Chapter 4
Chapter Four
T uesday dawned with no fog, but a veil of rain that made everything look like it’d been spun with silver.
After showering, washing my hair and throwing on my jeans and an electric blue V-neck jumper, I made it down to breakfast. I’d been scrambling around in my case, trying to locate something suitable to wear as the majority of my clothes I’d brought with me were too flimsy and too trendy for this Arctic climate. Where was the beautiful spring weather I’d been promised?
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t survive three weeks here, strolling around in my satin, pussy bow blouse, skin-tight diamante jeans and bias cut, knee-length dresses. I’d have to admit defeat and go shopping here in Portree for clothes more conducive to the climate.
The dreaded itinerary was stashed under my arm in its plastic folder as today was the first day of my research here for my travel guide. I let out a despondent grumble and glanced down at the notes Brandy had pulled together for me as I walked into the dining room.
I made my way to an empty table over by the heavy, buttered coloured stone fireplace. Julie and her mum, Kathleen, were weaving between tables delivering plates laden with fried eggs, crispy bacon and button mushrooms, as well as fat sausages and racks of golden toast.
My stomach let out an appreciative gurgle, as I scanned the laminated breakfast menu.
It looked amazing. Smelled it too.
No, I couldn’t indulge.
I’d resist.
I had to look good in my videos and photos. Image was everything. That was Justine’s mantra. Justine. I could feel my mouth tightening with fury again when I thought about her making me travel up here. Maybe I should have a big breakfast blowout? Thumb my nose at her?
I grimaced. No, I wouldn’t do that. I’d regret it later. So would my calorie count.
Ignoring the voice in my head to go crazy and splash out on a full cooked, I opted with little enthusiasm instead for bran flakes, a banana and a pot of tea.
Julie scribbled down my order. ‘I hope you slept well?’
‘Yes, thanks, I was out like a light almost immediately,’ I confessed. With everything else quickly going south on this trip, I was grateful that my bed was at least comfy and the room cosy.
Whilst the other guests clattered their knives and forks over the discreet ceilidh music, I checked my emails on my phone.
Brandy had dashed off a message last night to confirm that at ten o’clock this morning, I was due at Sparkles in the Skye to interview the jewellery designers and business owners, Kyle and Laird Lawson.
As I sipped my tea and tried to conjure up some enthusiasm for the bran flakes I was chewing, which Julie had just delivered to the table, I noted from Brandy’s message that Iona would be here at the bed and breakfast to accompany me to the jewellery shop, just before half past nine.
I checked the time and then polished off the remainder of my pot of tea and screwed up my paper napkin. I had about fifteen minutes before she arrived. Good grief. I hoped today goes better than yesterday. After that hideous outfit and having to get changed in the back of Iona’s transit van, I found I was actually looking forward to clambering onto that tartaned coach in three weeks’ time, for the journey back to Glasgow Airport. The time couldn’t evaporate fast enough.
Julie and Kathleen were scooping up the remnants of breakfast debris and paused next to my table.
‘Hope you’re enjoying your stay.’ Julie beamed, rattling dirty cutlery together.
I glanced out of the dining room window to where people brushed past, looking like blurry watercolour figures in the rain. ‘It’s a unique experience,’ I replied with a quick smile, before excusing myself and dashing back up the staircase to my room.
No sooner had I brushed my teeth and applied a fresh coat of lipstick, than there was a quiet knock on my guest room door.
Today, Iona was wearing her walking boots, but the red waterproof jacket was gone, replaced by an olive-green coat and her light blonde hair streamed down her back in a long plait. ‘How are you today, Ms Freeman?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I’m OK, thanks, Iona. Though the bloody gulls started squawking at 5am.’
‘Aye. They tend to do that.’
I slid into my cream quilted coat and grabbed my bag, phone and dreaded itinerary.
The rain continued to lash against my guest room window, making me less than enthusiastic about the prospect of stepping outside.
‘Sparkles in the Skye is only a five-minute walk from here,’ Iona informed me as she charged back down the stairs. ‘Arran said he’ll meet us there.’
I stepped out behind Iona, who quickly jerked up her hood. I did the same, narrowing my eyes up at the stormy sky. Bloody hell! I’d only just washed my hair.
