by Jenny Colgan
‘Not if you do your job right.’
‘Surely it’s better if everyone knows what’s being proposed, then rises against it, united?’
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘For the last time, I don’t want a kind of panicky free-for-all, do you understand? Just be subtle, and see what you can pick up. Ah, Laird Kennedy. How are you?’
Kennedy, more eyebrows than face, eyed Harry sternly. ‘Fine, Barr. When are you going to come and clear out the backwoods of my damn estate, eh? Every other bugger’s got development money pouring out their yazoos, and I want my share, do you hear me?’
‘But those trees have a fully integrated eco system…they’re as old as your family, Laird.’
‘And they don’t pay their way either.’ The old man sniffed. ‘You tree-huggers. No idea of the financial problems of real life. Don’t know if I can get through another winter in this perishing cold.’
Harry looked pained. Katie couldn’t quite see how he could continue with the topic of selling land now, without it sounding as though he was making a much appreciated offer.
‘Hello young Katie,’ said Kennedy, in a distinctly less crusty tone.
‘Hello Laird,’ said Katie.
Harry looked at her askance and ushered her off. ‘You know the Laird?’
‘I know lots of people,’ said Katie, just to annoy him. ‘Getting people on our side for when you give up your daft idea of keeping it all a secret.’
‘It’s not a daft idea,’ said Harry, looking cross. ‘It’s pragmatic.’
‘It’s daft,’ said Katie quietly, earning herself a warning look.
In the nearest tent they found, to Katie’s delight, row upon row of home-baked sponges, lemon tarts, jam tarts and large layered cakes, spread out as far as the eye could see, and for a second she forgot the forest, her sister and Louise completely.
‘Wow,’ she said to Harry. ‘If you ate something like this in London, the Atkins Police would come and chase you.’
‘Well, here it’ll be the real police,’ said Harry gravely. ‘Those are for the baking competition. Very competitive event. Michael Craven’s won for his black bun three years in a row now and it’s all getting very tense around here.’
A tall, rather skinny man wandered across. ‘Ah, Barr.’
‘Hello Ross,’ said Harry gravely.
‘What do you think of the teacakes this year?’ said the tall man, somewhat mournfully.
‘They look lovely, Ross,’ said Harry. ‘Of course, you know, it’s very difficult to tell just by looking at them.’
The man nodded his head. ‘Thought as much,’ he said. ‘That bastard Craven’s going to win again, isn’t he?’
‘You know, Derek and I love your teacakes.’
‘Well, that doesn’t go for much round here, apparently,’ said Ross, and stomped off.
Katie looked at him retreating through the flaps of the marquee, then back at Harry.
‘They take it seriously, OK?’ said Harry. ‘Lots of bachelor farmers, by themselves at night…baking’s just something to do.’
‘Why aren’t they on the internet, finding fat girlfriends in America?’ asked Katie in wonder.
Harry shrugged and led her through and out the other end of the tent.
Immediately the smell changed from warm baking to rich, deep cow smells. Katie wrinkled her nose instinctively, then tried to hide her reaction.
‘Animals eh?’ said Harry. ‘Stinking up the natural human environment of refined sugar and diesel.’
Katie fervently wished he would stop being such a sanctimonious idiot for just ten seconds or so a day, but couldn’t remove her fingers from pinching her nostrils together in order to say the words.
The cattle, of all different sizes and colours, were in different pens, and were milling around in the mud, making a lot of noise. Katie hadn’t been so close to a large animal since her mother had taken her and Clara on a pony trek when they were small. She’d had hysterics, Clara had smugly taken to it like a duck to water, and believed she had a special affinity with animals ever since.
‘Um, what’s happening?’ she asked Harry, managing not to tug on his shirtsleeve in panic.
‘It’s a cattle market. They’re selling them off.’
A bull gave a particularly grisly-sounding moan, and fixed Katie with his creepily swivelling huge eyeball.
‘What for?’
Harry looked at her, screwing up his face. ‘Well, do you know where babies come from?’
‘Um…’
‘They’re for stud.’
