Where Have All the Boys Gone? (8 page)

‘No, retarded. He’s clearly got some kind of big gay crush on Iain.’

‘Haven’t we all?’ Louise circled some rouge on her cheeks.

‘You’re not coming, you know.’

‘Just a quick drink. Please. I’ve seen the visitors’ lounge here.’

‘What’s it like?’

Louise shuddered. ‘There was an old man sitting in the corner watching
University Challenge.
He didn’t look up when I walked in. I think he was dead and ossifying. Oh, and they can’t get Channel Five.’

‘Big whoop.’

‘…or 4. And ITV is called Grampian and BBC2 is in foreign.’

‘What do you mean it’s in foreign?’

‘I don’t know, do I? It looks like
Postman Pat
and then they all go
“Grbbrrtggtthh tht ht ht th thvvvvv
”.’

‘Interesting. But still, no.’

‘Do you love this guy?’

‘No!’

‘Do you love me?’

‘That is Very Unfair.’

‘You dragged me up here.’

‘You forced yourself on me!’

‘I did not! And…’ Louise pouted her bottom lip in a way Katie recognised both from primary school (natural) and secondary (fake and put on for boys and suggestible male teachers alike). ‘…I’m going through a difficult time. I thought you of all people would understand, seeing as it’s your sister that…’

Katie put her hands over her ears. ‘La la la, not listening! OK. Well, maybe there’ll be another man there for you to talk to.’

‘Are you serious? Are you really considering trying to get off with someone you might have to work against for the next eight months? Wow, you’re very brave.’

Katie hadn’t looked at it this way at all. In fact, ever since Iain had grasped her hand in his, her insides had been on something of a repeater track, like a scrambled record, which went ‘green eyes green eyes snog snog yum yikes snog snog green’, repeated ad infinitum. It didn’t really give her brain much room to process any other information. The practical consequences of the matter – that they were in a very small village, that he may well be married and that whatever the outcome she was almost certainly going to have to see him every day – had faded into the background of the insistent beat of her groin reminding her she hadn’t had sex for five months.

She pretended to give it serious consideration. ‘There are plenty of people who’ve slept with people they’ve worked with and it’s turned out great,’ she said decisively. ‘Don’t you think?’

Louise looked at her as if she was holding a dangerous animal. ‘Umm…’

‘Come on. What about…’ Alas, all that flooded Katie’s mind at that moment was the memory that Louise had met Max when she’d been briefly working at his
office. Suddenly, she had a mental picture of her and Louise in fifty years’ time, with her still treading on eggshells all the time. It was a sad fact that Clara’s act had changed not only Katie and her relationship but Katie and Louise’s too. ‘Ouf,’ she said.

‘Come on,’ said Louise, changing the subject. ‘I hope you’re not wearing your pulling knickers.’

‘I didn’t even
bring
my pulling knickers,’ said Katie as they braced themselves against the wind outside the front door of Water Lane. ‘I just brought my thermal knickers.’

‘Maybe they find that sexy up here,’ said Louise. ‘Brrr.’

One would have thought, given the size of the town, that it would be easy to find one of its two pubs, but after stumbling up and down cobbled stairways for fifteen minutes in a howling gale, they had to concede this would not in fact be the case. Louise shouting ‘taxi’, and standing in the road with her hand up very quickly ceased to be amusing too. At last, panting and red-cheeked, they collapsed down a narrow stairway near the harbour and spotted a tiny doorway with light and heat and smoke exuding from the tiny open window. It looked immeasurably welcoming, and a ceramic statue of a mermaid adorned the wall, the centrepiece of a mosaic of pretty shells.

‘Ooh,’ said Louise, excited.

Katie tentatively pushed open the door into the hubbub of warmth and heat. At first it was hard to get her bearings. The pub was crammed with people, but actually it was little more than a small room. There was a roaring fire at one end, surrounded by strange-looking bellows and brass implements, red velvet stools on the wooden floor around old pitted tables, a dartboard that looked
positively dangerous in such a tiny space and an old-fashioned bar, with golden bar taps gleaming, and large optics clinging to the back wall. Furious fiddle and whistle music was playing.

