Where Have All the Boys Gone? (16 page)

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

‘Does Iain know?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Harry. ‘I’m sure he does. I think trying to piss off his own father would be quite up Iain’s street.’

This was weirder and weirder.

‘What’s this all about?’ asked Katie. She put her pen down.

Harry sighed heavily. ‘Well,’ he began. ‘Once upon a time there were two little boys…’

‘I KNEW it!’ said Katie.

‘What?’

‘You were at school together and both fell in love with the same beautiful woman?’

‘At Dornoch Academy? No. Believe me, our school was not overrun with beautiful women. Or ugly ones. Did you know Fairlish has the lowest number of women in the country?’

‘I did, actually, yes.’

‘You and that daft friend of yours have doubled it overnight. I’m surprised you’re not overrun with offers.’

‘Not really,’ said Katie, desperate to deflect attention, in case he mentioned Iain. Heck, she was practically sleeping with the enemy.

Harry grinned. ‘Why, have you let them get to know your personality?’

‘Ha ha. Shut up. Is this story about a woman?’

Harry’s face dropped. ‘Well, it is in a way.’ He paused. ‘Look, I’m not sure I should…’

‘Just tell me,’ said Katie softly. ‘I promise, I’ll keep quiet.’

‘Forgive me if I’m not that impressed by that…’

‘I know. I don’t deserve to be trusted.’

He looked at her. ‘I think it says something about how few people there are in this town to talk to that I still want to tell you. How depressing is that?’

‘It’s up to you,’ said Katie.

Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his head, as if stimulating his brain to come up with an answer.

‘Iain and I were great friends,’ he started, softly. ‘He practically lived around mine. His mum was – is – a mouse, and I think I could tell his dad was a right prick even then. Iain could always get around his mother, that’s why he’s such a good flatterer.’

Interesting, thought Katie, filing it away for future reference.

‘My mum really liked Iain. He was such an outgoing little boy. Not like me, really. He was always really cheeky to her and made her laugh. Whereas if it wasn’t for him, I think I’d just have spent all my time wandering about in the woods.’

Katie nodded.

‘And then Mum got sick…and, well, Iain didn’t come around any more.’

‘Why not?’

‘His dad wouldn’t let him.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Iain’s dad is kind of the local big shot…does a lot of building works. And he’d built the factory where Mum worked. They said quite a lot of people got sick after they’d worked there. Nothing was ever proved or taken to court or anything. But he didn’t want our families mixed up. Just in case. Or maybe he thinks thyroid cancer is catching, who knows?’

Katie felt an inexplicable urge to take Harry in her arms and give him a cuddle.

‘Anyway, that’s why I’m not so fond. Of him. Or his dad.’

‘It wasn’t Iain’s fault, really, was it?’ protested Katie. ‘I mean, he was a child, he had to do what his dad said.’

‘He was twelve,’ said Harry. ‘And we spent our lives sneaking places. But he never bothered sneaking over to us. So, well, so. Who cares anyway? It’s not really important.’

‘It is,’ said Katie. She leaned out and patted him gently on the hand. Francis rolled a lazy eye towards them from where he was dozing on the floor. They were silent for a moment, whilst Katie searched for something comforting to say without accidentally blurting out ‘they’ll build that golf course over my dead body’ or something equally terrible and tactless.

‘So,’ said Harry, after a very long pause. ‘Still glad you’re not fired?’

Katie nodded. Though inside she was feeling very mixed up about Iain. Surely, when you were so young, and had a really aggressive parent…of course Harry would hate him, that was beyond question. But it wasn’t his fault, not really. Kids didn’t even understand dying or stuff like that. Plus, that would explain why Iain didn’t get on with his own father.

‘Did he ever try to apologise?’ she asked quickly.

‘Iain? Yes. So what?’

‘Nothing,’ said Katie, but she felt slightly relieved. There you go. Such an awful misunderstanding when they were children, and Harry had been so cut up about losing his mother he’d never been able to forgive him. Understandable, but it didn’t make Iain an evil person. She could even understand Iain’s point of view – he was
probably really pissed off after all this time that he couldn’t even talk to his old friend. Her heart leaped. Maybe, by their work on this, she could bring them back together. Then Harry would be happy and not miserable all the time, and she and Iain could get together and everything would be great and, and, well…There she let her fantasy peter out. Um, maybe they could all move to London, or Surrey or something – it had a forest, didn’t it? – and she and Iain could rear organic chickens or something.

‘Are you still here?’ said Harry. ‘You look miles away.’