The silver rain was melting into the North Atlantic and hardy tourists pushed along on the pavement, dipping in and out of the gift shops and cafes.
‘Kyle and Laird are such a sweet couple,’ chattered Iona, seemingly oblivious to the rain plopping down onto her woollen hood. ‘They only got married last year. It was a big affair here on Skye. Their two Westies, Lanark and Lauder, brought their wedding rings up the aisle on little heart-shaped cushions. It was so cute!’
‘It does sound lovely,’ I said, and found I meant it.
She guided me up and round the corner, past an art shop displaying paintings, sketches and photos of everything from fisherman hauling nets to storm-lashed rocks. ‘Skye is so romantic, even in the rain,’ she said with a contented sigh.
I gave her a withering look as the dampness began to seep into my bones. ‘Right. I’ll take your word for it.’
‘It’s a wonderful backdrop for proposals and weddings. There’s just something so worldly and breathtaking about the island.’ Iona’s walking boots sploshed through a shimmering puddle on the pavement.
She bathed me in a warm smile. ‘You could always come back another time with your partner and have a romantic long weekend here.’
Crikey, what a prospect! I growled to myself, taking in the locals, huddled against the elements. I’d rather pull out my own eyelashes than come back here, with or without the man of my dreams. Ha! He didn’t exist anyway; I’d learnt that much from bitter experience. I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m not seeing anyone. I mean, I was involved with someone up until a year or so ago, but I found out he was cheating on me, the ambitious dickhead.’
Iona jerked her damp plait round to look at me. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh, don’t be. I’m glad I found out he was a twat when I did.’ I gripped the embroidered strap of my shoulder bag tighter.
I blinked back the memories of how stupid I’d felt. Ever since then, my self-preservation had kicked in and never left. I swore I wouldn’t let another man use me like that again. I had my career and that was all I needed. At least I could place my trust in that!
What my late parents had shared together had been unique. A one-off. I wasn’t interested or prepared to put myself through that kind of public embarrassment again for something that could never compete with the relationship and love my parents had shared. I’d just get let down, and anyway, there were far more important things in life, like ambition and success.
Iona offered me a fleeting but kind smile, which I appreciated. ‘Well, here we are.’
I dashed the raindrops from my face and gazed up.
The words Sparkles in the Skye were spelled out in gorgeous silver and gold italics above a grey stone shop with silky steel-coloured curtains tumbling either side of the windows.
The displays were decorated with seashells and polished rocks, surrounding an arty arrangement of everything from twisted rope bracelets and dangly earrings, to dolphin-shaped dress rings and unicorn brooches in ivory with diamond encrusted details.
I marvelled at the intricate craftmanship, the way the light sparked against the dolphin’s sapphire eye.
It was all a beautiful and eclectic combination of Celtic and Gothic beauty.
I hadn’t expected this.
‘Come on,’ cajoled Iona, smiling at my expression as I appreciated the jewellery. ‘Let’s introduce you to Kyle and Laird and then we can get started. Arran should be here already.’
The interior of the shop was like something out of an ice palace with a silver and white edged glass counter.
Arrays of more necklaces, rings and pendants shone out of velvet vanilla trays.
Even the shop carpet was a light biscuit colour, to compliment the furnishings and fittings.
Soft Highland music was wafting in the background.
Arran was busy in one corner, attending to his camera. ‘Good morning!’ He grinned, showing off large teeth. ‘Have a good night?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ I replied, enchanted by the various rings, bracelets and bangles on display.
Two attractive young men bestowed welcoming smiles on Iona and gave her cheek kisses in warm greeting.
Iona shared a laugh and a joke with them and then gestured to me. ‘And I’m sure Darcie Freeman needs no introduction.’
The man with floppy dark blond hair and dimples introduced himself as Kyle. His husband, Laird, had short copper hair and an impressive moustache.
‘We’re so excited you agreed to come on board to showcase our new collection.’ Kyle grinned. ‘We’ve only been open a year, so we thought we needed to give the business a bit of a push.’
‘And your reputation in the social influencer world is very impressive,’ added Laird.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you.’ I blushed, enjoying every moment of their praise.
Laird asked how the photo shoot went yesterday and I looked at Iona out of the corner of my eye. When she dropped her head and remained silent, I realised it was up to me to say something.
