by Emma Baird
The description proved too graphic for Gaby, who thrust her fist into her mouth. She attempted to put her coat on once more. “I’m going to get her,” she told us all. “Poor little Mena can’t...”
Jack took her hand. “C’mon. We’ll pick her up and I’ll bury her in the back garden wrapped in one of our nice blankets.”
He dropped a kiss on Gaby’s head, and Katya welled up too as she watched them leave. Stewart shuffled off to the bar, the trauma too much for him.
“A pint,” he called out. “And a whisky chaser. Ah’ve had an awfy shock.” Scottie put his front paws up on the stool. Whatever the doggie equivalent for a pint and a whisky chaser was, he looked in need of it.
No one had asked the obvious question. “Who did it?” Katya piped up. “Someone hit the cat and left her. You don’t bump into a cat in your car and not notice.”
True. Her mum had done it once when Katya and her sisters were little girls. The five of them howled for hours afterwards, the sickly thump of it too easy to recall. Nice people owned up; however difficult such a confession was. Mena wore a collar that said where she lived.
“Mmm-hmm,” Jolene answered. “Must have been a tourist—someone passing through and taking the road too fast.”
“Rotten luck,” Mhari said. “Poor wee pussy.”
Everyone drifted off, the night spoiled. Mhari told Katya she was off to her mum and dad’s, having run out of clean clothing once again and not willing to risk trying the washing machine in the flat.
Back at the flat, Katya phoned Gaby, who was still sniffling, asking endlessly, “Do you think she suffered?”, and telling her about the poor little stiff body she and Jack picked up off the pavement before the foxes got her.
“No,” Katya said, crossing her fingers it was true. Animals weren’t sentient beings, so they didn’t fear or know death but that didn’t rule out pain. Hopefully, poor little Mena hadn’t lived that long after the car hit her.
And who, who, who could have been as heartless to knock over poor little Mena and not stop and try to find the cat’s owner? A hit and run, Gaby solemnly declared, and didn’t people go to prison for that?
“Yeeessss,” Katya said, “but I’m sure that’s for humans only. Sorry.”
“Jack’s mum said she’d pop in tomorrow. Apparently, Psychic Josie uses spirit animals from time to time, and she reckoned she might be able to contact Mena on the other side and find out if she is okay.”
In the background, Katya heard someone snort.
“It’s okay. She means well. And much as I like the thought of Mena telling me she didn’t feel any pain and thanking me for looking after her, I’m not at the stage of believing anything Psychic Josie says. No offence, Jack.”
“None taken.”
“Although part of me wishes there was something in that rubbish so the spirit of little Mena haunts her killer for the rest of their life.”
Quite. Promising she would pop round the next day too, Katya hung up.
An evening that turned out unexpectedly enjoyable and then ended so horribly. Katya didn’t want just herself for company. If only she’d managed to persuade Mhari a washing machine only needed a person to put clothes in, add powder to the dispenser, select a programme and press ‘on’. God knows, she’d tried plenty of times. They could have snuggled up in Katya’s bed under the maximum-tog duvet, electric blanket going full blast, and found a horror film to distract them. Mhari, like Katya, loved horror. No matter how rubbish your life seemed, it was unlikely to be as bad as being chased through a dark empty building by some unknown blood-thirsty monster. Films like that always cheered one up.
A longing for Dexter struck her. He’d have found something comforting to say. Katya doubted anyone else in the world knew this, but apart from the Blissful Beauty and several influential beauty vlogger accounts, Dexter’s YouTube subscriptions comprised cat and dog rescue channels. “Not manly, is it?” he’d remarked when she caught him once, engrossed in the story of a starving cat found in a dumpster. “I guess I should watch car test drives, or sports stuff.”
“Better you don’t,” she smiled, and tucked the info away securely. Someday, it might come in useful.
“And the cats are super-cute,” he added, pulling her in so she could see the clip too. She couldn’t be sure, but he might have wiped away a tear when it ended, the starving cat now fat, fluffy and purring his head off as he curled up on his new owner’s lap.