There were people everywhere, on every available seat, leaning against the bar, hovering around the fire. A couple of dogs dozed blissfully under bar stools.

There wasn’t a single woman there.

The room gradually fell silent as Katie and Louise hung by the door, taking it all in. There were tall men, short men, thin men, fat men. Rough-looking fishermen, with tattoos on their knuckles and salt in their hair. Intense-looking techie men with specs, rucksacked travellers. A couple of tweedy young bufton-tuftons at the bar who could have been (and were) the local laird having a pint with the local vet. Prosperous-looking farmers, furtive-looking labourers. Bald, ruddy country men, withered old men. Men everywhere.

Finally, after a long pause, Louise leaned over to Katie. ‘Is this my surprise party? Or heaven?’

‘Come in if you’re coming then,’ came a voice. ‘Don’t let the weather in noo.’

Somebody said something the girls couldn’t make out, and there came a hearty guffaw from the back. Stiffening, Katie eventually took a small step forward.

Behind the bar was the most extraordinary gentleman. He was precisely the height of the bar itself, with three tufts of hair, one on either side and one on the middle of his head, and his cheeks were ruddy. He looked like a garden gnome.

Space cleared at the bar for them instantly, and Katie and Louise had the uncomfortable experience of settling themselves gracefully on stools whilst being eagerly watched by every single person in the room. Katie had
scanned as many faces as she dared without looking as if she was up for trade, but there was no sign of Iain. Surely if he was there he would have leaped up immediately anyway. She smoothed down her skirt, wondering if perhaps her prized Kenzo Japanese-style skirt was pushing it a bit for in here. Everyone else’s clothing appeared to have holes in it too, but not for fashionable reasons.

‘What can I get you lassies?’ asked the miniature barman. Katie had been going to order a vodka tonic, but didn’t want to put the barman in a difficult position vis-à-vis reaching the optics.

‘White wine please.’

‘Same for me please,’ said Louise.

‘Ah, foreigners,’ said the man, but not in an unfriendly way. He ducked behind the bar and started shifting through what sounded like many bottles and kegs. ‘Now…wine, wine, wine. I know we had it in here somewhere.’

‘I don’t know whether to be over the moon or scared shit-free,’ whispered Louise. ‘It’s like a cross between
The Box of Delights
and
The Accused.’

‘Sssh!’ said Katie as the barman straightened up, beaming and holding up a sticky, dusty bottle of something so old its label had peeled off. It was less white wine than a kind of rusty yellow, and half empty, with a screw top. There was a crust around the top.

‘That looks lovely,’ said Katie politely.

‘Is that Feather’s sample bottle?’ came a masculine voice behind them. ‘Bloody been looking for that for months.’

The tiny publican’s eyes widened. ‘It is too, you know.’

A huge beefy hand reached over their heads and hit Louise on the ear.

‘Oww,’ said Louise. ‘Sorry, I forgot I had an invisible head.’

‘I’ve just stopped you drinking horse piss,’ said the voice. ‘I’d have thought you would have shown a bit more gratitude.’

The girls turned around on their stools. A tall, chunky man with a pink, florid face stood in front of them, in a ratty old tweed jacket.

‘Really?’ said Louise. ‘Or is that the worst chat-up line ever invented?’

The man blinked twice, then smiled. ‘It belongs to Fitz’s mare. ’Course, you’re more than welcome to find out through empirical testing. Lachlan, get us a couple of glasses.’

‘Right away,’ said Lachlan, and busied himself at the back of the bar.

‘I don’t want to come on like a health and safety inspector,’ said Katie. ‘But why are we being served horse piss in a bar? Is it like, a hazing ritual?’

‘I’m sure Lachlan just forgot,’ said the man. ‘Or I forgot to pick it up.’ He took the bottle and put it down by his briefcase, then held out his hand. Both the girls declined to shake it.

‘Craig MacPhee. I’m the vet around here.’

‘Yeah? Or are you just taking the piss?’ said Louise. ‘Ha aha aha.’

