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Authors: Jenny Colgan
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Katie and Louise.
‘We’re big news around these here parts,’ said Katie. ‘I think we’d better make ourselves scarce, before we get bullied by a pile of twelve-year-olds. I’m going to find this Iain Kinross character. Sounds like some anal old baldie geezer who sits in his bedsit writing angry letters to the Daily Mail. He’ll be putty in my hands.’
The three girls had seen them now; Kelpie was pointing them out. They were screaming with laughter in an over-exaggerated way.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Louise. ‘Not without me. They’ll flay me alive.’
‘They’re harmless,’ said Katie as they both got up from the bench and started to back away.
‘I don’t care,’ said Louise. ‘Take me with you, please.’
‘I can’t!’
‘Of course you can! Just say I’m your…PA.’
‘I’m not paying you.’
‘Oh my God, you’re a true Scottish person already,’ said Louise.
‘I’d like a SSSCCCCOOOOOOOONNNNE,’ came from the other side of the park, carried on the wind.
‘OK,’ said Katie. ‘But you’d better keep your mouth shut.’
‘A SSSCCCCOOOOOOOONNNNE!’
It took them a while to find the offices of the West Highland Times, situated up a tiny alleyway off the main street of old grey stone buildings, which hosted a post office, a fishmongers, a kind of broom handle/vacuum cleaner bits and bobs type of place, a Woolworths and sixteen shops selling pet rocks and commemorative teaspoons. They looked very quiet at this time of year.
The small oak door was set into a peculiar turret on the edge of a house made of a particularly windworn granite. It was studded with large dark bolts, and only a tiny brass plaque set low on the left-hand side identified it. There didn’t appear to be a bell, so, taking the initiative, Katie bowed her head and crept up the spiral staircase. Louise, whispering crossly under her breath at the exercise involved, followed her.
A little old man with grey hair sat at the top in a small room with an open door leading into the main body of the building. Katie could glimpse computers, typewriters and masses of paper beyond, and hear the regular dins and telephone calls of a newsroom.
They were not greeted with a welcoming smile.
‘Did ye’s no knock?’
Louise screwed up her face. Was no one going to be friendly to them around here?
‘Sorry?’ said Katie politely. ‘Hello there. I’m from the Forestry Commission. I’d like to see Iain Kinross please.’
‘He’s busy.’
‘How do you know?’ said Louise.
‘Shut up Louise,’ said Katie, and motioned to her friend to sit in a chair, awkwardly positioned around the curve of the wall.
‘I’m sure he won’t be too busy to see me,’ said Katie. She’d dealt with tougher hacks than this. ‘Could you tell him I’ve come from Harry Barr’s office?’
‘In that case, he’s busy for ever,’ said the man.
Katie heard a snort come from Louise. ‘I’ve got for ever,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll just stand here and wait until he comes out. Or in.’
‘You cannae do that,’ said the man. ‘I’ll…I’ll call security.’
‘Unless your security’s name is Kelpie, you’re not going to scare me with that,’ said Katie. ‘My name is Katie Watson and I’ve come from the Forestry Commission. Please just tell him I’m here.’
The man looked at her, then turned back to his computer. ‘He’s busy,’ he muttered in the tone of somebody feeling they definitely weren’t being paid enough to take this kind of abuse.
‘Yes, busy slagging off my employer,’ said Katie. ‘Let me see him!’
‘No!’
The door to the newsroom finally banged open.
‘Archie, Archie, can ah no get a wee bit of peace and quiet in here?’ said an amused-sounding voice. ‘I’m never going to win my Pulitzer with this racket, am I?’
Katie looked up. The owner of the voice, with its gentle Highland burr, was tall with green eyes, untidy curly brown hair and a mouth that looked as though it was
‘We’re big news around these here parts,’ said Katie. ‘I think we’d better make ourselves scarce, before we get bullied by a pile of twelve-year-olds. I’m going to find this Iain Kinross character. Sounds like some anal old baldie geezer who sits in his bedsit writing angry letters to the Daily Mail. He’ll be putty in my hands.’
The three girls had seen them now; Kelpie was pointing them out. They were screaming with laughter in an over-exaggerated way.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Louise. ‘Not without me. They’ll flay me alive.’
‘They’re harmless,’ said Katie as they both got up from the bench and started to back away.
‘I don’t care,’ said Louise. ‘Take me with you, please.’
‘I can’t!’
‘Of course you can! Just say I’m your…PA.’
‘I’m not paying you.’
‘Oh my God, you’re a true Scottish person already,’ said Louise.
‘I’d like a SSSCCCCOOOOOOOONNNNE,’ came from the other side of the park, carried on the wind.
‘OK,’ said Katie. ‘But you’d better keep your mouth shut.’
‘A SSSCCCCOOOOOOOONNNNE!’
It took them a while to find the offices of the West Highland Times, situated up a tiny alleyway off the main street of old grey stone buildings, which hosted a post office, a fishmongers, a kind of broom handle/vacuum cleaner bits and bobs type of place, a Woolworths and sixteen shops selling pet rocks and commemorative teaspoons. They looked very quiet at this time of year.
The small oak door was set into a peculiar turret on the edge of a house made of a particularly windworn granite. It was studded with large dark bolts, and only a tiny brass plaque set low on the left-hand side identified it. There didn’t appear to be a bell, so, taking the initiative, Katie bowed her head and crept up the spiral staircase. Louise, whispering crossly under her breath at the exercise involved, followed her.
A little old man with grey hair sat at the top in a small room with an open door leading into the main body of the building. Katie could glimpse computers, typewriters and masses of paper beyond, and hear the regular dins and telephone calls of a newsroom.
They were not greeted with a welcoming smile.
‘Did ye’s no knock?’
Louise screwed up her face. Was no one going to be friendly to them around here?
‘Sorry?’ said Katie politely. ‘Hello there. I’m from the Forestry Commission. I’d like to see Iain Kinross please.’
‘He’s busy.’
‘How do you know?’ said Louise.
‘Shut up Louise,’ said Katie, and motioned to her friend to sit in a chair, awkwardly positioned around the curve of the wall.
‘I’m sure he won’t be too busy to see me,’ said Katie. She’d dealt with tougher hacks than this. ‘Could you tell him I’ve come from Harry Barr’s office?’
‘In that case, he’s busy for ever,’ said the man.
Katie heard a snort come from Louise. ‘I’ve got for ever,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll just stand here and wait until he comes out. Or in.’
‘You cannae do that,’ said the man. ‘I’ll…I’ll call security.’
‘Unless your security’s name is Kelpie, you’re not going to scare me with that,’ said Katie. ‘My name is Katie Watson and I’ve come from the Forestry Commission. Please just tell him I’m here.’
The man looked at her, then turned back to his computer. ‘He’s busy,’ he muttered in the tone of somebody feeling they definitely weren’t being paid enough to take this kind of abuse.
‘Yes, busy slagging off my employer,’ said Katie. ‘Let me see him!’
‘No!’
The door to the newsroom finally banged open.
‘Archie, Archie, can ah no get a wee bit of peace and quiet in here?’ said an amused-sounding voice. ‘I’m never going to win my Pulitzer with this racket, am I?’
Katie looked up. The owner of the voice, with its gentle Highland burr, was tall with green eyes, untidy curly brown hair and a mouth that looked as though it was
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