cousin gets oot o’ prison?

I recognised him as being the head groundsman, what was his name, oh yes.

‘Mr McFee, I didn't know that you were related to that...gentleman.’

‘Aye, ye canna choose ye relatives like ye can ye friends, but he’s family and I promised to look after wee Agnes there.’

Agnes looked at me expectantly and then licked my hand again. Was that affection or did she do a good line in crawling and sucking up?

I sighed.

‘Do as you wish Mr McFee, as long as your cousin stays away from me you can keep all his sheep here, if and until he gets back.’

‘Och, he only has the one sheep; more of a pet really; but thank ye anyway for ye kind offer.

He doffed his cap and moved off into the pasture, calling Agnes as he went. She gave me another quick lick on the hand and then trotted off after him. I did wonder if someone threw a ball, whether she would chase after it...

Shaking my head, I carried on my walk wondering if I was the only sane person on the island…

Gradually, things started moving quickly as our plans were put in place. The island slowly changed from somewhere sleepy to a place where things were happening. I don’t think that Muckle had ever seen the like. There weren’t enough skilled workmen on the island and we had to ship them in to help with the renovations of the shops, pubs, cafés and most importantly, the houses. For a while, the population nearly doubled and it gave us an idea what it would be like once we got serious about welcoming holidaymakers.

Temporary cabins were erected in the park outside Halestead so that the workers would have accommodation. The phone was constantly ringing and my new secretary, come gopher Megan tried her best to field the calls. Her vocabulary, although a bit fruity, seemed to get the message across when required and she wouldn’t take any, s**t from anyone, as she candidly put it.

Claire was in her element and did more work than me on the various projects, just coming to me for any final decisions that evidently only I could make.

That left me a bit of time to concentrate on the thing that I originally came on the island to do, attract tourists. Pinkie, my scooter was better now and I often pottered about the place, meeting and greeting people and generally trying to give encouragement where needed and advice that wasn’t always heeded. Ah well, you couldn’t please all the people all of the time.

As far as the current year was concerned, I saw little hope on increasing the tourist figures. There was much work to do on the infrastructure of the island like improving the look of the place and in particular, mending the roads. Next year would be different though and I already had ideas about attracting visitors, using YouTube videos, Facebook and other media type of things.

One morning, I went for a walk. My ankle had more or less mended and I was told to get off my backside and do some exercising by Claire, Doctor Millie and I regret to say, Alistair. He was already getting to be a nagging husband and we wasn’t even married yet!

I cadged a lift down to the sea front and walked along to the end of the promenade. Already, I could see the improvements as several of the shops and the café had been spruced up. Also, the prom itself had a new look as the old tarmac and damaged cobbles had been torn up and colourful flagstones had been put in their place. Altogether the improvements, even now, would make the town more welcoming to tourists. It was amazing what could be done with a lot of money and a little bit of willpower and quite a bit of manual labour.

Sitting down on a seat overlooking the beach and the sea beyond, I reflected that I was so pleased that things were looking up now, for me and for Muckle too. I wanted to ensure that my presence on the island and the lucky happenstance of my good fortune would be a positive step for Muckle, as I didn’t want to change the nature of the place, just improve what was already there and help as many people as possible. I was happy with the way things were going so far and I saw no reason why in a relatively short time, that we could make Muckle into an island where the young people would want to stay rather than move away to the mainland. To do this, we would have to cater to them, and that was something I would have to think about. I thought that Claire might have a word with Megan about that. She would know what the kids wanted to do and I wondered if some sort of youth club might fit the bill…

‘Hello.’

I jumped a bit as a young girl sat down beside me. I had no idea where she had come from.

Looking at her, I sort of recognised her.

‘Maisie?’

She nodded, looking shyly down at the hem of her lemon sundress. Her hair was a little longer and she had it tied back in a pony tail using a pink ribbon. She looked every inch the pretty young girl that she was. No more of the grungy, nondescript look that she had used when she was hiding away from who she really was. This look suited her much better and I could see that she now took pride in her appearance.

Maisie was once known as Jamie, but had told me that she was really a girl. A little while ago, I had gone with her to her blind father’s cottage and explained things to him, as she was too frightened to tell him.

Peter McGregor was a nice man and despite Maisie’s fears, he accepted her for what and who she really was, a pretty, bright girl.

It was obvious from the way she was dressed that she was now allowed to express her gender and that she had the approval of her father to be the girl that she had always been in her heart.

‘My Da says, can ye come te tea sometime?’

