Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  “Then, there was the bloke you met in that restaurant who was so boring you fled to the loos and escaped out the window in there. Or that guy you shared a coffee with. You went to pay and when you came back, you caught him on Tinder trying to line up his next date!”

  Ah. Gaby hadn’t remembered that one correctly. The person caught on their phone seeing who else was available had been Katya.

  “And then there was that agency waiter, remember?” Gaby continued. “He kept smuggling you into events where he was working so you could—”

  “Okay, okay,” Katya cut in. The latter story did her no favours. Nor did the few Gaby had already shared. They made her sound either fickle or a bad judge of character. When Gaby—thank the stars—finished with Ryan just before moving to Lochalshie, Katya had jumped for joy. Almost ten years of struggling to keep her mouth shut about the man’s many failings took their toll.

  “Promise me,” she’d said to Gaby then, “I vet every boyfriend of yours from now on to make sure you date no more duds.” Did Katya need the same service? Her past record and perhaps even the present showed that might be right.

  “And what about Mr Tory?” Gaby was still banging on about Katya’s past love life. “Katya once dated this guy for two weeks. Fell head over heels in lust with him, then discovered he was a member of the Young Conservatives, and he kept going on about foreigners taking over England without putting two and two together about Katya’s name—her being second-generation Polish.”

  The door to the living room opened once more.

  “Duh,” Zac said, that broad grin of his taking up too much space on his face. “And how delightful you’re part Polish too. I love people with interesting backgrounds.”

  Katya swore to herself, wondering how much of that conversation about her less-than-glorious past Zac overheard. He was as ruddy-cheeked as Mhari had been earlier, the redness emphasising those clear blue eyes. The back door opening must have been him. “Never judge a book by its cover, right?” he added.

  Thank heavens for Blissful Beauty’s colour corrective moisturiser especially formulated to tackle redness. The heat in her cheeks might burn but it would not show.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “And I hope you’ve made plenty of food, Jack? You appear to be feeding five thousand today.”

  Gaby shifted in her seat. She and Jack hadn’t been discreet enough for Katya to miss the look they exchanged. A set-up. No wonder Gaby was so keen to know what Katya thought of Zac.

  “A kind invite,” Zac said, “to a lonely bachelor and the newcomer to the village.”

  Gaby clapped her hands. “Let’s eat,” and she and Jack moved the seats as far back as possible so they could set up an extendable dining table. It took up almost all the space in the room. Zac positioned himself opposite Katya. The lack of space meant their knees touched. He raised his glass and an eyebrow.

  Jack placed a huge casserole dish in the middle of the table and Mhari leant forward, murmuring excitedly about roast potatoes and gravy.

  “Mushroom and pearl barley risotto,” Jack said as he took the lid off, straight-faced. “It’s a vegan dish to suit Katya.”

  The way Mhari’s face fell, eyes crinkling and nose screwing up, made everyone laugh.

  Ranald, the doctor’s husband and a farmer, muttered something about how pearl barley should only be used for whisky or cattle feed and never, ever eaten. Like Mhari, he looked like he’d just changed his mind about lunch.

  “All that fibre’s awfy good for you,” Dr McLatchie said, scooping up ladlesful of the risotto from the large casserole dish into bowls and passing them around. “But ye can hae some wine to help wash it doon.”

  Mhari took her first forkful, wrinkling her face. Her expression changed the moment she put it in her mouth, eyes rounding in wonder.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “Mebbe I might go vegan.”

  A pause.

  “Bacon,” Jack said, holding one hand up and using his fingers to tick off items. “Sausage rolls, cheesy chips, Ashley’s meat-feast pizza, Dairy Milk.”

  Katya had yet to see her flatmate eat anything green. Her daily diet favoured foods with a shelf-life of a year and more.

  “Aye, right enough. But I dinnae like mushrooms most o’ the time. These are quite nice.”

  “I got them from Zac,” Jack said.

  Katya held up a mushroom on her fork.

  “Are you growing them yourself?”

  “No, I got them from a local grower who supplies top-end restaurants in Edinburgh and Glasgow.”

