by Jenny Colgan
Everyone, reflected Katie, except for the two of them.
Dinner was excruciating, as Katie was completely unable to make any kind of conversation, and it became increasingly clear to Harry that he’d given himself away. She was clearly mortified and desperate to get out of his sight as fast as she reasonably could.
It was just, he’d kind of thought that Iain nonsense was over with once and for all; he’d seen Iain out and about with the cavalcade of ladies who’d arrived, and he knew what Iain was like. Weak. No match really for a bolshy character like Katie. God, why had he been such a stupid prick in London? It hadn’t even hit home, until he realised just how much he missed her when she went back. It wasn’t the same around the office, with just Derek and Francis on hand. He missed her habit of asking awkward questions all the time, and dashing off to do things, and, well, he just missed her and that was all there was to it.
So they talked about the food, which was surprisingly good and almost completely poison free, as far as Katie could tell; the fact that the weather had cleared up; that wasn’t it amazing so many people had come so far, blah blah.
Katie was sure her heart was pounding so loudly he would be able to see it through her chest. For some reason she felt her eyes constantly returning to his hands. He was wearing cufflinks on his shirt, and she could see how strong his forearms looked underneath it. He had such big hands, more suited to working on the land than sitting in an office, she thought. She wondered what it would be like to feel them on her.
‘Oh God,’ said Harry finally.
Katie’s heart leaped. What was he going to say? Was he going to make a declaration? Bring it up? Oh God, what was she going to say? How could she respond?
‘I hate speeches,’ said Harry.
Katie thought maybe she’d misheard. ‘Pardon?’ she said, her throat dry.
‘Speeches. I hate giving speeches.’ He drew a small pile of index cards out of his pocket.
‘You’re giving a speech?’ said Katie stupidly.
‘Well, yes…got to thank everyone for coming and stuff, remind them why they’re here and all that. Then I think Ewan McGregor’s going to say a few words, and I think Shirley Manson’s going to sing a song later.’
‘Oh,’ said Katie, mildly wondering why nobody had asked her to say anything. ‘Great.’
‘We would have got you to do it, but somebody said you might encourage inappropriate arse-showing.’
Katie nodded. ‘I don’t mean to.’
Harry smiled wryly. ‘You never do.’
Harry rapped his fingers on the table as the puddings came around. ‘I guess I’d better do it after pudding. Or maybe when they get coffee Or maybe just now.’
In fact, they did have to wait for coffee, by which time Harry looked so uncomfortable Katie wanted to ask him if he needed to be taken to the toilet. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m sure it will be great.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ said Harry ominously, fingering his index cards.
Derek came bounding up, wearing a dinner jacket that made him look like a waiter. ‘I’ve got the PA fixed up!’ he whispered, indicating a large amplifier with a mike behind them.
‘Great,’ said Harry, looking like a condemned man. Over the clatter of coffee cups, he stood up with the mike, which brushed his jacket and gave an instant wail of feedback.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Good start.’
The room gradually quietened down and he stepped to the side. Once he started to speak, thought Katie, he didn’t sound nervous at all.
‘Hello everyone,’ he said. ‘I’m Harry Barr, and I’m the person who runs the forest you’re all helping by coming here tonight, so I’d just like to thank you.’
There was a little cheer, and a round of applause went around the room. Harry grinned and went pink.
‘Every year, we lose twenty million acres of forest in the UK. Organised lines of replantings can’t even begin to replicate the complexity of original woodlands that have developed over centuries; the different species inter-dependent on one another the way they were always meant to be.
‘Golf courses are the opposite of the wild woods. They’re manicured and organised. They are an attempt to impose order on the world, to bend it to man’s will. To smooth its rough surfaces and expose its secrets.
‘I’m glad you’re all here tonight, because I’m glad to be part of a group of people which doesn’t want all the mystery and adventure gone from their lives. Which believes that our great forests deserve to flourish in peace, which believes that a little bit of Scotland can always remain wild, just as a little bit of our hearts can never be tamed.’
There was a huge nationalistic roar at this, and much thumping of feet on floors, and glasses on tables. Katie couldn’t understand why Harry had been so bothered about giving a speech; he wasn’t bad at it at all.