‘I was feeling sorry for you,’ said Katie stoutly. ‘Didn’t think you’d want pity.’

‘ ’Course I don’t,’ said Harry gruffly. ‘I want plans. And lunch. You?’

‘You go,’ said Katie. ‘I had enough breakfast to fuel a battleship. Let me get some thoughts on paper.’

‘Letting children sponsor a woodland creature?’

‘Actually, I think most kids would rather shoot the woodland creatures. Plus, nobody ever wants the snakes and beetles and stuff, and all the special interest groups get pissed off.’

‘Special interest
groups for beetles?’

‘You have no idea,’ said Harry. ‘This is one tough job.’

‘OK. Road blockades and we build a big wall across the trees.’

‘That would be a good idea, Katie, only it’s illegal and would result in us being sent to prison.’

Katie glanced at her clipboard. ‘So bribing the planning committee should probably go too?’

‘I think my aunt’s breakfast is addling your brain.’

After phoning Olivia, who had sent them that morning
by Federal Express three packets of Fairtrade coffee and a cafetiere, even though she personally never touched caffeine, wheat or carbohydrates and who was delighted that the whole thing was moving, and pouring lovely coffee for Louise and Craig the Vet who popped in, Louise blabbering on somewhat incoherently about the miracle of lamb birth (though without mentioning the miracle of Clara and Max’s imminent birth, thankfully) and Craig making gagging gestures over the coffee until she put six sugars in it, Katie had tried to get down to business. It wasn’t as easy as she’d envisaged to come up with a brilliant forest-saving scheme.

In fact, there wasn’t – short of confronting Iain’s dad, which felt like a terrible idea on about sixteen different levels – one single solution at all. They needed at least three categories – money-raising, media and direct action – and goodness knows how many approaches.

‘Getting all the other woodland folk out on a march.’

‘When you say “woodland folk”, you do mean people working for other forests, and not elves and pixies and what not?’

‘Of course,’ said Katie. ‘Sadly.’

‘Well, maybe,’ said Harry. ‘But a lot of them have already been forced into our position. They might not be that disposed to taking our side, when they haven’t saved their own areas and have ended up with holiday parks strewn all over them.’

‘One of those naked “Calendar Girls” calendars, except with hot-looking local boys? Louise can do the research.’

‘For the fiftieth time, I don’t want any arses in this campaign, blue or otherwise.’

‘OK,’ said Katie. ‘Plus, we really need to do a benefit. A big party, to raise money for the fighting fund. Then we can buy advertising, and come up with slogans and
do mailshots and proper things. We don’t necessarily have to man the barricades, we just need to suggest we might, and that we’ll make so much trouble they’d better go somewhere else.’

Harry looked askance at this. ‘That doesn’t seem very fair, does it? If we win, then they just go off and ruin somebody else’s beauty spot.’

‘We can’t help that,’ said Katie. ‘Our goal is Fairlish, not declaring golf jihad on the entire world.’

Harry nodded. ‘OK. Yes. I see. Right. Well, where shall we have a big party?’

Katie thought about the Laird’s house. ‘What about asking Kennedy?’

‘His house is falling down!’

‘Well, we’ll just have to have the party on a night it doesn’t rain.’

Harry snorted. ‘Good luck with that.’

‘Think positive! We can hire a marquee and stick it in his garden!’

‘What with? We’d be better off getting Willie to build a big bothy.’

‘We sell tickets for the party, hire the marquee and use the rest of the money left over.’

‘How much were you thinking of charging for tickets? What is this filthy coffee by the way?’

‘It’s called proper coffee, as opposed to the gravy granules you drink.’

‘Well, it tastes weird and bitter and horrible.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘I don’t want to get used to it. Why should I want to drink something I have to get used to? Apart from beer, I mean.’

Harry poured away an entire cafetiere full of Katie’s precious stockpile down the sink.

‘Don’t do that!’ she screamed, too late.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve got plenty here,’ he said, brandishing the catering tub of Nescafé that was all stuck together with sugar grounds and smelled of sawdust and Francis.

‘Anyway, I was thinking one hundred pounds,’ said Katie.

‘To hire a marquee? Christ,’ said Harry.

‘No.
Per ticket. Hiring the marquee will cost about a thousand.’

Harry nearly dropped his new coffee. ‘You are kidding.’

‘No.’

‘One hundred pounds
per person?’

‘Yes. Francis can come for free.’

‘I don’t think people will pay that.’

‘Of course they will,’ said Katie cheerfully. ‘It’s for a good cause. And we’ll get sponsors in, and auction prizes and try and get celebrities – do you know anyone who lives in the area?’

