by Emma Baird
She pushed him back. “The expansion? The glamping?”
Trousers unbuttoned, shirt out and deep breathing, the warmth of him intensifying that smell of his, a heady blend of expensive after-shave and baking bread. He ran his hand through his hair, the front of it messily flopped forward. And then all movement stopped.
Hands and feet still. A tiny flicker in the eyes as he observed her. Wide and blue—weren’t people always led to believe that blue eyes were clear and innocent, owned by those who tell you the truth?
“I didn’t realise that’s what they had planned.” The fingers that rubbed together almost unconsciously told her this might not be the truth. Liars, as that leaflet she’d written for the Norfolk CID years ago said, tended to fidget.
His eyes ducked from hers. “Katya. I want the Royal George to succeed big time. Need it to. But when you turned up here, I thought I’d hit the jackpot. Here I was in the arse-end of nowhere but with this vision in front of me. Everything I was doing suddenly felt so right.”
Oh words, words, words. And Gaby’s nanna popped up again. “Actions!” she wagged her finger. “Speak louder than words, my young friend!”
What was Zac’s version of right and wrong? Different from everyone else’s—a world where you kept quiet about so many things? Mr Not Safe for Work was not safe for anything else either. Katya grabbed her discarded jeans and pants, shoving her legs clumsily into them. Zac watched her for a few seconds and then did the same.
“Please, Katya. I’m—”
“Still married!”
Ah, Mhari back once more. Katya thanked the stars she had her clothes back on. Minutes earlier and this would have been very embarrassing. Her attention shifted suddenly. “What did you say?”
Mhari stood beside her, arms folded. They must look like bouncers outside a club doing their best, ‘your name’s not on the list, you’re not coming in’ impression. Zac stared up at the two of them, his eyes flickering back and forth.
“Aye, Stewart was in the Lochside Welcome earlier.” Kudos, Katya, she told herself, you guessed well when you worked out why Mhari was so keen to leave. “He did a wee bit o’ digging on this cat-killing, lying, rotten git and guess what he found?”
She handed her phone to Katya—an Instagram picture taken at a launch event a few weeks ago. Was it that time she’d phoned him late one night? Zac his arm around a dark-haired woman Katya recognised from the wedding picture on the Society photographer’s site. She’d captioned it Me ‘n’ the Golden Boy. Back together again??????? X. Beneath it, comments ranged from “Nooooooo! Seriously?” to “YAY! Best news EVER!”.
Neither she nor Zac was looking at the camera. The photo must have been taken without them realising at the time, and Zac must have thought he got away with it. His hand rested on the woman’s breast. She stared up at him, adoration in her eyes.
As last straws went, this one was the final finisher in a marathon of too many revelations.
“It’s not how it looks,” Zac got to his feet. “Natasha posts that kind of stuff all the time. She’s addicted to attention.”
He turned to appeal to Katya—wide blue eyes unblinking, and hands held out. “We are not going to get back together,” he repeated, and Katya wondered again. The doubt must have showed.
“And I wasn’t the one driving the car when it hit Mena. Lois was. She wasn’t insured. If I’d let on, she would have ended up in trouble.”
On the table, his phone vibrated. Mhari picked it up and grinned in triumph.
“Your wife’s calling! Want tae answer it or can I do it?”
He moved quickly then, snatching the phone from her. But not fast enough to escape what happened next. Mhari drew her hand back and punched him, her fist landing in his crotch and making him double over, groaning.
Katya stood over him. “Mhari,” she said. “I’m not sure that is allowed under the Marquis of Queensberry rules.”
“Aye? Never heard of the fella. Does he have any other daft rules about no’ kicking someone when they’re down too?”
Katya put her hand in front of her. “I don’t know but I do. Even if he deserves it.”
She held her other hand out to help Zac to his feet. “Off you toddle, sunshine. And have a dreadful life.”
He cast her a last despairing glance and left, Mhari shouting “Good riddance” as they listened to him hasten down the stairs.
A sudden realisation pulled Katya up.
