Where Have All the Boys Gone?(96)

He looked around the room. The group of men behind his back were looking terribly disapproving.

“But now I’ve brought some investors to see you . . . apparently,” he glanced at the group of men behind him, “respectable golf-loving people aren’t going to want to come up here and play, surrounded by rabble like you lot. So, I guess you’ve won. And you can go back to drinking and fighting your way to oblivion on your own. I hope you’re happy.”

There was silence. Katie and Harry looked at each other, aghast and delighted.

Iain’s dad turned round to walk out.

“Mr. Kinross,” shouted out Harry, his voice ringing loud and clear. Iain’s dad stopped and turned back around. “Are you saying you know what’s best for all of us?”

Iain’s dad looked at him closely. “Harry Barr? Well,” he said, almost to himself. “Well done you. At least you got yourself a proper job, unlike my feckless son over there.”

“For goodness’ sake, Dad,” said Iain, looking more like a teenager than a fully grown man.

“I do have a job,” said Harry. “And that job’s protecting our environment the way we like it. Where do you live, by the way?”

“That’s not the point,” said Iain’s dad.

“I know that’s not the point,” said Harry. “That’s why you’ve been talking complete bullshit. Your only point is money, and I for one could not be more delighted you’re going to take it somewhere else.”

There was a huge cheer at this.

“Up the arse would be preferable to me, but it’s up to you.”

The investors hurried out of the marquee.

Iain’s dad walked straight up to Harry. They spoke quietly, but Katie was close enough to hear. “I cannot believe the six tons of shit you unloaded on us for this,” said Mr. Kinross. “I certainly underestimated you.”

“I had help,” said Harry. “And, actually, I think you overestimated your fucking stupid idea.”

Iain’s dad coughed. “Your mother would have been proud,” he said, quietly.

Harry started, unable to speak.

“She would have been too,” came another voice. Iain’s.

“THREE CHEERS FOR NO GOLF COURSE!” shouted somebody from the back of the tent, and the place erupted behind them.

Katie watched as the three men gradually came closer together as the band picked up their instruments again. Her heart was beating wildly, and she couldn’t help but join in with the cheering and clapping.

Suddenly, a figure darted the length of the dance floor and grabbed Katie around the middle.

“Katie,” screeched Olivia.

The men turned to look at them.

“What? What is it?” asked Katie, who’d nearly been knocked off her feet.

“I got a mobile signal!!!”

“Ehm . . .” Katie was conscious of being overheard. “Well, that’s great, Olivia. Well done.”

“No, no, you don’t understand . . .”

Katie noticed Olivia was holding out the telephone.

“It’s for you. It’s your sister.”





Chapter Twenty-One


The next hour was absolute chaos. It wasn’t Katie’s sister speaking on the phone; it was her mother. Clara had gone into labour, and was asking for her. She was hysterical, apparently.

“But I can’t get down there in less than twelve hours!” said Katie. “Tell her to cross her legs or something.”

“I think this is a pretty impatient baby,” said her mother. “Just try and get here as soon as you can, will you sweetheart? She’s really crying for you. The hospital aren’t happy with her at all. Her blood pressure’s all over the place.”

“But it’s midnight!” said Katie. “Nothing’s even running. I’m completely stuck up here!” She found herself choking back tears.

The three men were listening hard.

“Shh,” Olivia was patting her arm, as was Louise, who’d just arrived. “We’ll just have to drive through the night, that’s all.”

“Who’s sober enough to drive?” sobbed Katie, extending her arm. “Everyone’s pissed as farts!”

Iain’s father gave a small cough suddenly. “Excuse me miss . . .”

“Katie,” said Katie, sniffing.

“Hmm, yes. Well, I don’t know if I can be of assistance, but I understand it’s something of an emergency . . .”

Katie nodded.

“Well, I do have a helicopter standing by for Inverness.”

“Oh,” said Katie, looking up at him, feeling a spark of hope.

“Is it a big chopper?” came a voice. They all turned around.

“Hi, I’m Ewan McGregor,” came the famous voice. “I hear from Olivia here you’ve got a bit of a problem, and, well, I’ve got a plane on standby at Inverness, so, please—be my guest.”

Katie’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t mean it?”

“Consider it my donation. Or, at least, the production studio’s. It can come back and get me later; I just want the bloody dancing to start up again.”

“Oh, thanks . . .” said Katie, unable to express her gratitude to the men. “Thank you so, so much.”