Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  “Bet I can beat you!”

  ‘Plank on top of you’ was a feature on a radio show she listened to where the host asked his celebrity guests to do the plank on top of him for as long as possible. The plank—body resting on forearms and toes—was okay for about ten seconds. After that, the stomach, back, bottom, arms and everything else started to complain. Doing it on top of someone made it twice as hard as the minute you let your belly sag, it touched them. And awks, because you were face to face staring at each other, aware that the collapse of abs meant at any minute one body would be pressed too tightly into the other. On the super-soft hotel room carpet, she positioned herself on top of him and grinned—a challenge.

  She only made it to the thirty second mark, giving in not because her abs waved the white flag of surrender but because the sight of him, dark eyes fixated on hers and the cock that prodded her belly, made it too difficult to maintain the separation. He lasted less than three minutes; her two and a half later when he—

  “Katya?” Gaby asked, whisking her back into the present.

  “I can waste the best years of my life thinking what if? Or I can concentrate on the here and now.”

  Jolene started running again, turning around so she jogged backwards and could face them.

  “That’s always been my motto.”

  When Katya and Gaby gawked, she burst out laughing. “What, you thought Stewart was my number one choice? Jeez.”

  She ran backwards over the sand, bits of grit and dust flying up in the air until she was by Katya’s side. “Stop looking for your soulmate, mate. It’s a dumb idea. Reach out for what’s in front of you.”

  Gaby stopped once more, the pace far too fast for her. She bent over, straightened up and placed her hands against the small of her back for support.

  “Oh, I dunno,” she said, tipping her head back to look up at the sky so she could stretch out her lower back in full. “I like a soulmate. Maybe Dexter was never yours all along.”

  So said Gaby, so said Psychic Josie. Leo and Pisces do not work, she warned. Even if Katya was on the cusp or whatever rubbish that meant.

  “Anyway,” Gaby continued, “if we’ve finished running?” Katya and Jolene nodded, and Gaby let out an exaggerated groan of relief. Jolene checked her watch and said goodbye.

  “Want to come back to mine for a cup of tea?” Katya asked Gaby. The flat was nearer than Jack’s house. Gaby nodded enthusiastically, and they set off, walking at a faster rate than Gaby had managed jogging earlier on.

  “Shush,” Katya put her finger to her mouth as she opened the flat’s front door. “Mhari’s having a lie-in. Let’s not wake her up.”

  Gaby got that instruction straight away. No Mhari meant not needing to take care with anything you said. They took their trainers off and crept into the kitchen, closing the door with exaggerated care. Katya boiled the kettle and took out two large mugs and slotted two thick slices of bread in the toaster.

  “What do you want on it? Butter, jam, Marmite?”

  “Butter and Marmite, tons of. I’ve earned it.”

  Toast and teas made, they edged into the living room.

  “Dexter called me the other day,” Gaby said the words super casually, but Katya’s head whipped round and her heartbeat started double time.

  “What?” So much for quietness. She heard someone in a bedroom nearby stir herself.

  “Well, as you know, I’m doing tons of design work for Blissful Beauty for the South Korean website,” Gaby added. “Dead hard doing something when all the content is in a different language. And he’s such a control freak, he likes to oversee everything.”

  Not my writing, though. He leaves that to Madeline. The air deflated out of Katya. She’d longed for the call to be about something else. Wasn’t that greedy—the here and now, remember? Zac wasn’t here at the moment, but he’d be back soon and his future in the village and her life looked assured.

  “He spoke to me on Friday morning but I haven’t had a chance to say anything to you about it until now,” Gaby added. “I thought I needed to speak to you when we were on our own.”

  And you didn’t want to put me off Zac, did you? Katya thought. Her friend, she could tell, was waiting for her to ask more about the call. Good job Katya was much better at psychological warfare than Gaby.

  “Oh and he asked after you!”

  See?

  “Did he?” Katya said, adopting the super casual tone she’d used earlier, even if she wanted to get up and do a dance of joy.

  “Yes, wanted me to tell him how you were. Like, really. He didn’t want me to be British and say ‘fine’ if I meant something else.”

  “You didn’t...”