“Gaby,” she said to Mhari. “Was she in the Lochside Welcome when you convinced everyone I didn’t know that much about what Zac and Hammerstone Hotels were up to?”
Mhari shook her head. “No, they weren’t in the Lochside Welcome. But mebbe if you go round to their house, you can tell her yourself and sort out your wee fall-out.”
An excellent idea. Katya hugged Mhari, told her she was a fab friend and hurried off, determined to at least set that relationship right.
CHAPTER 35
Jack opened the door and made to close it as soon as he saw her.
“Can I come in?” Katya asked. He’d folded his arms and planted his feet on the doormat as if he expected to have to block her from sidling past him. “So I can explain.”
Behind him, Gaby emerged from the kitchen—her face as stern as her boyfriend’s. “Let her in,” she said, “I’ll listen to what she has to say.”
At that, Jack stood aside, following her through to the living room where cat detritus still littered the place—the bed, a fishing rod toy and a cat tree where she’d perched to watch the wildlife from the comfort of a warm and cosy home. Gaby still hadn’t cleared any of it away.
“I knew about the pop-up van,” Katya said, “and that Lois and Angeline wanted to buy the Royal George. I did not understand their plans for the place were so ambitious. When I’d asked about the pop-up van and if it would be competition for the Lochside Welcome, they all promised it wouldn’t be—that the two businesses could exist together.”
“And the photos?” Jack barked. So far, he hadn’t offered her coffee or tea.
“Zac said they were publicity pics for the website. And that Hammerstone Hotels would hold a meeting where they told the villagers about the plans. The big spread in the newspaper came as a surprise to me too.”
The seconds ticked by. Katya thought back to her and Gaby's last argument, working out it had been ten years ago. At the time, Gaby had just started seeing Ryan the douche bag and Katya made it clear how much she disliked him. The two of them blew up—shouting and screaming at each other in Katya’s bedroom. As screaming matches were a regular feature of the Bukowski household, no-one in her house noticed. But Gaby stormed out, and they didn’t speak to one another for a week. It counted as one of the worst weeks of Katya’s life. They made up when Katya extended the olive branch and admitted (lied) that Ryan wasn’t that bad. She managed to keep quiet about his faults from then on.
Gaby stood up. “Mhari believes you. She told the WhatsApp group he’s a liar—or words to that effect—and you’re as much a victim as the rest of us.”
Katya swallowed. “Is that what you think?”
Gaby sat down beside her. “Yes.”
“Jack?”
“So, he comes here, tells a lot of lies, runs over my girlfriend’s cat and threatens to put the village pub out of business. Nae offence Katya, but your taste in men is... utter shite.”
She could tell them the truth about the car but would it make any difference? Anyway, Gaby had started to giggle—titters at first, then laughter that quickly turned hysterical. When Katya added the story about Mhari and the literal ballsy punch, Jack joined her.
“Gosh,” Gaby said, wiping her eyes. “I wish I’d seen that.”
“I’m sorry, Katya. I got mad.” Gaby held a hand out.
“I’m sorry too. I fell for an idiot.”
Gaby hugged her tightly. “We all do that sometimes. At least you didn’t spend ten years with him. And New Year’s Eve is always a brilliant time to meet someone ne
w—a hunky, kilt-wearing man with magnificent knees.”
Sweet of her. But here she was, single yet again and hit by a bolt of loneliness, the bitterness of it piercing her. Katya. The world’s worst judge of character.
Gaby sent her a message the next day. Why didn’t she come with her and Jack to the Lochside Welcome for a coffee? Might be a good idea to show herself there.
As she waited outside for Gaby and Jack to appear, Katya swallowed nerves. Laney had been so hostile earlier, she imagined pushing the door open and the pub falling silent. It strengthened what she’d been considering ever since Zac had turned up at the flat.
“It’ll be fine,” Gaby appeared, wrapped in a huge padded jacket to counter the cold. Next to her, Jack smiled and pushed the door open.
As it was only two days after Christmas, the pub wasn’t busy, although its most regular customer sat at his usual stool next to the bar. He waved a hand in welcome, yesterday’s unfriendliness towards Katya forgotten already.
