A Summer of New Beginnings

by Lisa Hobman

  He wagged a finger at her and grinned. ‘Ah, I knew you’d love it.’ He leaned back and placed his feet up on his desk. ‘So, tell me what you thought of Puesta De Sol.’

  The restaurant recommendation had been something she had been sure to make a note of. ‘Oh, Noah, it was incredible. The crab claws were to die for. And the tamales…’

  He nodded. ‘I love their gazpacho,’ he said dreamily with a shake of his head. ‘So fresh and aromatic. I really must go back there soon.’ He suddenly clapped his hands and Zara almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Now, what’s next for Zara Bailey?’

  She knew it was a rhetorical question as she grinned, grabbed her notebook and pen from her bag and straightened her spine. ‘Yes, do tell.’

  He frowned and pursed his lips. ‘Now, you know we’re a team here at The Bohemian and we have each other’s back?’

  She nodded, no clue where he was going with this. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Good… good. Well, I have a real challenge for you. Something for you to get your teeth into. Something different.’

  Her mind began to whir with all the possibilities. Was it going to be some far-flung country in Asia or Africa? Or maybe something on a cruise ship? Her heart skipped in anticipation. ‘Go on’ she insisted, eyebrows raised, body leaning slightly forward.

  He held his hands up in the air and simply said, ‘Scotland.’

  She paused and crumpled her brow. ‘I’m sorry – what? I thought you said Scotland for a moment.’ A nervous giggle escaped her throat.

  He grinned. ‘That’s because I did.’

  Hmm. Okay. Scotland isn’t exactly what I expected but let’s see where he’s going with this. She tried to smile. ‘Scotland?’ She nodded. ‘Scot…land, okay.’ She was trying to appear excited. She knew there were some very luxurious hotels round Scotland but she wasn’t really sure how this would all come together. Then it dawned on her: Scotland was going to be the starting point for some amazing cruise to the Norwegian Fjords or something equally wonderful. Perhaps she would be required to stay somewhere like The Balmoral in Edinburgh before boarding ship or whatever they called it. She’d seen pictures of the rooms there and they really were beautiful. In fact, she was very much aware that the stars loved the place so who might she bump into for a quote for her piece? The cast of Outlander maybe? Hmm… Sam Heughan… yes, please. And Norway… excellent. Another stunning destination she could tick off her list.

  She breathed a relieved sigh. ‘And then where?’

  Noah frowned. ‘I don’t get you.’

  Her palms were sweating and she almost lost the grip on her pen. ‘Well, obviously you wouldn’t want me to write about Scotland. I mean, I usually go to more far-flung places. So, where am I heading off to after starting in Scotland?’

  He lowered his feet to the floor and linked his fingers together, resting them on the desk. ‘Zara, the assignment is Scotland.’

  She was nodding as if she had no control over her head. ‘I see… I see.’

  Noah now wore a serious expression and cleared his throat. ‘It’s like this, Zara – Dillon would be the go-to guy for this assignment but he has today handed in his notice. He’s accepted a position with a rival magazine.’ He almost curled his lip as he uttered the words. ‘So, he’s in the process of packing up his desk for garden leave.’

  This came as a huge shock. Dillon appeared to love his job. The Bohemian was his life; travelling all the wild and rugged places for work was his dream job.

  ‘Oh… I had no idea…’

  Noah nodded slowly, a deep crease crumpling his forehead. ‘Hmm. It was a shock to me too. But anyway, I figured as you’re the other travel writer and you’re a dedicated team player you’d be right up for the challenge.’

  Slowly a realisation began to sink down onto her. Pushing her into her chair, and she felt herself getting lower. ‘You mean… you mean you want me to travel around and stay in youth hostels and bed and breakfasts like Dillon usually does?’ She swallowed hard as a little nausea washed over her. This wasn’t good. The idea of sleeping in places like that not only didn’t appeal to her in the slightest but it gave her the creeps. ‘Don’t you?’ She hoped with all her heart that she was completely wrong.

  Noah sat up straight. ‘Even better! You’re going camping!’

