Where Have All the Boys Gone? (27 page)

‘Thank you,’ she mouthed to Harry.

He shrugged. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be at all. He realised that in his head when he’d written this bit of the speech, she dashed up, flung her arms around him and kissed him in front of everyone. That was a bit stupid when he thought about it now. He looked at her. Very stupid.

‘Ehm, no, thank
you,’
he said back. Then they both sat down, awkwardly, together.

Ewan McGregor’s speech was short and sweet, along the lines of give Harry all their fucking money or he wouldn’t get his cock out. Then the central tables were cleared back and everyone started to move around the room, murmuring excitedly as a small stage was erected in the middle.

Harry was leaving the table. Katie realised she desperately had to say something to him, but she wasn’t sure what.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

He paused, as if he really wished she hadn’t asked him that question. ‘Toga,’ he mumbled finally, feeling like the biggest loser of all time.

And he left.

Katie squished up with Olivia and Louise over two chairs right in the middle of the front row, where they had already bagsed the best view of the action. All the men had disappeared, and there was a huge buzz of perfume, smoke, coffee, wine and giggling in the air, as the women hurried back from the toilets and checked their wallets for cash.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Olivia.
‘Everyone
is here. Did you spot Richard and Judy?’

‘Is he going to be in a toga?’ asked Katie.

‘Sadly not,’ said Olivia. ‘But I expect Judy will be bidding. What are you grinning about?’ This was directed at Louise, who was sitting with a huge smile plastered over her face.

‘Nothing,’ said Louise. She tried to stop smiling, but failed, the corners of her mouth twitching.

‘And what about YOU?’ said Olivia, turning on Katie. ‘We saw you waltzing in here with your fancy man! Get caught making out behind the tent did you?’

‘No,’ said Katie. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’

She wondered whether to tell her friends about dinner, but decided against it.

‘Well,’ said Louise. ‘Here’s a quick test. “Iain’s a prick – true or false?”’

Katie half-smiled. ‘I think perhaps he’s a bit misunderstood.’

‘Ooohhh,’ said Olivia and Louise together, but there wasn’t time to discuss more, as the lights went down and a drum roll came from the back of the marquee.

‘AND NOW,’ a hugely loud female voice, that Katie thought she recognised from somewhere, came over the PA. ‘WELCOME TO THE FIRST FAIRLISH SLAVE AUCTION!’ boomed out, as the lights came up to reveal, perched on top of the viewing platform, Mrs McClockerty, absolutely resplendent in a sparkling huge sequinned corset, which amply demonstrated her magnificent bosom, and a long velvet skirt. She looked amazing. Katie and Louise nearly fell off their chairs, and the cheering around the room was the loudest heard so far.

Mrs McClockerty was grinning broadly and bellowing
into the microphone stand as if she was doing her last comeback on Broadway. ‘RIGHT! SHUT UP YOUSE! YOU’LL FIND A CARD UNDERNEATH YOUR CHAIRS WI’ A NUMBER ON IT. IF YOU WANT TO BID, HOLD UP THE NUMBER, AND YOU WILL BE HELD TO IT. DO YOUSE UNDERSTAND?’

Everyone bawled lustily.

‘AH CAN’T HEAR YOU!’

‘WAAAAH!’ screamed the crowd.

‘Winning bidders will be entitled to twenty-four hours of
full
service from the slave on a date of their choosing, including at least one skill! All right!’ said Mrs McClockerty. ‘Now, lot number one…’

There was a noisy drum roll from the back, and the first of the techies bounced on stage, waving his arms in the air. He was wearing a sheet that didn’t quite conceal a pair of tartan boxer shorts.

‘Hello!’ he bellowed into the microphone, ‘my name is Seamus Hannigan, I’m twenty-eight years old, five feet nine inches tall and can provide many special services around the home, including computer mending, web design, technical drawing and erotic foot massage!’

Seamus wiggled his bum provocatively to mass screams from the audience, and the numbers started going up almost immediately.

‘And I have fifty…sixty…seventy…one HUNDRED pounds…one hundred and twenty…fifty…one seven-five…one ninety…TWO HUNDRED pounds…two hundred and twenty…thirty…going for thirty…great foot massage…going once, going twice…’ Mrs McClockerty smashed a mallet onto a stool. ‘SOLD for two hundred and thirty pounds to number 119.’

