by Emma Baird
A male friend, hmm?
Katya got to her feet. Adrenaline flooded her body, making her pace the floor. She should phone Gaby and share the news. About to do so, she changed her mind. Better to wait until something happened. But Caitlin’s book took on new meaning. Now, it would be a pleasure to write, knowing that the final chapter she pulled together did not involve the man she thought would be there.
Oh, Caitlin, I will make you so lovable in your book. Even your critics will read it and be convinced of your wondrousness!
The good mood lasted Katya until the evening. Mulling it over as she lay in a bath full to the brim with bubbles—best thing for banishing the cold—did this change anything? No, yes, no. Apart from her thinking much more fondly of Caitlin, Dexter was still the man too eager to put his job first. And lives thousands of miles away. Blast him and the way he lingered in her head, popping up all the time when she tried to move on.
You could/should phone him. Find out for sure.
I’m too scared.
Bath finished and dressed in her favourite pink velour PJs, she decided to phone Zac instead. So far since being away, he’d called her twice, apologetic but frantically busy helping out in one of the Hammerstone Hotels running a pre-Christmas retreat for people with thousands of pounds to spare. He’d sent plenty of WhatsApp messages. Many of them most definitely NSFW.
Propped up in bed under two duvets and a fleece blanket, she rang the number. Straight to voicemail. From one workaholic to another? Still, he phoned back five minutes later, breathless with apologies. In the background she heard chatter, music and laughter—a party, a bar or what?
“Where are you?”
“A launch thing—terrifically dull.”
“Launch of what?”
“Hammerstone Hotels celebrating a new direction/profitable partnership. See? Boring. I’m here under sufferance. Where are you?”
“At home in bed.” As you might expect, calling someone at 11.30 p.m. on a Tuesday night.
“Oh?” He drew the word out into multiple syllables. “Want to tell me what you’re wearing?”
“A lacy, see-through negligee that only just covers my bottom—no, of course I’m not. I’m in my oldest pink pyjamas tucked up in bed with a good book and a cup of tea.”
“When you should be tucked up—”
“Zac, darling! Hurry up!”
“God, wherever I am, Lois is two steps behind nagging me endlessly.”
He dropped his voice, more whispers about bed and how being tucked up in one with her would be a dream come true, and that he couldn’t wait for New Year and all the excitement it promised.
The phone call ended. She was still not tired enough to sleep—wired thanks to the Donal/Dexter revelations and all that lovely money sitting in her bank account. The book hadn’t felt real until this point. As a freelancer, Katya had put in her fair share of pitches to jobs where a client or agency nodded eagerly only to have them forget who she was a week later. And even if Caitlin had made that personal call way back in November, what say did she really have in hiring the out-of-sight minions whose job it was to further Brand Cartier?
Now, the job took on shape, corners and outlines solid and reassuring.
I must tell Madeline. She was the one who started this off. The thought jolted her out of more money splurge daydreams. “Madeline, I’m so thankful. Today, Edmund Morris & Co got in touch, and the advance money is in my bank account. I can’t begin to thank you. I'd love to meet up so I could tell you in person...”
Two minutes after sending the message, she regretted it. Too icky? Too soppy? And as she’d sent it so late at night, would Madeline suspect she’d sent it while drunk—heaven forbid, there was the irony. Katya, the woman who favoured the stiff upper lip, reduced to over-effusive emails to a woman she’d never met. Her phone pinged—an email fresh in.
She opened the message gingerly.
“Katya, honey! I’m so pleased. I knew you were the perfect writer for them and my confidence has paid off. Tell me, are you gonna spend too much of that advance buying Christmas presents?! I hope everything else in your life is working out. What’s the update on the Zac guy? Did you decide he was suitable boyfriend material? If so, I hope he makes you happy.
“Anyway, looks like I was wrong about living in Lochalshie. A successful PR guru and writer can build a life anywhere. Makes me wonder what else I’ve been wrong about, but keep...”