‘Oh, OK.’ Katie tried not to look at the bull’s penis and almost succeeded. ‘It’s like Boujis in here,’ she said, but Harry had already started talking to a man on his right, and they were muttering and nodding and looking at the cattle in a meaningful way.
Meanwhile, Katie had seen something much more to her liking – in a smaller pen, a shepherd was leading a small parade of lambs in, their little coats splattered with ink numbers.
‘Oh, look at the lambs!’ she squeaked.
Harry and the man stopped their conversation immediately. The older man’s face creased in a grin. ‘Who would this be now?’ he asked Harry, as if Katie were five, or one of the lambs.
Harry looked pink. ‘This is our new PR girl. From London.’
‘Is she now?’ said the old gent, and examined her closely.
Katie felt herself redden too.
‘PR? Is that like that Alastair Campbell?’
‘No,’ said Katie, as Harry said, ‘A little bit.’
The man’s gentle expression disappeared immediately. ‘Those Campbells!’ he said. ‘Causing trouble from the dawn of time.’
‘She’s not a Campbell,’ said Harry quickly. But the old man had sniffed and walked away.
‘Old clan conflict,’ said Harry. ‘He’s a MacKenzie.’
Katie had no idea what he was talking about. But it seemed certain that their policy of softly winning over the locals wasn’t going to go as smoothly as they’d hoped.
Wandering off alone through the crowds of animals, she made her way to another tent, this one filled with beautiful, enormous fruits and vegetables; huge leeks, gigantic turnips and shiny spring peas.
‘I feel like Alice in Wonderland,’ she said out loud to herself, dwarfed by an enormous parsnip.
‘Wasn’t she always getting herself into trouble?’ came a smiling voice.
Katie started in surprise. It was Iain. He was standing, hidden behind a huge tray of super-carrots, with a large camera.
‘Oh, you gave me a fright!’ she said.
‘First rule of journalism,’ said Iain. ‘Terrify people into submission.’
He started snapping the carrots, and some particularly garish flower arrangements. ‘That’s Hamish McTrell,’ he said, crossly. ‘Colour blind, the old sod. Still enters every year. Maybe I should switch to black-and-white film.’
‘Are you the official photographer for your paper?’
‘No, I do these paparazzi shots freelance, then auction them to the highest West Coast bidder. Pretty lucrative stuff. It’s like Posh Spice, only with vegetables.’
‘So, you write the entire paper, and take all the photographs.’
‘And deliver it, don’t forget.’
Katie squinted at him suspiciously. She absentmindedly plucked an early raspberry and ate it. Now he was looking at her, seriously, and all the warm fuzzy feelings from last night came flooding back. She wanted, suddenly, to bury her head in his faded green shirt. But there was a camera in the way. He looked concerned. She realised he must be worried that she was regretting last night in a really major way.
‘Sorry, I just…got some strange news this morning. Family news.’
‘Yeah? Bad or good?’
‘Not sure. Strange. It’s going to be hard for…’ Suddenly, she felt strange herself. She wasn’t sure she wanted to unburden herself to Iain, a near stranger, especially not in the garden of Eden. ‘Nothing,’ she said.
&
nbsp; Iain nodded his head. ‘Uh, OK then.’ He looked at her, still concerned. ‘Are you going to be all right?’
‘Oh, yes, sure.’
‘Can I…I mean, can we…maybe go for a drink some time?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Katie decisively. ‘Yes, I’d like that very much. Look, I’d love to stay here with you…’
‘…taking pictures of vegetables? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Definitely. Plus, it doesn’t smell of cow in here. So much. But there’s someone I have to go and find.’
‘Louise?’
‘Yes – how do you know?’
‘How many people do you know in town?’
‘Good point,’ said Katie.
‘Well, she’s here,’ said Iain. ‘I’ve seen her already.’
‘Really?’ said Katie. ‘She is going native.’
Everywhere in the windy meadow there were animals: well-behaved black-and-white sheepdogs pretending to show not the slightest bit of interest in the sheep; cattle and their permeating methane smells, which Katie was still having trouble getting used to, the occasional lamb under a farmer’s arm. She thought she could hear pigs, but she couldn’t see them, and was disinclined to go looking, especially if they were as scary as that bull.
