Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  “How about if I offered the passenger a divine, vegan-friendly sandwich, a drink and the best way in the world to warm up and put colour in your cheeks?”

  It shouldn’t be attractive, that overwhelming, cocky confidence but Katya laughed again. Flattering to find someone so determined to spend time with her. She filed it under ‘possibilities for the future’, adding the proviso ‘only a distant one’.

  “I’ve got make-up that can do that just as well.” Thank you, oh Blissful Beauty glow serum. “Have you bought this house?”

  She pointed in front of her. Modern, open plan, filled with expensive furniture and located right next to the loch, it didn’t surprise her that the property had sold. And if the Audi TT and the posh accent hadn’t already given it away, Zac must be a very rich young man—capable of stepping onto the property ladder much further up than most people their age.

  He got out of the car and she followed. The two of them faced each other across the Audi’s bonnet. “Be serious,” he said. “How on earth could I afford it? So, tomorrow. Do you want to show me around the place?”

  “I’m new here too, remember? I’ve no idea where anything is,” she said, heaving her suitcase and rucksack out from the back of the car. “Thanks for the lift.”

  She ignored the call that came after her that she ought to give him her phone number.

  “Hello, about-to-be-my flatmate. So, who’s that and why is he at Kirsty’s house?”

  Katya stifled a groan. So much for the walk to Jack and now Gaby’s house in peace and quiet, time to rearrange her thoughts and mull over everything that had happened that day. Mhari fell in step beside her, hand on her phone and thumb hovering in the air.

  “How do you do it?” Katya asked, marching as briskly as she could while dragging a large suitcase behind her. Mhari puffed alongside her. “Is there a sensor on the road that’s linked to your phone so you get an alert when strange folks come to the village?”

  Mhari faked hurt, but forgot it quickly enough. You couldn’t sulk and persuade people to part with information at the same time. “I just like a bit o’ fresh air, is all. I’m out and about at all times. Not my fault if I see people doin’ things they shouldnae be, such as getting out of posh cars with cute-looking guys who dinnae look like the cute-looking guy they’re meant to be dating.”

  Mhari, Katya knew, would have questioned Gaby extensively, wanting to find out everything about her about-to-be flatmate. And Gaby’s mouth ran away with her all the time. Everything she’d ever told her friend, Mhari now knew. It was a good job Katya didn’t confide in Gaby half as much as Gaby spilled the beans to her.

  “He’s all yours, Mhari,” she said, pointing at Zac, who was now letting himself into the house and too far away to hear them. “We met at the airport. He was flying to Glasgow. I was flying to Glasgow. When we landed, we discovered we were both heading to Lochalshie too.”

  The brisk march brought them to the end of the High Street and Jack’s house, its lights a welcome sight. And it had taken Mhari out of the way of her own flat. Oh well, if she loved fresh air as much as she professed, she wouldn’t mind. Few people could say that being nosey kept them so fit and healthy.

  Katya raised her hand to knock on the door. Mhari showed no sign of leaving.

  “What’s he here for, then? And why is he in Kirsty’s house? Has he bought it? Oh, I know! Is he the bad boy billionaire Kirsty went on about when she was trying to win Jack back? That car looks the part—the kind of nob vehicle a bad boy billionaire would own, driving it too fast doon the street to make all the lassies swoon.”

  Kirsty had dated Jack briefly before he had the good sense to dump her. And go out with Katya’s best friend instead. At the time, Kirsty had tried to persuade Gaby to help her with a ten-step plan to ‘hook a commitment-phobe’, having mistaken commitment-phobia for active dislike on the part of the guy. Kirsty and her agent cooked up a book idea, Jack the case study and her methods tried out on him.

  One of the dafter of the ten-plan steps—and they were all bonkers—was pretending a billionaire bad boy had fallen in love with Kirsty. She claimed it incited jealousy.

  Given that Jack ended up with Gaby was proof that online dating gurus rarely delivered reliable advice. The book plan fell through.

  “Goodnight Mhari,” Katya said, making a mental note to share her words with Zac the next time she saw him. Just in case he thought his Audi TT boy racer tactics worked on women.