He smiled. ‘Can I buy you a real drink?’

‘Yes,’ said Louise promptly.

‘Thank you,’ said Katie. The normal hubbub had restored itself to the pub, as the two women ordered vodka tonics (Lachlan had a little step behind the bar, so it wasn’t difficult at all).

It was a quarter past eight, and still no sign of Iain. Katie sipped her drink as Louise pestered Craig as to whether there was more to vetting than horse piss and sticking your hands up a cow’s bottom.

Finally, the little door pinged to announce another customer’s arrival, and it was Iain, his collar turned up against the chill, his lovely green eyes roaming the room as he hung up his coat, to general murmurings of welcome.

‘Lovely girls! You both came!’ he said as he approached the bar, looking as if they were the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen.

‘Hey,’ Katie said.

‘I hope that’s vodka or gin or something,’ he said. ‘I was going to warn you, this isn’t much of a wine town. Don’t know what you sophisticated London ladies drink.’

‘Oh, any old horse piss does us,’ said Louise.

‘Hmm,’ said Iain. ‘Another?’

Katie realised about halfway through her third vodka and tonic that she was surreptitiously feeling guilty about something, but couldn’t work out what it was until Iain leaned over closely. She could smell his aftershave (nice, something gentlemanly, like Penhaligon’s, which was a huge relief. She didn’t like those blokes who bathed in Egoïste) and felt a little faint. What was he going to whisper? She closed her eyes in anticipation.

‘So, are you going to be my spy at the Commission?’ he whispered quietly. ‘Come on. It’ll be fun.’

She cracked one eye open. ‘Of course not!’ she said. ‘Anyway, spying’s not fun. Look at David Shayler. He put on six stone in prison.’

‘Yeah,’ said Iain. ‘But think of the noble cause.’

‘You’re a journalist! You don’t have noble causes!’

‘Perhaps I’m the exception.’

‘I’ve known you five minutes and you’re trying to bribe me with vodka to spy on my employer!’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Iain. ‘I see. Yeah, I can imagine that,
viewed in a certain way, that could appear a tad suspicious. Another vodka?’

‘Yes please. And anyway,’ she said, feeling bold, ‘maybe I just don’t want to mix business with pleasure.’

His eyes sparkled at her. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘I’s sure there weren’t this many steps on the way down,’ said Louise, as they negotiated their way back to Water Lane.

‘I’s not cold any more,’ said Katie, who was quite fired up by all the vodka and the unaccustomed male attention.

‘Yezz,’ said Louise. ‘Good. I like it here.’ She slipped in a puddle. ‘I hate it here.’

‘Come on.’ Katie put her arm around her shoulders.

‘That Iain is a veh veh veh veh handsome man,’ said Louise, as they turned into the darkened driveway.

‘He is,’ said Katie. ‘Deffo.’

A large bosom loomed at them out of the night.

‘What time do you call this?’ boomed the imperious voice of Mrs McClockerty.

Louise stumbled a little. ‘I call it time to avoid the scary lady in the dark,’ she hiccuped. ‘Katie, there’s a scary lady standing here in the dark. I’m frightened.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Katie to Mrs McClockerty, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘She’s never like this normally.’

‘I should hope not. You’re abominations.’

‘We’re abomiwhats?’ said Louise, who suddenly looked as if she was squaring up for a fight.

‘Nothing. Nobody,’ said Katie. ‘You’re asleep and having a dream. I’m sorry. This won’t happen again.’

Mrs McClockerty sniffed loudly. ‘I’m docking one of your breakfast pieces. EACH,’ she said, then stormed back
indoors, slamming the door behind her. Half dragging Louise, Katie made her way around to the servants’ entrance at the side, thinking of a few alternative uses for the now denied breakfast pieces on Mrs McClockerty, all of which would require the immediate application of a team of highly-trained surgeons.

‘And there isn’t one of those for hundreds of miles,’ she thought viciously to herself. ‘You’d have to make do with Craig the vet.’

