Page 33 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Eight

I woke up, thrashing around in my sleeping bag.

Outside the rippling canvas of my pillar-box red tent, I could hear the quiet rush of the sea.

I lay there for a few moments, staring up at the red spokes holding up my tent roof.

I felt hot and uncomfortable, like a frustrated caterpillar trapped in its cocoon.

Right. I’d get up and grab some fresh air.

I had no idea what the time was.

I scrambled my hand down by the side of my sleeping bag and picked up my watch. I squinted at it.

It was only five o’clock in the morning! What fresh hell was this?!

I sighed and pushed myself upright. What I wouldn’t give right now for my comfy, king-sized bed and a hot shower.

I scrambled forwards on all fours, my thick, candy pink and white checked pyjamas sticking to me as I fiddled with the zip on my tent. I poked my head out. It was still dark, with just the hum of the waves for company.

I remembered Logan saying something last night about getting up early to go and collect some fresh logs for the campfire and I was pretty sure I’d heard him moving around earlier, through my half-awake mental fug.

I shivered against the fresh sea wind whipping up from the Coral Beach. How on earth could anyone sleep out here in a tent, for pity’s sake?!

I reached back into my tent, located my thick fleece and threw that on, together with my walking boots. My hair was lodged on my head in a messy bun. I also grabbed my camera and hung it round my neck.

I just hoped I didn’t come across anyone who might recognise me looking like this, although as the beach was deserted, I thought that unlikely.

The sky was still charcoal and decorated with stars and I stood for a minute, the grass whispering under my feet, hoping for an eventual palette of colour to smear across the sky. The crushed, bleached coral was almost dusky mink in some areas and the North Atlantic was rippling like melted silver. It was like I was the only survivor in a zombie apocalypse movie.

Despite my bladder insisting I needed a pee, I decided to venture down to the beach to take some dramatic, moody photos for Instagram.

The shells crushed and scrunched under my boots as I negotiated my way across it.

I stopped and took a few shots of the dark sky, complimented by the ghostly quiet horizon, before turning my attention to the hills on the right. There were smudges of black against the moody backdrop of early morning, as though Skye was waiting for her cue to throw off her dark cloak and reveal a warm array of rich, rippling colour.

I glanced back at our tents, their triangular silhouettes rippling in the dark morning. They’d make a good photograph too, with the wild grasses, their angular shapes and the rugged scenery. I readied my camera and took a couple of shots.

‘It’s only just after five,’ I murmured as I then made my recording. ‘And I’m all alone on the Coral Beach here on Skye. This is a bit like walking on popcorn…’

I was about to mention the rock pools further up the shore, when an odd noise made me jump.

I jabbed the record button to stop and listened intently, twisting my head in one direction and then another. I was sure I’d heard something but perhaps I’d imagined it? I took in the stretch of beach. There was still no-one else around, except for the odd bird flitting on the horizon. I looked across and up to where the tents were again. I wondered for a moment if it was Logan trying to be funny again, after yesterday’s jape with Rusty the Highland bull, but there was no sign of him either.

I raised my camera and took a couple more images of the faint hint of raspberry ripple effect teasing in the black sky.

Wow. I’d never seen anything like that before.

Then the noise erupted again.

So, I hadn’t imagined it.

What was it and where was it coming from?

I strained my ears. It was like a high-pitched bleep.

I stopped taking pictures and looked to the right, down the ribbon of water and shells.