Where Have All the Boys Gone?(46)

“Look . . . you know, I was thinking of maybe getting a move on today.”

Louise’s face contorted. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve lost my job and I’ve nothing to do and nothing to show for it and we have to go back to London so we might as well start today seeing as there appears to be a fifteen-minute interval while it isn’t pissing it down with rain.”

Louise put down the toast. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t . . . I forgot you lost your job.”

“C’mon, Louise, you couldn’t have stayed here anyhow! You’ve got to get back to work and stuff . . . you’ve got to continue with your life.”

“I wasn’t enjoying my life very much,” said Louise thoughtfully.

“Well, at least you still have a job, but I don’t, so that’s that, OK?”

“Hmm,” said Louise. “Up until yesterday, it was feeling quite therapeutic up here.”

“Maybe because we’re running away from all our problems.”

“Well, maybe ‘running away from your problems’ is the new ‘facing up to your problems,’” said Louise. “Look at Olivia. She talks everything out with her therapist all day all the time and never gets any better.”

That much was indisputable.

Louise stared down at the table. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I think I might take a bit more leave. I’m not sure . . . I don’t really want to go home yet. And I’m amazed you do.”

“I don’t!” said Katie. “Haven’t you been listening to me? I’ve been sacked! I have no job, no money, and a car held together with pieces of string and pies!”

The tears stung at her eyes again.

They had only noticed peripherally that the bellowing noise from the hall had ceased, when the door was flung open. They smelt it first. Louise lifted up her nose like the Bisto kid.

“Is that . . . is that . . . a sausage?”

Mrs. McClockerty was standing silhouetted in the doorframe, her beefy arms supporting a laden tray. She looked as though she’d had a stroke down one side of her face, until Katie worked out it was her attempt at smiling.

She put two full plates in front of them. There was indeed sausage—and square; fried eggs, something which looked like fried fruit cake, crispy potato scones, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, and black pudding, which Katie found a bit frightening.

“Full Scottish,” grunted Mrs. McClockerty. “And if you stop those interfering, Range-Rover-driving, golfing English bloody bastards, there’ll be a lot more where this came from.”

Louise and Katie looked at each other, dumbfounded. Then, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, both piled in.

“This,” said Louise, a muffled ten minutes later, “is the best bloody breakfast I’ve ever eaten in my entire bloody life.”

Katie nodded too. God, but she was ravenous. It must be all the fresh air she’d had sitting down on the docks and crying her eyes out.

“See,” said Louise, eventually. “You can’t leave now. Even that old witchbag is coming around. Is it just me or is black pudding absolutely delicious?”

“It’s that old witchbag’s nephew I’m worried about,” said Katie. “Well, I don’t need to worry about him, because he’s sacked me, so I don’t really have to worry about a thing.”

“It’s this fruit pie thing that’s got me,” said Louise. “I can’t believe people don’t fry more cakes.”

They piled in. Katie was thinking, ruefully, of all the money she would save at hideous motorway service stations, of which she had approximately nine hundred to pass that very day.

There was a ring at the bell and Mrs. McClockerty tore herself away from brewing them a fresh pot of tea to answer it. Louise craned her neck to hear who it was. Katie tried her best to ignore it.

“It’s Craig the Vet,” said Louise excitedly. “I’m going to see what he wants. And offer him a sausage.”

“Or accept one,” said Katie, but she followed Louise to the door.

“Just wanted to join the fighting fund,” Craig was saying to Mrs. McClockerty. He was holding a copy of the paper. “Do you think we’re going to need armed resistance, or will just money be enough?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Mrs. McClockerty in a grave voice which suggested they might need to stockpile Uzis in the attic. “Whatever it takes.”

Craig the Vet nodded grimly. “Aye, whatever it takes.”

“Hello Craig!” said Louise happily.

Craig popped his head around the door.

“I believe you’re still in your nightgown,” said Mrs. McClockerty disapprovingly to Louise.

“I believe you are too,” said Craig, smiling happily.

“I’m having an emotional crisis,” said Louise.

“Oh,” said Craig. “I don’t know much about those. Kind of womanly things aren’t they? With, like, crying and stuff.”

Louise nodded.

“Huh. Do you want to come lambing with me?”

“Absolutely!”

“You can’t,” said Katie. “We’re going home.”

“You don’t even need to get dressed,” said Craig hopefully.