Free Sign of the Times by Susan Buchanan Page B

was less likely anyone would realise they weren’t really acquainted and there would hopefully be no awkward moments.   They had arranged to meet at the Little Chef, just off the A80, a midway point between their two hometowns .   Tom had suggested they leave his car at the restaurant and Shirley could drop him off there on Sunday night.   She had told him her registration, so he wouldn’t make a complete idiot of himself.
    Tom needn't have worried.   Shirley was bent over her boot, pulling out hiking boots and a waterproof jacket, when he drew up.   Before she turned around, Tom had a chance to appraise her.   She was very slight, around five feet two and lucky if she weighed seven stone.   Tom at six feet four found himself thinking of their height difference.   Her hair was an ash blonde bob.   She was dressed in hiking thermals and dark trainers.   No Kylie Minogue, but she was certainly cute.

    Shirley whirled around at the sound of the car stopping.   Looking up from beneath thick, unmade-up lashes, she smiled impishly.   He was exactly as she'd imagined.
    "Hi," she said shyly.
    Tom got out of the car, then laughed.
    "Sorry. It's just I feel I should shake hands with you or something.”
    G od he’s tall.   "We can shake hands if you like," Shirley replied solemnly, trying to hide a smile.
    So they did.   Her hands were small, with perfect fingernails.   To his relief she wasn't a nail biter.   Shirley found his handshake firm, yet gentle.   A spark coursed through her.   This weekend could be even better than expected.
    “Shall we go inside?” Tom asked, as they had both been standing like rabbits caught in the headlights.   They found a table and Tom went to get them some coffee.
    Overcoming their shyness quickly, they were soon jabbering away.   Tom finally exclaimed, “What time is it?”
    “Nine thirty.   We’d better get a move on.   Your friend will be wondering where we’ve got to.”
    “I’ll give him a call now.   Let’s go,” said Tom striding towards the door.

    They were only five minutes late and Sam hadn’t appeared yet, so they weren’t quite ready to leave.   Tom introduced Shirley to the guys.
    “Am I the only girl?” she asked incredulously.
    “You’re not a girl. You’re an honorary bloke.   It’s a great honour,” said Jed gravely.
    “Well as long as I know where I stand.   That must mean I get to drink twenty pints of Guinness, enough so’s it puts ‘airs on me chest and I need to find the ugliest females gorgeous after five pints.”
    They all laughed.   Tom looked ather affectionately.   It was going to be a good weekend.  
    Tom and Shirley went with Jed and Sam, when he finally turned up and the others followed.   It was traditional for them to stop off at the Stag’s Head , at the top of Loch Lomond, for a spot of lunch, but they decided to motor on and save themselves for dinner.

    The car park was busy.   As it was a ridge walk, they had to walk seven miles and descend in a different part of the glen, so it made sense to drop one car at the finish.   Tom and Shirley were in the only car which made straight for the starting point.   The others soon returned and they set off at a brisk pace.    The sun shone high above them, casting a golden glow across the heather strewn glen.   A welcome breeze stopped them feeling the real force of the sun.   They walked on, laughing, prattling on and generally being lads and taking the piss.   Shirley, despite her petite form and feminine appearance, gave as good as she got.   They stopped several times to admire the incredible scenery.   Some of the group were keen photographers and took the opportunity to capturethe magnificence of the Highlands.
    “I’m starving,” said Sam.   They had been walking for a good two hours.   Everyone laughed.   He was always first to need fed.   Six times he’d told them since they set out that he was hungry, including once in the car park before they