  “No, I said nothing about Zac as I didn’t think you’d made your mind up about him.”

  Whereas now it seemed Katya had and therefore it was safe to tell her such things? Anyway, Dexter was still in LA, still a workaholic, still possibly (probably) dating Caitlin.

  “He said something about—”

  The living-room door opened and Mhari walked in, toast in hand and a rolled-up magazine under her arm.

  “Are youse talking about Katya’s love life? Gaby, did she tell you Zac diddled her under the table at that restaurant in Oban, in public like, while we were all—”

  “Shut up, Mhari,” Katya spat at her, horrified that her flatmate had somehow found out what had gone on. Was there no end to the woman’s skill at whittling out others’ secrets?

  Gaby, snorts barely suppressed, stood up, beckoning Katya over. Katya got it straight away. Revenge, at last. She grabbed hold of one of Mhari’s arms while Gaby took the other. They frog-marched her to the sofa and forced her to sit down.

  “Tell us EVERYTHING,” Gaby demanded. “You and Lachlan Forrester yesterday. Now. Or we’re never letting you out of here.”

  “None of your business!” Mhari said sulkily, making her companions jeer derisively.

  “Shall we tickle her to death?” Katya asked.

  “Too right,” Gaby said. “I’ll hold her. You get her under the arms.”

  She was about to make good the threat when Mhari pulled the trashy magazine out from under her arm and waved it front of them.

  “Oh no you don’t,” she said, handing the magazine to Katya. “I need to show you some pictures.”

  Katya suspected she didn’t want to see the pictures at all, but flicked through the pages anyway, the usual guff where women were slagged off for having tiny bits of cellulite on their otherwise perfect bottoms and endless speculation that someone might be pregnant because their stomach wasn’t washboard flat.

  The centre pages were different, though, the headline as lurid as the rest. EXCLUSIVE—Caitlin’s new man! Engagement pics! Katya tutted at the use of exclamation marks two sentences in a row but the all-too blatant pictures made her eyes blur. As Gaby and Mhari were in front of her, she couldn’t throw the magazine to the ground and trample on it.

  The two-page spread features had re-run the Instagram pics, along with another one—a blurry shot of a couple in the back of a car snogging. It didn’t show either of their faces, but dark hair that looked too similar to Dexter’s was clearly visible. IS CAITLIN ENGAGED? the tag line screamed, various headings adding ‘dates in top restaurants’, ‘man thought to be employee’, ‘commitment ring on left hand’, and another blurry shot of Caitlin’s hand, complete with the so-called commitment ring.

  The article did the usual, ‘a source says’, ‘a close friend agrees that Caitlin is head over heels in love this time’, and ‘The man works all the hours God sends for her and he’s devoted to his boss’, words that sounded oddly familiar. Caitlin had received advice earlier in the year from a well-known psychic—Dr McLatchie would love that—the close friend added. She’d been advised to avoid her usual choice of boyfriend and here she was totes loved up and totes happy. The close friend said the might-be fiancé worked for Caitlin's skincare and make-up company.

  So much for Dexter’s heartfelt que
stions after Katya’s wellbeing. Or maybe he worried the about-to-be-announced news would send her over the edge.

  “That ring’s well vulgar,” Gaby said, resting her hand on Katya’s forearm. “The Cartiers have yet to work out that money doesn’t buy taste.”

  Bless her for her loyalty. The ring, a narrow band of platinum dotted with tiny diamonds, was okay. It could probably pay Katya’s rent in Lochalshie for the next million years, but it wasn’t obvious bling. Mhari snatched the magazine back from her and studied the ring pic.

  “Totally disgusting,” she said, getting to her feet. “But you’ve got Mr Flashy Car Posh English now, haven’t ye?”

  Katya’s phone rang. An unknown number.

  “Katya Bukowski?” the voice sang out. She said “yes” warily. In the background, voices shouted behind the woman. She must be in an office somewhere.

  “I’m Lacey Bloom from Starz magazine. Have you heard of us?”

  Another wary yes. Mhari’s trashy magazine. Gaby and Mhari stilled, everyone listening to hear what the woman said next.