  The door swung open, and Gaby beamed at her. “Katya! Mhari too! Do you want to come in and get to know each other better? And who were you talking about? I heard Kirsty’s house has been sold? Is that true? I’m so glad you’re here!”

  Three days into her new Lochalshie life and she discovered Gaby was right. Mhari made a good flatmate. Katya hadn’t expected that, but she was a vast improvement on the four others she’d lived with in Great Yarmouth. Once you got used to the non-stop questions, she liked the same shows on Netflix, and spent the bulk of her time off in the pub, at other people’s houses or visiting her ma and pa to get her washing done and a cooked dinner.

  So far, Katya hadn’t seen her that much. As the oldest of four sisters and then a flat sharer with three others, she wasn’t used to the peace and quiet, and revelled in the silence.

  Nothing further had come from Edmund Morris & Co about the ghost-writing job, but her other clients kept her busy. Madeline seemed to have gotten over her dismay at Katya’s move, and had already found her two clients based in the nearest big town, Oban.

  “Caledonia Brewers,” she messaged Katya, “loved that website copy you knocked up for them. Can you do more work for them over the next few weeks?”

  She’d seen nothing more of Zac. Whatever setting up a food supply business involved, he did it invisibly. Villagers sidled up to her. Who was the new guy in Kirsty’s house, and what was he doing in Lochalshie? She shook her head. It was Zac’s job to tell the villagers his ambitious plans—especially anything that involved setting up a restaurant or pop-up business that might rival the Lochside Welcome. She suspected they wouldn’t go down well.

  And when Dexter called, voice dripping with exhaustion, she kept schtum. No need to tell him about the relocation yet. That could wait till they met up in person. She suspected he wouldn’t like the Lochalshie thing one little bit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Hey! I’m back in Glasgow. Wanna come for the weekend in Glasgow I promised and celebrate Halloween?”

  The phone call surprised her. Dexter had arrived back in the UK sooner than expected and was now suggesting they meet up in two days’ time. Katya stared out of the living room where a bus had pulled up at the stop. She didn’t have a car and rural transport made it more of a challenge to get to Glasgow than she’d imagined. Still. It was easier than coaching or training it from Norwich.

  “What time are you able to get in to Glasgow?” he said, and when she replied 6 p.m. he asked if she could get there any earlier as it would be ‘super fantastic’ if they could spend even more time with each other. The sides of her mouth stretched into a wide smile. Take that, pessimism. He really wanted to see her. If she re-juggled her schedule for the next couple of days and worked her socks off, she could get the bus at lunchtime instead of a few hours later.

  “And I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, fingers crossed again that telling him she’d moved to Lochalshie wouldn’t send him screaming for the hills.

  “Oh? Me too...”

  “Good or bad?” she asked, noting the tiny hesitation before ‘good’. Still, he ended the call telling her exactly how they’d spend most of the weekend and that wide smile returned.

  A dirty weekend needed prep—and immediate action. She left the flat and popped into the pharmacy where Mhari worked. How the place made any money was another of Lochalshie’s mysteries. Nothing on its shelves looked younger than five years old, and the villagers didn't supply it with that much pharmacy business. Mhari ran an operation on the side whe
re she ordered up stocks of Avon Skin So Soft for its anti-midge properties, selling them at a 100 percent mark-up, but otherwise her days in there must drag.

  Sure enough, when Katya stuck her head around the door, Mhari was glued to her phone. As well as non-stop WhatsApp updating, Mhari rated as one of the best players of Candy Crush in Scotland. Practice made perfect.

  “Hiya, Katya!” she exclaimed, putting the phone down—a huge honour.

  “I need your advice.”

  Mhari’s face lit up. There was nothing she liked more than a spot of confiding. The wise woman did this at her peril, not unless she wanted it shared with all and sundry. Katya would rather not have asked Mhari anything personal but needs must. The woman knew everything and how to get anything at short notice.

  When Dexter specified where and what his hands would do on Friday night, Katya decided to make the effort. For the Halloween Glasgow meet-up, she wanted a hair-free body—the underarm shaving, full leg and bikini wax, eyebrow and top lip threading. So far, she hadn’t spotted a beauty salon in the village.

