by Lisa Hobman
She shook her head vehemently. ‘Running off to Lachy? Not a chance. I’ve had enough of bloody rejection for one year, thank you very much. I’ll stick to being melancholy and liking him from a safe distance.’
Marco sighed. ‘I suppose six hundred and fifty miles could be classed as a safe distance.’
There was a knock on the main door and Shelley shouted through from the hallway after letting herself in. ‘Hey, you guys! We’re here. We brought wine to start the night off properly. The cab will be here in twenty minutes so get a move on!’
Zara and Marco walked through to the kitchen to find Shelley and Jake chatting there. The wine was already poured.
‘I want to make a toast,’ Shelley announced. ‘Here’s to being yourself and thinking fuck ’em all.’ She held her glass aloft.
The others chimed in unison with, ‘Fuck ’em all!’
*
Being in a room full of people she vaguely recognised was bizarre to say the least. She perused the high-school photo board and she wore the obligatory name badge. She stood against the wall as Marco went off to chat to someone across the room that had been making eyes at him since they arrived.
Before giving him permission to abandon her she had laughed. ‘It took you all of five minutes to prove my point, Marco.’
Shelley arrived moments later carrying a glass of punch. ‘Look at you, you’re being all wallflower when you should be all centrepiece.’
‘Ooh, very profound. Ugh, this is just mind-bogglingly boring, Shells. I’d rather be at the pub with you, Marco and Jake.’
‘Nope. Come on. Time to get your boast on. Stephanie Watson is over there. Remember her?’
‘The gorgeous one that all the boys adored but who was a total bitch?’
‘Yup. She’s all wrinkly from too much sun and looks a bit like a leather handbag. She runs a hotel in Spain with her husband and can’t seem to stop bragging about it. Come and say hello.’ Shelley winked, grabbed her wrist and dragged her across the room.
‘Stephanie, look who I found! It’s Zara Bailey!’ Shelley announced as they arrived before a rather orange-faced woman who looked ten years their senior.
‘Zara! It’s so lovely to see you! You look… erm… lovely,’ Stephanie said as she eyed her up and down with disdain. She had always hated Zara at school and it appeared time had changed nothing.
‘Hi, Stephanie. You’re looking well. How are you?’
‘Oh, not too bad. Well, considering I’m rushed off my feet running a very successful boutique hotel in Spain. I don’t get much time for myself, you know how it is.’ She flicked her indubitably bleached blonde hair over her shoulder.
Shelley leaned closer. ‘Ooh, it’s a boutique hotel now. It was just a hotel before you joined the conversation,’ she whispered discreetly. ‘A teensy bit threatened, methinks.’
Zara smiled and nodded. ‘That sounds lovely, Stephanie.’
‘Oh, it is. Francis, my husband, he’s a lot older than me, you know, but he’s very business savvy. But all the wealthy ones are, aren’t they? He calls me his young strumpet.’ She giggled.
‘Well, there’s something to be proud of,’ Shelley whispered again.
‘So, what is it that you do now, Zara?’ Stephanie asked as she glanced round the room, clearly not interested in the answer.
‘I’m a journalist with a travel magazine.’
‘Mmm hmm,’ Stephanie mumbled.
Before Zara could speak Shelley interrupted, ‘Yes, she travels all round the world visiting luxury hotels and writing articles in The Bohemian for—’
Stephanie was suddenly all ears. ‘Ooh! You mean a proper journalist? Not some crappy rag? Oooh, you should come and do an article on Pasión del Castillo!’ She patted her hair. ‘We run a very luxurious establishment. Perfect for your magazine, what was it again – The Behemoth?’ She grinned maniacally.
Zara and Shelley exchanged amused glances. ‘The Bohemian. I’ll mention your hotel to my editor. Although we’re incredibly busy doing cruises and the hotels around the Red Sea just now.’
Stephanie turned on the charm. ‘Yes, but you’d do an article about a dear friend’s luxury hotel, wouldn’t you?’
Clearly at the end of her bullshit tether, Shelley butted in again. ‘Stephanie, you hated both of us at school. In fact, I distinctly remember it being you who started the whole “Jelly Bean and Granny Bailey” thing.’