  “We want to talk to you about Dexter Carlton, your ex-boyfriend, right? Did you see the article in our magazine this week? We’re running a follow-up article next week where we reveal Caitlin’s new man’s identity. Want to tell us more about him? He dumped you in record-quick time, didn’t he? Sounds shallow, right?”

  Mhari’s mouth rounded in an ‘oh’ of surprise. What astounded Katya was the next move. Her flatmate grabbed the phone from Katya, turned it on speaker mode and held it in front of her mouth. There followed a selection of choice swear words, all of which sounded much scarier when said in a broad Scots accent. She finished by referring to her audience as a nosey old bitch and a sad, lonely loser, and hung up.

  “Thank you.” Even if Mhari’s actions counted as ‘pot, kettle, black, rearrange the words into a popular phrase’, her defence touched Katya.

  “Nae problem, flatmate. I’m off to my mum’s for breakfast. See ya.”

  And with that, she was out the door, leaving Katya and Gaby staring at each other and shaking their heads in disbelief.

  CHAPTER 28

  Finally, Edmund Morris & Co sent through the ‘deets’ Caitlin had promised weeks ago when she spoke with Katya about her autobiography. Five days before Christmas, the email arrived red-flagged and requesting a ‘read’ receipt.

  I do not want to do this. Think of the money, the money, the money, the money...

  The message had so many instructions and links to files to download it took Katya hours to work through. The level of detail shouldn’t have shocked her. She was untried. The agency could more or less guarantee a bestseller with Caitlin’s name alone. But to make sure the reviews weren’t all one star, they needed the story to be compelling and the writing crystal clear.

  And aimed at people who didn’t read books. Katya ticked herself off for being so uncharitable to Caitlin’s fans. Many of them might be Booker Prize-winner readers who liked celebrity gossip on the side. Didn’t she find herself on the Pop Glitter app too often than was healthy? Or rather had. These days, she steered clear. Who wanted yet more pictures of Caitlin’s commitment ring or the official photos where she and Dexter stepped out in front of the cameras and dazzled the world with their glamour?

  The agency had drawn up an outline of how the book was to be structured which went on for fifty pages, almost book-length itself. They’d included transcription files of conversations with Caitlin where someone else had interviewed her—clearly not trusting Katya to ask the right questions. There were plenty of links to existing interviews online too.

  The job appeared to be more of an admin task than a creative one. Would the fans be happy about reading re-hashes of interviews they’d probably already seen? And so much for Caitlin wanting a writer who understood every fibre of her being. She wouldn’t be in contact with her at all.

  Think of the money. The email promised the agency had paid the first part of the advance into her account. A quick check on her bank account made her refresh the screen several times, the noughts that showed there unreal. She had more money than she’d ever possessed. What a change it would make not having to worry about Christmas, scrimping on presents she was sure everyone donated to the charity shop come 27 December. No, this year it would be cashmere sweaters, Chanel toiletries, LK Bennett heels and those daft scented candles that proved the adage ‘money to burn’... Even then, the spending spree wouldn’t dent her current account too much.

  The exact instructions for how to write, picky as they were, made the prospect of producing 80,000 words less daunting too.

  Page thirty-nine of the document made her pause, bracing herself for pain. She rewound back to the discussion she’d had with Caitlin two months ago.

  “You know what my final chapter is!” An announcement, not a question.

  “Um, no? What is your final chapter?”

  “It’s the best Katie, the best! The one my fans have been waiting for all their lives!”

  Katya mumbled her name was Katya, but Caitlin wasn’t listening.

  “It’s where I find lurrrve,” she purred.

  At that, Mhari sat bolt upright. Katya's giggles dissolved, seeping out of her body so quick it was as if someone had punctured her stomach.

  “That’s why I wanted you too,” Caitlin burbled, the bubbliness a contrast to the iciness that crawled its way over Katya’s skin.

  “Because when I visited Lochalshie, the most amazing psychic told me what I needed to do to find the man of my dreams! And she was right. Lochalshie’s, like, this special place for me. The psychic told me the truth, and I’m gonna pursue it with....”

  “... every fibre of my being,” Mhari mouthed, the phone uttering the words in sync.