  She checked the street outside. It didn’t look as if anyone was about to come into the pharmacy and interrupt an embarrassing conversation.

  “I need to find a beautician. Where’s the nearest place?” She could always pass it off as a manicure or a facial.

  “Depends,” Mhari said, holding out her own nails for Katya to admire. Mhari loved false nails, and hers were so long, they made a racket clacking over her phone screen. “There’s a bit in Ardlui where ye can get the works, but Enisa, Jamal the shopkeeper’s wife, does a wee bit of mobile beauty therapy on the side. She’s awfy good at hair removal. Lot of Indian and Pakistani women like getting the lot whipped off, and I mean she’s seen her fair share of fann—”

  “Okay!” No need to dwell on the skill Mhari had at working out what a person really wanted when they asked about salon services.

  “So, d’ye want Fancy Bodies in Ardlui or Enisa?”

  “Enisa,” Katya replied, and Mhari made a quick call—mostly ayes, nos, hair and nails.

  The woman arrived at their flat that evening, armed with a foldable table, a double boiler and muslin strips.

  “Aye, aye,” she said, her accent a contrast to her appearance—full Hijab, and a veil that covered her hair though not her mouth. Over the top, she wore a white lab coat. At the door, she put down what she carried and eyed them both.

  “You.” She pointed at Katya. “You’re the one needin’ your body hair whipped aff, and the yin behind you wants me to dae her nails.”

  “Spot on!” Mhari said. “Enisa, meet Katya. She’s awfy hairy and needs you to make her smooth as a baby’s bum, so when her man edges his fingers up her—”

  Katya whisked the woman in, cutting Mhari off. Enisa said she’d set her table and equipment up in the living room. She’d start with Katya and told Mhari to sit in her bedroom while she waited. Mhari tried to protest. Katya wouldn’t have put it past her to take pictures of her undergoing bikini waxing and share them with the WhatsApp group, but when Enisa threatened to withdraw her mates’ rates discount for Mhari’s nails, she agreed to leave.

  Alone, Enisa lowered her voice to a whisper—obviously aware Mhari had her ear pressed to the wall in the other room. “So, I’ve got a wee offer on at the moment—everything for fifty quid. Full leg and bikini wax, underarms, top lip and ‘tache threading. D’ye fancy it?”

  Katya nodded.

  Enisa pulled out a pot, waving it in front of Katya’s face. “I do anal bleaching too. Gives you a nice blonde bumh—”

  “No, no! No need.”

  One eye-watering hour later, every hair follicle smarted in protest. Enisa stopped at points and asked, “Shall I just whip the hair off here too?” when she encountered stray hairs on toes and the like. Katya swallowed embarrassment and said “Yes, please”. Her body felt oddly bare, as if the waxing had taken off several layers of skin too and she resembled those hideous pictures in medical journals that show musculature structure.

  Mhari done—long pink plastic nails exchanged for jewel-encrusted purple talons—Enisa took their money and left, muttering about a job she needed to do for the local GP. Katya and Mhari changed into their pyjamas—an all-too easy habit they’d established only two days into living together—and searched for something to watch on Netflix when the doorbell sounded.

  “Don’t answer it,” Katya said. She was make-up free for a start and rarely left the house without foundation, powder, blusher and eyeliner. Too late. Nine o’clock visitors presented too much of a temptation for Mhari. She was out of the living room before Katya had the chance to bolt to her bedroom and hide.

  “Katya,” Mhari’s voice sing-song as she ran back up the stairs, “visitor for you!”

  Zac, blonde hair much cleaner this time and blue eyes sparkly with mischief, stood at the door. Terrific. Who wanted visitors when you were make-up-free, bra-less and wearing an old pair of pink velour PJs? Zac’s smirk told her the bra-less bit worked fine for him.

  “I’m here to ask a favour.”

  Mhari made no move to leave, answering on Katya’s behalf. “Aye, what is it?”

  “This weekend,” he said, “I’ve got guests coming, and I was looking for help entertaining them—someone to show them round the place?”

  “That’s a pity,” Mhari piped up. “Katya’s off tae Glasgow tae see that man o’ hers. Just had her tush tidied up for it an’ all.”