  3

  Zara stared, open-mouthed, at Noah as if he had completely lost the plot. As if his marbles were literally falling out of his ears as he spoke. She tried to wrap her head around the words he had uttered but her mind was in some kind of baffled stupor. Did he really just say camping to the girl who was accustomed to reviewing five-star luxury resorts for a living?

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Noah, but… is this a joke?’ she asked hesitantly, dreading his answer. ‘You seem to be getting me confused with someone who likes the outdoors. I mean… I like being outdoors on the beach or checking out historical places for my reports, obviously, but camping? And Scotland?’ Noah was known for being a prankster; she waited for him to burst into hysterical laughter and do the whole, ‘Ha ha! Your face when I said camping! Of course, it’s a joke!’ But she waited in vain.

  He leaned forward and fixed her with a pitiful gaze. ‘Zara, I know this isn’t your usual bag. I get that. But the fact is that the whole thing is booked. Dillon knew this and he’s still betrayed me; well, all of us really.’ There was a sad yet bitter edge to his usually jovial voice. He huffed and ran his hands through his greying, floppy hair. ‘And I need you to help me out on this. Dillon’s intern simply isn’t ready – in fact I wouldn’t have employed him at all, truth be told, but that’s a story for another day. It’s not something I would normally ask of you, but I can’t let this slip just because Dillon thinks he has bigger fish to fry. We may be a relatively small publication in comparison to others, but we still need to be at the top of our game. I’m counting on you, Zara. You’re my best travel writer as it is. But now Dillon is going you’re my only travel writer.’

  She sighed deeply and an image of her petite body being crushed by a giant rucksack manifested in her mind. ‘But, Noah…’

  He held up his hands. ‘I know. I know. But here’s the thing. Travelarium have got wind of the fact that Dillon is leaving. I got a call from Joel at their head office today. He couldn’t wait to stick his knife in. Sarcastic bastard. Anyway, they’re going to try and get there first. You know they’re already trying to make a name for themselves, and taking a portion of our readership would be a big bloody boost for them. This article would be a perfect inroad, believe me. They’re doing the real nitty-gritty stuff; the Australian outback and the bloody camel rides in Egypt. They’re making us look like we only care about the fluffy, frilly shit. But that was never my intention with The Bohemian. Dillon’s trip was supposed to be a real nuts and bolts piece; a chance to show our readership that we take travel seriously. And that the UK is just as important to us as a publication as the luxury destinations are. We can’t let it go. I won’t, Zara.’ She had never seen him like this. Obviously Dillon’s shock announcement had floored him. But she wondered if there was something behind it all. Was the magazine struggling? Why was he not telling her if that was the case?

  And anyway, what was wrong with fluff and frills? Life was too short to be so bothered about real life and all the crap that came with it. What was wrong with a bit of escapism?

  She realised Noah was still on his rant about Travelarium and snapped her attention back to him. ‘… and the North Coast 500 route is so hot right now, Zara. It’s big news and we need to get in there first. Think of the team, eh?’

  Good grief, next he’ll be telling me to think of the children. Talk about playing for my sympathy. She wasn’t quite ready to acquiesce. Not yet. ‘But surely there must be someone else better equipped and suited to doing the report. Surely there’s someone in the team, maybe a different department, for example, who loves camping and… and all that stuff.’

  Noah closed his eyes briefly and when he opened the
m, he shook his head. ‘Zara, I’ve been let down by my best friend of God knows how many years. You currently have nothing assigned that can’t be put off for a while. I’m sorry but I can’t send anyone else. I need this to be done just right. I need your help on this. Please, Zara? You’re my only hope here.’

  Suddenly the image of Noah dressed all in white with donuts for hair sprang to mind and she had to bite her lip so she didn’t laugh inappropriately at Noah’s Princess Leia-esque plea for help. She twisted her hands in her lap. She loved her job. And if the mag was in trouble she wanted to do all she could to help, obviously. Noah was an awesome boss and she wanted to be the reporter he needed her to be. But this was something above and beyond. She wouldn’t just be stepping out of her comfort zone. She’d be climbing in a spaceship and travelling until her comfort zone was a tiny speck on a distant planet. But she knew how much Noah had done for her. He’d taken a chance on her as a newly qualified journalist and she owed him so much.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I need more information.’