She’d forgotten to put the electric blanket on before she got into bed. When Gaby had lived with Mhari, this had been her room (the smaller one, as Mhari ensured she bagged the biggest and best one), the electric blanket a welcome gift left for Katya. Even though she’d kept her socks on, the bed’s iciness when she slid between the sheets made her shiver. She resigned herself to not drifting off for at least an hour, her mind playing over dead cats and the nagging worry that Lois, Angeline and Zac were up to something.
She got her phone out, determined to find distraction. Experts didn’t recommend looking at your phone after eight o’clock at night but as she was wide awake anyway, where was the harm? The email notifications showed the latest one came from Madeline. Mentoring did marvellous things for Katya’s mental health. Every single email Madeline sent cheered her up, whether she was making suggestions or telling Katya how brilliant her work was. And wasn’t it kind of her to send a message this evening? She’d warned Katya that emails might be tricky for the next few weeks as her company was going through a terrifically busy time.
“How has your week been, honey?” her message said. “Fantastic job with Caledonian Brewers. They told me that content plan you put together for them for their social media accounts was a-may-zing.” (A direct quote.)
Madeline, Katya decided, was so nice she wouldn’t mind if she shared the cat story with her. Gaby’s face when she realised her cat was dead was too easy for Katya to recall. And she hated the thought of some heartless git knocking the cat down and not stopping.
She typed out the message, telling Madeline all about it and how upsetting it had been. The minute it disappeared from the screen, she regretted it. The woman ran a high-powered recruitment company and made a ton of money. What would she care about a cat being run over in a remote village?
But a reply came back straight away.
“Honey, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. I’m a cat lover too. I hope your friend recovers. And you.”
Madeline shared a story too—a personal one about a cat she’d had as a child. The cat had been her pet from a young age but her family circumstances weren’t great. When her father abandoned the family, and her mother was forced to move, the cat got left behind.
“I never knew what happened to that cat and it still bothers me. My job means I have to travel a lot as otherwise, I’d love to have a cat.”
Me too, Katya thought, startled by the immediate reaction. A cat, a steady boyfriend—the two of them waiting for her when she came home... Boy, she’d turned into a sap. Did Madeline have a partner? The clues weren’t there. She mentioned no one, but perhaps people at that level didn’t. And maybe that was why Madeline seemed to have thrown herself into helping Katya. Whatever. She was grateful.
Madeline signed off with kisses. Again, Katya was taken aback. Gaby always ended her emails and texts with kisses, even the ones she sent to her boss, Melissa. “That’s what we do,” she said when Katya asked. “Our generation are much more open about our emotions. We’re not stiff and formal like people in their 40s and 50s.”
Katya didn’t include herself in that category, but Madeline’s kisses touched her. She sent her one back and Madeline replied, “Goodnight, honey. Send me an email when you’re feeling better and we can talk about your work plans and anything else you want.”
Cheered, Katya took her phone into the living room to charge. Perhaps Madeline could advise her about Zac too, the last thought she had before turning off her bedroom light and snuggling down to sleep.
CHAPTER 21
“Your phone’s been going crazy,” Mhari told Katya the next morning when she stumbled out of her room after a lousy night’s sleep.
Katya had woken at 4 a.m., the jumble of thoughts from last night still plaguing her. Those worries segued into general woe about the state of her love life—the all-too-familiar why, why why she and Dexter hadn’t been able to work things out and his insultingly quick ability to move on.
Stupid question, Katya—you’ve met Caitlin. Can you blame him? Inner pep talks, she found, rarely worked. Even if you bombarded your emotions with logic, they didn’t listen or bother to feel better.
Mhari, ready for work in her pharmacy assistant uniform of a white tunic with green braiding over dark green trousers, handed the phone over.
“Have you looked?” Katya asked, ticking herself off for having let it out of her sight. Experts recommended not sleeping in a room with a charging phone but she should have known better. Granted, Katya hadn’t told Mhari her PIN code but she never underestimated her flatmate’s ingenuity. She must have managed hacking phones by now.