There weren’t any children anywhere, and very few women of course, which made it easy to spy Louise, who was prancing down through the fields in a terribly inappropriate pair of shoes, surrounded by eager-looking chaps, one of whom was Craig the Vet.
‘Hey,’ said Katie, greeting them, and trying to work out a way to get Louise away from the group. She didn’t think Louise would appreciate picking up delayed news, and there was always the possibility that any moment a miracle could happen and they would get signals on their mobiles and she’d find out about it from somebody else. It was a possibility that made Katie shiver even more than having to break the news to her.
‘Hello there,’ said Craig the Vet, smiling his ruddy smile. His arm was very close to Louise’s.
‘We’ve all decided Louise should judge the cake show this year. As a special foreign visitor.’
The other men nodded their assent. Louise looked a picture of extraordinary happiness, testosterone and patisserie uniting to form some triumphant trifle for her to tuck into.
‘I’m having a terrible day,’ said Louise. ‘All these horrible men have kidnapped me and are making me eat cakes.’
‘Are you telling me,’ said Katie, eyeing Craig sharply, ‘that amongst all the animals here, there isn’t a single sick one?’
Craig looked slightly guilty for a second. ‘Oh, they’ll be fine. Always complaining, animals. Terrible hypochondriacs. It’s a horse whisperer they really want, not a trained doctor.’
Katie looked at him through narrowed eyes.
Suddenly, an absurdly loud intercom system crackled on above their heads and everyone jumped. An elderly voice cleared his throat live on air.
‘And noo, the judging for the best home produce of the fair…’
He didn’t need to say any more. Suddenly there was a stampede of large wellington boots heading in the direction of the baking tent.
‘…and this year it will be judged by a newcomer to our town, Miss Louise Hodgkins, from London, England, but try not to hold that against her, I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice wee lassie and not a thieving conniving Sassenach cheat, but even if she is, I’m sure we’ll all extend her our very best Fairlish welcome…’
Katie had no excuse but to turn around and follow Princess Louise and her devoted entourage, who were being swept along by the crowd. Clearly Harry hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said the baking competition was pretty hot stuff in this part of the world.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spied the three town minxes, Kelpie, Thing One and Thing Two. They were clearly absolutely furious at the attention Louise was getting from their menfolk. Katie tried to hurry on past them, but they were having none of it.
Kelpie stepped up. ‘Ah see your slutbucket friend has lost no time in spreading it about,’ she spat in Katie’s face. She looked as if she was trying to wear her hardest face, but it also wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that she was in fact very, very hard. Katie wasn’t going to push her luck.
‘You don’t even know us,’ said Katie. ‘Just go away.’
‘Juhrst go awaaaay,’ said Kelpie, keeping up her high level of ‘being witty by repeating everything somebody says’ technique, which she now had down to a fine art. ‘Listen, I don’t know who youse are, and I don’t care, but the quicker youse FAHK off back to London, the happier wese are going to be.’
‘Working in a pie shop in the middle of nowhere? Wow, that does sound happy,’ said Katie, who was angry enough to have her mouth/brain overdrive popping into gear. ‘Hey, maybe next you could eat all the pies and win Pop Idol.’
The girl took a step back, narrowing her eyes. Katie realised straight away she hadn’t been to an all-girls’ school. Katie was a girl’s girl, no doubt about it, but she had spent her formative years in an all-female psychotic bitch fight and had picked up a few tricks along the way. Kelpie, on the other hand, was probably more used to boys laughing and teasing her. Which was good, in that Katie could say lots of mean things to her. But bad, in that Kelpie was entirely capable of turning around and punching her in the face.
Both sides eyed each other warily.
‘Do you often pick on people for no good reason?’ asked Katie, trying to defuse the situation.
‘Just bitches who deserve it,’ said Kelpie.
‘How incredibly pathetic,’ said Katie, and walked off, trying her best to look cool, even though her heart was bursting through her ears.