  Noah sat up straight once more, his wide-eyed expression filled with hope. ‘Anything. What do you need to know? Fire away.’

  She cleared her throat, forcing the real question – i.e. Are you insane? – back from her tongue. ‘H-how will I be getting there?’

  He nodded and took a slow, deep breath, which didn’t bode well. ‘Okay, so you’d be going north by train to Inverness. Then you’d pick up your bicycle and—’

  ‘Whoa! Hang on a darn-tooting-minute, here. Bicycle? You never mentioned anything about a bloody bicycle!’

  He frowned. ‘I’m mentioning it now. And you like cycling. You cycle to work and you cycle at weekends. It makes perfect sense.’ He shrugged as if she was daft for not realising sooner.

  Her nostrils flared and the clammy feeling returned to her palms. ‘I cycle for pleasure, yes, but it’s mainly a necessity for work and I’m no Lance Armstrong. How am I supposed to cycle with a backpack on? And… and tents. I’ve never set up a tent in my life. The one and only time we went camping when I was a kid my dad and my older brother did it all. And midges. Scotland is famous for its man-eating midges. Oh, God. I don’t think I can do this, Noah. I’m just not cut out—’

  ‘Hey, hey. Breathe, Zara. It’ll be a doddle. I can show you the tent stuff. You take the trip at your own pace. It’ll be absolutely fine; an adventure even. And there’s this stuff that everyone up in Scotland swears by that you spray on and the midges won’t touch you. Honestly, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you were capable, Zara.’

  She sat in silence for a while to allow the panic to subside. And then another question occurred. A much more pressing one that she really didn’t want the answer to but knew, all too well, she needed. ‘And… and why, exactly, do they call it the North Coast 500, Noah?’

  A wide awkward grin spread across his face and his eyes crinkled at the corners as a blush-red hue spread from his chest up to his cheeks. ‘Well, it’s like this… erm… You know the famous song by the Proclaimers?’

  Zara swallowed hard, knowing exactly to which song he was referring. She nodded slowly, staring at him. ‘Mmm hmm.’

  He held out his hands. ‘Well, at least you won’t be walking five hundred miles, eh?’

  4

  After the traumatic day she’d had Zara called a meeting of her best friends, Shelley and Marco, that would take place in the Dog and Parrot round the corner from the magazine HQ. Ironically outdoors-mad Josh was away camping with his buddies but she knew he would find this latest development hysterical. She’d reluctantly worked late researching the godawful trip that was looming in her near future. She had a month to prepare. A bloody month. Okay, so she was already fit on account of the cycling so she didn’t really need to get in shape as such. But mental preparation for her trip to hell would take far more than four sodding weeks.

  Much to her dismay it turned out her trip to the Maldives to check out honeymoon destinations for the magazine had been postponed indefinitely and this pissed her off something chronic, souring her mood further. The light at the end of the tunnel had been hit with a brick apparently.

  The pub was heaving and in spite of the noise Zara sat there silently staring into her overpriced Shiraz, musing that she could have bought a whole bottle at the supermarket for what she had just handed over for a single glass. Her two closest friends had tried their best to chivvy her up when she had explained what Noah had asked her to do. But nothing they said had made her feel any better. It still sucked.

  ‘Are you going to that stupid high-school reunion, then?’ Shelley asked, presumably in a bid to change the subject that had dragged Zara’s mood down.

  Zara shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet. I’m still thinking about it. What did you decide?’

  Shelley scrunched her face as if tasting something bitter. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been thinking I might give it a miss. Hated that lot when I was forced to spend time with them so why would I put myself through it now by bloody choice?’

  ‘To show them they were wrong about you? That you’re happy and in love with a very dishy bloke?’

  Shelley laughed. ‘I don’t need their approval, babe, and neither do you. Look at you. Travel journo extraordinaire. Successful, gorgeous, hunky boyfriend, need I go on?’

