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This is the story of Jack and Jill. As you can probably guess, I insist on being called Jilly, rather than Jill, to try and ease people away from the usual boring jokes. There's only so many times I can put up with;
How was the hill and the pail of water? Is Jack's head better after he broke his crown? Anyway, I'll continue.

It's Wednesday 12th May 2004, I'm nineteen years old and finally going on holiday. I've got some time off from the pub, now that the manager's changed, and I'm determined to make the most of it.

I pack up my old banger of an Escort and prepare all the essentials. Bottle of spring water, chewing gum, cigarettes, all stashed at arms reach on the passenger seat. As I move round the black vehicle, I can feel somebody watching me. I scan round the circle of semi-detached houses, trying to spot the peeping-Tom.

Our house is the right hand side of two semi's at the top of the street. The others fan out around ours. They're all identical 1950's brick buildings, each have two floors and large bay windows looking out down the private road. Perfect for nosy neighbours to catch sight of me doing my usual Saturday night walk of shame, back from some terrible date or other.

Laced net curtains grace the windows of all but one of the houses. The exception is ours. Gran can't stand chintz like that and whatever Gran wants she usually gets. Life in our house is easier that way. If Mum starts to disagree with anything that her mother suggests for the home, well, world war three breaks out. That's the moment when Dad and I will be found at the bottom of the garden, smoking ourselves silly in the sanctity of the garden shed.

Gran's been living with us here in York ever since Grandad died on Christmas day. Poor old Grandad, Gran says that he always did have an awful sense of timing, and the day of his death only went to prove it.

It can be fun sometimes though, having 'SuperGran' around, as I call her. She kind of makes up for the missing sibling I never had. She's really just a big kid at heart and makes the most hilarious comments about t.v personalities at the most opportune moments.

I can definitely feel someone eyeing me up.

Who the hell is it?

Hot in the face, I stand with my hands on my hips, chin thrust up, glaring around the close. Arrogant and blatant as only I know how.

There!

A twitch of the nets to the left, top floor bedroom window.

Damn it!

It's only a tabby cat washing its paws. I had hoped that the gorgeous Indian bloke who lives there might be checking me out.

Never mind. Let's get this car sorted.

I'm on my way to Scotland this morning, tent packed in the trunk with sleeping bag and welly boots on top. The birds are still in the middle of the dawn chorus and the chill of the spring has kept me wrapped up in jeans and a leather jacket.

Dad comes out of the arched front doorway, slipping along on the frosty pavement towards me, steaming mug of coffee in hand.

He's a tall man with a pot belly and a full head of ginger hair. Only his speckled grey and ginger beard give away his approaching sixtieth birthday. Mum is fifteen years his junior, but I'm pretty sure he never had a younger rival to worry about, because Mum adored Dad. To a fault.

"Here you are love, get your laughing gear around that." He offers the mug, handle side out as always, then rumbles in his cotton dressing gown to fish out a pack of cigarettes.

"Thanks, Dad."

He mutters, nodding at the ten-year-old Escort.
"Do you think you're going to make it there and back?"

"Yep."

Lighting up his cigarette, he inhales deeply.
"Have you checked the oil, like I told you?"

"Yep."

He turns back towards the house, his slipper slides out from under him and he stumbles on the path.
"Shit!"

I giggle and choke as the hot coffee goes up my nose.

"Just be careful, Jill. Make sure you call us every night when you get to the campsites."

"Yep."

"Put the mug back in the kitchen before you go, ey, and don't wake up your mother. I gave her a really good seeing to last night."

"Ah, Dad, too much information."

He turns round to give me a grin and a wink as he goes in the door.
"She's going to need some rest after that."

I tut, shaking my head at him and get in the car to start warming the engine.

*******

Ten hours later and I'm on the ferry boat from Ardrossan to the Isle of Arran.

Wind is whipping my hair around so badly that I think it might actually blind me if it manages to reach my eyeballs. I grip onto the railing of the rusty old ferry. Standing with my feet splayed apart as I try to keep balance, the vessel rocks and rolls over the turbulent North Sea.

The day is hazy and cool, clouds shifting restlessly across the pale blue sky. The shoreline of the Isle of Arran comes into view. It's surprisingly flat.

As we pull into Brodick I'm a bit disappointed by the ugly, industrial looking harbour.

What did I expect? Bonnie Prince Charlie doing a jig in his kilt with a band of bagpipe-playing clansmen?

As I slink back to my car, I suddenly realise how hungry I am. I'd better get something to eat, before a major headache hits me.

There's an old, cottage-style hotel across the road from the port, so I park my car in the pay and display and go to get some late lunch/early dinner. It's so nice to be away from the droll and boring existence back home, where my life never moves on, neither career-wise or in the romance department.

I had begun to accept that the world would never match up to the amazing love affairs in movies and books, and that I'd be lucky to hold down my job at the bar. Eventually I'd save enough money to get my own, dingy flat above a shop, maybe rescue a cat to keep me company? This trip to Scotland was a test to myself, to prove that I could make it in this world alone. If I never found Mr.Right, then why should I miss out on living a full (if possible) and exciting future? Waiting for a man to give me the key to happiness had left me with a sour taste in my mouth, and I wanted more than that.

The storm-battered door creaks open as I press down the iron handle catch. Inside is dark and smells of stale beer and cigarettes, exactly how a pub should smell. I go through the narrow hall with low ceilings and into a large saloon to the right. There's a bordeaux coloured carpet, thin and worn bare in patches from the tread of many a foot through the years. I see a scatter of dark wooden tables with sets of four chairs around the room. Faded, rough plastered walls, cream from time and tar. A coal fireplace warms the room against the biting sea air, a pair of old fishermen play dominoes at a table next to it.

The deep oak bar is at the end of the room to my left. The barstools bereft of customers. A tall, broad man is standing with his back to me as he bangs in frustration on the keys of the cash register. I can smell the wonderful odour of pastries and roasted meat wafting from the open door behind the bar, to the left of the man.

With my stomach rumbling, I go to the bar and lean on it, folding my arms and perching my backside on the soft cushioned barstool. I've spent a lot of time in places like this.

"Ahem." I pretend to clear my throat.

The barman has straight, medium length, dark brown hair, tied up at the back. As he shakes his head in anger at the beeping machine, his hair whisks across his large shoulders, brushing smooth the thick checked shirt he's wearing.

One of the fishermen helps me out.

"Hey, Jackie boy. Customer!"

Wiping his hands on a tea towel, the barman turns round to meet me.

Jack is in his twenties and very good looking. He has bright, blue eyes, almost opaque, looking out from under thick black eyebrows. His nose is classically Roman but one nostril is slightly smaller than the other. He has well maintained sideburns and a goatee tuft of beard on his chin. A large lopsided mouth. He's slightly on the chubby side but his strong build and confident sex-appeal force me to catch my breath.

Right now, however, he's not happy. He growls at the fishermen, and looks straight past me.

"What?"

Nodding and gesticulating, the men grin and wink in my direction. Finally noticing me, Jack's countenance swiftly changes.