Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  Stewart didn’t see exercise as an impediment to talking—squeezing out words between noisy exhalations. Gaby had warned Katya never to fall into conversation with him. You’d be lucky to escape in less than an hour. He specialised in coding. The world’s most interesting subject. Not. She’d need to make future classes far more difficult to keep him quiet.

  As a bonus, he’d brought his West Highland White Terrier, Scottie, to the class. The dog flopped on the floor next to the biggest radiator, watching them all through half-closed eyes. Katya fancied he viewed their activities as further proof of human idiocy.

  “Porridge,” Stewart said now, eyes still closed. “That’s just the thing tae eat before you do any exercise. It’s sets ye up good and proper. And I add a few chopped prunes for the natural sugars.”

  Argh. The porridge monologue was another of Stewart’s favourites. He started most conversations with the porridge dedication. Next, it would be the best way to make it and how coders all ate it. It set them up nicely for a heavy session on the binary.

  Katya started the class on the roll-down, ordering everyone to come down to the floor vertebrae by vertebrae, walk their hands out to front support and then push back into the downward-facing dog position. Proof of Stewart’s fibre-packed breakfast made itself known as he let rip with a loud fart. Behind him, Gaby hastily slid herself and her mat to the side.

  “Stewart!” Jolene bawled. It was another of Lochalshie’s giant mysteries what someone as beautiful and talented saw in Stewart. Jolene’s pregnancy showed she also viewed his dubious genes worth passing on.

  “Dinnae worry,” Stewart called out, his head between his arms. “It’s no’ one of those silent but violent yins—mair an all mouth nae action pump.”

  Next to Gaby, Jack’s head shook, stifling laughter. The new Lochalshie Pilates class offered an advantage over other classes up and down the country. Laughter during Pilates made it much harder, thanks to the taxing effects on the stomach muscles as you exercised at the same time. It worked on Katya. Trying to keep control of farting exercisers stopped her descending into a pity tailspin.

  All that money spent on the classes. All the hope and expectation she’d put into the relationship with Dexter. Waste, waste, waste.

  She ordered the class onto their backs, and set them up for the hundred, Pilates’ second-most notorious exercise.

  An excited yelp came from the sidelines. Mhari, phone in hand once more, waved it.

  “OMG! Wait till ye see this, Katya!”

  “Mhari. You’re supposed to be concentrating.” Another mental note for future lessons. Confiscate phones at the door.

  “No, but this is MEGA. The Pop Glitter site’s got pictures of Caitlin’s latest boyfriend and ye’ll never guess who he is!”

  From the way Katya’s ears burned and her heart sank, guessing would not be a problem. Still, when Mhari said, “It’s your ex, that American bloke. Dexter! He didnae take long to move on, did he?”, the revelation punched her in the guts.

  Everyone looked at Katya. She smiled, trying to summon up the words, “I don’t care”. Even if they wouldn’t ring true.

  “We’ve both moved on. And let’s get on with the class. How about the roll-up?”

  The roll-up required someone to use their stomach muscles to pull them up to a seated position from lying down. Katya demonstrated the move, pointing her toes to lie down and sticking them up in the air as she rolled up, the benefit of having done Pilates since her teens. The class looked at her askance. They were about to discover Pilates’ most notorious move.

  The roll-up needed fierce concentration, and a complete focus on peeling the spine off the floor. It left no time for the mind to linger in places it didn’t want to go. Such as boyfriends who forgot you at the drop of a hat. Katya got everyone to start and did the move with them. One, two, three, four...

  “Katya!”

  The wail cut through. Six pained faces faced her. She must have lost count, making the class work through far more repetitions than people not used to using their stomach muscles to haul their bodies from the floor liked.