‘It was certainly a unique experience.’ I pointed in the direction of their counter display, eager to change the subject. ‘And you both design all these gorgeous pieces?’
‘Guilty,’ joked Kyle, glancing affectionately at Laird. ‘We try to encapsulate the beauty and the wilderness of Skye in all our designs in one way or another.’
‘Well, it’s obvious how talented you both are,’ I exclaimed, clapping my hands together.
Iona appeared at my shoulder and turned to Kyle and Laird. ‘So, if you’re in agreement, Arran can start taking a few shots of Ms Freeman and both of you together behind the counter and then we can take it from there?’
Both men nodded and we all moved into position.
‘And then, if I could grab a few words with both of you,’ I explained, ‘I can pop it up on my social media feeds, along with some of the images I captured yesterday.’
We set to work, with Arran jumping around snapping away as Laird, Kyle and I began examining some of the jewellery.
Iona flapped her hand at the three of us. ‘If you could line up side-by-side behind the counter, each holding a piece of jewellery to the camera, that would make a great photo.’
Once Arran and Iona had agreed they had all the images they needed, it was time for me to start interviewing Kyle and Laird. ‘Iona, could you record me on my phone, please, as I do the interview?’
Iona darted forward and took my phone from me, as though it were the Koh-I-Noor diamond. ‘Yes. Of course I can.’
She took a few steps backwards and signalled that she had begun to film.
I grinned down the camera lens. ‘Hey guys. If you love original, striking jewellery, then look no further than the Isle of Skye’s very own Sparkles in the Skye.’
I threw out one enthusiastic hand. ‘I’m here to talk to the very talented designers and owners of the business, married couple Kyle and Laird Lawson.’
Iona weaved in front of us, concentrating with my phone and continuing to record while I asked Laird and Kyle about their work ethic, the inspirations behind their designs and the Cridhe (which meant ‘heart’ in Gaelic, I’d discovered from some online research the night before) of what they hoped to achieve.
Laird had just started telling me about one of the scalloped shell necklaces, which had been washed up on the Coral Beach area years ago and which they’d immortalised in solid silver, when Iona jumped. A look of panic gripped her face. ‘Oh, Ms Freeman. Your phone’s ringing.’
I tried to hide a small smile. ‘Yes, Iona. I can hear it. Who’s calling?’
She jabbed at the record button to end the video and studied the screen. ‘It’s Justine?’
I whipped my attention back to Kyle and Laird. ‘Sorry about this. That’s my agent. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, so I need to take this.’
They both flapped away my apology.
I stepped out of Sparkles in the Skye so I could speak to Justine in private, and watched the rain as it pierced the top of the water in the harbour. ‘Hi, Justine. How are you?’
‘Good thanks, sweetie. How’s it going in good old Ecosse?’
I made a grunting sound. ‘OK, I guess. I’m at the jewellers at the moment, doing an interview and having photos taken. Their stuff is gorgeous, I have to admit, but this place is cold and there’s bloody wildlife at every turn and?—’
‘Sorry, darling. I can’t hear you.’
I clamped my mobile closer to my ear. The rain was thrashing now against the shop windows. ‘Sorry, Justine. This sodding weather is biblical.’
Shoppers breezed past me as I huddled in the jewellery shop doorway. They seemed oblivious to the elements in their bright anoraks.
There was a big breath in my ear and then Justine raised her voice. ‘Have you heard the latest about River?’
My eye twitched at the mention of my social media nemesis name. ‘No. What’s happened?’
‘River Banks has secured a deal with Nature’s Bounty to promote their new range of designer wellingtons.’
I blinked against the rain. Bloody hell! Nature’s Bounty were THE up and coming go-to brand for outdoorsy fashion. A couple of their branded jackets had been seen on the backs of a well-known footballer and his girlfriend just the other week.
I let out a furious hiss. ‘Jammy cow! How the hell did she manage that?’
‘It’s all thanks to the increased number of followers she has, plus Hilliard is a sly old fox. He could schmooze his way out of hell.’
Hilliard Samuels was one of the most flamboyant and experienced showbiz agents in London. He was also River’s agent and made Justine look positively conservative.