  Katya braced herself. “Have you found the man of your dreams, then?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Caitlin’s voice sang out, breezy and cheerful, oblivious to a heart breaking nearby.

  “He’s amazing, and he’s been under my nose all the time. It will make such an amazing story for my autobiography—and exclusive, only for people who buy the book.”

  Here were the instructions for it now. Katya took five fortifying deep breaths. Entitled ‘Caitlin finds love title tbc’, it included several paragraphs dictating how she write the piece to make it as romantic as possible, and include the key events which led to Caitlin’s realisation that the man who had been there all along was The One. The outline referred to the Psychic Josie consultation—the doctor would need to hang up her stethoscope and take up fake astrology full time—and the man’s work history with Blissful Beauty.

  “Discuss lab meeting with Donal. See transcription 62.”

  Lab meeting with Donal? Curiosity piqued, Katya dug out her headphones and hit ‘play’ on the Mp4 file. She had to wade through endless ‘Hey beautiful, how are you? No, how are you? You look A-MAY-ZING. No, you look FANTASTIC. Is that my strawberry lip plumper you’re using? Yeah, how did you guess?’ comments before the interviewer asked the crucial question.

  “So, Caitlin... Rumour has it you’re in love. Can you tell us more about him and how you met?’

  More excruciating comments. Caitlin seemed determined to squeeze ‘amazing’, ‘fantastic’, ‘just the best’, ‘the greatest’, ‘I’m so super happy’ into every sentence, often multiple times.

  Then, the killer words. “He’s like no-one I’ve ever dated before. Donal doesn’t want fame or to be rich. Y’know he gets cross with me if I buy him anything that’s like more than $50? Isn’t that the cutest?”

  Donal??? She re-wound the interview and played the sentence again. “Donal doesn’t want fame or to be rich.” Change a few vowels in a word and see what it did to a gal. At the realisation that Caitlin’s secret love was Donal and not Dexter, Katya’s heart pitter-pattered so hard she put her hand to her chest.

  Donal and not Dexter. Not Dexter!

  In her head, Katya had conjured up a meeting in a top-secret lab where Caitlin met Dexte
r and the mysterious Donal, a shadowy white-coated man holding two test tubes and asking Caitlin to choose between them. Katya’s knowledge of how beauty products were made was shaky. She assumed that was how they were produced.

  In this scenario, Dexter caught Caitlin’s eyes across a Bunsen burner—he would have to drop his eyes half-way to the ground given her tiny height and his six-foot-plus status—and the shadowy Donal melted away, his murmurings about Caitlin agreeing on other product formulations unheard.

  Was the mysterious man who melted away Dexter, not Donal?

  “And you’ve known Donal for ages, right?” the interviewer asked.

  Absolutely, Caitlin said, throwing in a few more amazings and awesomes. Once upon a time he’d worked at this tiny lab creating all-natural skincare. When Caitlin’s business-savvy mother suggested her daughter buy a beauty and skincare brand she could then promote to her millions of online fans, the nineteen-year-old stepped in with an offer the company wasn’t able to refuse. On condition Blissful Beauty kept its original employees, all five of them.

  “I noticed him from the start,” Caitlin continued, her voice dreamy. “So serious, so devoted to his work. I didn’t think he’d be interested in me—y’know, I’m kinda... shallow, I guess, compared to him.”

  If you read the words, Katya mused, you’d assume she was being coy. But listening to them, they held the ring of truth. A young woman experiencing the universal teenage-girl feeling—not good enough for the person she wanted more than anything. The challenge for Katya was to ensure she made Caitlin come across as shy and unsure of herself when millions of people believed the opposite.

  And Katya found she wanted readers to sympathise with and love this version of Caitlin. Particularly as she’d just experienced a 180 degree flip in what she thought of her.

  “You’ve kept it quiet, though,” the interviewer probed.

  Yes, Caitlin said. She wanted to respect Donal’s wishes. She couldn’t help that websites and magazines jumped to conclusions. They’d been doing that all her life. But she had a few tricks she used—having her agent ‘leak’ details from time to time if she was with a male friend to send paparazzi photographers down the wrong path.