Jenny Colgan - Where Have All the Boys Gone?

‘You’re really not meant to be in here,’ said the young man with a sigh.

Katie stared at the record player and back to him.

‘It’s for advertising,’ he said apologetically. ‘That goes through Mr Beaumont there, but not everyone has a telephone and some people like to pop in on market day and

‘You want them to think there’s a million people working here.’

‘Working for the good of the town.’ The man’s green eyes danced mischievously. ‘Well, you’ve scooped us. Unfortunately, I’m not sure the local paper will run it.’

Katie smiled and put out her hand. ‘Well, I’d like to say your secret’s safe with me…’

He took it and bowed low. ‘Yes, bonny English maid?’

‘But I’m afraid I’ve been sent here by Harry Barr.’

He dropped her hand as if it were a live snake. ‘Och, you have not now.’ He looked around as if for assistance.

‘You have to be Iain Kinross.’

He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Um, no. That was him out on the front desk. Bit of a dour type.’

He paced across the room and sat down on the comfortable green leather swivel chair in front of his desk. He had an antiquated computer in front of him, and a rather more used-looking typewriter; small Stanley knives and tubes of paper glue littered the tabletop and floor, and piles of paper filled the shelves around his desk. He squinted at her, and pushed back a rogue lock of hair. ‘You don’t look like a rottweiler.’

‘I’m the new forestry PR,’ said Katie.

‘Oh God,’ said Iain, and, suddenly, he disappeared below his desk.

‘Are you being sick?’ ventured Katie, when he didn’t reappear.

‘No, uh no.’ He emerged. ‘There’s a mouse in here somewhere. Thought I saw it in one of the coffee cups.’

‘ One of the coffee cups?’ said Katie. ‘How many do you have under there?’

‘One,’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t want a coffee do you?’

‘I sooo don’t.’

‘Good. That’s good. So, I suppose Harry has told you lots of horrible things about me?’

‘No.’

His open face brightened. ‘Really? That’s good.’

‘Just that you were a “prickwobbling dicko”.’

It fell again. ‘Oh.’

‘And that he’s not killing all the trees.’

At this, Iain leaned forward. ‘Look. Are you a country girl?’

‘Yes,’ said Katie quickly. Well, she’d nearly gone camping on the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award scheme once. It wasn’t her fault that it had started raining and her mother had given in to her noisy and tremulous tantrum and let her stay at home and watch Dr Who and drink hot chocolate instead. Katie had picked up a thing or two from her canny younger sister.

‘OK well, you should understand then. If they’re going to cross-fertilise from the GM firs just because they’re gaining on their EU dispensation, it’s going to be no surprise to anyone when they start to lose the red and have yet another heron panic’ He snorted at the ludicrousness of Harry’s position.

‘Heroin? Really? Up here? Well, I suppose it is Scotland,’ said Katie.

Iain stared at her suspiciously. ‘OK, well, let’s pretend I was explaining to you as if, for one minute, you weren’t a country girl. Just for fun.’

Katie got her notebook out.

‘I mean, if you keep planting one type of tree instead of lots of different types, you’re going to have to understand why animals who like lots of mixed habitats might move on. Which then affects the environment and turns back on the plantations themselves.’

‘That sounds terrible,’ said Katie. It did sound terrible. Though she didn’t know why.

‘It is,’ said Iain, pounding his fist on the desk, which made lots of suspicious-sounding clinking china noises. ‘That’s why you…’

‘Katie,’ said Katie.

‘That’s why you, Katie, have to help me. That man is killing trees.’

‘Yes!’ said Katie, fired up with zeal. ‘Oh, hang on. No! I can’t! I work for him.’

‘This isnae about “me” or “him”,’ said Iain, gazing into her eyes. ‘This is for the trees, Katie.’

She looked at him for a second, then the moment was broken by the low trill of a mobile phone. A nice masculine ring, she couldn’t help thinking.

‘Kinross. Yeah? Oh, cock. Right, right, OK.’ He snapped it shut. ‘I’m so sorry. I have to go. Some stupid sheep’s just had octuplets and it’ll probably make the front page. Drink tonight?’

The invitation was so direct, Katie didn’t even see it coming and wasn’t sure what it meant. Was it a date or a continuation of their business conversation? She shouldn’t really be fraternising with the enemy, should she – even if he was hot? On the other hand, the alternative was huddling under two sheets in a hayloft with Louise, so she wasn’t in a position to be picky.

‘Um, OK. Where?’

Iain, who was now shrugging his way into a parka, laughed. ‘Well, take your pick. There’s the Rum and Thump or the Mermaid or…nope, that’s it.’

‘The Mermaid, please,’ said Katie fervently. The name sounded a bit more appealing.

‘Got a taste for the wild side have we? OK, see you at seven. Remember –’ he indicated the audio-challenged room sternly ‘– tell no one. Or Mr Beaumont will be on you like a cougar.’

The aged Mr Beaumont declined to look up from his whispered conversation on the telephone. Or maybe he couldn’t.

‘A cougar,’ warned Iain again. Then he was gone.

Katie trailed behind him weakly as he swept out of the turret. She could see Louise’s plaintive face follow him down the stairway as she emerged. Louise raised her eyes expectantly.

‘I have to go back to the office,’ said Katie, officiously. In fact, she needed five minutes by herself to think.

‘Well?’ asked Louise as they exited the small building, pausing only to give the receptionist evils.

Katie was feeling slightly more understanding. ‘Well what?’

‘Well what what? Did you just see that guy?!’

‘Iain?’

‘Ooh, yes, Iain, of course. You know him so well now. Yes, how was Iain, your husband. Iain. Everyone likes Iain. Iain and Katie.’

‘Shut up Louise,’ said Katie, trying to swallow down a blush.

‘Well spill then. Jeez, the first hot, non-psychotic male we’ve seen in months and now you’re trying to pretend you’re Joan of Arc’

‘Well, he seems all right,’ conceded Katie. ‘First person we’ve met so far that didn’t hate us on sight anyway.’

‘That’s good,’ said Louise. ‘Definitely, that’s a good sign.’ She futilely pulled the collar of her Karen Millen coat up against the stiff breeze coming in from the sea. ‘Christ. You’d have thought people would have realised it was cold up here.’

‘They did,’ said Katie as they looked out across the bay. ‘That’s why there’s so few of them. You have to admit, it’s pretty though.’

‘The South of France is pretty,’ mused Louise. ‘I’m amazed it’s never occurred to them to just go there.’

Katie turned back towards the car. ‘Well, there’s no parking problems.’

‘Can I sit in your car all afternoon?’

‘Yes. And by the way, Iain asked me out for a drink tonight.’

Louise squealed. ‘You bitch! You cast-iron bitch!’

By a tremulous stroke of bad luck, around the cobbled corner at that exact moment came Kelpie and her two cronies. They stared at each other for a moment. Then hurried away in barely concealed hysterics.

‘CAAARRRRSSSTTTTT AYRRRON BEEETCH!’ echoed up and down the high street.

‘I’m actually glad to know we’ve doubled the entertainment available in this town in such a short space of time,’ said Katie, unlocking the car. ‘We should sell tickets.’