Highland Heart

by Emma Baird

  Gaby and Mhari saw her to the bus stop on Thursday morning, Gaby insisting on carrying Katya’s rucksack for her and banging on and on about what Katya planned to wear. She’d arrived at the flat half an hour earlier and insisted on picking out what she said were Katya’s best outfits.

  “It’ll be very smart,” she said. “You know what London parties are like.”

  No, Katya thought, and nor do you seeing as neither of us have ever been to one. Still, it was nice for her to show this much interest.

  “Aye,” Mhari said, “ye need to wear your best or all those snotty London women will look down their noses at you.”

  When Katya had suggested Mhari come with her, thinking she might appreciate the experience, Mhari shook her head in horror.

  “London? Is it bigger than Glasgow?”

  Katya solemnly confirmed it was.

  “Far too big. I dinnae like cities.”

  The bus didn’t arrive when it was supposed to, but as this was a regular feature of village life Katya didn’t worry. She did, however, when there was no sign of it fifteen minutes later. Unless the bus got here in the next two minutes and then did its best to make up the speed on the way to Glasgow, she would miss her flight.

  Mhari held her phone up. “I dinnae think that bus is coming,” she said. Sure enough, the sign at the front of the bus stop changed from ‘Delayed 15 minutes’ to ‘Cancelled’. A news report showed the freak storms at the Rest and Be Thankful had caused a landslide. The road was closed, a two-hour diversion in place for all traffic heading south which would be in place for the next couple of weeks.

  Katya swore loudly.

  “I’ll ask Jack,” Gaby jumped in, whipping her own phone out. “He can drive you there and we’ll get to Glasgow in time for you to catch the 4 p.m. flight instead, and then we can drive back so we’re in Lochalshie by...”

  “Nine,” Katya finished for her. “No. I can’t ask you to do that for me.” Even if she really, really wanted to.

  “It’s no problem!” Gaby said, suddenly unflatteringly keen to get rid of her best friend for the weekend.

  Katya shook her head. “No, it’s okay, honestly. I’ll message Madeline and let her know, and we can meet up early in the New Year once the road is no longer blocked.”

  “Okay, then,” Gaby said. “Well, we’ll see what we can do. Need to go—I’m helping the committee set up the stalls in the hall. See you later.”

  She dashed off, having failed to remember Katya could now do her taster Pilates class. Katya decided not to remind her.

  Mhari watched Gaby go.

  “I just sent Enisa a text,” she said. “She can still do the both of us tomorrow if ye want.”

  Katya had forgotten all about it—her booking of Enisa’s mobile beauty services when she’d been expecting exciting things to happen with her and Zac. Now it seemed pointless, but if the booking was still in place, why not? She’d cancel the hair removal and have a facial and a massage instead, and she and Mhari could enjoy an afternoon’s pampering.

  Her New Year plans hadn’t worked out as she’d expected a week or even a day ago, but she resolved it signalled something—a goodbye to Lochalshie and new beginnings ahead.

  CHAPTER 37

  So much for the relaxing afternoon in the lead-up to the New Year’s Eve ceilidh. The pampering session turned out not to be pampering at all—Enisa and Mhari weirdly determined Katya stick with her original booking where Enisa waxed her from head to toe.

  “I’ve bought my wax ‘specially,” Enisa said, holding the container up. “I’ll dae it that quick you willnae feel a thing.”

  She was right about her speed, if not the lack of pain. Still, she also insisted on doing Katya’s make-up. She had a new mineral range she wanted to try out—tons better than that Blissful Beauty muck, she promised—and Katya loved what she did.

  Her eyes looked brighter and whiter, her skin gleamed and the subtle lip gloss plumped her lips. Mhari, owner of thick, wavy hair, was a whizz with tongs, and she put Katya’s hair up for her, arranging tiny ringlets that fell around and framed her face.