Number 119 squealed with delight, revealing herself to
be a tiny porcine brunette. In piggy hooves, she ran up to the stage, where Seamus attempted to pick her up and carry her off, failed, dropped his toga and finally grabbed her podgy fingers and ran out of the marquee, both of them giggling hysterically all the while.

Next was Willie the ghillie, at whom Louise wolf-whistled approvingly. Wisely, after promising to catch a pheasant as a skill, which didn’t rouse too much interest amongst the provincial ladies, he let his toga drop from his shoulders and revealed a set of pecs of which Justin Timberlake would have been proud. Bids multiplied accordingly.

‘Not bidding, Louise?’ said Katie slyly.

‘I, uh, no…ha, no…I mean, I’m nearly skint and, let’s face it,’ Louise swallowed hard, ‘probably fired.’

‘Hmm,’ said Katie. She’d forgotten about Louise’s job, though not, it seemed, as readily as Louise had.

A line of farmers were despatched into the baying crowd of women, who were getting increasingly worked up, screeching themselves into a frenzy, when little Lachlan turned up, wearing a pillowcase and promising a place to rest their pint glasses. The money was heading well north of five hundred quid, and Katie was almost allowing herself to think of the next thing they’d do with the money: lawyers’ fees and advertisements in newspapers. Not that she’d be here, of course, she told herself sternly. She’d be far away.

Laird Kennedy did not look at his best, even wearing two sheets in the manner of a Roman Emperor. It ill behoved his ancient lineage to be marching up and down in his bedclothes in front of hundreds of, by now, near hysterical women. He cleared his throat in front of the mike and didn’t seem quite his normal bombastic self.

‘Uh…Well…um, this is my house.’

‘TWO GRAND!’ screamed a high-pitched female voice from the crowd, unable even to wait to put her number up. Chaos kicked off.

‘It’s not getting a bit
dangerous
back there do you think?’ said Olivia, twisting her head around as the bidding went up at a ferocious rate.

‘It’s all good,’ said Katie. ‘All cash for us. I tell you what, though, I wouldn’t particularly want to be following this.’

Kennedy went, eventually, for an absolutely eyepopping amount of cash. The room craned to watch the tall, imperious-looking woman in the expensive jewellery come forward to claim her prize. Katie was close enough to the podium to hear her hiss, ‘What’s your title?’ to him, then she turned around and smiled bountifully to the cheering crowd when he answered, ‘Laird’.

The woman waved royally.

‘Can you have children?’ Kennedy asked her
sotto voce.

The room seemed to take a huge breather after this. There was a very definite sense that nobody was going to make more than ten grand, and that they’d just seen the peak of the boys being auctioned off. There was much flouncing off to the toilet and the bar, and the chatter of women just talking amongst themselves rose commensurately.

‘AHEM!’ said Mrs McClockerty, but nobody paid much notice as she welcomed the next toga-clad victim on stage. It was Harry.

‘Harry Barr!’ yelled Mrs McClockerty, face beaming with maternal pride. ‘No need for him to introduce himself, I can tell you he’s the best of the lot here, and if you take him and don’t treat him right, ah can tell you right now, you’re going to have ME to answer to.’ She gestured at herself fiercely. Harry’s face burned even
hotter. ‘I’m telling you, he’s the best one here, so get betting you ENGLISH BITCHES!’

Like a curtain, a complete silence dropped over the room.

Katie, Louise and Olivia covered their faces with their hands.

Mrs McClockerty just stood, glowering, as an agitated murmuring started up in the corner of the marquee. Several people got up and strode out, the rest discussed the insult in shocked tones, which was fair enough, Katie thought, given that they’d come up here and given good money of their own accord, and really didn’t need to be called bitches for the privilege.

Harry stood there, stock still on the podium, looking as though he was about to be hanged by the neck until dead, and as if he would actually rather welcome the experience.

Mrs McClockerty still didn’t seem to realise anything was the least bit the matter. She stared around the room crossly. ‘WELL??? ANYONE???’

Katie sneaked a look over her shoulder. Row after row of women was sitting sullenly, arms crossed, completely different from the baying masses only a few seconds before. She looked at Harry again. Oh, this was just awful. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the floor. Only the tips of his ears were showing, glowing bright pink. A terrible silence was hanging in the air.

Katie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up out of her seat. In her clearest voice, she shouted, ‘One hundred pounds!’

