Free Bridge Over the Atlantic by Lisa J Hobman Page B

services for Ruby to do what dogs do and to stretch her legs. She grabbed some chocolate and a bottle of water, from the shop and then they travelled on.
    Glasgow was bustling by the time they were approaching the Erskine Bridge. The cosmopolitan city was bursting with life. People shopping; people dashing around in business suits, carrying briefcases in one hand take-out coffee in the other; obvious tourists with their bags of souvenirs, silly tartan hats and ‘bum bags’. What is it about tourists and bum bags? Mallory mused. She chuckled to herself as she spotted an elderly couple gesturing wildly and fighting with a large, crinkled map that had, apparently, acquired a mind of its own and was flapping, kite-like as they tried to tame it.
    Further down the road they had another brief sojourn at the well-known Green Welly Stop . It was always part of their journey whenever she and Sam came to Scotland . She felt like she was truly on holiday when they pulled into the car park and she glanced up at the cartoon green Wellington boot with its smiley face.
    Twenty minutes or so further on and they were past the Bridge of Orchy with its stunning hotel and out into Rannoch Moor. What Mallory could see of Rannoch moor’s fifty square miles of boggy moorland and rocky outcrops was eerily bleak with its muted colour pallet.  It was utterly breath-taking in its vastness and natural beauty; framed by the Black Mount in its severe, snow-capped splendour, reaching towards Glen Coe in the distance. Mallory’s heart leapt.
    Almost eight hours after leaving her old life behind she had collected the keys from the solicitors and had finally pulled up outside the white painted cottage. It felt good to be here but she really wished that Sam and she had made the journey in tandem as originally planned.
    The heavily laden removals van was going to be another hour or more and so she decided to open the front door into their new haven. The door was stuck and so she had to push it hard, with her shoulder. Once inside she found that the cottage was just how she had remembered it from their visit a few months earlier. It was clean and dry with mainly white-washed walls. A blank canvas. Mallory thought to herself. She let Ruby out into the back garden and watched for a few minutes as the little dog explored, picking up new smell after new smell; her little stubby tail wagging frantically.
    Mallory busied herself unpacking the few essential items she had prepared for their arrival. She plugged in the kettle and took out the mismatched china mugs in readiness. She made herself a quick cup of tea and went to stand in the front garden to admire the view. Just up the road was the beautiful little stone bridge she had fond feelings for. She remembered her first visit here, when Sam had regaled her with his knowledge of the locale.
    “This is the bridge over the Atlantic.” Sam had informed her as they stood huddled together at the mid-point of the pretty little arched stone structure, admiring the view and watching the sun dance upon the water.
    “What? It can’t be!” Mallory had been totally befuddled by the fact.
    “It’s true. The water down there is the Atlantic Ocean. Over there is mainland and over there is the Isle of Seil. The bridge was built in 1792 by an engineer called Robert Mylne.” She had been very impressed with how much research he had done prior to their holiday and she smiled as she remembered his enthusiasm and eagerness to share with her what he had learned.
    As she sat there, cup in hand she mused about how strange things had turned out. A couple of years ago they stood atop the bridge admiring their surroundings and soon, hopefully very soon, when their furniture and Sam arrived, they would be living a literal stone’s throw from that very spot.
    Later, Mallory decided to go for a wander and so she clipped Ruby’s lead onto her collar and strolled away from the cottage to the main road. She paused for a moment on the