‘Anyway, we’re about to commence the slave auction.’
There was massed girly screeching.
‘So, I would ask everyone to give generously, as we all make massive tits of ourselves, just like Mother Nature intended.’ Harry squinted at the index card he was holding, as if he didn’t want to read out the next bit. ‘Very quickly, there’s a few people I have to thank for putting tonight together. Kelpie MacGuire, who has run the kitchen like…well, like one of Stalin’s gulags, I think, but I’m sure you’ll agree, she’s done a fine job…’
There was a massed roar of applause, and Kelpie, looking pretty, pink and exhausted in her chef’s whites, stepped in and made a bow. She winked at Katie, who suspected that she was having a fantastic time.
‘…Margaret Senga McClockerty, who has been a powerhouse of organisational ability.’
Katie looked around, but she couldn’t see her. She must be here, surely.
‘Olivia Li from LiWebber Associates in London, who’ve been handling the PR, and…’ At this point Harry swallowed and really did go red. He stared at the index card, as if forcing himself to read it out. ‘…our most special thanks go to Katie Watson, who turned up out of the blue one day, and, well, it hasn’t always been plain sailing, but Katie, you’ve worked so hard for all of this to come together…stand up Katie…and, doesn’t she look beautiful?’
Katie was completely blindsided. She hadn’t realised…people started clapping. Slowly she stood up and found they were whooping and cheering. It was the most amazing feeling. For someone whose life was falling apart at the seams, right now, she thought she was making a pretty good show of it. She felt tears well up suddenly.
‘Thank you,’ she mouthed to Harry.
He shrugged. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be at all. He realised that in his head when he’d written this bit of the speech, she dashed up, flung her arms around him and kissed him in front of everyone. That was a bit stupid when he thought about it now. He looked at her. Very stupid.
‘Ehm, no, thank you,’ he said back. Then they both sat down, awkwardly, together.
Ewan McGregor’s speech was short and sweet, along the lines of give Harry all their fucking money or he wouldn’t get his cock out. Then the central tables were cleared back and everyone started to move around the room, murmuring excitedly as a small stage was erected in the middle.
Harry was leaving the table. Katie realised she desperately had to say something to him, but she wasn’t sure what.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
He paused, as if he really wished she hadn’t asked him that question. ‘Toga,’ he mumbled finally, feeling like the biggest loser of all time.
And he left.
Katie squished up with Olivia and Louise over two chairs right in the middle of the front row, where they had already bagsed the best view of the action. All the men had disappeared, and there was a huge buzz of perfume, smoke, coffee, wine and giggling in the air, as the women hurried back from the toilets and checked their wallets for cash.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Olivia. ‘Everyone is here. Did you spot Richard and Judy
?’
‘Is he going to be in a toga?’ asked Katie.
‘Sadly not,’ said Olivia. ‘But I expect Judy will be bidding. What are you grinning about?’ This was directed at Louise, who was sitting with a huge smile plastered over her face.
‘Nothing,’ said Louise. She tried to stop smiling, but failed, the corners of her mouth twitching.
‘And what about YOU?’ said Olivia, turning on Katie. ‘We saw you waltzing in here with your fancy man! Get caught making out behind the tent did you?’
‘No,’ said Katie. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’
She wondered whether to tell her friends about dinner, but decided against it.
‘Well,’ said Louise. ‘Here’s a quick test. “Iain’s a prick – true or false?”’
Katie half-smiled. ‘I think perhaps he’s a bit misunderstood.’
‘Ooohhh,’ said Olivia and Louise together, but there wasn’t time to discuss more, as the lights went down and a drum roll came from the back of the marquee.
‘AND NOW,’ a hugely loud female voice, that Katie thought she recognised from somewhere, came over the PA. ‘WELCOME TO THE FIRST FAIRLISH SLAVE AUCTION!’ boomed out, as the lights came up to reveal, perched on top of the viewing platform, Mrs McClockerty, absolutely resplendent in a sparkling huge sequinned corset, which amply demonstrated her magnificent bosom, and a long velvet skirt. She looked amazing. Katie and Louise nearly fell off their chairs, and the cheering around the room was the loudest heard so far.