“No, no,” Mhari said, all faux innocence, “but there’s a text fae Mr Flashy Car Posh English, Gaby’s sent a few messages and Madeline’s emailed ye.”
Katya gritted her teeth, vowing to turn off all notifications so those with too much of an unhealthy interest in others weren’t able to read them on the lock screen. Gaby asked her to come around asap. Zac’s text was apologetic. “Sorry! Hadn’t realised they were planning to return last night. See you soon, yeah?”
Madeline’s message was far more interesting. “Katya, hi! I hope my email finds you well. Your work continues to dazzle everyone I refer you to—a fantastic recommendation for my company. Thank you. Can I make another suggestion? How would you feel about writing skincare and beauty articles for a company about to launch in South Korea?”
Heavens, did she mean...?
Mhari still hovered, awaiting an update. “Won’t you be late for work?” Katya asked, her flatmate too expert to take heed of such an obvious hint.
“No. Gonnae tell me what Zac said?”
“Mr Flashy Posh Car English wanted to know when you won’t be here this week so he can sneak round to the flat and shin his way up the ivy trellis to my bedroom where I let him in after he taps out the SOS sign in Morse code. Then the two of us make mad, passionate love. All without you knowing a thing.”
Mhari blew her a loud raspberry. “Whatever. I’ll find out, ye ken.”
Threat uttered—and lessened somewhat because Katya’s laughter followed her as she stamped her way down the stairs—Katya found herself alone and able to read Madeline’s message in peace.
“The company is Blissful Beauty—the one owned by Caitlin Cartier. And I guess it ties in neatly seeing as you will be writing her autobiography in the near future! They are about to launch in South Korea, a huge market for them, and they desperately need content. It would mean hard work but in the short term only and would tide you over. What do you think, honey?”
I think, I think I want to do it.
Even if the marketing manager in charge had dumped her so ignominiously. Not something to tell her mentor. Madeline was a professional. Personal feelings didn’t come into it. Anyway, she would mull it over. In the meantime, she had Gaby to cheer up and the mystery of Lois and Angeline to solve. And Katya wanted answers.
The Gaby who opened the door was red-nosed and piggy-eyed, Jack hovering in the background.
Katya hugged her and dug out the article she’d printed out about coping with pet bereavement. Too much, she might have said a year ago. But that was then and this was now. Reassurances given—no, no Gaby felt dreadful but she wasn’t suicidal. Her almost-mother-in-law had asked too and had appeared disappointed when Gaby said no. Dr McLatchie had just completed a mental health first-aid course and was desperate to practice her new skills. She’d looked forward to communing with Mena’s spirit and that offer of help had been firmly knocked back too.
The house smelled of baking. Once she and Gaby sat down, Jack brought out tea and plates of freshly made shortbread—another margarine, vegan-friendly version he’d made on Katya’s behalf. “Promise me you will enter the Great British Bake Off,” Katya repeated, the shortbread melting in her mouth. An attractive, softly spoken red-headed Scotsman—he’d win the people’s vote if nothing else. And no matter what placing he got in the competition, someone somewhere would offer him a TV show or his own YouTube channel afterwards.
Gaby’s iMac screen showed the templates for the Blissful Beauty South Korea website. She spotted Katya’s glance at it and apologised.
“It’s okay. I’m doing work for Dexter. Through an, um, agency, though he knows I’m doing it.”
Funny she’d not wanted to mention Madeline to Gaby. Was it she was scared she might sound too fangirl and Gaby wouldn’t like it? Their friendship had changed. Hardly surprising, given that until recently Katya and Gaby had lived close to each other for years. When Gaby’s ex had vetoed his girlfriend going to art school too far away where she might meet guys one hundred times nicer than him and get up to all sorts of shenanigans, Gaby had persuaded Katya to join her in Norwich.
Katya had moved to Lochalshie too, and partly to be with Gaby, but Jack was a different kettle of fish to Ryan. He was nice, for a start. A person a girl found easy to confide in or talk about anything, such as the things she used to save for her best friend. And Gaby loved spending a lot of time with him. But Katya missed her and Gaby’s one-time super-close friendship. And the increasingly personal emails she sent Madeline were because of this. Still, she would not admit this to Gaby and not today of all days.