  Zara continued the staring competition with the red liquid in her glass. ‘Oh, yeah. Super extraordinary now I’m going camping to bloody Scotland.’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she shivered at the thought.

  Shelley nudged her. ‘Come on, Zee, it can’t be that bad. Josh has been trying to get you to camp for months now and you might actually enjoy it when you get there.’

  Zara raised her chin and tilted her head as she glared at her bestie with narrowed eyes. ‘Want to come along, then?’

  Shelley gasped and held up her hands. ‘Hells no! I’m not sleeping in a bag for anybody.’

  Zara pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. ‘Thought as much.’

  Marco chipped in. ‘I just can’t believe Dillon’s gone and left Noah in the lurch like that. After all those years they’ve been friends. Talk about being stabbed in the back by Judas.’

  Shelley snorted. ‘Judas didn’t stab anyone in the back, you numpty.’

  Marco sat up straight and frowned at her. ‘Well what did he do, then? You know, that time when they were in the Garden of Eden and he did that thing?’

  Shelley’s religious upbringing was about to come into play and she puffed out her chest ready to lecture him as only she could. ‘Okay, for starters, it was the garden of Gethsemane, you plum. And secondly, it was a kiss that Judas gave Jesus, not a carving knife to his back. Good grief, didn’t you listen to anything at school?’

  Marco crossed his arms and huffed. ‘All right, all right. Bloody show-off. And I did listen, actually,’ he insisted, followed by a mumbled, ‘Just not in religious studies…’ The two women gave each other a knowing look.

  Shelley cocked her head. ‘Oh, yeah? Why was that, then?’

  Marco’s cheeks coloured and he fiddled with his hair. ‘Because the boys played footie outside the Humanities block so I was a little… you know… distracted.’

  Zara and Shelley burst out laughing. ‘Oh, my God, Marco, you were crushing on boys in shorts when you should have been studying.’ Zara gave him a playful shove.

  A wide grin stretched his drop-dead gorgeous features and his eyes twinkled. ‘So what if I was? The teacher we had was really boring and he had this awful droney, monotonous voice. Urgh, you should be thankful you didn’t go to my school. It was like purgatory for teenagers.’

  Zara knocked on the table. ‘Hey, come on, guys, you’re supposed to be commiserating with me, here,’ she insisted. ‘I’m in mortal peril.’

  Marco guffawed loudly. ‘What, of being eaten by tiny insects?’

  Zara slapped his arm. ‘The fear is real, Marco. I don’t take too kindly to being nibbled on.’

  Shelley leaned closer. ‘Oh, I don’t know, d
oesn’t that depend on who’s doing the nibbling?’

  Zara couldn’t help laughing at that as an image of her sexy man popped into her head. ‘Yeah, okay maybe. But it’s work and Josh’ll be staying at home whilst I’m dodging Highland cow poo in Scottish fields, so there won’t be much of that type of nibbling going on, will there?’

  Marco leaned his head on his hands and fluttered his eyelids. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You might meet some handsome laird who’ll sweep you off yerrrr feet and tak ye to his castle.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that was a truly crap attempt at a Scottish accent. He does have a point though, Zee.’ It still irked her that Shelley and Marco hadn’t yet warmed to her boyfriend. And what made it worse was they didn’t hold back in trying to find her a replacement. ‘And you might get some more inspiration for your novel. All those rugged Scotsmen. When do I get to read it anyway?’

  ‘Erm, if she gets to read it so do I,’ Marco insisted.

  ‘Neither of you are reading it so that resolves that situation,’ Zara informed them bluntly.

  Shelley smirked. ‘The crap Scottish accent ruined it, Marco.’

  He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Yeah, well… Oh, bugger off to the bar. It’s your round, Shells Bells.’

  Shelley made a dramatic tongue-out gesture to Marco before rising from the table and sashaying off to buy more drinks.

  Once she was out of earshot Marco leaned closer to Zara to be heard over a group of rugby players who had walked into the pub. ‘Do you get the feeling the magazine is in trouble, Zee?’

  Bloody hell, if Marco’s noticed too I can’t be imagining it. ‘Erm… what makes you say that?’