Highland Diaries - a short story FREE TO READ

Organised chaos

What did we expect when we put up an invitation on the Lochside Welcome's Facebook page, asking if anyone would like to attend a virtual pub quiz? No prizes, but we would feature the winner on our page.

Katya came up with the words for the invite, I did the graphics and Dexter sprinkled his special marketing sauce around. That post went viral (unfortunate word choice in pandemic times, I know). I'd put it up on the Tuesday. By Thursday night, half a million teams had signed up, eager to hand over their £2. Desperate to compete.

Jack bent over me as I showed him the screen—the numbers increasing as we watched. "You," he said, kissing my cheek, "are a genius. How about we donate half the money to charity?"

"Alright then."

We'd thought our contestants would be limited to the UK. Not so—Americans, Australians, Canadians, New Zealanders, ex-pats in Spain, South Koreans (my old boss, Hyun-Ki) and one team who lived on the Solomon Islands. (I had to look it up—I'd no idea where it was.)

No-one seemed to mind the time difference. Everyone willing to join in at weird times just so they could play live.

"It's bonkers!" I said to Katya as we caught up on Zoom on Friday morning. Katya and Dexter were still in the Blissful Beauty London flat, along with nine-month-old Lucian. "Did you know so many people loved pub quizzes?"

She pushed a hand through her hair and sighed. "Entertainment's in short supply at the moment. I wish we'd travelled up to Lochalshie when we had the chance. I know where I'd rather be during lockdown."

At this time of year, Lochalshie started welcoming tourists again. Not now, obviously. Part of me relished the peace and quiet of walks around the loch where I only saw locals, each of us raising a hand to wave and call across, "Are you okay? No' been coughing too long or anything?"

Laney Haggerty's cousin's best friend's hairdresser (or something) had been the first Highland COVID case. He'd survived, thank goodness, and had now been interviewed by every radio station, newspaper and blogger in the area.

"I said to ma girlfriend, 'I feel weird' and then I collapsed. Ma wee boy had to put on his fancy dress doctor's uniform and take ma temperature. 40 degrees! I laid on death's door, unable to breathe. Wondering if I needed to write my will."

Totally exaggerated, according to Caroline. "I saw that man mysel', Gaby! A bad case of man flu if you ask me!"]

But the London case numbers and deaths were scary. Not surprising given how over-crowded the UK's capital was. And a flat, no matter how luxurious, is not a great place for confinement. It did have a tiny balcony, but without a garden Katya swore the sight of those four walls was driving her mad.

"Every time I do go out," she added, "I have to dodge all the bloody cyclists! Why can't they cycle on the roads? God knows, London streets have never been this quiet."

Anyway, much as I cherished my catch-ups with Katya more than ever, today's to-do list was crazy busy. Friday night loomed. I had three million (felt like) questions to load up on Kahoot ready for the quiz and a social media campaign for Blissful Beauty to sign off.

"Can Evie say hello and goodbye to her future husband before we go?" I asked, holding my daughter up. I joked about it all the time. How Evie was going to marry Lucian and Katya and I would be related at last. In-laws. Katya always gave me one of her special looks when I said it. "Gaby, Lucian will not believe in the institution of marriage and he might turn out to be gay. Your daughter may choose that path too. Stop being so binary."

I was as woke as anyone else, I protested. It was a nice idea, though. Me and Katya, battling it out to wear the biggest hat the day our children married. At the Lochside Welcome, naturally.