‘Of course, it’s nice of him to invite me.’

‘Good.’

‘How are you coping now that you are dressed as a girl?’

‘Och, most of the kids I know always thought that I were a tomboy, anyways. Only Archie Gambol was nasty until I punched him on the nose. Och, he bled like a stuck pig.’

I felt slightly nauseous at that description, but let it pass. Sometimes kids can be more accepting than adults and if she had only one kid who had issues with who she was, she had gotten off lightly.

‘What about the adults you know?’

‘I don’t know many adults, my Nan said to hell with em; if they could’na accept me as bein’ a girl, then they could take a run and jump off the cliff.’

‘I didn’t know that you had a grandmother.’

‘Aye, she’s Aileen McBride.’

‘Auntie Aileen?’

‘That’s what I said didn’t I?’

‘Erm, okay, right.’

I wondered just how many islanders were related to each other on the island. On reflection, I thought probably most of them.

‘How is your father?’

‘Da is good. He doesna mind me bein a gurl. Only thing is that he’s no good at helpin’ me ta get clothes. Marsha, me best friend, is better an’ I went over to the mainland las’ week with ‘er mum an’ we got some pretty things fer me.’

‘Can your father afford to buy you new clothes?’

‘Not really, ‘e has a nest egg, whatever that is, an’ ‘e used that. I said that I would pay ‘im back when I gets a job, but he only laughed and said donna bother meself.’

I would have to see if I could help them out. I didn’t want to see them penniless because of Maisie’s problems.

‘When would you like me to come to tea?’ I asked.

‘Sunday?’

‘Fine, I’ll be there.’

‘Cool.’

She stood up suddenly and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

‘Bye,’ she said, as she skipped off down the path and away around the corner.

Smiling, I stood up, went over to the wall, sat on it for a moment and then after taking my sandals off, I stood up again and went down the beach to the shoreline. The sand was warm through my toes as I walked up to the water’s edge. The waves were lapping gently up on the beach. The tide was coming in and the day was still quite warm. The sky was blue and not a cloud in sight, the sea reflected the blue of the sky and I felt the world and in particular, Muckle, was a nice place to be.

Turning around I looked at the promenade the houses behind that, up the hill to where you could just see The Manor in the distance and beyond that, the impressive mountain known as Beinn Uaibhreachd, for once, not covered in cloud or mist. One day I would go up there and see for myself the island stretching before me, but I had more things to do before i could have the luxury of sightseeing...

I had come a long way, physically and mentally to be where I was now. Life in London had become a drag. Being assaulted, in the end, turned out to be not as bad as I thought it was at the time. It, together with my losing my job, had spurred me on to find a better life for myself.

In Muckle, I had found the first true home that I had ever had. It was a strange quirk of fate that had led me to this wonderful place and another twist was the fact that I was the Laird’s grandchild and had inherited the very place that I had landed at, just a mile away.

I smiled at the recollection of that inauspicious arrival, all bedraggled, covered in water and with my nice business type clothes ruined. Sally and Angus had welcomed me with open arms, as had most of the people on the island. A few didn’t like me, but that was just one of those things.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hooves on hard sand coming my way. I looked along the shore and I saw that there were several horses coming my way, sand and water were flying everywhere. It was a magnificent sight to see the horses galloping along, being ridden by children and a few adults that were obviously enjoying themselves.

They passed me and rode on, but one of the horses turned back and I instantly recognised Isabel, the headmistress riding her magnificent horse, Sugarplum.

‘Hi Chloe,’ she said, slightly breathless, ‘want a lift?’

I grinned and nodded.

Soon we were galloping after the others, water and sand seemingly rushing by in a whirl. In the breeze, my hair whipped along behind me and my skirt flapped about, showing my knickers to any passing seagull that cared to look, but I didn’t care; this was wonderful!

There were lots to do on Muckle and I was going to be part of everything. I would, once things got sorted out on the island, go to somewhere good and discrete and have the operation to finally finish off the process that started when I was six years old, when I tried on my mum’s slip.

Once I was healed and in full working order, I would then marry Alistair, if he wasn’t fed up with me by then, and have children. I had no problems about adopting and no hang-ups about not being able to give birth to my own; there were plenty of kids out there that were desperate for a home and I intended to have as many as Alistair would agree to.

‘Good isn’t it?’ shouted Isabel in my ear, as we pelted along at breakneck speed.

‘Gosh, it’s bloody marvellous,’ I replied, laughing and hanging on to her for dear life.

All in all, I felt that I was the luckiest girl alive.