Waste Land. ‘Honestly, Mum, how can you say someone’s a great writer if you’ve no hope of understanding their work unless you’ve got a stack of reference books next to you? It’s just showing off. If I behaved like that in front of other people, you’d totally tell me off when we got home. So why is it all right for T. S. Eliot to swagger about like a complete know-all and make the rest of us feel stupid?’
Not for the first time, Annie had struggled to find an answer to her eldest daughter’s candour. ‘It’s a challenge,’ she’d finally said. ‘It makes you think. It makes you look beyond your own narrow horizons.’
‘But reading the Twilight novels makes me think,’ Cat replied defiantly. ‘Just because you’re not interested in thinking about the same things doesn’t mean it’s worthless.’
It wasn’t solely her mother who dismissed the power of fiction within the Morland household. Richard naturally read the Bible, though rather less than his parishioners might have hoped. He read a great deal, having the excuse of a weekly sermon to sprinkle with erudition. Most of his reading consisted of philosophy and natural history, with occasional forays into biography. The Internet had also afforded him access to a bewildering array of blogs, which he dipped into like a man sampling an all-you-can-eat buffet. He claimed he approached his reading with a measure of scepticism. Cat was less certain about that; she thought sometimes the blogs more closely resembled the condition of fiction than her father was willing to admit.
Her brother James wasn’t much of a reader. He’d dutifully read the Harry Potter books, but that was the last fiction he’d embraced. In his early teens, he’d discovered the true crime genre. Since then, his reading for pleasure had consisted of exploring the warped lives of serial murderers and spree killers. It was a fascination that puzzled Cat. It couldn’t even be explained as preparation for life at the bar, for James had no intention of pursuing criminal law. He was destined for family law, something of his father’s social conscience having rubbed off on him. And yet, he remained fascinated by the perverted actions of a psychopathic few.
And so Cat was stranded on the shores of fiction alone, save for the occasional forays of her younger sisters, both of whom preferred to fiddle with Facebook or tattle-tale with Twitter than sit down with a book. Cat had briefly cherished hopes of Emma becoming a reader like her when her younger sister had picked up the first volume of the Hunger Games trilogy. But it soon became clear that her interest had only been pricked because she’d seen the film of the book at a friend’s house, and that she had no sincere love for the written word per se.
And that was why Cat revelled so thoroughly in the company of Bella Thorpe, who might not have been the most assiduous reader in the city of Edinburgh, but who at least understood enough of the joys of novels to seek out the presence of their authors, if only to have her copies of their work signed. For once, Cat felt the fiction lovers were in the ascendancy. All they lacked was Henry Tilney who, she was sure, would only have enriched their conversation. But as her parents had been careful to teach her, Cat knew you couldn’t have everything. At least, not all at the same time.
Two days later, Cat rushed into the Spiegeltent at the Book Festival grounds, hot and damp and five minutes late. Bella waved at her from a far booth and she excused her way across the busy café and subsided on to the bench opposite her friend.
‘Where have you been?’ Bella’s voice was plaintive. ‘I’ve been waiting, like, forever.’
‘I’m hardly late at all,’ Cat protested mildly, taking off her father’s elderly Panama hat and shaking the rain from it. She had brought the hat to shelter her from the sun but so far it had done more service as protection from the squally East Coast showers.
‘Love the hat – that is so cool. I need one just like it. But seriously, what kept you?’ Bella pouted.
‘Well, technically it’s your fault.’
‘My fault? Like, how can it be my fault that you’re late? I even left early because it looked like rain and I didn’t want to get caught in it, which by the way I managed better than you did.’
Cat smiled, not caring that the sudden shower had left her a little bedraggled. It was a condition familiar to her at home, and Susie Allen was still at the flat and so had not been able to chide her for being less than perfectly turned out. ‘It’s your fault because you got me into Morag Fraser. I’d never even heard of the Hebridean Harpies series till you dragged me along to her event. And now I am totally hooked. I was reading Vampires on Vatersay till one in the morning. I just had to finish it. And then I started Banshees of Berneray at breakfast and I could hardly drag myself away from it to come and meet you.’
Bella squealed. ‘Have you got to the bit with the long black veil?’
‘How did you know? That’s exactly where I stopped.’
‘You stopped? How could you? Are you not wild to know what’s behind the long black veil?’
‘Of course I am. But I had to get out the door and up the hill or you’d be even more cross with me. I’m dying to know the dreadful secret behind the veil.’
‘Well, I’m not going to tell you,’ Bella said stoutly. ‘I’m not going to spoil it for you. But I swear you’ll have a heart attack, literally.’ She fished her phone out of her pocket and brought up a website. ‘I’m going to email you the link. It lists the whole series in order.’
‘What are they? Go on, tease me, tempt me, tell me.’
‘Ghasts of Gigha, Werewolves on Wiay, Poltergeist Plague of Pabbay, Shapeshifters of Shuna, Killer Kelpies of Kerrera and the latest, Maenads on Mingulay.’
‘That sounds so cool.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, girlfriend. You are going to be screaming like a Berneray banshee before you’re finished. You’re going to be looking over your shoulder every time you turn a corner.’
Cat gave a delicious little shiver. Already, she’d categorised the dimly lit narrow alleys that threaded between the streets of the New Town as ripe territory for supernatural creatures to lurk among. Now, thanks to the apparently ordinary Morag Fraser, she’d have terror on one shoulder and horror on the other as she walked the streets after sunset. It was probably as well that Susie took care to stay close when they made their way back from evening events. ‘And they’re all as good as Vampires on Vatersay?’
Bella bumped shoulders with her. ‘They get even more scary, trust me. And it’s not just me saying that. My friend back home, Madison Crowley, she’s read them all too, and she says the same. She had to sleep with the light on for a week, she was so totally terrified after Shapeshifters of Shuna.’ She pouted. ‘I wish Maddy was here, you two would bond like sisters. Of course, she’d be left out a bit, she hasn’t got a gorgeous man in her life like Jamie or Henry. I’m always giving guys a hard time for not fancying her the way they do me.’
Cat struggled to make sense of Bella’s words. ‘You give boys a hard time because they don’t fancy your mate?’
Bella tossed her tawny hair back and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Well, duh. She’s my mate, so I have to put myself out for her. That’s what friends do for friends. I totally put my friends first. Like, we were at this party, some guy my brother Johnny knows was all over me and poor