Stephanie’s cheeks were probably flushed bright pink, but it was hard to tell under the oak-coloured-fence stain. ‘Oh, I don’t think that was me, love. I think it was David Bilton. Yeah, I remember him saying it first. You probably just overheard me telling people how mean it was that they called you those names.’
Shelley had had a fair bit to drink by this point and she evidently wasn’t in the mood for such bollocks. She turned to Zara and exclaimed, ‘Did she really just do that? She did, didn’t she? She just chucked her childhood sweetheart under the bus!’ Then her focus was returned to the vision of orange before them. ‘Stephanie, there’s as much chance of you being in The Bohemian as there is of Meghan and Prince Harry staying at your hotel. Come on, Zee. Let’s go get another drink.’
As they walked away Zara was racked with guilt. ‘That was a bit harsh, wasn’t it?’
‘Pfft! You should have heard her earlier. She was being a total bitch about the glasses you used to wear and even worse about your clothes until I told her you were still my best friend and that you were here this evening.’
‘Oh. Charming.’
Shelley gasped. ‘Oh, God, I think Marco has well and truly pulled.’
Zara turned in the direction Shelley was looking to find Marco snogging Toby Hunt just outside the fire doors.
‘I remember having a massive crush on Toby. We had History together. He was so good-looking and shy,’ Shelley said dreamily.
‘Not so shy any more!’ Zara said and they giggled.
As they wandered towards the bar she recognised more faces and overheard conversations in which cars, jobs and families were mentioned. Everywhere she turned was the one-upmanship-slash-pissing contests both Lachy and Noah had commented on prior to the event. She couldn’t be bothered any more. She was ready to leave.
‘Oh, hi! Zara, isn’t it?’ a tall, handsome man asked as Shelley wandered off towards the bar.
She scrunched her brow. ‘Yes, but I’m so sorry, I don’t remember—’
He held out his hand. ‘Yeah, I do look different now. I’m Patrick O’Shea. We had English together. I was rather overweight and a bit geeky. You were one of the only kids who acknowledged me back then. I’m glad I’ve bumped into you. Gives me a chance to say thank you for making school less shitty.’
She shook his hand as the original Patrick – nicknamed Fat-rick by the delightful Stephanie Watsons of the school – sprang to mind. ‘Oh, my word! It is you. You look incredible. How are you? What have you been up to?’
He shrugged and a genuinely warm smile spread across his slender, sculpted face. ‘Well, I actually moved away quite a while ago. I own a couple of bike-hire shops in Inverness with my partner, Sophie. I say partner, but we’re getting married later this year.’
She inhaled sharply. ‘Oh, God, you’re kidding? It’s not Highland Trax, is it? Like the one on Church Street in Inverness?’
He frowned but his smile remained in place. ‘It is. How do you know?’
She groaned and covered her eyes. Peeping through her fingers, she admitted, ‘I don’t believe this. I’ve just returned from doing the North Coast 500 and the bike my magazine hired was from your shop.’
His eyes widened and he laughed. ‘Oh, my word! You’re not the journalist from The Bohemian who had a run-in with a tractor, are you?’
She cringed and nodded. ‘I’m so sorry but, yes, that was me.’
‘Oh, shit! Are you okay though? You didn’t sustain any permanent damage, did you?’
‘Only to your bike.’ She felt terrible.
‘Hey, please d
on’t worry. We were all really concerned when we heard. I was away visiting suppliers when I was informed. I didn’t think for a minute it would be someone I knew!’
‘Ugh, well, now you know who to invoice for the damage.’
He laughed again. ‘I’ll do no such thing. I’m just relieved that you’re okay. I’m so glad I’ve seen you. I wasn’t even going to come tonight. Not my kind of thing, seeing as everyone at school hated me and the feeling was completely mutual, current company excepted, of course. So how was the NC500? It’s incredible, isn’t it? We’ve cycled it a few times now.’
