Where Have All the Boys Gone?(40)

“So, you write the entire paper, and take all the photographs.”

“And deliver it, don’t forget.”

Katie squinted at him suspiciously. She absentmindedly plucked an early raspberry and ate it. Now he was looking at her, seriously, and all the warm fuzzy feelings from last night came flooding back. She wanted, suddenly, to bury her head in his faded green shirt. But there was a camera in the way. He looked concerned. She realised he must be worried that she was regretting last night in a really major way.

“Sorry, I just . . . got some strange news this morning. Family news.”

“Yeah? Bad or good?”

“Not sure. Strange. It’s going to be hard for . . .” Suddenly, she felt strange herself. She wasn’t sure she wanted to unburden herself to Iain, a near stranger, especially not in the garden of Eden. “Nothing,” she said.

Iain nodded his head. “Uh, OK then.” He looked at her, still concerned. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Oh, yes, sure.”

“Can I . . . I mean, can we . . . maybe go for a drink some time?”

“Yes,” nodded Katie decisively. “Yes, I’d like that very much. Look, I’d love to stay here with you . . .”

“. . . taking pictures of vegetables? Are you sure?”

“Yes. Definitely. Plus, it doesn’t smell of cow in here. So much. But there’s someone I have to go and find.”

“Louise?”

“Yes—how do you know?”

“How many people do you know in town?”

“Good point,” said Katie.

“Well, she’s here,” said Iain. “I’ve seen her already.”

“Really?” said Katie. “She is going native.”

EVERYWHERE IN THE windy meadow there were animals: well-behaved black-and-white sheepdogs pretending to show not the slightest bit of interest in the sheep; cattle and their permeating methane smells, which Katie was still having trouble getting used to, the occasional lamb under a farmer’s arm. She thought she could hear pigs, but she couldn’t see them, and was disinclined to go looking, especially if they were as scary as that bull.

There weren’t any children anywhere, and very few women of course, which made it easy to spy Louise, who was prancing down through the fields in a terribly inappropriate pair of shoes, surrounded by eager-looking chaps, one of whom was Craig the Vet.

“Hey,” said Katie, greeting them, and trying to work out a way to get Louise away from the group. She didn’t think Louise would appreciate picking up delayed news, and there was always the possibility that any moment a miracle could happen and they would get signals on their mobiles and she’d find out about it from somebody else. It was a possibility that made Katie shiver even more than having to break the news to her.

“Hello there,” said Craig the Vet, smiling his ruddy smile. His arm was very close to Louise’s.

“We’ve all decided Louise should judge the cake show this year. As a special foreign visitor.”

The other men nodded their assent. Louise looked a picture of extraordinary happiness, testosterone and patisserie uniting to form some triumphant trifle for her to tuck into.

“I’m having a terrible day,” said Louise. “All these horrible men have kidnapped me and are making me eat cakes.”

“Are you telling me,” said Katie, eyeing Craig sharply, “that amongst all the animals here, there isn’t a single sick one?”

Craig looked slightly guilty for a second. “Oh, they’ll be fine. Always complaining, animals. Terrible hypochondriacs. It’s a horse whisperer they really want, not a trained doctor.”

Katie looked at him through narrowed eyes.

Suddenly, an absurdly loud intercom system crackled on above their heads and everyone jumped. An elderly voice cleared his throat live on air.

“And noo, the judging for the best home produce of the fair . . .”

He didn’t need to say any more. Suddenly there was a stampede of large wellington boots heading in the direction of the baking tent.

“. . . and this year it will be judged by a newcomer to our town, Miss Louise Hodgkins, from London, England, but try not to hold that against her, I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice wee lassie and not a thieving conniving Sassenach cheat, but even if she is, I’m sure we’ll all extend her our very best Fairlish welcome . . .”

Katie had no excuse but to turn around and follow Princess Louise and her devoted entourage, who were being swept along by the crowd. Clearly Harry hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said the baking competition was pretty hot stuff in this part of the world.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spied the three town minxes, Kelpie, Thing One, and Thing Two. They were clearly absolutely furious at the attention Louise was getting from their menfolk. Katie tried to hurry on past them, but they were having none of it.

Kelpie stepped up. “Ah see your slut-bucket friend has lost no time in spreading it about,” she spat in Katie’s face. She looked as if she was trying to wear her hardest face, but it also wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that she was in fact very, very hard. Katie wasn’t going to push her luck.

“You don’t even know us,” said Katie. “Just go away.”

“Juhrst go awaaaay,” said Kelpie, keeping up her high level of “being witty by repeating everything somebody says” technique, which she now had down to a fine art. “Listen, I don’t know who youse are, and I don’t care, but the quicker youse FAHK off back to London, the happier wese are going to be.”