‘The Queen,’ said Harry. ‘But I don’t know if she’d do it.’

‘No, probably not. Anyway, we’ll think of something, ask all the posh nobs in Scotland. As soon as people find out they’re going to be in the newspaper they’ll pay anything. We’ll get
Hello
magazine to come and things.’

Katie was conscious she was talking faster and faster to try and make it all sound possible, but meanwhile, on top of dealing with Harry’s frankly disbelieving expression, her heart was racing, thinking about how she was going to organise everything, pull in a lot of favours, get everything sorted, convince the town, find some bloody attractive women to show up to get the local men to come, and, most of all, how to handle Iain. Without him
onside, she would never get this thing off the ground. But if she were friendly with Iain, Harry would have a shit fit of gargantuan proportions. Things were about to get tricky.

Katie slipped up the spiral staircase towards the newspaper office as unobtrusively as she could. It was a wet and windy morning a few days later, and the damp cobbled streets were deserted. She and Louise had been laying low – Katie making plans all day at work, then the two of them whispering into the night in the television lounge which, thankfully, had finally been vacated by the cadaver. Mrs McClockerty had continued her positive campaign of feeding them up to fight the good fight, and as a result of that and no longer being able to go into the bakery for fear of being bullied, the two of them had adopted the Atkins diet and were eating nothing but sausages and eggs. They both felt faintly nauseous all of the time, but oddly thinner.

Katie hadn’t heard from Iain at all. She wondered if she should have called him, to thank him for the articles in the newspaper – which was keeping up a daily barrage of vitriol and mustering dissent. No, that would look weird.

She realised as she read the pieces that the name of the person responsible for developing the golf course was
never mentioned – it was always a ‘corral of shadowy businessmen’ or a ‘sinister group of faceless suits’, never personalised. No doubt this was deliberate, but there seemed to be a real depth of outrage to the writing.

As a result, Katie couldn’t walk down the street without people coming up to her and asking what they could do, and whatever it was, they had four pitchforks and an air rifle on standby. At first she’d try to explain about the benefit, which didn’t go across quite as well as the blue arse and total war idea had. Finally, she started telling people that they had to give her a hundred quid for the fighting fund, but they’d get invited to a really good party, and that seemed to do the trick.

In London, Olivia had promised faithfully to hike up every single one of her clients with even the tiniest Scottish connection, pester the life out of Sharleen Spiteri, Kevin McKidd and Ewans Bremner and McGregor (‘but not Sean, darling, he’s the biggest golf fiend you could possibly imagine’), and was anxiously enquiring after Louise.

‘She’s gone native,’ said Katie. ‘Honestly, she’s like those police officers that go after drug dealers and get addicted to heroin. She’s romancing half the town and kind of living out this James Herriot thing.’

‘In denial, do you think?’ asked Olivia seriously. ‘I have some crystals for that.’

‘I think you could call it that,’ said Katie. ‘I prefer “mass hypnotic psychosis”. She hasn’t mentioned Clara at all.’

Olivia sighed. ‘Well, that’s not going to help.’

‘I don’t know why not. If she keeps taking all this leave, Max’s kid will be born, grow up, turn eighteen, leave home and all her problems will be over.’

In fact, Katie thought the fresh-air therapy Louise was
getting up here was a pretty good thing, even if she did come in from long walks in the fields rhapsodising and a little manic. What else was she supposed to do, stay at home in NW5 drinking martinis and getting boffed by twats?

‘I know I should send her home,’ said Katie. ‘The problem is, she’s really handy up here. She’s got to know all the blokes, and is persuading them to come along and sign up for helping out.’

‘How?’ said Olivia suspiciously. ‘I’m not paying her, you know.’

‘I know you’re not going to pay her, she likes it. And it’s good for her. Anyway, she’s taking a leave of absence from work. She told her boss the baby news had made her so emotional she was likely to start wailing in front of the clients, and that scared them skinny, so they’ve given her a month to get over it.’

‘Well, that’s good. You know, if she’s up there helping. For free,’ said Olivia, not sounding remotely happy about it at all. ‘Meanwhile, what am I supposed to be doing down here by myself? Joining the Rambling Society? Taking an evening class? You know, living this hilarious independent single life with your girlfriends isn’t half as much fun without your girlfriends, do you see what I’m saying?’

‘Sorry,’ said Katie. ‘We shouldn’t be that long, should we? And you can come up for the big party.’

