Page 3 of Fixing a Broken Heart at the Highland Repair Shop

He was still talking. ‘What was that thing you told me about how men apply for jobs even if they only have 60 per cent of the qualifications in the job description, and women only if they have all of them? You’ve got to out-bro the bros!

You’d be working at the Zurich office with me – well, when I’m there – and it would get me out of interviewing applicants because I’d have to declare an interest to HR, and that would free me up to go on the overseeing trip to Mali! Please please please apply, sis!’

‘All right! As a favour to you, I’ll apply.’ She’d huffed a breath down the line, even though she’d been smiling too.

Ally never fully understood what her brother did on his trips all over the world, something to do with when a charity shifts a large amount of money to some place far away they send someone from the charity to watch it being spent and get hands-on with the project too.

He was always somewhere incredible, doing life-changing stuff.

He made a difference on a global scale, whereas, last Saturday, Ally had replaced the wires in a faulty battery-operated pencil sharpener. They were in different leagues.

Still, she’d read the job specification and charity mission statement as soon as they’d hung up on the call.

The job was all about ‘brainstorming tech solutions’, creating a more ‘sustainable planet for humans and nature’, ‘scientific co-production’, ‘dropping in to communities where we’re needed most’, and lots of other buzzwords about cool office culture, hot-desking and employee perks – presumably to make up for the less than amazing salary.

This was way beyond her experience and capabilities, she told herself.

Yet, she’d still sent away her CV with a covering letter at just after midnight, telling herself it was nothing but a favour to her brother, not even wanting to hope she might get into the first round of interviews for a job based in Actual Switzerland.

A thought struck her now. How would she plan a wedding in Scotland if she was galivanting in the Alps for a year?

No! She wouldn’t let herself daydream. Nothing had changed yet. Her life was still fixed in its pattern of work, sleep, repair.

She checked her nail varnish for chips.

The repair shop doorway darkened as two people arrived together; a glamorous woman in a long beige tartan mac and a young bearded guy wearing big black headphones with a tablet camera attached to some kind of holster across his chest and a boom mic sticking out from it.

‘Charlie McIntyre?’ the TV reporter asked, and Ally’s dad swept them inside.

They got straight down to business on planning the interview. If McIntyre was nervous, he was hiding it well enough, apart from a pink flush across his cheeks.

‘Here’s someone else coming,’ Peaches said, cocking her head at the crunching on the gravel outside. She was getting invested in the whole Gray proposal idea too – even though her and Willie were new to the repair shop and every inch as much victims of its gossip themselves.

Those uninvolved in the news interview turned their heads towards the door… as the grocer, Laura Mercer, pale and bonny and about Ally’s age, carried in her basket of milk and loaves.

‘How do I get the feeling you’re disappointed to see me?’ she said, stopping still on the doormat.

‘Don’t be daft, come in!’ Ally said, bringing her towards the café corner. ‘It’s just this lot, up to their usual nonsense! Don’t stand still for too long or they’ll have you paired off with Sachin here.’

This was met with a ripple of good-natured laughter and Sachin remarking woefully how his Aamaya might have something to say about him ‘taking up with a young lassie’.

Laura had been calling in on her delivery round every Saturday since the very beginning, bringing the café provisions from her mobile pantry. She didn’t give much away, usually, but everyone knew she was single because no question was considered too nosey in this place.

‘ Actually ,’ she began with a sly smile and a lowered voice. This made Senga whip at her sister with a tea towel so she snapped to attention. ‘I might have met someone.’

‘Oh, aye?’ Roz McIntyre said. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Not long ago,’ replied Laura. ‘I’ve been delivering bacon rolls to his work on Fridays for a while, and he asked me out the other week. Took me to the Wildlife Park, of all places.’

‘Did you see the polar bears?’ Rhona asked innocently, only to be shushed by her sister.

‘And do you like him?’ Senga wanted to know.

‘I think I do.’ Laura blushed, unloading her basket onto the café counter. ‘Early days, mind, but I want him to meet my mum, so…’ She shrugged, letting her words tail off into a dopey smile.

‘Love certainly is in the air this weekend!’ said Roz, winking at her indignant daughter, but keeping her voice low because the first client of the day had arrived.

‘Is that so?’ Laura turned to Ally with an arched brow, but there was no time for her to answer.

Sachin was directing the customer towards McIntyre. ‘Jewellery job,’ he called out. ‘Lady wants personalised engravings removing.’