She sighed and a wistful feeling took over her. ‘It is. Absolutely wonderful. The strange thing was I did it under duress. It really wasn’t my kind of thing. But now… I really miss the fresh air and the stunning views.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s got you, hasn’t it? Honestly, the Highlands get under your skin. There’s something that pulls you back, just you wait and see. But it really does stay with you.’
She nodded. ‘It certainly does. But I fell in love with it so fast, which I absolutely wasn’t expecting. So many incredible places and vistas.’
‘Yes, and the beaches. Seriously, there’s no need to go abroad when you’ve got stretches of clean sand with hardly anyone to bother you.’
She remembered that feeling of standing on the sand during her trip and how she had thought exactly the same thing. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d manage it at first. Some of the hills are killers. And I’m not the best cyclist in the world. I’m not a regular at the gym or anything so I was dreading it.’
‘You’re not alone there. Exercise of any kind was hell for me when I was a kid. When I met Sophie at university in the Highlands and it turned out she was a real outdoorsy kind I decided to make some changes. We were friends for ages first, but things just blossomed. And that was before I lost all the weight. I’ve got the Highlands to thank for that. The place found a little space in my heart and filled it. I adore it. The fact that Sophie’s Scottish and mad about the Highlands too just ices the cake really.’
‘Why did you go to uni all the way up there?’
He chuckled. ‘Oh, I wanted to get as far away from London as I could without going abroad. My memories of school weren’t exactly happy ones.’
‘So why did you decide to come here tonight?’ she asked with journalistic intrigue.
‘In all honesty, I wanted to come and show them all I’ve made something of myself but when I arrived and saw everyone again as adults the threat was gone. The need to prove myself was gone too. They’re not doing the kind of things I’m doing, but that doesn’t mean they’re better or worse than me. Just different. And I accept that even if they can’t. I’m happy with my life and I don’t need anything from this lot to make that so. How about you?’
She grinned. ‘Exactly the same.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘What you said about the Highlands filling a space in your heart, I totally get that.’
‘Well, maybe you’ll relocate too someday. What’s stopping you?’
She huffed through puffed cheeks. ‘The fear of failing. Of not being able to do what I love. Of being alone, I guess.’
‘What do you want to do with your life? Are you happy being a journalist?’
She nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I love my job. But… I think maybe travelling so much is making it difficult for me to put down proper roots. And I can’t help feeling that I’m missing something.’
‘You’ve the perfect job to be freelance, you know. There are lots of newspapers and magazines where staff can work remotely.’ He had a good point.
‘I suppose so. And that would be really great…’
He tilted his head. ‘I sense a “but”.’
‘Hmm… you see, what I really want to do is… Ugh, it’ll sound so far-fetched and stupid.’
He grinned. ‘More stupid than a fat kid ending up owning a bike shop and cycling round the Highlands for fun?’
She smiled and took a deep breath. ‘Okay… okay… I want to be a novelist. I want to see my books on shelves in shops. I want to tell my own stories, not just those belonging to other people. I’ve actually written a book already, in my limited spare time, but I’d love to write more.’ She couldn’t believe she had so readily admitted it aloud to someone she hadn’t seen for years.
His eyes widened and he pursed his lips. ‘I’m impressed. You should and could totally do that. Rent a little croft somewhere with good Internet. Get a dog. Be a freelance journalist and in your spare time write those bestsellers.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
His expression changed to one of serious sincerity. ‘Zara. You have one life. Make it so that you’re free to be the thing you want to be more than anything. You might not end up a millionaire, but you’ll certainly be happy. And that’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Being happy.’
He was right on so many points but there was no way she could simply up and leave everything and everyone. And not on a whim like this. Not after one trip to the Highlands. It was crazy to even consider it… wasn’t it?
Patrick held out a business card. ‘Here, my number and my email are on there. If you decide to visit Scotland again you should come and stay with us. I’ll get Sophie to work on you. You’ll be packing London in for good in no time.’
She reached up to hug him. ‘Thank you, Patrick. I’m so glad I’ve seen you. It’s a small world, eh?’
‘It sure is. Now go and fight for your ultimate dream. It’s totally doable. Time to make some changes.’ He glanced round the room. ‘Well, I think I’m done with this place. Time to move on for good, I reckon. So long, Zara.’