I glanced over my shoulder and back into the glitzy, lit surroundings of the jewellers. ‘Right. OK. Well, when I get back to London, we can discuss it further and come up with something we can do to counter her deal. Have a real brain-storming session. I’ll just have to muddle through up here?—’
‘Darcie. You need to attack this Skye trip head on. Immerse yourself in it. Throw everything at it.’ Justine was beginning to sound more exasperated than usual. She dropped her voice to an intimidating hiss, her words taking on an even steelier emphasis. ‘I’ve pulled favours to get you this travel guide publishing deal with Caldwell’s. It hasn’t been easy.’
‘I know you have.’
‘OK then, so cut me some slack. Stop moaning about how bloody wet and windy it is up there and just suck it up!’
I blinked down the line.
Justine sounded like she was struggling to control her frustration. ‘I’ve just had a long call with Primrose Steele, my friend and the editor at Caldwell’s who commissioned your travel guide. They really want this to work, Darcie. They’re pumping a lot of their marketing budget and PR promo into this thing.’ She took a breath. ‘They had a bit of a disaster last year, with a reality TV star’s autobiography that promised to be a big hitter but which the public failed to invest in. They lost a lot of money on that and so they need this to work.’
She paused, allowing her words to seep down the line.
‘The publishers want you to get out of your comfort zone. You know, the luxury traveller at one with Scottish nature. It’s what appeals to them most about this project, so you need to be all in to deliver what they’re looking for.’
There was a stony silence for a few moments.
‘I hope I can trust you, Darcie, to make a big splash with this travel guide for all the right reasons. Otherwise, the publishers, your career and my reputation are going to suffer. Capeesh?’
Sick of the rain, I stormed back through the silver and white painted door of Sparkles in the Skye as Justine reverted to her cool, collected exterior again, her voice oozing like caramel into my ear.
‘Darling, stop overthinking this. Three weeks of mild discomfort in exchange for priceless publicity and a TV series?’ She hesitated and sounded more like she was trying to convince herself. ‘You might even find you enjoy it.’
While Arran, Iona, Laird and Kyle pretended to busy themselves, I glowered down at the rows of jewellery nestling behind the glass. ‘Mild discomfort? Enjoy myself? Have you gone mad?!’
Then I drew myself up. ‘Hold on a second. Did you just say TV series?’
‘Yes. I mean, there could be a TV series offer, if you do a good job with the travel guide and play your cards right.’ Justine lowered her voice again to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Sweetheart, opportunities like this don’t come along very often. You know that.’ She paused. ‘Do you remember last year, when you went to Italy to audition for Love in the Lakes and you were pipped to the post by that pneumatic blonde who won the celebrity baking show?’
I dragged a frustrated hand over the top of my ponytail. ‘OK. OK. I’ll try to be a bit more enthusiastic.’ I eyed the tumultuous weather outside. ‘Unfortunately, I’m going to need some warm clothes and waterproof stuff. What I’ve brought with me isn’t suitable for the climate up here.’
‘Not a problem,’ replied Justine. ‘I’ll go into the agency’s account and transfer some cash for expenses. Go get some jumpers and wellingtons.’
I clamped my eyes shut in horror for a few seconds.
Curse bloody River Banks. Curse the pneumatic blonde who stole the Italian reality show gig from right under my nose. I looked out of the jewellery shop windows. Could I actually do this? Could I tough it out on this island, examining puffins and thistles for three weeks? It wasn’t me. I was a London girl, born and bred. The very thought of it was bringing me out in hives.
I was missing the noise and clamour of home, the hipsters and vintage shops in Notting Hill, the chrome nail bars.
I didn’t think I could do this. ‘Justine, I’m not sure?—’
‘Darcie, if you don’t do this, you’ll live to regret it. Believe me.’
‘No, I won’t,’ I batted back. ‘And stop being so bloody melodramatic.’ I ran one manicured hand along the edge of the counter. Kyle and Laird had vanished into their office at the rear of the shop to give me some privacy. Iona and Arran, meanwhile, had slipped out of the shop door to converse in the doorway. Every so often, they glanced at me from over their shoulders. ‘I’ll live to regret it if I do it and so will my sanity.’
Justine sighed. ‘So that’s your final answer then? Is it a no?’