‘Right, that’s it – youse are fucked,’ said Kelpie, her voice becoming swamped by the people milling around them. Katie was desperately trying to reach Louise before she disappeared into the marquee, but she was just too late; with a flick of her flowery skirt (where had that come from? Katie wondered – at home Louise lived in Earl jeans and high-heeled boots) Louise had vanished.
Inside the tent, it was hot and crowded, the smell of sugar slightly cloying amidst the mass of male bodies in muddy boots. Katie was shorter than everyone else there and couldn’t see over the flat caps. But, inching closer to the shortbread miniature castle, she heard Louise’s voice.
‘Mmm, yes, this is just lovely…so tasty and delicious.’
Katie rolled her eyes. For goodness’ sake, Louise, these men were already sex-starved – they didn’t need flirting with. She could just make them form an orderly queue.
Katie found a gap in the crowd. Behind each pile of baking stood a different man, trying to look humbly proud of his offerings, and blushing formidably as Louise sampled each one. Making a mental plea that there wouldn’t be any cream horns on offer, Katie found a space by the side of the tables and tried to slip through.
‘Katie!’ Louise greeted her joyfully. ‘Come and help me sample these lovely treats!’
Katie caught sight of Harry standing at the far end of the tent, eyeing her with consternation. She shot him an apologetic look.
‘Louise, I have to talk to you. Also, there’s some girls chasing us who want to beat you up.’
Louise stared at her. ‘Why?’
Katie looked around, agonised, at Louise’s cohort of companions. ‘Um…for being too pretty to live in the village.’
Louise screwed up one eye. ‘Did they call me a slut-bag?’
‘No. Um, I believe the word they used was, err, slutbucket.’
Louise looked disgruntled. ‘Oh well. The boys like me.’
Katie grabbed her hard by her floral sleeve. ‘Just come over here.’
Louise actually batted her eyelids dramatically at the men waiting with their pinnies on. ‘Back soon, boys.’
Katie dragged her to the ladies’ bathroom, which she imagined would be completely deserted, until she noticed the man washing the chicken in the sink. ‘Nice cock,’ said Louise sotto voce as Kat
ie bundled her out of the door.
A small Portakabin was standing there, with a little rough wooden staircase leading up to it. Katie headed up it, checking around to make sure nobody could see them enter, then tried the door. It opened into a completely bare room with some technical equipment stacked at the far end.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ Louise said. ‘You know, keep ’em mean and all that.’
‘Louise,’ said Katie, trying to intimate by her tone that she was being serious. ‘Louise, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘You’re chucking in the job with tightass Barr,’ said Louise instantly. ‘And you’re going to run off with that foxy newspaper man and do a Jennifer Lopez.’
‘No! God, no, I can’t leave this job. Harry’s completely clueless. If I leave, and he continues his “sit on his arse and wait until Tuesday” policy, those guys will buy up his huge precious forest, bulldoze it, stick a golf course there and that’ll be it, job done. I can’t leave. Plus, yes, Iain is a bit foxy…anyway, that’s not the point. It’s not.’
Louise looked up at her.
‘Look, Louise, it’s Clara. And Max.’
There was a pause. It lengthened into an uncomfortable one as they looked at each other.
Finally Louise spoke. ‘See, I think if you were about to say that they’d split up and Max desperately wanted me back, you might have said it by now.’
Katie nodded her head.
Suddenly, the door to the Portakabin burst open.
Harry was standing there, white-faced and trembling with fury. The girls stared at him. Too cross even to speak, he pointed his head at the roof of the trailer. On it were several large black shapes which, if you looked at them closely, resolved themselves to be speakers, whilst, as if in a magic eye picture, the black boxes at the end of the room resolved themselves in front of Katie’s eyes to be a microphone and recording equipment for the show’s PA system, which was apparently switched on.
‘What?’ Louise demanded of Katie. ‘Tell me! You have to tell me!’
‘Is this about your stupid sister being up the duff?’ asked Harry. ‘Brainlessness really does run in the family.’