A long message, but Katya read it over three or four times, cheered by the champion who kept cheer-leading her. “Lochalshie is wonderful,” she typed back, “and I can make a life here. I’m still not one hundred percent sure about Zac but maybe it’s better to take a chance than not do anything because you’re too scared of risk?”
As she settled down to sleep, something struck her. Madeline had guessed what Katya would do with the advance. Sometimes, late at night or in the wee sma’ hours when anxiety stirred her awake, Katya wondered if the real soulmate she sought was not Zac, nor the long-gone Dexter, but Madeline.
CHAPTER 29
The Christmas-present spending splurge took place sooner than Katya expected. Deciding she’d left it too late to buy everything online despite what the companies promised, Gaby came to the rescue a day later, having the done same thing herself.
Jack needed to go to Glasgow to meet with the VisitScotland people there ahead of his tours the following year. Did Katya want to come with them? She and Gaby could hit the shops while Jack discussed marketing and hawked giant cut-outs of himself around the tourist information centres. He apologised profusely for them when Katya got into the mini-bus the following morning.
“Not my idea,” he mumped, ordering Gaby to flatten them. Heaven forbid the villagers saw them as the bus left. Too many Jack heads popping up in the windows would be disconcerting. Or the villagers might think he’d developed too high an opinion of himself, a crime that outdid murder in the eyes of most Scots.
“Mine!” Gaby said, unrepentant. “I told Jack giant cut-outs of him looking like Jamie Fraser are the best advert for Outlander-themed Highland Tours. The fans will flock to book them.”
Katya’s last trip to Glasgow had ended disastrously. She told herself she was in a far better place now as the bus slowed, hitting the queues of traffic on the M8. Career established, devoted potential boyfriend waiting in the wings, too much money in her bank account... The appreciative person counted their blessings and considered themselves fortunate.
They did not, did not think of the Zac pros and cons list where the word ‘untrustworthy’ kept appearing at the top of the cons, no matter how often she rubbed it out.
Buchanan Street bustled with crowds determined to out-prove theories online retailers had killed the high street. Bags knocked against Katya’s legs repeatedly. When she caught up with Gaby two hours later, both of them swore never again.
“I hate cities now,” Gaby said, dumping her bags on the seat next to her. They’d chosen the coffee shop above one of the huge stationery chains at the top of Buchanan Street where floor-to-ceiling windows allowed you a view of the masses. Beyond the street, the Christmas lights and a giant Ferris wheel were just visible in George Square.
Gaby wrinkled her nose at the brightness and clashing colours. “It’s as if someone swallowed the Christmas spirit and threw up, isn’t it? I wanted to talk to you about Christmas, though.”
Katya sipped her Christmas latte, all cinnamon, nutmeg and orange oil. “What about it?”
As this was her first December in Lochalshie, Gaby wasn’t returning to Great Yarmouth, though her mum and brother were travelling up there for the occasion.
“You could come to mine,” she said. “The more the merrier. We’ve got Dr McLatchie and Ranald, Stewart and Jolene too. If Jack has to cook for lots of people, that suits him. It means he can hide in the kitchen drinking wine, getting slowly plastered and avoiding my family.”
Gaby’s mother and brother were lovely, but the three of them together were fu
ll on. As an only child, Jack wasn’t used to the noise and chaos, she said. He needed sane people to balance the day out.
“I promised my mum I’d go back for Christmas,” Katya said. True, but what if she wriggled out of it, and told her mother she wanted to do something different this year? Her family Christmas was never fun. Inevitably, two of her sisters fell out or one of them brought her latest obnoxious partner, and he or she insulted one or all of them. They then spent the evening quarrelling about what to watch on the TV and fighting over the Quality Street chocolates.
“I’d need to come up with an epic excuse to tell my mum,” she said, already thinking them up and rehearsing saying them on the phone in her head. Food made for her, not far to stumble home afterwards, the company of her best friend, other people she enjoyed spending time with...
Versus five people shrieking at each other as if it was the end of the world while one of them scoffed all the toffee logs and pink-wrapped fudges.