The woman, wrapped in a long Afghan coat that looked too hot for the spring day outside and with nicotine blonde hair flowing over her shoulders seemed like she wanted to disappear at the announcement, which was only made worse by Senga enquiring if it was a break-up that had sent her here with her jewels.

‘Remove all trace of ’im, eh?’ Senga chuckled, before she stopped Laura the grocer from leaving with the offer of a cup of tea. ‘Stay a bit, eh? Tell us about this lad you’ve met.’

Laura gladly accepted and propped herself up at the café counter.

McIntyre was taking a jangling drawstring bag from the customer in the Afghan coat’s clenched fist. If anybody had been paying attention to the woman (they were too taken up with Laura’s gossip, Ally’s upcoming date, and the bustle of the news team getting ready to roll), they’d have picked up on how nervy she was.

McIntyre tipped the contents of the bag onto his work station while the cameraman ordered coffees for him and his colleague.

‘Elaine, is it?’ McIntyre asked her, inspecting each piece in turn and reading the name inscribed on the lockets and bangles. ‘Some lovely pieces here. You sure you want your name erasing?’

‘Elaine’s my mum’s name,’ the woman replied in a shaky voice, glancing around the room, and only just spotting the TV reporter. If she was local to the region, she must recognise her; everyone knew Morag Füssli. ‘I want to… give them to my daughter to wear… without the engravings.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s a repair of sorts.’

‘Can we film you working on those, Mr McIntyre?’ Füssli said, advancing with her steaming cup and her freshly applied lipstick.

‘Machine’ll be noisy,’ McIntyre warned, ‘but it’s as good a way as any to show you what kind of thing we can do here.’

‘Can I leave?’ the woman said, eyes darting around the room. ‘Come back for them later?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, reaching into her pocket for her phone as she headed straight outside, into the courtyard and away.

‘Camera shy,’ McIntyre remarked to himself with a chortle as he watched her go.

Reaching for his goggles and ear defenders, he settled himself on his stool. ‘Ready?’ he asked the cameraman, who looked down into the viewfinder at his chest.

‘Rolling in three, two…’ he said, and Füssli gave McIntyre the nod to start the machine.

As the metal laser hummed and screeched and McIntyre wore away the engraving on the first item, a heavy gold bangle, more people arrived into the workshop, including a slim figure in sports gear. It was Gray.

‘That’s no kind of proposal outfit!’ Rhona was heard to remark to her sister who, for once, had to agree with her.

‘Shall we go?’ Ally said to Gray as soon as she saw him, hoping to avoid the salacious comments of the volunteers and definitely not wanting them to be caught on camera.

‘Sure. Uh, can we take a walk?’ he said over the growing noise as yet more people arrived.

The repair shop elders exchanged glances.

‘Gray?’

Oddly, it was Laura the grocer who’d called his name, and in such a delighted tone that the Gifford sisters’ eyes fixed on her like this was a matinee show at the Eden Court Theatre.

Laura was approaching Gray with a big grin on her face and her empty basket over her arm, her cup of tea left abandoned on the counter. ‘What are you doing here?’

It was then that everything started to run in awful slow motion as Ally came to realise what was happening.

Gray was stuttering and staring, looking between the two women. Laura kept chattering on cheerfully, even as her confusion set in. ‘I thought you told me you were working this morning?’ Laura stepped forward to hug him. Gray took a step back to avoid it.

‘You… you and Ally know each other?’ he said.

Pennies began to drop around the room. Roz stood up at her sewing station, her eyes narrowed.

‘Uh.’ Gray was gasping like a fish hauled from the River Nithy on a hook.

Ally watched on, letting him flounder, not wanting to jump to conclusions, but there was no getting around it. This wasn’t looking good.

‘Are you here to pick up Ally?’ said Laura, still trying to smile but looking between the pair in concern.

‘Uh, well…’ Gray glanced behind him at the open door.

‘Laura?’ Ally said at last. ‘Is this your new man, by any chance?’

Laura, now struck silent, clasped at her wrist where a pretty gold chain set with clear stones sparkled.

That explains Gray’s trip to the jewellers, Ally thought. Someone should let Jean Wilson’s cousin, Tony, on the hop-on, hop-off buses know. Though, no doubt it would be all across their small town before nightfall, regardless. There wasn’t going to be a proposal after all.

‘Listen,’ Gray was saying over the horrid grinding noises from the oblivious McIntyre’s workbench. ‘I can explain, honestly. Uh…’

‘This I’ve got to hear,’ said Laura, coming to stand by Ally’s side.