Highland Fling Epilogue - a short Highland Books story

OVER FED CATS AND INTERROGATIONS

I let myself into the flat on Sunday morning to the sounds of a by-now familiar argument. "No, Mena. You're no' getting any of my ham sandwich, alright? You've got your own bloody food."

Mena, Mhari and I took possession of Number 7b Argyll Avenue a week ago. Since then, Mhari has not had a moment's peace to eat those oh-so precious ham sandwiches as Mena has decided that thick slices of ham stuck between two bits of Mother's Pride and slathered in mayonnaise count as cat food.

In the living room, Mhari is curled up on the sofa, Mena perched on the armrest next to her. They glance up as I come in, expecting me to adjudicate. I do so half-heartedly. Yes, cat experts do not recommend bread, mayo and ham for cats, but heck, when Mena eats the stuff, she looks as if she's died and gone to heaven.

"You look as if ye've died and gone tae heaven," Mhari says to me, voice sly. "Nice night, was it?"

She sticks her arm out and pulls her sleeve up, making an exaggerated show of checking a watch she doesn't even wear.

"Very nice, thank you," I say, issuing a stern command to my cheeks. Do not, I order them, flush in the slightest, "as you well know, seeing as you were there for most of it."

"You shouldnae drink Pimms," Mhari adds, helpfully or not. "Cannae handle the stuff at 'a."

She's right. I'm embarrassingly bad at drinking, which is probably a good thing as my mother might say. But Ashley chopped up cucumber, loaded glasses with ice and poured in Pimms, promising me he'd topped it with 'loads o' fizzy water' and handed them over.

I couldn't resist. At the end of the night, Jack walked me back to the flat and somehow our footsteps refused to stop there, taking us both to his house at the other end of the village.

Hence Mhari's sly dig. Heaven knows how I'm going to escape interrogation, as she will demand a blow-by-blow account of the night. I wander into the kitchen and stick the kettle on as strong coffee is in order.

"Well," Mhari calls out. "What happened last night? Did ye finally find oot for yoursel' what's under Jack's kilt?"

She drifts into the kitchen too, closely followed by Mena, who parks herself in front of the fridge and stares at it.

"You are not getting any more ham," I tell her at the same time as I take the packet out of the fridge and break off a bit. Mena gets up on her hind legs as I dangle it over her head. "That's your lot. No more!"

"C'mon then," Mhari says, putting her hands on her hips. "You can tell me. It's no' as if the whole village doesnae ken where you spent the night, seeing as you had to dae the walk o' shame this morning."

True. The second I shut the gate to Jack's small front garden, three people happened to walk by, dogs in tow.

"Morning, Gaby. Thought your flat was at the other end o' the village?"

Grr.

"I didn't do—"

Laney Haggerty, the chief questioner, tapped her finger to her nose. "Aye, aye, I believe you. Thousands wouldnae."

Honestly. Is this what village life is like? Everyone picking over your life choices to entertain themselves.

The kettle boils. I plaster on my sweetest smile. "I'm not telling you anything, Mhari. Let me drink my coffee in peace. I'm in desperate need of caffeine."

Mhari's eyes gleam. "That right? Is that because you've had hardly any sleep, too busy sh—"

"Stop it! Do not shock poor Mena."

"So, you did then!"

ARRGGGHHHHH... Mhari and I have lived together for a week and have known each other for a few months. I should know by now that just because I order her to stop quizzing me does not mean that she will.

"Haven't you got work to go to?"

Mhari's employed at the local pharmacy. The ideal job for someone as nosy as she is.

"Nope. Ma day off, so you and me can get tae learn aw about each other by sharing aw our secrets. Starting wi' you."

I knock back coffee too fast, burning my tongue. It is going to be a long day...

AUTHOR'S NOTE - for those of you outside Scotland, Mother's Pride is  variety of sliced white bread and very popular...