  Thanks to Dr McLatchie, Katya didn’t need to worry about spoiling the effects sweating it out in a Pilates class. The doctor promised she would take it over, rubbing her hands together gleefully. Anyone attending was about to have their pelvic muscles pummelled and their abs battered. Katya’s Pilates class was fine, she said, but nowhere near challenging enough. Folks needed to pant far harder if they were to get the benefits. Katya hoped she wouldn’t put attendees off Pilates—or any form of exercise—for life.

  She’d wanted to phone to cancel Madeline, but the woman had never handed over any contact details apart from her email. As soon as Katya sent her a message, however, she replied, “Honey, that’s such a shame. But we’ll meet soon!”

  When she drifted into the hall later that afternoon, stalls and local businesses promoting food, handcrafts, Highland Tours and more crowded the room. The number of people milling around suggested attendees in their hundreds. The committee must be delighted.

  Jolene, hand behind her back to stretch out pregnancy ache, called her over. She and Stewart were judging the porridge competition, three tiny stoves set up so competitors could work three at a time, furiously stirring bubbling pots of oats. So far, a neighbouring villager raced ahead with his deluxe chocolate, sultana and brandy version.

  “Want to try this one?” Jolene asked, handing over a small paper cup of steaming oats and a teaspoon. “It’s the vegan, super-food one.”

  Katya took a mouthful and choked. The competitor had added chillies, Goji berries and coconut milk and been too heavy-handed with the chillies. The combination was unlikely to catch on.

  “Er... no.”

  Jolene nodded, and Stewart declared the chocolate, raisin and brandy porridge maker the winner, awarding him a gold sash and hand-carved wooden spurtle.

  Thanks to the masses of people, the hall was far too hot. Katya wandered outside. It was only four o’clock but dark already, the village street lights not making that much of a dent on coal-black starless skies. The sounds of the loch drifted over—gentle waves lapping against the shores. But they were only just audible above the chat and laughter coming from the hall and faraway noise of bagpipes warming up. There were wooden benches on the grass bank next to the loch. She sat on one, determined to banish the doom and gloom mood.

  Pluses. Her career was on the ascendancy. Yes, the Caitlin book was short term but such a high-profile project would lead to more work. No worries on that score. Norwich or London beckoned. Plenty of possibilities there.

  Minuses. Alone again once more... A biggie, no matter how often she told herself a partner wasn’t the be all and end all of life.

  “Katya?”

  Gaby appeared, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She reached her hand back to touch her friend’s. “Do you need my help with anything?”

  “The ceilidh starts at six,” Gaby said, “so the committee is looking for volunteers to clear the hall.”

  “Okay.”

  Inside the hall, tables and stalls were moved aside. Gaby found a supermarket trolley, and she and Katya carted over endless crates of beer from the Lochside Welcome to put behind the temporary bar in the hall.

  When Gaby’s phone chirped for the tenth time, Katya put her crate down. “Do you want to answer that? It’s driving me crazy.”

  “No!” Gaby said, her smile frenzied. Katya eyed her suspiciously.

  “I hope you’re not matchmaking. Jack’s friends are bound to be a heck of a lot better than Ryan’s, but I’m not in the mood.”

  “No, no. I’m not doing that, promise!”

  Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Gaby’s lying skills had not improved in the time she’d lived in Lochalshie. Tonight, a ruddy-faced muscular bloke who whiffed of dung would ask her to dance while everyone watched. At midnight, he’d pucker up and... urgh. Was it too late to plead a sore tu
mmy and spend the evening under her duvet watching the latest series of Jessica Jones, the kick-ass woman her aspiration for the future?

  “What are you wearing tonight?” Gaby asked, picking up her crate of bottles once more, dumping it in the trolley. “Not that.”

  “Seriously, Gaby? You’re critiquing my clothing choices?”

  Her friend wore leggings, one hole in the knee, the other perilously close to her crotch. And one of Jack’s Highland Tours fleeces. She looked like a Weeble.

  “No, no—though Jack loves me whatever I wear, don’t you, pet?”

  ‘Pet’ walked past, carrying several bottles of whisky. He winked at Katya, a slow sweep of eyelashes over the top of sharp cheekbones. “Gaby, your dress sense astounds me every day.”