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
Gaby grinned at her. “You kno—oh sorry, I keep forgetting I’m not supposed to say that in front of you, my fussy friend, but sometimes I want to pinch myself. Nine months ago, if someone had told us we’d both end up in a tiny village in Scotland with the men of our dreams and deliriously happy, we’d have told them to do one!”
The man of Gaby’s dreams, who’d just joined them, rolled his eyes and sat down.
“Gaby, you’re starting to sound like my mother,” Jack said, helping himself to the last of her coffee. Katya smiled. Those two did their super-cute thing—the continual exchange of surreptitious looks at each other, as if exclaiming, “How did this happen and is it real?”
She stifled envy. Zac, remember? Flirty, full on and into her. Bring on the New Year and the start of a new chapter.
Back at the flat, Katya wrapped up all the presents, managing to hide Mhari’s just before her flatmate returned from work via her mum and dad’s. Mhari, she imagined, was the kid who’d always searched for and opened her presents way ahead of Christmas Day.
She decided to listen to more of the recordings. The agency’s instructions for the writing meant delivery of the first chapter was due midway through January, the second two weeks after and so on. It was a punishing schedule, but they were paying handsomely for it. If she listened to most of the recordings and read the interviews as soon as possible, it would put her in a good place to write come 2 January.
Donal interview part three. Katya braced herself for more awesomes and amazings. The first fifteen minutes of the interview delivered them in bucket-loads. Writing about Donal and making the whole love affair not sound vomit-inducing would be another challenge.
“When you’re in love,” Caitlin purred, having run out of awesomes and amazings, “you kinda want it for everyone else in your life. Do you know what I mean?”
Grr. Katya’s least favourite phrase.
“You wanna sprinkle it like glitter all over the people around you, right?”
The interviewer murmured agreement, asking if Caitlin meant her sisters. The oldest one dated serial cheaters with drug problems, while the second one was on her third marriage, the latest to a Donald Trump fan who kept having meltdowns on Twitter.
“Oh, I guess so. But I’m talking about my friends too. Like Dexter, y’know? He’s the marketing manager for Blissful Beauty and a brilliant dude, but boy he works too hard. He was with this British chick.”
Katya stopped the recording, heart pounding against the front of her ribs. Did Caitlin know about her and Dexter’s relationship? Doubtful. People in her position rarely thought about the people below them.
Katya hit ‘play’ once more. “But they split, and he’s been so sad since. Like, crying every day.”
Take back your words, Katya Bukowski, and stop being mean about someone you don’t know.
“Really?” The interviewer sounded as sceptical as Katya.
“Like, no?” Laughter. “He’s a guy. I mean guys my age are in touch with their emotions. Dexie’s too old to be.” A mere eight years older than her “But hey, he’s super grumpy. And too inhibited to do anything. I wish I could help...”
Catlin snapped her fingers. “Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if she heard this interview?”
Katya jumped back from her laptop, the message so personal it was as if Caitlin was in the room—that teeny-tiny fizz-bomb of energy who had the power to light a place up. The heart thumping continued, worse than ever, making her hands shake as she reached for her phone. Proof positive he wanted her, hmm? And given a nudge in the right direction by Caitlin of all people? Bless the woman. She was a saint.
And Zac? She said sorry to him out loud. Dexter had taken up too much headroom for so long, she couldn’t do anything else.
The dial tone sounded for an age. Just as her courage began to fail her, it stopped.
“Hey!”
Ridiculously cheery. Wrong gender too. Unexpected, but she pushed past sinking feelings.
“Is Dexter there?” her best haughty voice, the Queen’s English she sometimes used to make people act quickly.
“Like, no?” the young woman at the other end drawled, reinforcing the point with some choice swear words. “Don’t call again, like ever. Okay?”
Katya put her phone down. Adrenaline still flooded her body, though this time the kind that told you to run and hide rather than hurtling to meet whatever. She checked the date on the recording—its three weeks ago recording signalling the last nail in the coffin.
