The End

Ok, milestone passed, now to deal with the parents. (she said with all the self assurance that comes from writing in the future)
I find myself strolling around the beach in no time at all, the journey a wash of pictures I pay no attention to, too absorbed in my own thoughts. I’m now almost certain I love Roger. As I feel the wet sand beneath my feet, and see waves slowly ebbing beside me, I remember when I first came to the island, and how I fell in love with it. But I loved university when I first visited it. I love my parents, and my friends, and I left them... I climb back up to the house, and see light through the frosted windows of the toilet block. Igor and his chicken groupies run towards me, held back by the mesh of their enclosure, before quickly losing interest and running back the other way. I poke my head around the door of the cottage, and find it empty. The camp bed is unmade, but the cottage is otherwise vacant. I stand in the middle of the room, taking in every inch of the building I had worked so hard to make my own. My eyes fall on the beautiful stove, the white walls, my bed, my table... and something on the table. A shoebox with a thick purple ribbon tied around it, and a gaudy gift-shop bow on top. Resting against the box is a piece of paper, folded in half with “Read me, Emma, read me!” written in large biro letters. Curious, I read the paper, and smile.

“Emma.” It reads, “Welcome to Scotland, and you’re welcome to it. Glad to hear you’re not actually dead, and I am very, very sorry for falling out of communication. I will remember to write, as it seems your new, Amish way of life does not support voicemail. I know there’s a lot going on right now but I have to get back to Bath; so far Greg has done about 80% of the wedding preparation and my mother has done about 19. If I’m not careful, I may end up not being in it. However I know you are mid-crisis and I couldn’t leave you stranded, so in the shoe box is something that might help. If not, then it’ll at least provide some anecdotes for small talk. Love, hugs kisses and etc, Vikkie”
I roll my eyes, but smile despite myself. Cautiously, I pull off the ribbon and look inside the shoebox. What I see inside makes me want to laugh and weep simultaneously. Nestled in a tea-towel, its’ shiny black surface dull with smears where it had been wiped clean but not properly dried, is the Magic Eight Ball. I lift it up, smiling as it shone in the sunlight. I walk back outside, and stand by the steps, looking out as the sun glitters on the sea.
“Emma.” My mother walks up behind me, making me jump a little. “We need to talk about this, Emma.” I nod, but say nothing. I look down into the swirling blue liquid inside the ball, my mind oddly clear of the confusion and buzz that it had been filled with.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Mum’s voice sounds distant, far away...
“Emma!” I jump as she barks at me, the shock overriding the realisation that the Magic Eight Ball had slipped through my fingers. It rolls down the steps, thumping and bouncing as it falls. I start down after it, followed by despairing threats from my mum. It bounces off the rock face and rolls around the outcrop, out of sight. I run after it, but come to an abrupt stop as Arthur rounded the outcrop at the same time, almost bumping into me.
“Let me guess...” he smiles, holding up the magic eight ball. “Yours?”
I flush a little, smiling.
“You better not let my parents see you.”
“Why?” He grins, handing me the ball. “Are they going to take you away? Or are you about to give in and go home?”
I look down at the orb, and under a veil of swirling blue water, I see words that make my eyebrows shoot up.
“All signs point to No.”
No. My Parents weren’t going to take me away.
No. My Parents couldn’t make me change my mind.
No. I wasn’t going anywhere and I certainly wasn’t giving up.

It was cheesy. God knows it was cheesy, but I look up at Arthur, his lopsided smile waiting a response. Grinning, I leap at him, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. After a brief, shocked pause, I can feel his hands on my waist as he kisses back. I pull away from him, before grabbing his hand, and I lead him with determination back up the steps. My mum stands still, glaring at me with suspicion.
“Mother!” I call up to her from the bottom of the steps, my voice straining against the sea wind but filled with ecstasy all the same. “I’m eighteen years old. I’m an adult. I have my own house, I am in charge of my own campsite. I can’t bake bread but I can live on pie. I dropped out of an English literature course but I can read and write as much as I like out here. I’m not spending time in student clubs but I’m in a relationship with a man... a wonderful man, eleven years older than me. You may not like it but this is my life now, and I’m not going back and I’m not changing.” I find myself brimming with pride, a million passions boiling in my chest as my heart knocks against my ribcage. I look up at her, eyes wide and expectant. I meet her gaze and, for a moment, even the wind seems to hold its breath. After an agonising, intense pause, she raises an eyebrow, and draws her lips into a thin line.
“You’re really happy out here?”
“Yes.” I’m oddly breathless, and I quietly grip Arthur’s hand tighter. It sends a tingle through me when he squeezes back.
“Well.” Mum looks around, breathing deeply, and wipes her eyes. “I suppose I can’t ask for anything other than that.” At that point, we both start sniffing and sobbing, and I take the steps two at a time to hug her. We hug forever, almost as if it was a goodbye hug. A hug saying goodbye to my student life, and to all the trappings and problems that came with it. Halfway through the hug, I become aware of Dad standing beside us, having an awkward conversation with Arthur. Sniffing and laughing at the same time, Mum lets go of me, and we both smile as we look out over the sea. In the distance, I see the small boat chugging out to see us, with a small group of people wearing backpacks and with camping equipment. I’m still holding hands with Mum as we look out over the beautiful mid-morning vista. Arthur moves closer beside me, resting one hand on my waist. He bows his head closer to my ear, his dark eyebrows drawn together, and a crooked smile on his face as he watches the little boat chug nearer to the island.
“You did remember to fix the slogan on the website, didn’t you?”
Dun Dun Dun daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. And that’s the end, cheesed up because I’m in the mood for a happy ending to my long long tale of woe.