Page 13 of The Cottage in the Highlands

I chewed over the prospect of working for an editor like Athena Mayhew, versus having no money coming in.

With Harley curled up and continuing to snooze in her basket, I decided to browse the Goddess website.

Images of confident-looking women posing on top of a heather-clotted hill shimmered up on the screen. Previous covers trailed along the bottom of the site with the tagline, “We don’t just find your inner Goddess – we nurture it.”

Photos of polished, pouting members of staff and their impressive bios ran down the right-hand side and heading the pack was Athena Mayhew. She was all buffed, tight white skin and choppy burgundy hair.

I scrolled through the latest edition’s headlines. They ranged from “Tartan is the New Black” and “Meet Glasgow’s Female Bill Gates” to an exclusive about online scamming sites targeting professional women and an undercover piece on the exploitation of female escorts.

My heart lifted with optimism. It was great to see Athena Mayhew wasn’t just focusing her attention on frothy journalism. There were reports about seaweed hair removers and the latest fad for something called Devil Lips, but I wasn’t interested in that. It was the juicy, hard-hitting stories that exposed inequality and injustice I wanted to be a part of.

The job was based in their swanky new offices on the north side of Glasgow in Cowcaddens, with its modern apartment blocks, bijoux restaurants, and bustling Herald newspaper offices. I took an excited, nervous breath and returned to the investigative reporter job specification.

I read it again.

It sounded like a fantastic opportunity. It was fun covering the school pantomimes and the human-interest angles of the Silver Ness community, but it made my stomach sink to think of this strange new hybrid newspaper they were creating with Drummond. One that I wouldn’t be a part of anyway.

I moved the cursor and hovered over the job description as I mulled it all over. There was a good chance I wouldn’t even reach the interview stage. There were bound to be young, eager graduates keen for an opportunity like this – poor, naïve, young souls who had probably never heard of Athena Mayhew, unaware of what they could be letting themselves in for.

I glanced down at a slumbering Harley and then around myself at my kitchen, with its daffodil-yellow walls, deep-blue wooden cabinets and rustic beams.

I had come across some difficult characters in my time, working for the ad agency. I couldn’t allow Athena Mayhew’s fearsome reputation to intimidate me, especially when I had a mortgage to pay.

And I was a good journalist. I had a moral compass; I was hard-working and conscientious…

Before I knew what I was doing or allowed myself any more time to debate it – or even talk myself out of it – I was tapping away at my keyboard, composing my application.

Chapter Six

I sat at my desk the following morning, my thoughts shifting from my Goddess job application to Harley’s vanishing act and then on to the seemingly abandoned house, Merry Wood.

That cranky lady who had appeared out of the trees… why was she there? She had been so guarded. She must know more than she had been prepared to say.

I glanced over the cork partition at Frances, feeling weary after all the events of last night. She was staring at her computer screen and every so often would offer me an awkward smile. I must have told her twenty times that I didn’t blame her for being kept on with Clarity Newspapers while I was being let go, but I don’t think she believed me. It was horrible, this weird, artificial atmosphere.

Doug was carrying the same beleaguered bearing too. He ambled over to our kitchen area to make himself a fresh coffee.

We had to accept this was going to be the way of things for the next few weeks. We were doing our best to carry on as usual, producing the paper so many of our locals relied on, but the inevitability of the closure of The Silver Ness News in its current guise still stung.

Our loyal readers had no idea yet about the impending amalgamation, so Doug was writing a special editorial for next week’s edition.

I didn’t envy him that job.

I stared at my screen, not focusing on it. I had decided not to tell either of them about my job application to Goddess. I was worried about jinxing it and decided to wait and see how my application was received first.

I forced myself to focus and finished bashing out several hundred words about Silver Ness’ oldest fishing boat and pinged it over to Doug. I glanced down at my notebook on which I’d scribbled “Merry Wood” a few times. I pictured the fields and Harley tearing away from me, mingled with images of the grand black and white house with its wild gardens.

“Have either of you heard of an old house situated in the fields on the outskirts of Silver Ness? Well, it’s closer to Drummond, actually.”

Frances looked up from her desk, startled, as though I had dragged her away from somewhere else. None of the three of us was coping well with what was taking place, but were trying to muddle our way through the best we could. “What’s the address?” she asked.

“That’s the thing. I don’t have an address as such. The house is called Merry Wood but it’s in the middle of woodland.”

Doug took a thoughtful mouthful of his tar-like coffee as he leant against the sink top “Nope. Never heard of it.”

Frances shook her lowlights. “Me neither. Where did you say it was again?”

“In amongst the fields and woodland between here and Drummond.”