Where Have All the Boys Gone?(51)

“In denial, do you think?” asked Olivia seriously. “I have some crystals for that.”

“I think you could call it that,” said Katie. “I prefer ‘mass hypnotic psychosis.’ She hasn’t mentioned Clara at all.”

Olivia sighed. “Well, that’s not going to help.”

“I don’t know why not. If she keeps taking all this leave, Max’s kid will be born, grow up, turn eighteen, leave home, and all her problems will be over.”

In fact, Katie thought the fresh-air therapy Louise was getting up here was a pretty good thing, even if she did come in from long walks in the fields rhapsodising and a little manic. What else was she supposed to do, stay at home in NW5 drinking martinis and getting boffed by twats?

“I know I should send her home,” said Katie. “The problem is, she’s really handy up here. She’s got to know all the blokes, and is persuading them to come along and sign up for helping out.”

“How?” said Olivia suspiciously. “I’m not paying her, you know.”

“I know you’re not going to pay her, she likes it. And it’s good for her. Anyway, she’s taking a leave of absence from work. She told her boss the baby news had made her so emotional she was likely to start wailing in front of the clients, and that scared them skinny, so they’ve given her a month to get over it.”

“Well, that’s good. You know, if she’s up there helping. For free,” said Olivia, not sounding remotely happy about it at all. “Meanwhile, what am I supposed to be doing down here by myself? Joining the Rambling Society? Taking an evening class? You know, living this hilarious independent single life with your girlfriends isn’t half as much fun without your girlfriends, do you see what I’m saying?”

“Sorry,” said Katie. “We shouldn’t be that long, should we? And you can come up for the big party.”

“My therapist says I should stay away from parties,” said Olivia darkly. “They stress me out too much.”

“What are you supposed to do for fun?”

“Ashtanga yoga, I think.”

“You know, I am trapped up in the back of beyond with two people who won’t work with each other and a depressed nymphomaniac on my hands, and you make squillions and live in Butler’s Wharf,” said Katie, “but sometimes I’m still really glad I’m not you.”

STAYING OUT OF anyone’s way in Fairlish was never going to be possible for long, plus Katie had to admit that she was dying to see Iain. If only she hadn’t been such a prissy drowned rat the last time she’d seen him. Suddenly Katie was conscious she was wearing her best trousers. And anyway, she had to take the artwork in for the advertisement. They were running a large box that said:



* * *



Fairlish FOR US!!! To stop the takeover of our town and the loss of our countryside! Join the fighting fund and come to the party!

C/o Harry Barr & Katie Watson, The Forestry Commission.



* * *



This time when she had to stare down Archie at the entrance she didn’t care.

Plucking up her courage, Katie flounced into the office. “I’m going to see Iain,” she announced.

“Oh, OK. Would you like a cup of tea while you’re in there?” said previously nasty Archie, in a kind voice that completely belied his thunderous appearance. Katie was getting tired of doing double takes. She hadn’t changed, she was still the English witch, but now she was being tolerated, almost revered. Well, dum de dum.

“Dum de dum,” she announced loudly, walking in.

Iain was building a fort on his desk out of Sellotape. He looked up guiltily and quickly covered it with newsprint.

“I’m beginning to think maybe Archie’s not worth the money,” he grumbled, sweeping the tape onto the floor.

They looked at each other.

“Why are you looking so cross with me?” said Iain finally. “I’m the one who’s been slogging his guts out for your cause without so much as a hello from you to tell me you weren’t dead in a gully from crashing your rubbish car.”

“My car isn’t rubbish,” said Katie, caught off guard.

“No, actually, your driving is rubbish. I was trying to be tactful.”

“I’m sorry,” said Katie, stumbling slightly. “I meant to say thank you. I’ve been really busy.”

“Well, I know that,” said Iain. “I haven’t exactly been fishing either. It’s no joke when the phone goes every two minutes and it’s the Sun wanting to know when they can come along and photograph the 5,000 blue arses.”

“That really is coming up a lot,” said Katie. “Maybe we should do something. In front of a big yellow bulldozer.”

“Well, of course you should,” said Iain. “It’s all in the press, ken.”

“Harry thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Then you should definitely do it.”

Katie gave a half-smile. “Iain, I . . .” She couldn’t quite think how to proceed. “Iain, I know about your dad.”

“I think we’ve got a new mouse,” Iain was saying. Then he stopped. “What?”

“A new mouse?”

“What was that about my dad?”