‘My therapist says I should stay away from parties,’ said Olivia darkly. ‘They stress me out too much.’

‘What are you supposed to do for fun?’

‘Ashtanga yoga, I think.’

‘You know, I am trapped up in the back of beyond with two people who won’t work with each other and a depressed nymphomaniac on my hands, and you make
squillions and live in Butler’s Wharf,’ said Katie, ‘but sometimes I’m still really glad I’m not you.’

Staying out of anyone’s way in Fairlish was never going to be possible for long, plus Katie had to admit that she was dying to see Iain. If only she hadn’t been such a prissy drowned rat the last time she’d seen him. Suddenly Katie was conscious she was wearing her best trousers. And anyway, she had to take the artwork in for the advertisement. They were running a large box that said:

This time when she had to stare down Archie at the entrance she didn’t care.

Plucking up her courage, Katie flounced into the office. ‘I’m going to see Iain,’ she announced.

‘Oh, OK. Would you like a cup of tea while you’re in there?’ said previously nasty Archie, in a kind voice that completely belied his thunderous appearance. Katie was getting tired of doing double takes. She hadn’t changed, she was still the English witch, but now she was being tolerated, almost revered. Well, dum de dum.

‘Dum de dum,’ she announced loudly, walking in.

Iain was building a fort on his desk out of Sellotape. He looked up guiltily and quickly covered it with newsprint.

‘I’m beginning to think maybe Archie’s not worth
the money,’ he grumbled, sweeping the tape onto the floor.

They looked at each other.

‘Why are you looking so cross with me?’ said Iain finally. ‘I’m the one who’s been slogging his guts out for your cause without so much as a hello from you to tell me you weren’t dead in a gully from crashing your rubbish car.’

‘My car isn’t rubbish,’ said Katie, caught off guard.

‘No, actually, your driving is rubbish. I was trying to be tactful.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Katie, stumbling slightly. ‘I meant to say thank you. I’ve been really busy.’

‘Well, I know that,’ said Iain. ‘I haven’t exactly been fishing either. It’s no joke when the phone goes every two minutes and it’s the
Sun
wanting to know when they can come along and photograph the 5,000 blue arses.’

‘That really is coming up a lot,’ said Katie. ‘Maybe we should do something. In front of a big yellow bulldozer.’

‘Well, of course you should,’ said Iain. ‘It’s all in the press, ken.’

‘Harry thinks it’s a bad idea.’

‘Then you should definitely do it.’

Katie gave a half-smile. ‘Iain, I…’ She couldn’t quite think how to proceed. ‘Iain, I know about your dad.’

‘I think we’ve got a new mouse,’ Iain was saying. Then he stopped. ‘What?’

‘A
new
mouse?’

‘What was that about my dad?’

‘Harry told me about your dad.’

‘He told you
what
about him?’

Katie quickly decided that this was not the time to go into the story of Harry’s mother. ‘That he was planning the golf course.’

Iain stopped fiddling about on his desk. ‘What else did he tell you?’

‘Um, just that. I think. Was there anything else?’ Katie realised she was being an idiot, panicked and blurted out, ‘Oh no. Um, hang on, actually, yes. That you never went to see his mum when she was dying.’

Iain heaved a big sigh. ‘God, I wish that man would get over himself.’

‘Isn’t it true?’ asked Katie, eager to hear his side.

‘That’s not the point. The point is, we were kids, it was a really difficult time and my dad told me to stay away for the good of the family. I was frightened; she looked really terrible and puffy and sick. I didn’t know what it was, did I? And what was I supposed to do, climb out of the window in the dead of night?’

‘Harry says she really liked you.’

‘I liked her too. She was great. We used to have a brilliant time.’ He looked nostalgic for a moment. ‘Harry and I would disappear at six in the morning and be gone all day – my parents wouldn’t care less, but Mrs Barr would make us egg sandwiches to take with us. We’d eat them straight away and come back absolutely starving.’

‘What did you do all day?’

‘Played in the woods mostly. My mother was trying to bring me up as one of those non-gender-biased children, so I couldn’t have any guns or anything in the house. So we basically used to go to the forest, pick up sticks and play stuff with them. Well, we’d start off playing stuff. We’d usually end up hitting each other about. You know it doesn’t get dark here until about half eleven at night in the summer?’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘We’d stay out as long as we could stand the midges. We would be so hungry, and his mum would
always feed us. I practically lived at their house.’ He looked sad. ‘You know, I was only wee. You’ve no idea…I mean, she went bald and everything. I was scared too. I was terrified. He’s not the only one who misses her, you know. I tried to apologise and tell him I was sorry, but you know what boys are like. I’m sure I didn’t get myself across right at all, and after that I just thought, fuck him, if he can’t take an apology. Then he got that stupid job with the forestry department and his girlfriend left him and he went right up himself and…well, we’ve kind of fallen out ever since.’