Harry’s head shot up, and he looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

‘ONE HUNDRED POUNDS!’ Mrs McClockerty was shrieking, but Katie hardly heard her. She and Harry were
staring straight at each other, and, oddly, it felt as if there was nobody else in the room. Almost unwittingly, she found herself moving a step towards him. Likewise, almost in slow motion, Harry stretched out his hand towards her.

‘Going ONCE!’ screeched Mrs McClockerty. She looked down. Lachlan was tugging at her skirt. She bent down as he whispered in her ear.

Katie and Harry were still staring at each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the room. Katie was just reaching up her hand to take his. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, but it felt terribly natural to be doing so.

‘AHEM,’ said Mrs McClockerty, her beetle brows coming very low as she hollered into the mike. ‘It has come to my attention that I may, in fact, have been a wee bittie hasty before and insulted a lot of youse.’

‘Ya big fat bitch!’ came a heckle from the back of the tent, to widespread laughter.

‘So, I’ve been ordered to say “sorry”.’ She looked as though this was an extremely difficult thing for her to get out. ‘And, to add to that, if you bid for the lovely Harry Barr, you will also, ahem, get the opportunity to…
what
was that, Lachlan?’ Lachlan whispered into her ear again. ‘Cake? Really?’ She looked furious. ‘OK. Whoever bids for Harry also gets to pelt me with cake.’

At this, there was a renewed outburst of cheering. Mrs McClockerty stroked her sequinned top with a sigh.

‘ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY!’ yelled a voice from the back.

‘TWO HUNDRED!’ came another.

Immediately, the spell was broken. Harry stood up, looked around, shuffling awkwardly on the spot. The bidding increased; people knew who he was and he was
the reason some of them had come there in the first place. The figure went up and up, and he stayed, looking miserably at Katie, with Mrs McClockerty’s hand firmly clamped on his arm, as the sums mounted. Women were on their feet, clustering around the podium, and Katie suddenly felt very claustrophobic. She had to leave. She got up and headed for the bathroom, closely followed by Louise.

‘What’s up?’ asked Louise, as Katie leaned her forehead against the cold white tiles. They’d left the Portaloos to their own devices and slipped into the downstairs cloakroom of the main house, which felt cold and quiet. There were a few people strolling around, couples talking quietly in corners; assignations being arranged. But there was nobody in the large bathroom, for which Katie was profoundly grateful.

Katie rubbed her hand over her eyes.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Here’s the thing.’

Louise nodded expectantly.

‘How long have you known me?’

‘Eight years?’ said Louise.

‘And during that time, we’ve talked a lot about boys, right?’

Louise nodded heartily.

‘About boys we’ve liked and about boys who’ve been nasty to us?’

Louise nodded.

‘And boys we’ve chased and boys we thought were rubbish?’

‘What’s your point?’

‘Have we ever been liked by two boys at once?’

Louise squealed.
‘Really?’

‘Hmm,’ said Katie.

Louise tried to get her head around it. ‘Two men really fancy you?’

‘I know! I feel like Jennifer Aniston!’

‘Wow,’ said Louise. ‘I don’t even know what kind of advice you’d give for something like that.’

‘I know,’ said Katie. ‘We’re in uncharted waters.’

She reapplied a dark red lipstick she’d found that went exactly with the dress.

Louise looked at her, shaking her head. ‘You seem awfully cool about this.’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Katie. ‘One is a dickhead and one’s

‘Your boss,’ said Louise. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she said when she saw Katie’s shocked face. ‘What, you think I’m an idiot? He’s a complete hunk and, oh, by the way – you just tried to buy him.’

Katie heaved a sigh. ‘Well then. So, you know, it’s probably best to ignore this whole thing and, you know, just go home, and…’ Her eyes dropped to the floor. ‘It’s just so complicated.’

‘What? Arse bollocks!’ said Louise. ‘This will NEVER happen again! You’ll probably not even have one person in love with you again. You’re completely wearing out your quota right now. This is your last ever chance for love!’

‘Could you stop saying things like that?’

‘No, I mean it. We’re not getting any younger, and you get two blokes. I mean, what are the odds? This must be the end! You’re going to have to choose!’

‘Of course I’m not,’ said Katie, trying to sound convincing. ‘I’ve given up Scottish men for good.’

‘OK,’ said Louise. ‘Hypothetically, if you hadn’t just said something completely crazy…if you had to choose one, which one would you want?’

Katie thought about it. ‘I…I don’t…you know, Iain hurt me really badly.’

Louise nodded.