Jenny Colgan - Where Have All the Boys Gone?

‘It’s down the hall,’ whispered back Katie.

‘I’m too frightened.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

‘Katie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you sure we haven’t been kidnapped by white slavers and sold into service?’

‘Ssh!’

There was a short pause. ‘Have you seen that film The Others?’

‘NO!’

‘Gaslight?’

‘Goodnight Louise.’

‘Amityville?’

‘If you wet the bed, I’m telling Mrs McClockerty.’

There was a pause, then a rustle. Katie stiffened. Sure enough, the covers on her bed were being pulled back.

‘Louise!’

‘Please!’

‘Well, no funny stuff, OK?’

‘I would never fancy you even if I was gay,’ said Louise loftily. ‘I’d fancy that bird from Location Location Location.’ And, despite her avowed terrors and full bladder, she immediately fell fast asleep.

Katie wriggled a little to try to get comfortable, but it was no use. Grateful for the warm body beside her, she lay staring into the dark as the clock ticked away until morning.

Getting up the next morning proved near impossible – the room was icy and so huge that getting to their clothes seemed an epic journey, never mind the arduous trek to the bathroom. Only by holding hands, closing their eyes and shouting ‘bacon and eggs!’ could they inch their way forwards into the frigid air.

Sadly, bacon and eggs weren’t exactly forthcoming.

‘It’s continental breakfast,’ announced Mrs Mc-Clockerty, as if what is delicious-freshly-made-in-a-patisserie-under-a-heartwarming-early-Mediterranean-sun was in any way a comparable experience to the dried-out pieces of toast studded on the tray before them while the wind audibly howled around the house.

‘Two pieces only!’ she barked.

There were three other people in the dining room, all men, sitting on their own.

‘Perhaps it’s a lonely murderers’ convention,’ suggested Louise, trying in vain to warm her hands on the coffee pot.

‘It holds up Olivia’s male-female ratio theory,’ said Katie, inhaling her tea greedily. Before they’d left, Olivia had pointed out that seeing as the main industries in the region were farming, fishing, forestry and a large research centre down the road, they might be in with a bit of luck totty-wise. Although studying their fellow inmates, Katie wasn’t entirely heartened by what was on offer. One of the men was dropping crumbs all over his Aberdeen Evening Post, another was unselfconsciously exploring the inside of his nose. At the far end, Mrs McClockerty was surveying the room in silence, making sure nobody took more than the requisite number of condiments.

‘So, are we going home today?’ asked Louise brightly. ‘’Course we are!’

Katie grimaced. ‘I think I’m going to have to at least look at this job thing. Otherwise Livvy will have my farts for parts.’

‘Surely not,’ said Louise. ‘She won’t mind. This place is cruel and unusual.’

Outside, rain was throwing itself against the window as if it were trying to get their attention. Katie looked at her watch. Eight thirty.

‘I’m going to have to go,’ she said apologetically.

‘OK, I’ll get the car started,’ said Louise.

‘You’re not coming!’

Louise looked taken aback. ‘Of course I am.’

‘Of course you’re not. This is my job. I’m not walking in there like Jennifer Lopez with an entourage. They already hate me.’

‘Do they know it’s you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do they know it’s you? The person who already got turned down for the job?’

‘I did not get turned down for the job! I…declined.’

‘What? They offered it to you and you turned it down?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘By default?’

‘That’s a manner of speaking.’

‘Well, what am I going to do all day?’

‘You should have thought of that,’ said Katie sternly, ‘before you started with the “Ooh, please can I come, boo hoo hoo, blah blah”.’

Louise gave her a look.

‘OK, everyone out!’ said Mrs McClockerty. The men started shifting around, collecting his papers untidily together, in one case, and wiping his finger surreptitiously under the table in another.

Mrs McClockerty came and stood so her bosom loomed over their heads, blocking out all light. ‘You must exit the premises until 6 o’clock. This isn’t a hotel, you know.’

‘It is a hotel!’ said Katie.

‘It’s a boarding house,’ said Mrs McClockerty, as if Katie had sworn at her. The girls waited for further elucidation as to what the difference was, but none was forthcoming. The bosom swayed towards the door and vanished into the endless bowels of the house.

‘Can I hide under the seat of the car while you’re at work?’ asked Louise desperately.

‘No! You have to go explore.’

There was a pause. ‘Can I have the umbrella?’ asked Louise.

‘I forgot it,’ said Katie in a very quiet voice.

‘You forgot an umbrella when coming to the Highlands of Scotland?’ said Louise in an even quieter voice.

‘Yes,’ said Katie.

Louise sat very still for a minute. Then she stood up, slowly. ‘I will see you,’ she announced, ‘at 6 p.m.’ Then she picked up her coat, still wet from the night before, and, with a great sense of purpose and wounded pride, walked out of the big old-fashioned door. Katie watched her go for a moment, feeling guilty, then feeling annoyed that she spent so much of her life feeling guilty.

Mrs McClockerty poked her head around the door and looked pointedly at the brass clock on the wall. It was 8.40. Katie jumped up, guiltily.

Katie hadn’t known what to expect of the town – she hadn’t seen much of it from the tiny railway station. But on first impressions, Katie felt happier despite herself. The rain was easing off, and there was even a hint of sun in the air, trying hard to make itself felt behind a watery cloud. The town was tiny, built around a little harbour. The houses were brightly painted and picture-postcard cosy. The town looked like it should be hosting a perky children’s television series, and, although the streets were deserted, Katie could imagine it thronged in the summer. The roads were narrow and cobbled, and a tiny church was perched on one of the hills above. The directions to the Forestry Commission indicated it was out of town, though, and so Katie reluctantly set off in the opposite direction, following the badly-faxed map.

The rain did stop, but the Punto was still having some trouble navigating the muddy roads through the thick woods. It was the first time Katie had ever driven somewhere where she could see the point of those ridiculous Land-Rover thingies, other than to transport skinny blonde women and their single children to the lycée whilst squashing cyclists in the London rush hour. Olivia, who usually cycled to work of course, always suggested that they use the bull-bars on the front of their vehicles to tie little posies of flowers to commemorate all the cyclists and pedestrians they’d killed that week whilst being too far off the ground to notice anyone and too busy doing their make-up to care.

Katie wondered how things were going to go with this Harry character. The best thing, she supposed, would be if nobody mentioned their previous encounter. After all, he had said she could have had the job if she wanted, hadn’t he? Even if grudgingly so? Maybe he wouldn’t recognise her? Surely he’d think all London girls looked the same anyway? Nervously, she smoothed down her plain black sweater and burgundy skirt. It would be fine. She would do the job and get home. Breathe fresh air. Eat…well, kippers and things, she supposed. She quickly put to the back of her mind how unhappy he would be when he found out he was paying consultancy rates rather than £24k a year.