  “See?” she said. He winked again, unseen by Gaby. “But Katya, what about that lovely designer dress you were going to wear to the party in London? That would be perfect. Shall we pop back to yours and dig it out?”

  Wow. Gaby stopped at nothing in her mission to prepare her best friend for a dung-reek young farmer. Katya owned one designer dress, The Vampire’s Wife outfit she’d had the enormous good luck to spot in a charity shop. The dress featured printed pink and red wild roses overlaid with gold lace, three-quarter length sleeves, a fitted bodice and a tiered hem. Beautiful indeed, but she suspected no one else would be that formal.

  Still, the outfit got few outings. Why not?

  As it happened, she never got the opportunity. By the time they had cleared the hall and set it up for the ceilidh, people began to arrive, waving tickets and chattering excitedly. January was a dull month in the north of Scotland, the nights too long and the weather dreich, Jack told her. Everyone partied hard on Hogmanay to make up for it.

  To avoid any young farmers, Katya took up position at the front table, taking money from everyone who came in. Jolene joined her, Stewart too busy flinging himself into dancing interspersed with frequent trips to the bar.

  “We took heaps of money this afternoon,” Jolene said. She had to shout to make herself heard above the bagpipes. “And loads of people ended up in the Lochside Welcome for lunch, so Ashley is happy.”

  “Has everyone forgiven me for Zac?” Katya asked, stamping someone’s hand so they could come and go into the hall.

  “Not your fault, mate,” Jolene said. “And I liked him. Stewart didn’t want me to say anything but it is only fair. When Zac came round to drop the hamper off, he looked terrible. He made me promise to tell you how sorry he was and that his marriage is long dead.”

  She dug around in her handbag, pulling out a scrap of paper and handing it to Katya. An address in London. “He’s going back there to work for Hammerstone Hotels. If you are ever in London, he hopes you’ll look him up.”

  Katya screwed the paper up, about to lob it in the waste basket next to the table and then changed her mind. Maybe when she was back in the city she would take him up on his offer. Since Stewart’s revelation about the photo on Instagram, she’d studied the picture a few times. Was it that incriminating? She stuffed the paper into her pocket.

  As the queue of people waiting to come in had died down, she left Jolene at the table and peeked into the hall. So far, this year’s ceilidh broke all previous records for attendance. There were far more people than the original licencing application specified. A good job all those employed by the local council pretended not to notice. A caller yelled the moves but movement was restricted because of the numbers.

  Dr McLatchie joined her. “D’ye want me to cast your horoscope for the year ahead? I see great things for you.”

  Katya raised her eyebrows. “You do? Shall we start with Zac? Not safe for work indeed. And how come the stars didn’t tell you he and the truth do not enjoy a close friendship?”

  The doctor pursed her lips and flapped a hand. “Aye, well. Sometimes the stars make mistakes. But no’ this time. I sense amazing, wonderful, awfy—”

  Katya smiled and let the rest of the sentence drift over her head. Thanks to the overwhelming noise of bagpipes, laughter and chatter, she didn’t hear the din outside at first. But when the doctor tipped her head to one side and pointed to the doors, she caught it—the roar of an engine and the unmistakable whop-whop-whop whirl of blades. She headed outside, the commotion drawing out others, all of them joining Katya to stare at the skies in disbelief.

  “Is that the air ambulance?” someone asked. The crowd exchanged glances as if trying to work out who the ill or injured person in need of emergency medical services among them might be.

  “Naw,” Dr McLatchie replied. “The air ambulance is bright yellow. That yin’s pink wi’ silver stars.”

  Mhari, her phone held high above her head, as she filmed the chopper coming in to land, swung around to face Katya.

  “What? Are ye still here? Off you go, you silly mare. Madeline decided if the mountain wouldnae come to Mohammed, Mohammed would go tae the mountain.”

  CHAPTER 38

  All the ‘Hi honeys’, not being able to find Madeline online, the bending over backwards to help her and the emails that became increasingly personal...