“Are you okay working for Dexter?” Gaby asked, her green eyes blinking at Katya. The concern touched her.
“It’s fine. These days, he’s so important a minion briefs the writers, so I’m not in contact with him. And Blissful Beauty pays so well.”
“True. I’ve been slaving away for him for weeks now,” Gaby said, pointing at her screen with its too recognisable pink and silver glitter Blissful Beauty branding.
“Which brings me on to next weekend,” Gaby threw in, hyper-casually.
“What?” Katya said, brushing the crumbs off her fingers.
“Jack’s had this offer from the VisitScotland people in Oban. He tries out one of the restaurants there and one of the Airbnb properties so he can recommend them and take tourists there as part of his Highland Tours. He said it would be the ideal thing to cheer up a bereaved, over-worked graphic designer.”
The hyper-casual mention? Katya suspected another ulterior motive.
“And?”
“And there’s a ceilidh in Oban that evening too, so we could go along. Good practice for we Sassenachs, Katya. We’ve no idea how Scottish dancing works and we don’t want to make fools of ourselves on New Year’s Eve.”
“And?”
“So, the Airbnb property sleeps eight. Might as well make a trip of it—me and Jack, Stewart and Jolene, you and Mhari.”
“That’s six.”
Gaby prodded Jack.
“S’pose we could invite Zac too, eh?” said Jack.
Gaby must have roped him in, reckoning the not-so-subtle suggestion would sound better coming from him than her. Just as Gaby was a hopeless liar, Jack made a terrible matchmaker. The words had come out through gritted teeth.
“Gaby—has your interference in my love life ever worked?” Katya asked, arching her eyebrows. When she’d been with Ryan, her best friend had been forever trying to set her up. She’d included most of Ryan’s friends, all of whom were as big a douche bag as him.
“Granted. But he seems ever so keen. And he’s here, he’s fit—not a patch on Jack but if you like blue-eyed blondes, he’s ideal.”
Time for the big reveal.
“I did some digging when I first met him. He’s married,” Katya said, watching her friend’s mouth round in surprise.
“He doesn’t wear a ring!”
S
he gave Gaby the look that remark deserved.
“But he’s not anymore, is he?” Gaby said. “Um, I have seen no one else at his house...”
Another ‘oh c’mon’ look.
“I know, I know. Make allowances for me. Grief has turned me stupid. How did you find out he was married? Did he tell you?”
Jack caught Katya’s eye and smiled ruefully. He didn’t mean it nastily, but she took it as an agreement that yes, her friend’s grief resulted in daft questions or perhaps she needed coffee instead of tea. He got up and headed for the kitchen, while Katya told Gaby what she’d found out.
Katya had checked Zac out online soon after they’d met. Didn’t everyone nowadays? He’d put enhanced privacy settings on his social media sites but page six of Google’s results included a link to an obscure society photographer’s website. In it, a couple so glossy-looking they could only be from the top of the privilege pile grinned at the camera. A younger Zac, his blonde hair much shorter than it was now, but Zac nonetheless. Under the picture, the caption confirmed the names and date the marriage took place. The pictures were dated several years ago. The woman’s wedding dress with its long sleeves, fashionable at the time thanks to the Duchess of Cambridge’s choice for her 2011 nuptials.
“He must have got married when he was twenty!” Gaby exclaimed. “And I thought I was too young getting engaged at twenty-six, remember?”
The aforementioned douche bag Ryan. He of the Little Ryan notoriety.
“Does he hide his phone from you, or take calls in private?” Gaby asked.
Yes he did, but given that she still had to find out what he was up to with Lois and Angeline she suspected the calls more likely related to that than to a mysterious wife. Katya looked her up too and found a woman in Brighton running a restaurant. She wasn’t called Cavanagh but that meant nothing. Many women no longer took their husband’s name when they got married.
No mention of Zac there, but Natasha Wrayworth was definitely the wearer of the long-sleeved wedding dress.
