Where Have All the Boys Gone? Read online

  Katie trailed behind him weakly as he swept out of the turret. She could see Louise’s plaintive face follow him down the stairway as she emerged. Louise raised her eyes expectantly.

  ‘I have to go back to the office,’ said Katie, officiously. In fact, she needed five minutes by herself to think.

  ‘Well?’ asked Louise as they exited the small building, pausing only to give the receptionist evils.

  Katie was feeling slightly more understanding. ‘Well what?’

  ‘Well what what? Did you just see that guy?!’

  ‘Iain?’

  ‘Ooh, yes, Iain, of course. You know him so well now. Yes, how was Iain, your husband. Iain. Everyone likes Iain. Iain and Katie.’

  ‘Shut up Louise,’ said Katie, trying to swallow down a blush.

  ‘Well spill then. Jeez, the first hot, non-psychotic male we’ve seen in months and now you’re trying to pretend you’re Joan of Arc’

  ‘Well, he seems all right,’ conceded Katie. ‘First person we’ve met so far that didn’t hate us on sight anyway.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Louise. ‘Definitely, that’s a good sign.’ She futilely pulled the collar of her Karen Millen coat up against the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. ‘Christ. You’d have thought people would have realised it was cold up here.’

  ‘They did,’ said Katie as they looked out across the bay. ‘That’s why there’s so few of them. You have to admit, it’s pretty though.’

  ‘The South of France is pretty,’ mused Louise. ‘I’m amazed it’s never occurred to them to just go there.’

  Katie turned back towards the car. ‘Well, there’s no parking problems.’

  ‘Can I sit in your car all afternoon?’

  ‘Yes. And by the way, Iain asked me out for a drink tonight.’

  Louise squealed. ‘You bitch! You cast-iron bitch!’

  By a tremulous stroke of bad luck, around the cobbled corner at that exact moment came Kelpie and her two cronies. They stared at each other for a moment. Then hurried away in barely concealed hysterics.

  ‘CAAARRRRSSSTTTTT AYRRRON BEEETCH!’ echoed up and down the high street.

  ‘I’m actually glad to know we’ve doubled the entertainment available in this town in such a short space of time,’ said Katie, unlocking the car. ‘We should sell tickets.’

  ‘Well?’ Harry barked, somewhat rudely. He seemed preoccupied, eating a large home-made sandwich. Derek was nowhere to be seen. Katie was starving and watched him munch away, salivating. Carelessly, he ripped off a piece of his sandwich and threw it on the floor. Before Katie had time to object, there was a lazy snapping sound. Leaning over the desk, Katie saw the most beautiful black Labrador stretched out at his feet.

  ‘Ooh, lovely doggie,’ said Katie, before she could help herself. Harry looked at her as if she’d just insulted his mother (which of course, she’d already managed earlier).

  ‘Francis isn’t a “doggie”,’ said Harry, spluttering crumbs. ‘He’s a working animal.’

  Francis didn’t look anything like a working animal, unless he was a member of a particularly strong trade union. He batted his long eyelashes at her twice, then fell asleep.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Katie. ‘Does he bite?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the kind of work he does,’ said Harry scathingly. ‘He bites ditzy PR girls. Got his paws full around here.’

  ‘You’re a very hostile person,’ said Katie. ‘Is it the sandwich?’

  For once, Harry looked nonplussed. He soon regained his sangfroid. ‘What did Kinross say?’

  ‘I think you may have something of an image problem,’ said Katie.

  ‘In English?’

  ‘Um, he says…’ she consulted her notebook urgently, ‘that there’s an issue with biodiversity, herons, food chain implications, blah blah blah…basically you’re killing all the trees.’

  ‘Typical!’ said Harry furiously. ‘I’m going to kill that little prick.’

  ‘And we come back to the image problem.’

  ‘OK,’ said Harry. ‘Now you see our problem. So, what are you going to do about that little shit?’

  This was Katie’s moment. She was usually pretty good at the client pitch of how they were going to find the USP and work it to their point of view, then extend that point of view throughout the nation. Although usually facing her across the table were excited haircare product manufacturers and the implication was that she could get it about that Jennifer Aniston used their gunk. She wasn’t used to trying to convince a homicidal tree-hugger and his gently snoring dog.

  ‘Well, first, I think we need to have a meeting. Have a frank and fearless exchange of views. Really get to grips with what the underlying misunderstandings are. Maybe over a nice lunch somewhere. Then…’

  ‘Well, that’s absolutely out of the question,’ said Harry. ‘Next.’

  ‘There’s nowhere to get a nice lunch?’

  ‘Well, that too. But I hate that lying son of a bitch.’

  ‘Why?’

  Katie was excitedly picking over the possibilities in her head. There must be a girl involved, surely? Hearts broken? Ooh, maybe they were long-lost brothers? TWINS, bitter rivals, born on the same day, to grow up to strive over the heart and soul of the town, nay, the very Highlands themselves…

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ said Harry, heading out of the door.

  ‘He’s such a grumpy bastard,’ moaned Katie later, back at their digs.

  ‘He really does sound like Gordon Brown. Are you sure he’s not a bit romantic and rugged?’

  Louise was putting make-up on, thus intruding on Katie’s date by insinuation whilst pretending to be simply trying out new lipstick. She’d managed to find some candles with which to light their dank room, which, although flattering, was forcing them to apply lipstick in the style of Coco the Clown.

  ‘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 out
come 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.’

  Chapter Six

  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.’