  Chink, chink, chink—the sound of pennies dropping. And Katya, who prided herself on being far savvier than Gaby and Mhari, who’d already worked it out. Or even arranged it. Who knew, who cared? In a few minutes’ time, a helicopter would land in a field in Scotland and the door would swing open and a dark-haired head pop out. And that was all that mattered.

  She wasn’t the only one in the field. Villagers had made their way there too, joined by the people who’d come to the village for the ceilidh. Perhaps they thought an unexpected helicopter appearance was part of the entertainment. The lights from the helicopter beamed out, picking out faces in the crowd. The whirl of the blades blasted Katya’s hair back from her face and ruined Mhari’s efforts.

  Oh well. She wanted to jump up and down anyway and as it was, Lochalshie’s off-duty community cops acting as the landing crew and waving the helicopter in had to stick their arms out to stop her coming any further forward.

  “No further in, hen!” the older one of them said. “We dinnae want ye getting decapitated.”

  “Too right,” his colleague added. “Think of all that paperwork we need tae fill in.”

  Heaven forbid a Scotsman didn’t get to spend his evening whirling unwitting partners around a dance floor and drinking too much whisky.

  The blades seemed to take forever to stop and the helicopter’s door to flip up. Behind her, someone whispered, “I wonder what this Madeline looks like?” Gaby, the conspirator in the miracle that had managed to overcome all obstacles, the literal roadblock. The non-stop phone pings and the insistence on leg waxing explained.

  “I have my suspicions,” she whispered back, “but I am very grateful to my best friend and very excited. That comes with five exclamation marks, by the way.”

  Gaby giggled. “We’d better go. I’ve been roped into woman-ing the bar and making sure we don’t run out of anything. See you later, right?”

  “Right,” Katya nodded, her head still fixed to the front, terrified she might miss the exact moment the door opened.

  And then it did, and the dark head came out crown first, moving slowly until his face was directly opposite her. Everything else vanished—or appeared to. Did the villagers all melt away? Did the engine suddenly die and darkness lighten so two people were able to walk the ten long metres and then fling their arms around each other?

  Not quite, but that was how it felt.

  “I can’t believe...”

  “Caitlin was disappointed when you didn’t take the hint from her interview for the book. She insisted I take the helicopter when she heard the road to Lochalshie was blocked.”

  “Please tell Caitlin that I plan to write the best celebrity autobiography ever.”

  They stood back from each other. Just like the last time she’d seen him, Dexter looked exhausted, all dark smudges under the eyes, limp hair and fine lines sketched aroun
d his mouth and eyes. No sign of an LA tan—impossible to get when you spent all your time working—and yet, her libido reacted as she had then. Lord, he was beautiful.

  “I’ve got an empty,” she said. “Mhari is at the ceilidh. We have hours and hours to ourselves. That’s if you’re not too tired?”

  His eyes gleamed. “No. Let’s go.”

  Two tiring but amazing hours later, Katya finally got out of bed, pulled on her robe and went to fetch them something to eat, waiving her usual rule about eating in bed.

  A gigantic stack of peanut butter-slathered toast between them, Dexter explained the events of the last few days, including the enforced time off which had come at an opportune time...

  “Gaby worked it out,” he said, “the Madeline thing. I wasn’t sure—I thought you were gonna make a go of it with the Zac guy, and I didn’t think it was fair to interfere. But when I heard about what happened, I decided to suggest a meet-up as Madeline. You beat me to it.”

  He bit into the toast, the peanut butter spread so thickly he left teeth marks.

  “You didn’t mind me interfering in your career by pretending to be Madeline? I always thought you were super-amazing, but I started it because I wanted to help and persuade you to move to London when the company relocated. Then events got in the way.”

  Katya wiped away a bit of peanut butter stuck to the side of his mouth and kissed it. Any excuse.

  “No... I don’t mind. I enjoyed the Madeline chats. Especially when they got personal. At one point, I remember thinking my true soulmate might be Madeline.”

  He squeezed her hand. “When your bus to Glasgow was cancelled, I spoke to Caitlin and she lent me the helicopter. You have to jump through a lot of hoops to get flight permission at this time of the year. I let Gaby know. Did she really manage to keep it quiet?”