I don't own or claim ownership of Monarch of the Glen or any of its characters, plotlines, etc., nor am I making money off of them.

They are the wonderful creation and property of BBC Scotland and Ecosse Films.

Feel free to let me know what you think! I love reading reviews and keep them in mind when I write=)

Chapter 10:

"Lexie! What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving? Why?"

"There's no life for me here, Irene. I need a new start."

"Lexie!...Lexie!"

"You can't do this."

"I've paid you rent!"

"No. I mean it's not that. It's just that..."

"What Irene?"

" You're running away from your problems, not solving them."

"Oh, aye? And what would you about that with your perfect life, and your great job, and...and...your blonde hair!"

"I admit I probably haven't had things as hard as you."

"You got that right!"

"But I think I do know something about running away from my problems."

"Do you?"

"Lexie that other night when I was banging on about how you and Archie weren't a good fit."

"You didn't 'bang on,' but yeah?"

"I was wrong. I was...well...angry, jealous."

"Jealous?"

"My boyfriend, just broke up with me."

"How long were you together?"

"Two years. We were...pretty serious."

"And you thought Archie and I had something you didn't?"

"Yes. It's not that I like Archie, not romantically at any rate. Not my type really. But you were so...happy..."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"Aye. Of course I can. Actually I should thank you."

"Thank me?"

"You were right really, about Archie."

"Oh Lexie-I was blowing hot air, I didn't mean a word I said."

"Think about it Irene. Someone like me with someone like Archie. It was never going to end well."

"Oh Lexie, I wish I could change your mind. I fear you're doing something you'll always regret."

"My minds made up. I already bought the tickets. I'm off for Leeds tomorrow morning."

Suitcase in hand, Lexie squeezed into the narrow bus shelter, partially protecting herself from the deprecations of wind and rain.

"Hope we're not having a repeat of the Burns' Day Storm*," an older lady whispered.

Lexie barely acknowledge the remark. It was cold, and she was wet, and she very much doubted whether the course she was taking was the right one. Irene had nearly changed her mind last night, almost convinced her to stay. She told herself that she wasn't just leaving on account of Archie, that Leeds would open up new opportunities, a whole new life. And if that didn't work out, there was Manchester, Liverpool, London-she'd love a chance to see Big Ben, or perhaps stroll around Harrods for a bit.

But somehow, all these rationales and possibilities seemed faded, disingenuous, unattractive. What she really wanted was here, in Glasgow, packing for his trip to Glenbogle.

Fortunately (or so it seemed) Lexie was not left alone with these thoughts. The long-awaited coach bus was swinging into its spot, soaking the would-be passengers along the curb as it sloshed through an unusually large puddle.

By the time Lexie had queued onto the bus, paid, found a seat, and made some attempt to dry off, the bus was moving again.

The bus seemed to creep out of the station and onto the congested roads at a snail's pace. Lexie glanced at the map in the bus brochure she picked up after buying her ticket. The route ran straight through the heart of the city, before getting on the A74**. Lexie settled back in her chair and tried to sleep. I would be a slow start, passing many of the landmarks of Glasgow. The last thing she needed was to get all sobby now at the start of her trip. Unfortunately, the noise and bustle of the crowded bus, together with the constant braking and sharp turns, conspired to keep her awake. She finally gave up and stared out the window. Past the rain droplets, she could just barely make out the form of the Gallery of Modern Art. Once again Wellington stood there, a traffic cone perched ridiculously on his head. Once again, a policeman was trying, largely in vain to remove the object.

Lexie sighed. She could relate to that policeman. She knew what it meant to be made a fool of, to be the subject of ridicule and prejuduce. She too had embarked on an endless, impossible quest for dignity, for a scrap of honor, to try escape who she was, and who her parents were and become something better, something respectable. It was not a dream. Dreams were for bairns. And Lexie McTavish was a grown-up. She had to earn respect by working hard and trusting no one. That was the only way. She would remove the ridiculous traffic cone off her head everyday, if it meant that she no longer had to endure the hurt of rejection and failure ever again.

But then something happened.

The policeman stepped on a particularly wet spot of stone. Inevitably, he slipped and tumbled to the sidewalk, arms flailing. There was cheers and applause as the policeman got back up and made an effort at brushing the dirt and wet off his uniform.

"The polis caught it that time. How does it feel, eh!?" one passenger taunted.

"Had enough, copper?" shouted another.

The policeman stared up at the traffic cone, then at the bus, then back at the traffic cone, shielding his eyes with his hand. Suddenly, a great smile appeared on his face. He tipped his cap and bowed in a gesture of honorable defeat the Duke himself would have admired, and then walked calmly away.

Lexie was astonished. What a brilliant idea! Why try to be someone she wasn't? Wy attempt the impossible?

Sure she wasn't excatly the Queen Mum, and her past hadn't been all roses and tulips-heck she couldn't pick out matching clothes (or so Archie had kindly hinted)- but that was okay. She was Lexie McTavish, and she had something to offer the world too!

Before she had given it all a second thought, she yanked the string running along the side of the window, signaling the driver to stop. Gathering up the few possessions she had taken with her, Lexie rushed off the bus and sprinted to the nearest payphone.

She inserted the coin, punched the number on the keypad and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Arch, this is Lex. Is it too late to tag along on that visit to Glenbogle?"

To be continued...

*The Burns Day Storm was one of the strongest windstorms in recorded European history, striking the British Isles and Northern Europe on January 25, 1990-which happens to be the birthday of celebrated Scottish poet Robbie Burns.
**Now M74. It is a fairly large highway that ultimately leads from Glasgow to London, (it appears to turn into M6 at Carlisle). It has been extensively upgraded since 1990.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.