It was with a heavy hangover and a rumbling stomach that Katie turned up to work the following morning, feeling slightly bad. She hadn’t agreed to be a spy, but on the other hand, she’d always prided herself on being a professional, and dallying with the enemy, and his gorgeous green eyes, wasn’t exactly professional. She meditated on this whilst trying to get to grips with the antediluvian computer which was so slow she was wondering if she’d missed the handle you had to turn on the back.

‘What’s up with you?’ asked Harry, who had an office of his own, but seemed to spend most of his time in the open-plan section, discussing things with Derek, or out somewhere. ‘You’re looking at my sandwich like Francis does.’

‘I am not,’ said Katie, turning her glance to the screen.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘I’m a girl. We don’t get hungry.’

‘Is Auntie S not feeding you?’

‘Auntie who?’

‘Oh, Mrs McClockerty to you. Senga. S.’

‘Actually, no, she isn’t. We were only allowed one “piece” at breakfast this morning. Which means one slice of bread. I hope you’re not paying too much to keep us in all this luxury.’

Harry laughed out loud. Katie suddenly saw that he had a lovely broad smile, with healthy-looking white teeth. It totally transformed his face when he laughed. It was something he didn’t do much of.

‘What did you do?’

‘What do you mean, what did we do? Nothing. She’s starving us.’

‘I’m sorry, but Auntie S’s One Piece Rule is extremely serious. She’s harsh but fair.’

‘Exactly the qualities one looks for in the hospitality industry,’ said Katie. ‘Anyway, it’s not fair.’

‘What did you do?’ He was grinning now.

‘Nothing.
If you aren’t allowed to go out and explore your local surroundings in a new environment…’

‘Ahh,’ said Harry annoyingly.

‘What? “Ahh” what?’

‘Scooshed?’

‘What?’

‘Were youse scooshed?’

‘Do you mean
inebriated?’

‘I thought so. Don’t go home scooshed, she hates it. Thinks the demon drink is the ruination of young ladies.’

‘We know it is. That’s the point.’

‘Well then, you’ll have to get used to only getting one piece.’

‘Give me a sandwich.’

‘And risk Auntie S’s wrath? You must be joking. Come on, I’d better show you around.’

‘Show me around where? I’ve seen the Woolworths.’

Harry shook his head. ‘How many times did I promise myself I wasn’t going to take on any daft city lassies…’

It quickly became evident that Francis usually sat up front in the Land-Rover and wasn’t delighted at being usurped,
so there was an unseemly tussle of Harry and a flurry of muddy paws before Francis dejectedly slunk into the back. The storms of the night before had abated, and although the breeze was still biting, the world looked washed clean and harshly fresh.

Instead of taking the bumpy cobbled road into town, the Land-Rover bumped around the back of the office and took off down a muddy track, straight into the heart of the forest. The trees closed off much of the morning light far quicker than Katie had expected.

‘This is
coille mhòr,
the forest,’ said Harry. ‘Mostly coniferous trees, planted by us – that’s why they’re in such straight rows. They do a lot for the soil, and they’re useful for lots of timber applications.’

‘Christmas,’ nodded Katie knowledgeably.

Harry looked at her. ‘…including the highly competitive forty-foot Christmas tree market.’

Katie squirmed. So, she hadn’t quite got the sense of scale right.

‘…they also provide a habitat for over two hundred species, including one of the last major outposts of red squirrels in the UK, plenty of deer – actually too many deer. There’s always been deer in Scotland, but we kind of overdid the restocking.’

‘Deer are lovely,’ said Katie, peering to see if she could spot a fawn between the trees and thinking of Bambi. ‘I’m glad there’s lots of them.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Harry. ‘Pretty animals are always the best. Actually, they’re a pest. They clear miles of vegetation and make it difficult for the other animals to survive. Even other pretty ones, like rabbits. Oh no, Katie, how would you decide between them?’

‘Deer,’ said Katie decisively. ‘Definitely. Unless there were otters involved.’

Harry closed his eyes in exasperation. ‘You were really and truly the best your office could come up with to come and work here? Seriously, you’re the cream?’

‘I was joking,’ said Katie defensively.

‘Well, there’s joking and there’s ignorance.’