  “Oh dear.” She didn’t bother with sincerity. “But you’ll thank me for it—perhaps not tomorrow when it hurts to cough but in a few years’ time when you need to—”

  “Aye, that’s right,” Dr McLatchie chimed in. “Pilates is awfy good for your pelvic floor muscles. She means you’ll no’ need to worry about accidentally peeing yourself when you cough or sneeze. And another thing, ladies. If ye’ve got good pelvic muscle control, your man knows about it and he thanks his lucky stars because when he’s inside—”

  “Okay!” Katya jumped in, sparing everyone the doctor’s colourful descriptions of the sexual act. From the way Jack blew out his cheeks, he was desperate not to hear his mother elaborate too. “Let’s do some cat stretches.”

  Half an hour and a few deep breaths while lying flat out on the floor later and it was all over.

  “D’ye want to see the Pop Glitter stuff, Katya?” Mhari asked, struggling to her feet. Again, everyone looked at her.

  “No thanks. Do you want to stay behind and help me clear up?”

  “Eh, no!” And with that, she was out of the hall in record time followed by Jolene, Stewart, the doctor and Jack, all no doubt petrified they’d get roped in. Watching them go, Katya hoped they’d awake tomorrow with their quads so tight sitting down on the toilet would hurt every time for the next three days.

  Gaby stayed behind, sweeping the floor while Katya rolled all the mats up and turned off the heating. The janitor had said he’d lock the place up. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to return. As there was nothing in the place worth nicking, she saw no point in waiting for him.

  Gaby’s broom moved back and forth. Katya sensed someone bracing herself to ask tricky questions.

  “Um, so Dexter and Caitlin. That’s... sudden, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Katya said. ‘Sudden’ didn’t cover it—more like, heart-breaking, hideous and horrible. What about that excuse he’d used—I’m too busy for girlfriends, etc., etc.? When Dexter attended his millionth marketing meeting, Caitlin would be there. It must be easier to be with someone you worked with when work was where you spent all your time.

  And how could he not fall a bit in love or at least lust with her? Mhari wasn’t the only one who spent too long on Pop Glitter’s website, even if Katya never admitted it to anyone. Caitlin’s body felt as familiar to her as her own. Caitlin’s Instagram feed featured non-stop pictures of it, semi-naked, bronzed skin glowing. That was when she wasn’t telling her millions of followers that the latest Blissful Beauty sparkle bronzer was ‘THE BEST, you guys, THE BEST!!!’

  The special place in hell for people who used too many exclamation marks counted double for billionaire reality TV stars who spent too much time shoving their arses at a camera.

  “I thought...” Gaby said, the broom stopping. “Well, I didn’t understand it—you and Dexter. I mean, I know you are God’s gift to men and he was punching way out of his league.”

  Best friend loyalty. Worth its weight in gold.

  “But I thought he’d see sense. If he took a few weeks to think about it he’d work out you were the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  Gaby’s phone pinged. She pulled it out and grimaced at Katya.

  “God, sorry. That’s the Pop Glitter app. I get notifications too. I hardly ever look at them, though.”

  So far they’d taken it for granted that Mhari, who had only seen Dexter twice, was right.

  Katya stuck her hand out and Gaby gave her the phone, mouthing “Sure?” as she did so. The Pop Glitter app welcomed you to the world of THE best showbiz gossip—up to date, and all the latest on your fav celebs. Its main story was Caitlin’s Instagram feed. The most recent picture showed Caitlin stretched out on a sun lounger beside a pool, her head propped on her hands, smug smile in place. A man sat next to her, rubbing sun cream on her back. The bikini top was nowhere to be seen, her folded arm
s protecting her modesty but only just.

  The man wore sunglasses, but there was no mistaking that smile. One she hadn’t seen at all when they’d met up in Glasgow last week.

  “JUST WHO IS CAITLIN’S NEW MAN???” the headline screamed.

  “He’s only rubbing sun cream onto her back,” Gaby said, peering over her shoulder to see the screen. “That means sod all. In her world, her employees have to do that. It’s written into their contracts—be Caitlin’s slave at all times. I bet she has someone whose only job it is to polish her sunglasses.”

  Kind of Gaby. Pop Glitter had drafted in a body language expert, seeing as Caitlin had said nothing useful, such as, “You guys! Meet my new boyf—Dexter Carlton is the BEST ever. #inlove!”