  “Mhari,” Katya hissed. Any hope the tush reference went over Zac’s head was dashed when his eyes dipped to her crotch almost automatically. But behind his smirk she sensed disappointment.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. Maybe next time.”

  “Who are your visitors?” Mhari asked. “Are they of the male variety? If you’ve got your posh boy mates coming, mebbe I could help. Mind, the fast car thing doesnae impress me. I dunno why men seem to think we lassies drop our knickers the instant someone revs their engine.”

  Zac stared at her, bamboozled. Katya’s turn to smirk.

  “Two women,” he threw in hurriedly. “Katya’s met them before, which was why I thought it would be nice for them to see a familiar face.”

  “Who?” she asked, astonished.

  “Lois Manson and Angeline Berringer. You met them at the airport?”

  So she had, and the weird coincidence struck her. How did they know Zac and why were they visiting him in Lochalshie? Her mind returned to their meeting. When she mentioned the village, they said they’d heard of it. They didn’t mention, though, that they’d be visiting the place in the very near future.

  “Why are they visiting you?” she asked Zac, watching his eyes duck away—perhaps too wary of Mhari and her nosiness. Oh well. A question for another time.

  She saw him to the door.

  “So,” he said, dropping his voice. “Off to Glasgow for a dirty weekend?”

  “Yes.” No excuses, no explanations. She didn’t owe him anything.

  Zac tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

  “You look beautiful without make-up. He’s a lucky guy,” he said, and with that he was off, leaving her to wonder why the prospect of not being there at the weekend was a teeny bit disappointing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Katya added frothy underwear to the rucksack she packed on Friday morning. The kind that didn’t cover all that much and imagined Dexter’s hands sliding up and down the smooth skin she’d gone through agonies for. She dug out the smart trousers she’d borrowed from Gaby and put the velour pyjamas to one side. It was not a pyjama weekend. She planned to spend most of it wearing as little as possible.

  “Have a lovely weekend, tiger!” Gaby’s text message read. “You’d better come back knackered and bow-legged!”

  When she got on the bus to Glasgow at lunchtime, Katya breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing had gone wrong so far—no phone calls, emails or text messages calling it off. Surely, surely her two-and-a-half days were bulletproof now? The next time she saw th
e loch, she’d be on the bus bringing her back on Monday afternoon, happy, content and with a great big grin on her face.

  She arrived at Buchanan Bus Station in Glasgow several bone-rattling hours later. Her back ached but the sight of all those buildings and people cheered her up. As a recent village convert, she was still adjusting to the quiet and stillness of the place. The bus station hummed with noise and activity as buses pulled in and out of stops and people got on and off.

  She was making her way towards the taxi rank when her phone beeped. “Soz!” the message started, a word Katya loathed. “Emergency meeting re marketing strategy. Book yourself into the hotel and I’ll be there soon as.” He’d left an apologetic voicemail too, its wording the exact same words. What happened to “Get the earlier bus! It will be super fantastic if you get to Glasgow earlier”? She counted to ten and told herself this offered an opportunity to relax and refresh in comfortable surroundings.

  Glasgow seemed busier than normal even though it was only mid-afternoon. The cab driver who took her to the hotel said the weekend closest to Halloween had replaced Hogmanay as the taxi industry’s busiest night of the year. Already, people in fancy dress packed the streets—from elaborate costumes so professional they must have hired them, to the home-made. It seemed people still did that ghost thing with sheets, where they cut out eyes, drew on a mouth and threw it over themselves. Pubs and clubs advertised Happy Halloween, and the fancy-dressed smokers and vapers stood outside chatting to each other as they puffed out smoke or fruit-scented smells.

  At the Radisson on Argyle Street, the receptionist shook her head when Katya said Dexter’s name. She tried her own—he might have booked it under that—and got the same response.

  “We don’t have any rooms, I’m afraid,” the woman, her hair neat and her nails and lipstick matched to the hotel’s corporate colours, sighed regretfully. “Funny isn’t it, how Halloween is now the busiest night of the year when it used to be New Year’s Eve.”