Caitlin had meant well. She just hadn’t figured out what might happen in the intervening period. Some young, undoubtedly LA-sleek and glamorous woman had crept into the space and had no intention of letting Katya back in. Maybe he had found their split upsetting, but had he done anything about it or got in touch?
Workaholic. Can put his feet flat on the floor when he does downwards-facing dog. Says awesome far too much. She repeated the points from the Dexter cons list over and over, a mantra against other thoughts that crowded in where she railed against unfairness once more.
Later that evening, she checked her phone. “Can’t wait till New Year!”
Zac had added a Christmassy photo to his message. He wore a Santa hat, tinsel draped around his shoulders—and wrapped around another bit—and not much else.
I don’t want this. No, I do, I do, I do.
At least she had time to make her mind up. New Year was still nine days away.
CHAPTER 30
“Merry Christmas, flatmate.” Mhari pushed open the door on Christmas Day armed with two mugs of tea. “Where’s my present?”
Katya rolled over and pulled the gift out from under her bed. She hadn’t been daft enough to hide the gift there in the lead-up to Christmas Day, but had reckoned last night it would be safe enough. She handed it over with a smile.
Post the Dexter phone call, she’d resolved to be cheery. No-one wanted a moping, miserable moaner at the Christmas table. And the reasons-to-be-grateful list included a slap-up meal with lovely people instead of squabbling siblings, for a start. Then there was Zac’s return and whatever the New Year brought with it. The other night’s silly doubts didn’t bear up to morning inspection. Ask Gaby, ask Jolene, ask Mhari, ask even Madeline—wouldn’t they all say, “Your Zac is a prince. Go get him, princess!”
Mhari handed over one of the teas and perched herself at the bottom of the bed. Not a natural expresser of gratitude, her eyes narrowed and then widened when she held up what Katya had bought her—a pure silk blouse, the turquoise-coloured shirt the perfect match for her auburn hair. Also, because Katya couldn’t resist it, Roger Hargreaves’s cartoon book Mr Nosey.
Mhari tossed that aside contemptuously as soon as she saw it. She clung onto the blouse, though, and asked Katya if she thought it was the kind of thing people wore for New Year ceilidhs if there was someone at that dance they quite... liked.
A rotten flatmate would take advantage and tease her like mad. Payback for all the times Mhari
had poked her nose into Katya’s business over the last few months. But as it was Christmas Day, Katya let it go.
“Yes,” she said, “it would look amazing with skinny jeans and over-the-knee boots. You can borrow mine seeing as we’re the same shoe size. Plus I’ve decided Enisa could do with more of our business. I’ll book her in for the works on New Year’s Eve—waxing, a facial and a manicure. If you want to get yourself tarted up at the same time, I’ll pick up the bill.”
This time, Mhari’s face lit up. She took her blouse and scurried out, face hastily turned away. If Katya hadn’t known better, she might have thought her flatmate brushed away a tear.
Niceties over with and obligatory phone call to her mum made—the squabbling in the background told her she’d done the right thing—Katya decided to go for a run. Having never experienced one, she’d hoped for a white Christmas. Outside, the weather hadn’t obliged but the whiteness of the over night’s hard frost decorated Maggie Broon’s Boobs, dazzling them in the low winter sun.
Lochalshie was deserted. Even the dog walkers were absent, and she saw no sign of Stewart and Scottie. The freezing air made it tricky for her to adjust her breathing but the cool freshness of it flooded her lungs after a while and she fell into a rhythm. She headed out half-way around the loch and then turned back.
The end brought her to Zac’s house. To her amazement, the French windows opened, and he emerged. He’d said he’d be back on the twenty-seventh. Those Christmas retreats needed top-quality chefs so people paying to escape their families could relax in style.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” she called out, trying to decide if his surprise was of the very pleased variety. Yes?
“I wasn’t expecting you.” They said the sentences together and laughed.
“Come in,” he said. “It’s freezing. You can tell me why you changed your mind. Lois suddenly decided she owed me too much overtime, so it was cheaper and easier for her to find someone else instead. And I couldn’t face the family Christmas.”