  Dr Anna LeStrange said, in her opinion, you only had to look at the way their bodies angled toward each other. Caitlin’s head tipped upwards so she could see him. His smile wasn’t forced. The chemistry between them sizzled. “I’d say Caitlin has met THE one,” the doctor added. “We’ll be hearing wedding bells before too long!”

  Katya gave Gaby her phone back.

  Gaby set her broom aside and hugged her. “They’re welcome to each other. And you’ll find someone amazing, I know you will.”

  Behind them, someone cleared their throat.

  Zac. And yet again, he’d eavesdropped on her disastrous love life.

  “Sorry,” he said, his face straight. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I really need you to do some writing for me. It’s urgent. I know it’s late but we could...”

  Gaby nudged her. “Go on, my son!” she whispered, and left winking at Katya over her shoulder.

  “Okay then,” Katya said. “But not too late. I want an early night.”

  That smirk again as Flirty Zac came into play. “Ideal. So do I.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “I’m only writing for you if you promise to take it seriously,” Katya told Zac as they headed back to his house, Katya vetoing her place where Mhari would ogle them and update the Lochalshie WhatsApp group any time either of them said anything.

  “How much rent are you paying for this place, anyway?” she asked as he opened the door, struck afresh at its size and space. The rent on the flat she paid was much cheaper than Great Yarmouth, but payments for a house this size had to be impressive. Zac tapped the side of his nose, and she rolled her eyes in frustration. Most people their age had no compunctions about sharing financial information.

  Inside, he’d given Kirsty’s house a single-guy make-over. The immaculate interior now lay under coatings of dust. Dirty plates piled up in the sink and littered the low coffee table, and empty crisp packets and carry-out boxes from the village’s tiny Chinese take-away coated the floors. Zac must be too used to people clearing up after him.

  When he spotted her eyeing the dirty plates, he screwed his face up. “Sorry. I should have tidied, but it turns out starting a new business keeps you busy. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “Do I get it in a clean cup?” One of the dirty mugs on the coffee table sported a blue and white interior coating. He grimaced. “I haven’t got round to buying washing-up liquid yet. Do you want to grab something to eat the Royal George?”

  She stared at him, astonished. Kirsty’s house was right next to the Lochside Welcome, the Royal George an old-fashioned hotel at the other end of the village favoured mainly by the hunting, shooting, fishing set. The locals rarely bothered with it.

  “The Lochside Welcome’s number one on TripAdvisor for food,” she said, “and much cosier.”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to try it out. See what their food is like. But you’re right. Let’s go next door.”

  “Your treat,” she said, following him back out the door into the Lochside Welcome, which blasted out heat thanks to a roaring fire in the public bar area. Stewart sat at the bar undoing all the good work of the earlier Pilates class, Scottie asleep under his stool. He nodded a greeting and patted the stools next to him.

  “I wouldn’t,” Katya whispered, “you risk an ear-bashing. All he talks about is porridge or coding.”

  Gaby had saved Stewart’s life once. Sometimes, she told Katya, she wasn’t sure if she’d done the world a favour. Zac grimaced, and headed for the other side of the bar. The rest of the Wednesday night customers did their best ‘You ain’t from these parts, are you?’ impression. Eyes followed Zac as he walked to the bar. The woman there kept her arms folded and her eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve heard this is the best place in Scotland to get pizza,” Zac said, posh-boy voice audible to all. Katya debated speaking up. Her Polish-tinged Norfolk accent would provide a neat contrast to home county, perfectly pronounced vowels and consonants. Not worth it, the inner voice said. You’re still English, still an outsider. She kept schtum.

  “Can we get two of them and a couple of beers as well?”

  He glanced back at her. “Katya—you’re a vegan, aren’t you? Do you eat pizza?”

  The questions made her cringe. More loud and clear emphasis on the outsider status. They’d just confirmed it, even if the locals didn’t already think it.

  “No, that’s fine. The Lochside Welcome moves wi’ the times,” the bar maid said, pointing at the blackboard to the side that listed the pizza choices. “We offer a vegan pizza too—roasted vegetables topped wi’ vegan cheese. That do you?”