Patrick hugged her again and she watched as he walked towards the door without so much as a backward glance at what was, to all intents and purposes, his past.
31
The next morning Zara awoke with a thick pounding head to find a pint of water and two headache pills on her bedside table. There was also a note from Marco.
Zara Bear
Thought you might need these. We drank a LOT when we got home.
I’ve gone to meet gorgeous Toby for coffee. Wish me luck. Enjoy lunch at your folks’.
Love you
M x
She dragged herself out of bed, took the pills and went to shower. The marching band in her head was slowly being replaced with words that echoed Patrick’s from the night before about changes. Although as her earworm from her Highland travels was back the words came in the form of ‘Changes’, the David Bowie song, another of her dad’s favourites, and the lyrics she had known since she was a girl now resonated deep within her.
The front door to her parents’ was locked when she arrived later on that day. It was rare but not unheard of, thanks to a number of opportunistic burglaries in the area. She pressed the doorbell button and could just make out the opening bars of ‘God Save the Queen’ as it alerted the occupants to her arrival.
Her younger brother, Will, opened the door and before actually greeting her he shouted over his shoulder at the top of his lungs, ‘Mu-u-u-um! It’s her! She’s he-e-e-ere!’ He then turned to her with a grin and said, ‘Better come in, sis.’
As she stepped into the living room she almost jumped out of her skin as party poppers exploded and The Proclaimers’ ‘I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)’ blared at full volume from her dad’s stereo system.
Her mum, dad, brothers, Shelley, Jake, Marco and even poor Toby sang to her at the top of their voices with big cheesy grins in place, but every time the word ‘walk’ came up they changed it to ‘ride’. Zara stood there watching and laughing at the scene before her as the group jumped up and down singing in terrible fake Scottish accents.
‘What the heck are you doing, you barmy bunch?’ she shouted over the music.
Her dad, out of breath, walked over to her side and hugged her with one arm. ‘We wanted you to have a proper homecoming, sweetheart. But we thought we’d wait ’til you’d caught your breath a bit.’
Sh
e beamed at her family and friends. ‘Well, this is brilliant. Ridiculous, but brilliant.’
‘We got you gifts too!’ her mum announced, still dancing.
‘Aw, you guys didn’t have to go to so much trouble, you know. It was only a work trip.’
‘Yeah, but we know how much you were dreading it so we planned this for when you got back.’
The song ended and was soon followed by Queen’s ‘Bicycle Race’. Her mum informed her, ‘Will and Andy made the track list for you on Spotify. They’re all biker tunes. “King of the Road”, “Born to Be Wild”, “Bat Out of Hell”, and stuff like that. Genius, eh?’
Zara laughed, her shoulders shaking and tears forming. ‘You do remember it was a bicycle, not a motorbike, don’t you?’
Andy huffed. ‘Yeah, but you try finding songs about cycling. All we got was Queen, which is okay, and bloody Mungo Jerry. It’s not exactly rock and roll, is it? So we had to use a bit of artistic licence.’
She hugged him. ‘Well, I absolutely love it. Thank you so much.’
‘Anyway, love; instead of a Sunday roast we’ve done a buffet. I hope that’s okay?’
‘Ooh, is the food biker themed too?’
Her mum rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, good Lord, no. Even I have limits, love.’ She laughed.
‘Well, that’ll be perfect, Mum, thank you.’
Her parents went to sort out the food and she was joined by Shelley, Marco and their respective partners. ‘We clubbed together and got you something.’ Marco handed her an envelope.
She opened it and pulled out a voucher for a weekend at a spa hotel of her choice. Shelley winked at her. ‘There’s one in the Highlands. You know, in case you fancied a return trip.’
Marco told her, ‘The voucher’s good for a year so there’s no rush.’
Zara hugged them both. ‘That’s so sweet of you. Thank you. But I think I might use it a bit closer to home if you don’t mind.’
‘Up to you,’ Marco said, ‘but the Highland retreat is the one with the best reviews.’ He grinned.