I found myself nodding my ponytail up and down, even though she couldn’t see me. ‘Yes. Final answer.’ I pushed out my chin. ‘Sorry, but I want to call it a day.’
There were a few moments of pause, before Justine spoke again. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this. I was going to wait until you arrived back in London.’
My brows knitted. ‘Tell me what?’
In the background, I could hear Justine’s hideously expensive coffee maker whirring into life.
‘The publishers told me River Banks was their second choice to write this travel guide.’
I allowed this to settle. I let out a noise that was a cross between a gasp and a snort. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Yes.’
Conflicting emotions flared inside me and I found myself pacing up and down the jeweller’s thick, pale carpet.
I couldn’t quit now. I’d regret it. More importantly, I couldn’t bear the thought of River thinking she’d got the upper hand. I let out a sigh. I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but… ‘So, remind me again, what am I expected to do?’
‘Mainly outdoor pursuits,’ answered Justine. I heard her tap the keys on her laptop. ‘I’ll pull up the email Primrose just sent me after our call. Ah. Here it is. It does sound rather exciting, darling. I mean, you’ll still be writing the travel guide, it’s just Primrose wants a bit more … you know … interaction with nature.’
I rolled my eyes up to the jewellery shop’s whipped cream ceiling and rose gold chandelier. My stomach was threatening to fall through the floor.
‘You’d be going camping, dolphin watching, bird watching, studying flowers and fauna, and looking at the history and culture of the island.’
I turned over in my head what Justine was telling me. Camping? In the pouring rain? I wrinkled my nose. Where the hell would I plug in my hair straighteners? And I’d never been a huge fan of the sea. The more I thought about it, the worse it sounded.
But then again, could this lead to other media opportunities? My heart fluttered at the thought of being asked to do a TV show off the back of this. Maybe even writing for a prestigious, glossy travel magazine like Horizons. Now, that would be the icing on the cake.
‘Well?’ pushed Justine, dragging me away from dreams of a glamorous head shot of myself in Horizons , accompanied by my by-line and a double page spread about my latest travels. ‘Are you up for it?’
I bit the inside of my cheek, but Justine didn’t give me time to answer. ‘Wonderful. Great! I’m so proud of you, sweetie!’
I pushed aside visions of me huddled in a soaking wet tent and tried to concentrate instead on pictures of me beaming out of TV sets across the land.
‘Excellent!’ fizzed Justine, still on a roll. ‘I’ll get the contract tweaked and let Primrose know we’re good to go.’
Ha. Not such wonderful news for me, I mused, sliding apprehensive glances out the jewellery shop windows at the sloshing puddles.
‘Primrose said her publicity team can set you up with an experienced local guy they’ve been tipped off about, who’ll be accompanying you when you do all this.’
‘So, I should hope,’ I muttered. I began prowling around again.
‘Primrose said this chappie’s done everything from hiking to cold water swimming.’
‘Cold water what?!’ I gasped down the line, as though I’d already been plunged into the waters of the North Atlantic.
Justine ignored me and ploughed on. ‘Give me a second to ring Primrose. I’ll get more information and call you right back.’
I hung up. Shit. Shit! Treble shit! What had I just done? What hell had I agreed to? I tried to stem the rising panic flooding through me. I’d envisaged sedate sojourns around a few parks, maybe taking in some local hospitality and promoting the odd bit of cashmere, not putting myself in mortal danger.
Moments later, my phone jumped into life again in my hand.
‘Primrose said it’s all good to go with this guy. He’s available.’
‘Oh great,’ I managed. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Logan Burns.’ Her enthusiasm ramped up. ‘So, what are the locals like? Made any new acquaintance yet?’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve only been here twenty-four hours and I’ve already got to know everyone on Skye, including the names of their cats and hamsters.’
Justine was indignant. ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’
I rubbed at my face. I’d had enough of talking about camping and fauna for the time being. ‘I’ll speak to you in a bit, Justine.’ I hung up and stared down at my blank screen.
‘Everything alright, Ms Freeman?’
Iona had materialised at my shoulder, all streaming light blonde plait and concerned green gaze.
‘Not really,’ I admitted, tapping my mobile phone as if to illustrate the point. ‘I’ve been pulled into undertaking Scotland’s answer to SAS: Who Dares Wins for this sodding travel guide. And to make matters worse, my publishers have secured me Skye’s answer to Bear Grylls to help me do it.’