Mrs McClockerty was grinning broadly and bellowing into the microphone stand as if she was doing her last comeback on Broadway. ‘RIGHT! SHUT UP YOUSE! YOU’LL FIND A CARD UNDERNEATH YOUR CHAIRS WI’ A NUMBER ON IT. IF YOU WANT TO BID, HOLD UP THE NUMBER, AND YOU WILL BE HELD TO IT. DO YOUSE UNDERSTAND?’
Everyone bawled lustily.
‘AH CAN’T HEAR YOU!’
‘WAAAAH!’ screamed the crowd.
‘Winning bidders will be entitled to twenty-four hours of full service from the slave on a date of their choosing, including at least one skill! All right!’ said Mrs McClockerty. ‘Now, lot number one…’
There was a noisy drum roll from the back, and the first of the techies bounced on stage, waving his arms in the air. He was wearing a sheet that didn’t quite conceal a pair of tartan boxer shorts.
‘Hello!’ he bellowed into the microphone, ‘my name is Seamus Hannigan, I’m twenty-eight years old, five feet nine inches tall and can provide many special services around the home, including computer mending, web design, technical drawing and erotic foot massage!’
Seamus wiggled his bum provocatively to mass screams from the audience, and the numbers started going up almost immediately.
‘And I have fifty…sixty…seventy…one HUNDRED pounds…one hundred and twenty…fifty…one seven-five…one ninety…TWO HUNDRED pounds…two hundred and twenty…thirty…going for thirty…great foot massage…going once, going twice…’ Mrs McClockerty smashed a mallet onto a stool. ‘SOLD for two hundred and thirty pounds to number 119.’
Number 119 squealed with delight, revealing herself to be a tiny porcine brunette. In piggy hooves, she ran up to the stage, where Seamus attempted to pick her up and carry her off, failed, dropped his toga and finally grabbed her podgy fingers and ran out of the marquee, both of them giggling hysterically all the while.
Next was Willie the ghillie, at whom Louise wolf-whistled approvingly. Wisely, after promising to catch a pheasant as a skill, which didn’t rouse too much interest amongst the provincial ladies, he let his toga drop from his shoulders and revealed a set of pecs of which Justin Timberlake would have been proud. Bids multiplied accordingly.
‘Not bidding, Louise?’ said Katie slyly.
‘I, uh, no…ha, no…I mean, I’m nearly skint and, let’s face it,’ Louise swallowed hard, ‘probably fired.’
‘Hmm,’ said Katie. She’d forgotten about Louise’s job, though not, it seemed, as readily as Louise had.
A line of farmers were despatched into the baying crowd of women, who were getting increasingly worked up, screeching themselves into a frenzy, when little Lachlan turned up, wearing a pillowcase and promising a place to rest their pint glasses. The money was heading well north of five hundred quid, and Katie was almost allowing herself to think of the next thing they’d do with the money: lawyers’ fees and advertisements in newspapers. Not that she’d be here, of course, she told herself sternly. She’d be far away.
Laird Kennedy did not look at his best, even wearing two sheets in the manner of a Roman Emperor. It ill behoved his ancient lineage to be marching up and down in his bedclothes in front of hundreds of, by now, near hysterical women. He cleared his throat in front of the mike and didn’t seem quite his normal bombastic self.
‘Uh…Well…um, this is my house.’
‘TWO GRAND!’ screamed a high-pitched female voice from the crowd, unable even to wait to put her number up. Chaos kicked off.
‘It’s not getting a bit dangerous back there do you think?’ said Olivia, twisting her head around as the bidding went up at a ferocious rate.
‘It’s all good,’ said Katie. ‘All cash for us. I tell you what, though, I wouldn’t particularly want to be following this.’
Kennedy went, eventually, for an absolutely eyepopping amount of cash. The room craned to watch the tall, imperious-looking woman in the expensive jewellery come forward to claim her prize. Katie was close enough to the podium to hear her hiss, ‘What’s your title?’ to him, then she turned around and smiled bountifully to the cheering crowd when he answered, ‘Laird’.
The woman waved royally.
‘Can you have children?’ Kennedy asked her sotto voce.