  Katya nodded gratefully. Zac ordered the meat feast and chips, and he headed for the table she’d picked out bearing two bottles of craft lager.

  She slid into the booth and retrieved her notepad from her handbag. As she hadn’t been expecting a writing job at 8 p.m. on a Wednesday night, that and recording the conversation on her phone would have to do. The pub had filled up, meaning the phone audio was unlikely to be clear. The frequent glances in their direction were impossible to miss. Words drifted over now and then—Aye, new guy, food business, oysters, writer, and she’s a friend of wee Gaby, ye ken. Katya hoped the Gaby friend thing put her in good standing.

  Zac took the bench opposite and smiled, a tentative one that lacked his usual cocky confidence. If he kept it that way throughout, so much the better.

  “Thanks. I’m so grateful you can help me out.”

  “What are you after? And why the urgency?”

  “I need articles about me, what I’m doing, bits about the producers I’m working with, etc., that I can use to publicise my business. If I give you info, can you write it up for me asap?”

  “How asap?”

  By Sunday, it turned out—ten articles in total, including interviewing suppliers he had the phone numbers for. Katya’s heart sank. She’d had plenty of experience interviewing farmers from her Norfolk years—salt-of-the-earth types and all that, but they stuck to yes and no answers. Squirrelling details out of them was murderously hard.

  A big, urgent job then. What would Madeline the mentor advise? She would tell Katya to charge the guy a fortune, and the sooner she got the job done, the sooner it put money in her pocket. Edmund Morris & Co had yet to confirm the work she was to do for them. And extra Scottish clients aside, Katya needed the income. When she’d started freelancing, Katya had found the conversations about money excruciating. Experience and her mentor’s advice changed that. Nowadays, it was the first thing she brought up.

  “I’m very, very expensive.” Not true, but the money the London company promised suggested she was. Years of scraping together a living had made her determined to overcharge from now on. She thought of a figure, tripled it and added another fifty percent. Madeline’s advice—expensive rates stopped the time wasters.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of money.” His mouth twitched. “On one condition, though.”

  “Condition? You don’t get to impose conditions.” Back to Flirty Zac already. Public-school boys, as she knew this one was for sure, could never be accused of lacking confidence.

  “Yes I do. I’ll pay the price, but if the articles you write about me and what I’m doing don’t get picked up by one of the Sundays or t
he lifestyle sites you go out with me.”

  She spluttered with laughter at that. “Okay. I’m confident enough to promise you that you won’t spend an hour weeks from now asking Google its best tips for a first date.”

  “Too right I won’t. I’m a legendary first date. There’s nothing Google can teach me.”

  “Whatever.” She picked her pen up. “All about you, then. Let’s start there.”

  It was also a good opportunity for him to tell her what she’d discovered about him herself. If he said nothing, the alarm bells would ring loud and clear.

  “Have you done this before, then? Set up a business from scratch?”

  A brief nod. “Yes.”

  Ooh. That invited no further questions. Whatever he’d done must have failed miserably.

  She fired off general queries—what experience did he have in the food business, what were his qualifications, where did he plan to find the supplies for the online business and how would it work logistically, packaging and delivering to customers?

  The answers all sounded pat—the words someone prepared to persuade bankers, old college chums and rich maters and paters to part with money to fund a venture.

  “What made you go into the food business?” she asked. “Notorious industry for failure.”

  “Isn’t it the same with writing?” he replied. “My father was a journalist, and he was always talking about the good ol’ days when you could write one decent feature and you’d get a week’s wages for it.”

  They exchanged rueful smiles at that—Katya, thinking of the number of articles she’d have to write a week to make the minimum wage.

  “And why Lochalshie, apart from the proximity to suppliers?”

  “In somewhere like this, the overhead costs are so tiny compared to the cities it makes the venture low risk, and this is a God-given opportunity...”

  The lager foam left a white coating on his top lip, distracting her and focusing her attention not on the words but the sound of his voice—lips that mouthed words polished and confident. And his eyes never left her face. She missed the end of the sentence.