مگان

CHAPTER ONE

Megan

I pulled the curtains open and looked down at the street. It was hot, too hot for London in the middle of July and I was angry. I closed the curtains and returned to my mother’s room. She lay in bed and I could hear her breathing. She looked so thin and I sat next to her and held her hand.

‘I’m not going,’ I said. ‘You can’t send me away.’ I looked at my mother and her face was white like the sheets and pillowcases.

‘It’s only for a month, until I feel a little better, my darling,’ she said. ‘Then you can come home.’

Doctor Barns stood on the other side of the bed. ‘Has Megan got any friends’ he asked Mrs Brown, our home help.

Mrs Brown shook her head. ‘Megan doesn’t have any friends,’ I heard her whisper. ‘She’s a strange child.’

Friends! Of course I didn’t have any friends. We moved to this part of London six months ago and my new school was horrible. Mother didn’t know. I didn’t tell her about the bullies and the nasty text messages.

Doctor Barns put his glasses on. I could see that he didn’t know what to do. We needed a miracle. ‘Your mother is very unwell Megan,’ he said. ‘She needs to rest and you can’t stay here for the summer holidays.’

I don’t want to leave you, mum. You want to send me to the Highlands of Scotland to stay with Uncle Fraser, but I hate the countryside.’ I stood up and looked at the doctor. ‘I’m not going and you can’t make me go!’

But Doctor Barns could make me go. and he did.

I watched the country side change through the window of the train as we travelled into Scotland. I could see fields, dry stone walls and lots of sheep, but where were the people?

Mrs Wallace, a friend of Doctor Barns, was with me. She wanted to chat, but I didn’t. ‘The Isle of Skye is beautiful. The air is so fresh,’ she said.

I hate fresh air. I like the air in London,’ I said. Mrs Wallace sighed and opened her book.

We changed trains and the next one was very old. A man sat singing quietly in the corner. He had a long white beard.

In another corner there was a woman with a basket of chickens. I looked at these people. I came from a different world. In my world there were shops, people and traffic.

We caught the ferry at Mallaig. The wind blew my long dark hair and my pale blue eyes searched the island for people, but it looked so quiet.

‘Cloud Island,’ said Mrs Wallace, giving me a sweet. ‘In the old Norse language, Ski means cloud and ey means island. It’s often misty here.’

I didn’t answer. I could only think that I wanted to go home. We got off the ferry at Armadale and I stood by the sea and waited for my uncle. I felt wrong in my London clothes. I took my mobile phone out of my pocket and called home. Mrs Brown answered, but mum was asleep.

‘Your uncle’s here,’ said Mrs Wallace. I said goodbye.

‘Megan,’ a strong voice called. He was a tall man with wavy hair and a big smile. ‘I’m over here.’ He disappeared behind some trees.

Pulling my suitcase, I followed, but my uncle didn’t have a car. He was standing next to a beige-coloured pony and he put my suitcase into a little red trap.