  “How’s setting up the new business going?” Dr McLatchie asked, topping up his wine. “You’re doing some food thingy? What is it exactly?”

  “Connecting customers with fantastic local food suppliers—an online business mostly,” Zac said, digging into the risotto and telling Jack the dish showed off the mushrooms superbly. He didn’t look at Katya so she couldn’t call him out on that bit of fudging of the truth. What about the scoping out the area for restaurant possibilities bit?

  A hand squeezed her thigh under the table. Gratitude for keeping her mouth shut? She jerked her leg away.

  Risotto and plates cleared away, Jack brought in a cheese board overflowing with farmhouse cheddars, an oozy local Brie and a mound of creamy, speckled blue cheese.

  “Another present from Zac,” he said, placing the plate down with a flourish. “All from local dairies, organic and made from unpasteurised milk.”

  “Unpasteurised milk!” About to reach for a plate and the cheese knife, Dr McLatchie whipped her hand back. “Are ye out of your mind? Salmonella, E. coli, listeria, campylobacter—d’ye want to spend tomorrow bent over the toilet bowl, or sitting on it, your guts—”

  “Parmesan,” Zac said, picking up the packet on the table Jack had left out for those who skipped the full-vegan mushroom risotto experience. Dr McLatchie had grated herself a mound of it to top hers.

  He flipped the packet over where the ingredient list clearly stated ‘made from unpasteurised milk’.

  “Aye, well—dinnae say you have nae been warned.”

  Along with chocolate, cheese was Katya’s vegan nemesis, and the sharp-sour creamy tang of the blue cheese tickled her nose. But why give Mr Know-it-all the satisfaction?

  The internal struggle must have shown on her face. “Want some, Katya?” Zac asked, telling her to suit herself when she said no. He cut large slices of cheese for Gaby, Jack and Mhari who all tucked in. More wine appeared on the table, and Zac filled her glass up. She gave in and crossed her fingers it wouldn’t upset her still-fragile stomach. Or disconnect her mouth from her brain.

  Jack disappeared into the kitchen and re-emerged bearing a plate of shortbread. “I made it especially for you,” he said, placing it in front of her. “With olive oil margarine instead of butter. See what you think.”

  Katya took a mouthful of buttery sweetness and smiled at him. “I think you ought to enter the Great British Bake Off. This is fabulous.”

  The doctor, also avoiding the cheese, took a slice and bit into it. “Aye, no’ bad son. But no’ a patch on Ranald’s.”

  The farmer, who seemed to be the least likely baker in the world, blushed and said Jack was the better shortbread maker these days, and the two of them exchanged complicit smiles.

  “All I need now,” Zac said, helping himself to another enormous slice of cheese and putting it on an oatcake, “is someone who can write sublime copy for my website. Does anyone know any writers who can help me?”

  Katya glared at Gaby, guessing it had been her less-than-subtle idea to invite him.

  “Goodie!” Gaby said, ignoring Katya’s ‘keep your mouth shut’ vibes. “My friend is the best writer in the world—the best friend too. You can’t go wrong with Katya. Hey, that could be your slogan, Kit-Kat!”

  Anything more than one glass of alcohol turned Gaby into a gibbering wreck, overwhelmingly sentimental and deciding she was the wit of the century.

  “Do you
fancy the job?” Zac asked.

  He lingered on the word ‘fancy’, flirting once more. “We’d need to spend plenty of time together, so you could get a feel for what I do and the food I’m producing. I’d make you sample everything, feeding you every delectable morsel so you tasted me, I mean the food, yourself.”

  Katya kicked him under the table and mouthed ‘see?’ at Gaby. She’d said full-on flirts weren’t her thing. Jack’s barely suppressed snort told her he got the taste reference.

  “I’m plant-based, remember?” she said. “Remember? It rules out venison burgers and langoustines. Some people argue oysters don’t count because they don’t have a central nervous system or brain, so they don’t feel pain. But I wouldn’t, anyway. It’s like eating snot.”

  “Aye,” Mhari joined in. “They give me the dry boak.”

  “Not the way I do them,” he said. “Oysters fried, paired with a spicy mayonnaise and stuffed into brioche rolls. Plus, they’re packed with zinc—vital for your immune system. And a healthy sex drive.”