He said the last bit looking shamefaced, and suddenly Katie could imagine what they were like at ten, running out to the woods to play cowboys and Indians or, probably around here, Scotsmen and Englishmen.

‘Don’t you think it’s about time you made it up?’ she asked gently.

‘What, now my dad’s trying to cut down his bleeding precious forest? Not bloody likely.’

‘Maybe you could unite against him.’

‘Yes, that will help my relationship with my dad.’ Iain looked pained. ‘You know, I’m caught between…between a tree and a hard place here. I’m just trying to do the right thing.’

At this, the doubts that were in Katie’s mind evaporated, and she looked at Iain with an open heart. He looked so helpless standing there that she went over to him and put her arms around him.

‘It’s going to be OK,’ she said.

‘I know
that,’
said Iain. ‘It’s just making me crabbit. Pissed off,’ he explained when he saw her expression. ‘Do you know why I work here? Supposedly for a quiet life. Ha!’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Katie.

‘I’m just going to keep out of everyone’s way and not
answer the phone to my parents. I’ve thought it through and I think that’s the most mature way of handling things.’

‘Running away?’

‘It’s working for your friend Louise.’

‘That’s true.’ Katie thought for a moment. ‘But we’ve got so much to do! For the ball and for the fighting fund, and, you know, the blue-arse thing. You’ll all meet then.’

‘Well, I don’t see why I’ll need to see my dad – he’s hardly contributing to the fighting fund now, is he? And I see your Mr Barr all the time, can’t be off it here. It doesn’t come to blows, don’t worry. We’re what you’d call “icily polite”.’

‘Icily polite. Hmm. Well, that’s a lot to work with,’ said Katie.

Iain immediately snapped upright. ‘Work! That’s what we’ve got to talk about.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re booked on a radio show tonight. That’s why I summonsed you.’ He looked slightly guilty.

‘You didn’t “summons” me – I came to place this ad!’

‘I know. Sorry. I should have phoned you before.’

‘
I’ll
say.’

‘No, but listen. You’re on the radio tonight. I was just about to ring you.’

‘What? What radio?’

‘You’re in the media aren’t you? You must go on the radio all the time.’

‘No, I get other people on the radio – you’re misunderstanding my entire job,’ said Katie, starting to worry.

‘Well, anyway. It’s at 7.30 tonight. It’s in Ullapool – I’ll drive you if you like. Pick you up at seven?’

He picked up Katie’s ad and studied it with one eye half shut, in a way Katie correctly construed as newsroom showing-off.

‘No no no!’ she said. ‘I’ve never been on the radio before. What do I have to do?’

‘Answer questions from Fergus McBroon. Ach, it’ll be easy.’

Katie was feeling panicked. The idea of speaking in front of other people – particularly people she couldn’t see but who would be sitting at home, judging her – really troubled her.

‘But…what about if I accidentally say “fuck”?’

‘Well, just don’t say it.’

‘What about if they say I’m on air and then I panic, I say “cunt bollock wank wank fuck” and I can’t help myself?’

‘Well, then we’ll take you to the doctor’s,’ said Iain. ‘But really, I’m not sure what you’re afraid of.’

Katie remembered taking a client promoting a particular form of birth control to a controversial early-morning chat show. ‘It’ll just be a quick chat,’ the perky researcher had said. The client had been eviscerated, once by the host and once by the callers. She shivered.

‘I really don’t want to do it…’ she said, biting her tongue.

‘So, who’s going to do it?’ said Iain scornfully. Then he launched into a quite good imitation of Harry. ‘Hmm, not sure about this noo…what not with the golf and all…I say, if I don’t mention it at all, do you think it will go away…’

‘OK, OK,’ said Katie. ‘Pick me up tonight. But not outside Mrs McClockerty’s – if she finds out I’ve been fraternising with the enemy, she’ll cut off our sausage supply.’

The weather could not make its mind up between brief patches of sun, rain, heavy rain and hail, so Katie wore
her biggest coat and hoped for the best. Her stomach was feeling heavy and ponderous, and she hadn’t even thought about dinner. She just tried to remember the advice they gave their clients – ‘be calm, and try to listen to the questions’. She realised now this should be, ‘be calm, and try not to vomit for as long as possible’.