There were stares and whispers from the few people dotted at the tables round about, and when Ashley emerged from the cellar where he’d been changing one of the barrels, Katya braced herself.
The hotel owner eyed her speculatively, wiping his hands on a towel.
“What’s it to be, folks? I’ll warn ye—venison burgers are no’ on the menu.” At that, he grinned and Katya let out a sigh of relief. She was off the hook.
“Is that what they mean by food porn?” Stewart called out, making Katya cringe. The villagers didn’t hate her, but she would never live those photos down. “Ashley, mebbe you should get some photos of Katya eating your pizzas.”
“Or the chocolate decadence dessert,” Gaby piped up. “No, scrap that. Get photos of me eating your pudding, Ashley. I promise I’ll make them look X-rated.”
And with that, everyone laughed. Ah well. What did a little teasing matter?
“What about that hamper, though?” Katya asked. “Zac promised a hamper for the ceilidh. Everyone who bought a ticket was to be entered in a prize draw to win it. And he was supposed to have a stall at the afternoon event.”
Jolene, coming out of the bathroom and muttering about the number of times a pregnant woman had to pee, took the stool next to Stewart.
“He dropped by our house this morning,” Jolene said, “and gave us the hamper. Said he’s clearing out of town for New Year.”
“Mebbe the lack of a warm welcome will scare him and those terrible women off,” Stewart added. Sage nods all around. Katya doubted it. She sensed steel ran through Lois and Angeline underneath that fluffy exterior and all those ‘darlings’. Though Zac might not be the one heading up the team at the Royal George. Jolene said he was leaving and neither his nor Lois and Angeline’s vehicles were parked outside the house.
At home in the flat later that day, she opened her laptop and researched flat rents in other parts of the UK. It was time to move on. She didn’t belong in Lochalshie, wonderful as those few friends she had made were. She’d moved to be closer to Dexter. When that hadn’t happened, she stayed to explore what might happen with Zac. Even her best friend being there didn’t make it the attractive proposition it had once been. Gaby had Jack and was blissfully happy. Katya should take herself off to another town or city and build a life for herself there—the kind she should have made when she was eighteen or when she’d graduated, instead of staying in the place where she’d grown up and then following pathetically in the footsteps of her friend, hoping Lochalshie’s enchanting setting would work romantic magic on her too.
New year. Fresh beginnings.
She could start with Norwich, which would mean she was closer to London. Madeline would approve. Perhaps she might even meet her online mentor at last and offer profuse thanks for all her wonderful support over the last few months. She owed the woman a great deal.
“Hi Madeline,” she started an email to her, “thanks so much for everything you have done for me over the last few months. It’s been so helpful. I’m thinking of moving to Norwich or perhaps even London because...”
She poured out the whole story—the discovery of what Zac, Lois and Angeline planned, and the revelation of the cat killer, and ended her message with an earnest plea she and Madeline finally meet up so she could express her thanks personally.
“Yes,” the reply pinged back. “Let’s.”
CHAPTER 36
“I’m going to London for New Year, so I won’t make the Hogmanay Ceilidh.”
Gaby had arrived at the flat the following morning dressed in her exercise gear once more and wanting to go for a run. She’d spent the last few mornings eating chocolate bombe surprise and toasted turkey and stuffing sandwiches for breakfast. Something had to be done, she said, before she exploded out of her clothes.
Luckily for the two of them the weather was mild enough for this to be possible, though freak storms had hit further south-west, causing flooding and power cuts. Once they got to the loch shore, Katya told Gaby her plans.
Madeline had not only said yes to meeting up in London, but suggested Katya come down for New Year. Edmund Morris & Co held a legendary New Year’s Eve party for clients and writers every year, she said. They could pop in for a couple of hours early evening and then go out for a meal. And why not come down the day before so they got to meet up beforehand?
“My treat,” Madeline said, and also offered to pay for Katya’s hotel room. “No need,” Katya replied, telling her she now counted as one of the well-off thanks to what Edmund Morris & Co had given her. The habits of a lifetime kicked in anyway and she booked one of London’s more reasonably priced hotels instead of Madeline’s five-star option.