‘What’s his name? This guy?’ asked Iona, intrigued.
I flicked my hand. ‘Logan Burns. Do you know him?’
Iona went pink. ‘Er. Aye. Yes. I do know him, as a matter of fact.’ She beamed at me so hard I started to feel frightened. ‘Your interviews here done?’
‘Er, yes, they are…’
But she didn’t give me a chance to say anything else. Before I knew what was happening, she was making our farewells to Kyle, Laird and Arran, and bundling me out of Sparkles in the Skye. ‘Come on, Ms Freeman. My van’s parked just up the lane.’
I grabbed my coat from the top of one of the jewellery cases and jerked my hood up, as we ventured outside again. ‘Where are we going?’ I called, as Iona urged me on. ‘Where are you taking me?’
Iona reached her black and white van and yanked open the passenger side door.
‘Didn’t you lock it?’ I asked her.
‘No need. Trustworthy folks round here.’
I raised my brows and clambered into the passenger seat, almost getting struck in the face by one of the dreamcatchers suspended from her rearview mirror.
We sped off down Portree High Street, zipping past shops and cosy tea rooms.
‘We’ll soon be there.’ She grinned across at me. ‘Enjoy the scenery in the meantime.’
I stared out of the passenger side window. ‘I would if I could see it. This rain is horrific.’
Iona slipped me a smile. ‘You’ll learn to love Skye. Everybody falls for her. You just have to open your heart.’
The only way I was prepared to open my heart to the place was via urgent and unavoidable open-heart surgery, but I kept that thought to myself. She was a sweet girl and despite being rather disorganised, I was beginning to like her. But as for me liking this place, she was utterly deluded.
Hills dipped and weaved on either side of the road, the land dotted with wet heather and heavy, jutting rocks that shot up ahead of us, like sentries.
‘In the distance, you’ll see the Cuillins,’ explained Iona, indicating the range of mountains in the distance. ‘One range is known as the Black Cuillin and the other is the Red Cuillin.’
I examined the imposing craggy faces of bare rock. They were like a huge, jagged knife running along the moody skyline. Steep cliffs plunged downwards and deep gullies could be seen against the dark, imposing silhouettes.
‘Black Cuillin is the UK’s most challenging mountain range to climb.’
‘Yes. Well, I’m not keen on heights, so I won’t be venturing up there.’
Iona smiled over. ‘The Black Cullin is what’s left of a huge volcano.’
We ventured on, with Iona chattering away about the beauty of the seasons on Skye and its wildflowers. Then she indicated right and pulled into a grassy layby at the foot of the Hills. It looked over a patchwork quilt of fields.
I did feel rather insignificant against the dominating mountain range. It was very impressive.
She parked up beside a battered old Dodge truck in bottle green.
I struggled out of Iona’s van. ‘Is this some sort of mystery tour? Or have you kidnapped me?’
‘No.’ Iona laughed, bubbling with excitement. ‘Neither of those. We’re almost there.’
I buried myself deeper in my coat and watched Iona stride on in her walking boots. I glanced down at my fashionable, heeled efforts in dismay before following her.
The wind was rippling through the grasses, stirring them up like a giant spoon and I rubbed the rain from my cheeks. My makeup probably looked like a melted waxwork now.
It was as we were approaching the stone-studded hillside that a tall, broad figure could be seen, crouching to dig by a rock face.
Iona picked up speed, her boots squeaking on the wet grass. ‘Hey, bro! How’s it going?’
The figure rose up to their full length and spun round.
He broke into a wide grin.
I took in the hammered silver eyes, messy short brown hair and stubbled chin. Brother?!
I snapped my head round to look at Iona and then at the man examining me. It was him. The guy who had turned up to speak to Iona at the shoot yesterday. It was Wolverine.
Iona’s cheeks were still flushed. Her eyes glistened with excitement. ‘Ms Freeman, I’d like you to meet Logan Burns.’
My head jerked from one to the other. ‘Sorry?’
Logan Burns arched one brow at me.
‘Logan’s my big brother,’ she gushed. ‘He’s going to be your guide on Skye!’