  “That’s true!” the doctor chipped in.

  That old cliché, hmm?

  “Who’s for pudding? Or coffee?” Jack said, getting to his feet. Katya took that as her cue, pushing the glass she’d only taken two mouthfuls from across the table to Ranald, who accepted it gratefully.

  “I’ve got something to finish for a client,” she said. “Thanks for the food.”

  There were protests, Gaby’s the loudest, but the set-up made Katya uncomfortable.

  She was half-way back to the flat when she heard someone call her name.

  “Hey! Wait up. You’re one fast walker.”

  Zac, his cheeks ruddy once more and panting, came to a halt beside her.

  “Um... do you want a drink? A coffee? Back at my house?”

  Not half as cocky now. Perhaps he expected women to drop at his feet and hadn't worked out how to behave when they didn’t.

  “No thanks. I’ve got work to get on with.” True—an email from Madeline had come in, suggesting two other potential clients in Scotland she could approach.

  She kept on walking, Zac panting at her side.

  “How are you finding it here?” he said, pointing at the streets and houses around him. “The silence at night—it’s hard to get used to.”

  There were at her flat. She held the key in her hand, pointing it at him like a weapon. Come no further. Still, they were two outsiders attempting to establish footholds in a new place—the attempt made trickier because of the close-knit community nature of Lochalshie.

  “The two-a-day buses that count for public transport.”

  “I can give you a lift anywhere any time you want,” he said. “And I’ll drive carefully.” He must have caught her shudder, the memory of the time he’d driven her up here.

  “I like you much better when you don’t flirt.” Oh—the said-out-loud sentence surprised her. Too impulsive to be the norm for Katya.

  He beamed at her. “Do you?”

  “Not in that way. I’m seeing someone, remember?” The lie was easy enough.

  “No, you’re not,” he laid a hand on her arm, the one holding the gun-point key. They both looked at it as if trying to guess whether Katya might stab him with it. “Gaby told me. He’s an idiot.”

  Curses on Gaby.

  “Good for her. I’ve got to go.”

  Katya opened the door. As it closed behind her, he called out, “But is it okay if we meet up to discuss you doing some writing for me?”

  He could wait. Besides, she’d Googled him after they’d first met. It took a bit of digging but she found information he hadn’t volunteered so far. So much as Gaby meant well shoving the two of them together and however persistent Zac proved, it would not work.

  CHAPTER 11

  As Dr McLatchie had crow-barred the importance of registering with a GP into the previous day’s conversation four times, Katya had taken the hint. On Monday morning, she made her way to the surgery, arriving in time for its opening.

  Which was more than could be said for the good doctor, whose car squealed to a halt outside fifteen minutes later. By which point, Katya was soaked through. The rain had started up in earnest yesterday evening and was yet to let up.

  “Aye, sorry about that, Katya. I had tae help Ranald. His flamin’ sheep escaped from the top field. Thanks for that last article ye wrote for the website, by the way. I’ve got bookings for telephone consultations right up until Christmas. Come on in.”

  The doctor’s office didn’t resemble a typical GP’s room. She favoured a softly-softly approach; all the better for folks to confide their inner-most health secrets. A low-slung coffee table and squishy armchairs took up most of the space. In the corner, a small computer sat on a desk and the room’s large windows allowed in plenty of light. Even though that didn’t count for much at this time of year.

  Checks carried out—lies told on the registration form, I hardly drink and I’ve never smoked—the conversation took an unexpected turn.

  “Ye’re awfy fit, aren’t ye?” the doctor said, tipping her head to one side and surveying Katya. “When I listened to your heart, I could tell as it’s slow and steady.”

  “I... suppose,” she muttered, unsure where this was heading.

  “What fitness stuff dae you do?”

  Katya listed spin classes, running, hill walking and Pilates. Well, that had been the case. Lochalshie didn’t have a gym and the morning chill meant you needed huge stocks of willpower to force yourself out of the door to run.

