carrying them , I think grumpily, glancing down at the red marks on my hands.
“It’s lovely to see your wee granddaughter again. Milly, is it? She’s grown like a weed since last summer! How are you getting on at school, dear?”
“Lily’s top of her class in English,” says Gran, answering for me with a big fat fib. “She starts high school in August.”
“She’ll be at university soon, I expect. Won’t you, Milly?”
I sigh with relief when I realise we’ve arrived at the caravan site. I push Flora off my knee, drag the bags out of the back seat, thank Gladys and help Gran to heave herself out of the car.
We’re here!
I have a feeling Gran won’t want to travel far from the caravan this week and I hope I’m not going to be stuck in the campsite the whole time, keeping her company.
We’ve stayed at this site before and Gran knows the owners. As she heads in to collect the keys she stops for a chat and I sigh andsit on the case, waiting for her to finish yapping. A warm breeze is blowing through the long grass and I can hear bees buzzing. It’s very quiet and peaceful, but I worry that it might be really, really boring out here.
It feels like a lifetime before we finally reach our big green caravan. Propped outside is a smart shiny blue bike.
“That’s for you to use while we’re here,” says Gran. “I organised it through the site owners so that you can get out and about. I want you to have a great holiday. You’re a good girl, Lily.”
I wrap my arms round my gran’s plump middle and give her an enormous squeeze.
“Thanks so much, Gran! It’s fantastic. I thought I would just be hiring a bike by the hour now and then. I never thought I would have one all to myself for the whole week!”
We explore the large, comfortable caravan, which takes all of five minutes.
“Can I have this room, Gran?” I ask, pointing to the middle-sized bedroom.
It has bunk beds with green floral duvets and sunshine-yellow curtains. I throw my fake Gucci holdall on the bottom bunk and then undo my water lily charm and attach it to one of the belt loops on my jeans.
I look around, feeling pretty pleased with myself. It is going to be bliss having a room of my own for a week and a bike to cycle into Millport when the caravan site is too quiet.
Gran calls me to come outside and admire the view. It’s glorious. Sunlight is sparkling on the firth. High in the sky a buzzard is circling. Gran squeezes her ample bottom into a folding chair and closes her eyes.
“I’m just going to have a wee nap, Lily. That was a tiring journey.”
I think how much worse it could have been if that kind woman hadn’t given us a lift.
“Would you like me to head back into town and get us some supplies?” I ask, desperate to be out exploring on my bike.
Gran agrees, hands me some money out of her huge handbag, and goes back to snoozing happily in the sunshine, head curled like a giant dormouse.
***
I cycle out into open countryside, sea on one side of me and grassy hills on the other. White-sailed yachts skim through the water, trails of spray left in their wake. It’s so quiet that all I can hear is the mewing call of the buzzard and the slap of waves breaking against the rocks.
This is going to be so much fun, especially if the weather stays sunny. But I know that if I wish for a week of sunshine I’m tempting fate. This is Scotland, after all.
When I come to a small beachy inlet, I steer the bike on to the grass and jump down to the sand. Shoes pulled off, I dip one foot in the sea and withdraw it immediately. Perhaps not. The water is freezing – absolutely Baltic.
“Lily McLean!” shouts a cross voice behind me. I whirl round, and find myself almost nose to nose with the ghost. She can swim after all. Or maybe she took the ferry and the bus, like a normal person.
“Will you stop creeping up on me!” I yell, recovering from my fright. “You keep telling me something bad is going to happen, and then you
“It’s lovely to see your wee granddaughter again. Milly, is it? She’s grown like a weed since last summer! How are you getting on at school, dear?”
“Lily’s top of her class in English,” says Gran, answering for me with a big fat fib. “She starts high school in August.”
“She’ll be at university soon, I expect. Won’t you, Milly?”
I sigh with relief when I realise we’ve arrived at the caravan site. I push Flora off my knee, drag the bags out of the back seat, thank Gladys and help Gran to heave herself out of the car.
We’re here!
I have a feeling Gran won’t want to travel far from the caravan this week and I hope I’m not going to be stuck in the campsite the whole time, keeping her company.
We’ve stayed at this site before and Gran knows the owners. As she heads in to collect the keys she stops for a chat and I sigh andsit on the case, waiting for her to finish yapping. A warm breeze is blowing through the long grass and I can hear bees buzzing. It’s very quiet and peaceful, but I worry that it might be really, really boring out here.
It feels like a lifetime before we finally reach our big green caravan. Propped outside is a smart shiny blue bike.
“That’s for you to use while we’re here,” says Gran. “I organised it through the site owners so that you can get out and about. I want you to have a great holiday. You’re a good girl, Lily.”
I wrap my arms round my gran’s plump middle and give her an enormous squeeze.
“Thanks so much, Gran! It’s fantastic. I thought I would just be hiring a bike by the hour now and then. I never thought I would have one all to myself for the whole week!”
We explore the large, comfortable caravan, which takes all of five minutes.
“Can I have this room, Gran?” I ask, pointing to the middle-sized bedroom.
It has bunk beds with green floral duvets and sunshine-yellow curtains. I throw my fake Gucci holdall on the bottom bunk and then undo my water lily charm and attach it to one of the belt loops on my jeans.
I look around, feeling pretty pleased with myself. It is going to be bliss having a room of my own for a week and a bike to cycle into Millport when the caravan site is too quiet.
Gran calls me to come outside and admire the view. It’s glorious. Sunlight is sparkling on the firth. High in the sky a buzzard is circling. Gran squeezes her ample bottom into a folding chair and closes her eyes.
“I’m just going to have a wee nap, Lily. That was a tiring journey.”
I think how much worse it could have been if that kind woman hadn’t given us a lift.
“Would you like me to head back into town and get us some supplies?” I ask, desperate to be out exploring on my bike.
Gran agrees, hands me some money out of her huge handbag, and goes back to snoozing happily in the sunshine, head curled like a giant dormouse.
***
I cycle out into open countryside, sea on one side of me and grassy hills on the other. White-sailed yachts skim through the water, trails of spray left in their wake. It’s so quiet that all I can hear is the mewing call of the buzzard and the slap of waves breaking against the rocks.
This is going to be so much fun, especially if the weather stays sunny. But I know that if I wish for a week of sunshine I’m tempting fate. This is Scotland, after all.
When I come to a small beachy inlet, I steer the bike on to the grass and jump down to the sand. Shoes pulled off, I dip one foot in the sea and withdraw it immediately. Perhaps not. The water is freezing – absolutely Baltic.
“Lily McLean!” shouts a cross voice behind me. I whirl round, and find myself almost nose to nose with the ghost. She can swim after all. Or maybe she took the ferry and the bus, like a normal person.
“Will you stop creeping up on me!” I yell, recovering from my fright. “You keep telling me something bad is going to happen, and then you
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