The room seemed to take a huge breather after this. There was a very definite sense that nobody was going to make more than ten grand, and that they’d just seen the peak of the boys being auctioned off. There was much flouncing off to the toilet and the bar, and the chatter of women just talking amongst themselves rose commensurately.
‘AHEM!’ said Mrs McClockerty, but nobody paid much notice as she welcomed the next toga-clad victim on stage. It was Harry.
‘Harry Barr!’ yelled Mrs McClockerty, face beaming with maternal pride. ‘No need for him to introduce himself, I can tell you he’s the best of the lot here, and if you take him and don’t treat him right, ah can tell you right now, you’re going to have ME to answer to.’ She gestured at herself fiercely. Harry’s face burned even hotter. ‘I’m telling you, he’s the best one here, so get betting you ENGLISH BITCHES!’
Like a curtain, a complete silence dropped over the room.
Katie, Louise and Olivia covered their faces with their hands.
Mrs McClockerty just stood, glowering, as an agitated murmuring started up in the corner of the marquee. Several people got up and strode out, the rest discussed the insult in shocked tones, which was fair enough, Katie thought, given that they’d come up here and given good money of their own accord, and really didn’t need to be called bitches for the privilege.
Harry stood there, stock still on the podium, looking as though he was about to be hanged by the neck until dead, and as if he would actually rather welcome the experience.
Mrs McClockerty still didn’t seem to realise anything was the least bit the matter. She stared around the room crossly. ‘WELL??? ANYONE???’
Katie sneaked a look over her shoulder. Row after row of women was sitting sullenly, arms crossed, completely different from the baying masses only a few seconds before. She looked at Harry again. Oh, this was just awful. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the floor. Only the tips of his ears were showing, glowing bright pink. A terrible silence was hanging in the air.
Katie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up out of her seat. In her clearest voice, she shouted, ‘One hundred pounds!’
Harry’s head shot up, and he looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
‘ONE HUNDRED POUNDS!’ Mrs McClockerty was s
hrieking, but Katie hardly heard her. She and Harry were staring straight at each other, and, oddly, it felt as if there was nobody else in the room. Almost unwittingly, she found herself moving a step towards him. Likewise, almost in slow motion, Harry stretched out his hand towards her.
‘Going ONCE!’ screeched Mrs McClockerty. She looked down. Lachlan was tugging at her skirt. She bent down as he whispered in her ear.
Katie and Harry were still staring at each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the room. Katie was just reaching up her hand to take his. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, but it felt terribly natural to be doing so.
‘AHEM,’ said Mrs McClockerty, her beetle brows coming very low as she hollered into the mike. ‘It has come to my attention that I may, in fact, have been a wee bittie hasty before and insulted a lot of youse.’
‘Ya big fat bitch!’ came a heckle from the back of the tent, to widespread laughter.
‘So, I’ve been ordered to say “sorry”.’ She looked as though this was an extremely difficult thing for her to get out. ‘And, to add to that, if you bid for the lovely Harry Barr, you will also, ahem, get the opportunity to…what was that, Lachlan?’ Lachlan whispered into her ear again. ‘Cake? Really?’ She looked furious. ‘OK. Whoever bids for Harry also gets to pelt me with cake.’
At this, there was a renewed outburst of cheering. Mrs McClockerty stroked her sequinned top with a sigh.
‘ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY!’ yelled a voice from the back.
‘TWO HUNDRED!’ came another.
Immediately, the spell was broken. Harry stood up, looked around, shuffling awkwardly on the spot. The bidding increased; people knew who he was and he was the reason some of them had come there in the first place. The figure went up and up, and he stayed, looking miserably at Katie, with Mrs McClockerty’s hand firmly clamped on his arm, as the sums mounted. Women were on their feet, clustering around the podium, and Katie suddenly felt very claustrophobic. She had to leave. She got up and headed for the bathroom, closely followed by Louise.
‘What’s up?’ asked Louise, as Katie leaned her forehead against the cold white tiles. They’d left the Portaloos to their own devices and slipped into the downstairs cloakroom of the main house, which felt cold and quiet. There were a few people strolling around, couples talking quietly in corners; assignations being arranged. But there was nobody in the large bathroom, for which Katie was profoundly grateful.