  “Our regular Body Combat teacher cannae do the classes on a Wednesday night anymore because she’s pregnant. Nae point doing spin, as we don’t have the bikes but what about you teaching us all Pilates? You could make some money on the side.”

  “I’m not trained!” Katya squawked, fast-forwarding to unpleasant scenarios where people lay on the floor, having suffered heart attacks or put their backs out attempting the bow and arrow move.

  “Not to worry,” said the doctor. “Jolene wasnae trained in Body Combat either. Strictly speaking, she wasnae meant to call the classes ‘Body Combat’ either or that Les Mills bloke comes after ye. But we didnae mind. Everyone who went to her class signed a disclaimer. Get them to do the same for you and ye’ll be fine. And I’m a doctor so if anyone goes into cardiac arrest, I’ll be on hand.”

  Wishful thinking on the doctor’s part. Katya was willing to bet she’d relish an emergency First Aid situation.

  “The villagers need exercise,” she muttered darkly. “D’ye know what a ticking time bomb type 2 diabetes is? Tell Mhari to put a notice of it on the WhatsApp group,” she said. “That’ll bring the punters in.”

  And with that, she dismissed her. Katya headed back to the flat wondering why she’d allowed the woman to bamboozle her once more. She would need to spend the next two days on YouTube researching Pilates classes and how to run them.

  On Wednesday evening, she arrived at the village hall an hour in advance. It didn’t look promising. When the janitor who let her in turned on the radiators dotted around the hall they creaked and groaned in response. Would an hour be enough time to take the icy chill off the room?

  The hall had been much more expensive than Katya had budgeted for. And when she’d set a cost for the classes, she’d made it as cheap as possible. She wasn’t a real Pilates teacher and no one would come if she charged city prices. But it meant she’d need at least twenty people to attend to cover the costs.

  When she’d told Madeline she planned a side hustle, thinking her mentor would approve, another lukewarm reply came back.

  “Hi, honey—how are you feeling? Okay? I don’t know if it’s a good idea to spread yourself so thinly when you should concentrate on growing your writing business. Isn’t it going to take off soon? Still, Pilates is super-good for strength and flexibility, and if you spend lots of time hunched over a laptop, it can help.”

  Tacit approval, Katya decided. And nice of her to ask how she was.

&
nbsp; She put out mats—again, the cost of them had come out of her pocket—found yoga-type music on Spotify and crossed her fingers.

  Gaby had promised she’d come, and when she let herself into the hall ten minutes before the class started, Katya let out a sigh of relief. She’d brought Jack too. A reluctant attendee by the hangdog look of him. Mhari had been happy enough to broadcast the new class on WhatsApp as she loved being the bearer of new news, but when Katya asked if she would come, she shuddered.

  “No. Exercise doesnae agree wi’ me.”

  However, when she pushed the door open minutes after Gaby and Jack, Katya hugged her, ignoring the protests of “Gerroff me!” The doctor followed her, along with Jolene, the one-time Body Combat teacher now pregnant, and her unlikely life partner, Stewart, more often to be found propping up the bar of an evening.

  “Er... Jolene, how nice! Is it safe for you to do Pilates?” Katya eyed her belly, a neat bump, nervously.

  “Yeah,” she said, the New Zealand accent as strong as ever despite her years of living in the village. “And the doctor’s on hand, anyway.”

  They waited another ten minutes after the class’s scheduled start to allow for village time-keeping. The clock on the wall above the small stage ticked on loudly, emphasising the place’s emptiness. Great. A total of six people and their fees not even close to covering what she’d spent.

  “Okay,” she smiled as brightly as possible, masking disappointment. Or perhaps it was relief. She wasn’t a qualified teacher. This might go horribly wrong.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Katya had been doing Pilates since she was sixteen. She knew most of the moves off by heart. It was still a big ask, though, standing in front of people watching you intently—even if there were not that many of them.

  “Okay everyone. Start with your legs together and let’s take several deep breaths.”

  In front of her, five people closed their eyes and inhaled and exhaled noisily. The sixth person, Mhari, still hadn’t put her phone down, holding up a finger to Katya to signal ‘one sec’ while she checked her million social media accounts, WhatsApp messages and Candy Crush status.