The arrangements confirmed, excitement mounted. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to finally meet this woman, the two of them having shared so many confidences over the last few months?
“Who exactly is this Madeline?” Gaby asked, her tone narky. Katya had forgotten she’d never told Gaby about her—or how Madeline had come to replace her as a soulmate. When Gaby had been with Ryan, their friendship worked differently. Now Jack had replaced her to an extent. Katya didn’t blame Gaby, but it did leave her needing someone else to talk to, and Madeline had proved ideal.
She explained Madeline as tactfully as she could—a woman who was mentoring her and who had shared lots of useful advice, as well as landing her the Caitlin Cartier writing job. Plus, when Gaby’s cat got killed the lovely Madeline had sympathised and told her the story of her own childhood, the pet she’d had to leave behind.
They reached the lochside, its sandy shores adding challenge to the run.
“Can-we-stop?” Gaby gasped, having done what she always did and set off too fast.
Katya slowed to a walk and they headed to the far side beneath the shadow of Maggie Broon’s Boobs.
“But New Year here will be fantastic,” Gaby said once she’d got her breath back. “Jack told me all the young farmers from miles around love the ceilidh. You could meet a decent chap and end up a farmer’s wife, writing your articles in the kitchen while he rounds up his sheep or milks the cows.”
“Or I could be in London at a party where absolutely no one talks about porridge, meeting hipster guys starting up their own breweries or vegan cafes and making useful contacts for the future.”
She also wanted to avoid that sinking feeling at midnight where everyone kissed each other, and she blinked back a stray tear and wondered why everyone else seemed to find relationships easy.
“You were going to do a Pilates class in the afternoon,” Gaby reminded her as they started to run again. “To limber everyone up for the dancing. Everyone will be very disappointed to miss it.”
Katya doubted that. Besides, when she’d suggested the idea originally, she’d meant the free class to be an advert for those wanting to take up Pilates in the New Year. Now she wasn’t sure she was going to stay in the village beyond January. Though that would be a conversation with Gaby for another day.
“I’ll ask Doctor McLatchie
if she can do it,” she said. “I’m sure she’d love to. If she can kid on she’s a psychic, I’m sure she can fake core-strength training easily enough.”
Fifteen minutes later, having run but mostly walked, Gaby begged to stop. Katya insisted they do an extended stretching session before heading home. Otherwise, Gaby was destined to wake up tomorrow stiff as a board.
“Must we?” Gaby grumbled, looking around her. There weren’t many people about, but Jamal, sweeping the ground in front of his shop, stopped to watch the stretches, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Do you think there will be lots of famous people at Edmund Morris & Co’s party?” Gaby asked.
Katya pulled a heel to her bottom to stretch out the quads. “I guess so. And hopefully all looking for a talented ghost writer to pen their autobiographies for them at some point. Madeline says it’s a super-amazing party and bound to be beyond awesome. That’s a direct quote. She’s fond of hyperbole is Madeline.”
“What?” Gaby said sharply, dropping her leg. Jamal, still sweeping, lifted his head—an instinctive reaction to possible intrigue.
Katya repeated what she’d said, puzzled.
“Oh no, nothing,” Gaby said hurriedly. “I’ve just been thinking. It’s an excellent idea for you to go to London and meet her. It’ll be fabulous. You’ll have fun. We can phone each other on the dot of midnight to say happy new year.”
Calf stretches done, Gaby smiled. “Well! Must go. Let me know when you’re off and I’ll come and say goodbye.”
And with that she was gone, hurrying home at a much faster speed than she’d managed running earlier.
Weird, Katya thought, but at least she had her friend’s approval to spend New Year elsewhere. As Gaby said, it would be fabulous. She couldn’t wait.
Trips to London from Lochalshie were not easy. Katya planned to take the first bus to Glasgow, which would get here there just before lunchtime and then a flight to the capital the day before New Year’s Eve. Even then, the whole journey was likely to take six or seven hours and would not get her to her hotel until 5 p.m. at the earliest.
