Where Have All the Boys Gone?(42)

“What?” Louise demanded of Katie. “Tell me! You have to tell me!”

“Is this about your stupid sister being up the duff?” asked Harry. “Brainlessness really does run in the family.”





Chapter Ten


It wasn’t quite warm enough to be sitting outside with your back against an anchor post throwing rocks in the water, but it suited Katie’s mood. Oh God, this whole Scotland thing had been a disaster right from the start. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong . . . she thought ruefully for a second of Iain. Well, she could probably knock that one on the head too, now that she was going to be six hundred miles down the road.

There didn’t seem much point in going back to the office, because it had a furious Harry in it, and there certainly wasn’t any point in going back to Mrs. McClockerty’s as it had a furious Louise in it, and, as a statistical probability, a mildly hacked off Mrs. McClockerty.

So Katie had wandered down to the harbour. The town was quiet—everyone was still at the fair. The swell of agitated conversation that had greeted the girls and Harry when they’d left the Portakabin was frightening. Crowds had parted to make a path as they moved through the field, and behind them the noise would start up again, a worried babble. Kennedy had looked at them, shaking his head, his slow bloodhound eyes looking heartbroken. The Laird had stepped forward, but Harry had shaken him off, saying, “Can I see you later, Jock?” with his mouth fixed shut.

He’d made them get in his car, perfunctorily patting Louise on the shoulder, and fondling Francis’s furry neck with the other. He had not even been able to look at Katie, though, huddled in the back. Louise had been pale and staring at the floor, clutching her hands together. Katie had reached out to touch her knee, but Louise had shrugged her hand off.

Harry had stopped the Land-Rover in the middle of town. He cleared his throat. “Well, have you any stuff to collect from the office?”

Mutely, Katie had shaken her head.

“Very well then. We’ll just say goodbye now.”

He hadn’t even stuck out his hand. Francis let out a little whimper. Katie had squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to go back to London and her life there. She wanted to taste Kennedy’s teacakes, and play with Francis and go fishing with Iain and go walking in the woods and . . .

“Harry,” she had said, her voice coming out high-pitched and squeaky. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the microphone.”

“I know,” he said harshly. “Of course. Who’d have expected a media professional to have the faintest idea about things like that?”

“But Harry, please. You know I’m right. You know you have to . . .”

Harry had slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it? One hundred per cent of everyone in the town and surrounding villages for ninety miles knows all about it. So it’s all completely out of my control and you’ve got your way after all. Are you sure that’s not what you meant to do?”

“NO!” Katie had said desperately. “Of course not. Look, it’s been an emotional day.” She gestured to Louise, who wasn’t even listening, just staring out of the window, ignoring Francis, who was attempting to lick her hand without having to move himself from his comfortable spot on the front seat.

“It certainly has,” Harry had said grimly. He opened the car door. Katie reluctantly limped out of the back. Louise followed her like a zombie. Harry hadn’t looked at either of them, not even Louise.

“Goodbye,” he said gruffly.

And he had got in the car and driven away. Louise had stormed off, and Katie was left alone.

SHE STARED OUT to sea. She had headed for the harbour, for want of a better idea, and was now watching the little boats returning in the early afternoon, to get the fresh haul in. They’d been out for ten hours already. There were tougher jobs than hers, to be sure.

But did they feel as bad when they messed up the fish? She supposed so. She heaved a sigh, desperately trying to think of someone to blame this on. But there wasn’t anyone. She’d been so utterly unprofessional in every way; discussing trade secrets with an outsider would have been bad enough, whether or not they’d been broadcast over the tannoy. And calling her boss an idiot in front of the entire town. Her arms, which were wrapped around her legs, squeezed involuntarily with a rush of shame and embarrassment. Oh God, how could she? How could she? She felt like jumping into the bay and drowning, just to stop this infernal mantra going around and around her head.

She tried to think of good advice for when things were going wrong, like considering people worse off than her (but all those people were a long long way from Fairlish, which made her briefly envious and defeated the object of the exercise entirely), people with legs different lengths and peanut allergies and horrible husbands . . .

But it was no use. It wasn’t making Katie feel any better, not right now when she was failing so dramatically at every other point of her life. Being sacked made her think of being poor, and being friendless, and being single, and being nearly thirty, and being mugged . . .

Breathing deeply—and realising there was no one else around, just a lonely seagull cawing overhead—she let out a shuddering wail of disappointment, and the tears started to plop sullenly onto the hard stone.