Chapter 9
Chapter 9
S truan had cleaned up the flat best he could, then Saskia had come in and done it all over again to her standards, so you couldn’t deny it looked clean. This was such a good quality she had, he thought. She got a plan, and she saw it through. It was admirable.
The flat was airy, bright, and plain, with windows facing over the top of the high street out to the sea beyond; you could see the airfield in the left corner of one. She was very excited about him moving to the new place she’d found for them (after he had properly groveled for being out late the other night). It was going to be a pretty long commute until the end of the school year, and it seemed she really thought he had a chance of getting this new job and... well, maybe it was time. He glanced around. Saskia had found a nice new build in a modern block with a pool, which was so fancy he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he knew the walls were thin so who knew when he was going to get to practice his guitar. Whereas here, Struan could sit and play at the open window facing the sea and nobody would bother him.
He had left a message on his outgoing voicemail that there would be an open house on Sunday morning, rather than bother trying to fix appointments with people, so either lots of people might come or nobody would. When his grandfather had left his only grandson this flat at the top of the world, it had been worth barely anything. Since then, rather a lot of people had decided that they would like to live, or holiday, exactly there, and he had found himself incredibly lucky. He would miss it. Maybe nobody would come over, he thought cheerily. Then he remembered he’d just have to post it online like Saskia had told him to do from the beginning, and his heart sank. He’d thought putting a physical ad in a local shop was a better way to get local people in, rather than random folk from all over the place, but she might be right. She normally was.
G ERTRUDE WAS STILL furious with her mum, and had taken the early shift at the supermarket to prove it, even though it was quite a lot of getting your hands really dirty on the papers and bringing in the milk from the teeny wee lad on the tractor.
Mr. Scobie was waiting at the door as they opened, as usual, and had bought his daily essentials: a tin of soup, half a loaf of white bread, the cheapest brand of rolling tobacco, and the most expensive brand of fine dog food, for his stupid huge mutt Carnation, who got tied up outside and woofed until he re-emerged, even though he came here every day at the same time and did the same thing. Evidently Carnation thought her woofing was the only thing that made Mr. Scobie come back. New customers got a bit surprised by the cacophony; regulars weren’t fussed. On a tiny pension, Mr. Scobie could occasionally be tempted by a KitKat if they were on offer—Gertie would keep one back for him if they were—and on pension day he’d buy fresh free-range chicken, the most expensive they had. Gertie knew it wasn’t for him.
The next person through the door was someone Gertie had never seen before, which was unusual. She frowned. He was medium height, with dark blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and an expensive all-weather jacket. He was quite the best-looking person to walk into the ScotNorth since they’d been filming Outlander nearby and all the production assistants had popped in for bridies. That had been quite a couple of days. Everyone had used up their staff discounts on hair masks and mascara.
The man looked up at her with his ice-blue eyes and said, “Wow. You are an absolute vision, I can’t believe you’re working in a supermarket. And who knitted that beautiful ghost-colored scarf you’re wearing?”
“Thank you,” she said. The blue eyes looked confused.
“Sorry?”
Gertie mentally gave herself a shake. It was, after all, early in the morning.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry I didn’t quite hear you...”
“I asked if you had any cold-pressed green juice?”
Gertie almost missed it again, looking deep into his eyes, but caught it just in time. Unfortunately it was not a question most highland ScotNorths were very equipped to answer.
“I have... Tizer?” she replied.
“Is that the same?”
“Well, one of the flavors is ‘blue,’” she said quietly.
He looked at her.
“Blue, huh?” He had a curious accent, kind of American mixed with something else.
“I think it means raspberry.”
“I try and avoid blue food on the whole.” He frowned. “Except for blueberries. Got any of those?”
Gertie shook her head. “I’ve got some spring onions though,” she said, indicating a large pile, which had just come in fresh from the farm. “I could jump up and down on them for you?”
For a moment the man’s eyes twinkled. “That does sound great,” he said. “But I think... perhaps a decaf coffee?”
“It’s quite early,” said Gertie, desperate to talk to him as long as possible whilst the shop was quiet. “Are you sure you don’t want caff?”
He shook his head. “My nutritional therapist would have a fit.”
“Well perhaps they should eat a more calming diet,” Gertie said, and to her gratification, he laughed.
“Just the decaf, thanks,” he confirmed. “I’m going to go out and enjoy this beautiful morning.”
Maybe he would say to her, “When’s your break? You could caffeine it up and come sit with me and...”
Or perhaps she would spill the coffee on him and he’d have to take off his... well, his perfectly serviceable waterproof jacket. And spilling very hot drinks on customers was generally discouraged. It was in the handbook.
So of course Gertie just made the coffee, whilst the stranger picked up lots of snacks, read the list of ingredients, shook his head sorrowfully, and put them back down again. Careful about what he eats, thought Gertie. Good for him!
“Well, enjoy,” she said eventually, as he bleeped his card. She caught a flash of it as he did so and read the name printed on the gold background. Calum Frost.
M AYBE IT WAS fate, she thought, as the electronic bell dinged his exit through the sliding doors. Maybe it was meant to be. The KCs always liked to talk about how “what’s for you won’t go by you.” Gertie wasn’t sure about this at all. Rather a lot of things seemed to be going by her, quite frankly. And by the KCs, for that matter.
She followed him to the door and watched as he walked down the street. That was who owned the whole airline? Wow. He was... yeah. Wow.
Looking down, her eyes caught the ad again, for the flat, and she remembered how cross she’d been at her mum telling everyone she’d taken the job. On the other hand, if the job came with him...
A new job, a new start...
Suddenly Gertie’s heart began to beat faster. What if she did have her own room? And one night there was lots of snow, or something, and the Carso hotel was... fully booked or something and well maybe he would just have to come and stay somewhere and there was nowhere to stay and she’d say, “Come stay in my lovely apartment...”
Okay, lovely apartments weren’t often advertised by messily handwritten index cards posted up in local minimarts, but who knew? And at least it might shut her mum up for five minutes. Before she could even stop herself; before Calum Frost had even fully vanished down on to the seashore to, Gertie assumed, stare manfully out at the waves and contemplate how all the money in the world had still left him a lonely man, she had dialed the number.