"Do you need a hand with 'er?"

Xavier gestured towards Mhari, her arm slung over my shoulders and head hanging down. Might be shame. Without access to Google, we'd managed a paltry ten points out of a possible hundred. And that was before the twenty-point deduction.

On the other hand, I hadn't allowed her any more of my chips. My mistake. The nosey one hadn't bothered with any dinner and had drank one cider too many. Five minutes ago, she'd slumped against my shoulder. I thought about torturing her by confiding some bit of juicy gossip. Guess what, Mhari? I'm pregnant... Ho, ho, ho! Tomorrow, I would fake regret about opening my big mouth and enjoy her dismay when she realised she couldn't remember anything.

"I'm sure Lachlan can..." I told Xavier as I scanned the room for him. Where was Lachlan? None of us were able to work out Mhari's relationship status with the village's man of dubious reputation status and when it was on and off. Off then, if he had decided drunk Mhari wasn't his responsibility. And Jack had disappeared when Ashley asked if he could have a word with him.

"Is that okay?" I asked Xavier. "Are you finished for the night?"

Xavier was Ashley's new barman and Jack's once upon a time assistant. He was a French Canadian, and in the middle of a gap year between university and a career in corporate law. He'd stumbled on the village when doing his own bit of touring. The countryside appealed to him, so he decided to make Lochalshie his base for a while, asking around about job possibilities.

Jack snatched him up. The Highland Tourers loved him—French accent, Scottish roots and male model looks. For the two weeks he was with Jack, everyone leaving TripAdvisor reviews on the Outlander-themed tours made comments such as, "Phwoarrrr. Hard to pick who's the best-looking guide. Highland Handsome Tours, for sure."

And for that fortnight, Jack worked hours closer to nine to five. Just as well, as that was when I found out I was pregnant and was prone to bursting into tears about anything and everything. Wishing my mum lived closer by. Cancer charity adverts on the TV. Running out of toilet roll... Everyday life became a mine field too.

"Cat litter," Caroline warned me when we told her at the six-week mark, eyes solemn. "Awfy stuff. Causes toxoplasmosis infections in pregnant women. That might lead tae miscarriage or a stillborn."

Your first pregnancy. Just what you want to hear. Jack took on cat poo and pee cleaning duties. Caroline had to step in when his work swallowed up his time once more.

To be fair to Xavier, he did not leave us willingly. Shonagh, Ashley's long-term bar woman, moved to Glasgow to care for her mum who had dementia. Lochalshie being a wee place didn't have many choices for employers. Xavier had worked his fair share of bar tendering as a student. He also knew how to knock up a mean pizza. When Ashley begged Jack to let him be Xavier's boss instead, how could Jack refuse? Helped too, that Xavier was so easy on the eye. Ashley probably hoped such an attractive member of staff would pull in the punters.

Xavier nodded now, bending so he could put an arm around Mhari and haul her to her feet.

"Eet's the flat five doors from here, right?"

I nodded. Between us, we got her out of the pub and along the main road, progress slow as Mhari kept forgetting that the crucial part of walking involved putting one foot in front of the other.

A car streaked past us, making me blow out air. Xavier raised an enquiring eyebrow over the top of Mhari's head. "I don't like cars driving too fast down the High Street," I explained. "Someone killed my last cat that way."

"Fils de pute!"

Quite. The car—a moss-green jaguar—pulled into the Royal George's car park and stopped at a jaunty angle. Two loud posh voices started up, clear enough for us to hear every word.

"Oh! We're here much earlier than I expected, Angeline. Enough time to get a whisky at the bar before they call last orders."

A peal of laughter.

"Last orders don't apply, Lois, when you're the owner. Do they?"

Urgh. "Les putains," I told Xavier. "Nous les detestons."

I don't normally slut shame but those two deserved it. And funny how the only bits of schoolgirl French I remembered were the swear words.

We'd reached Mhari's flat. Five minutes of fumbling where I tried to get her keys out of her jeans pocket—"Gerrofff me, Gaby! You're no' ma type"—and Xavier took over the job of hoisting her up the stairs, dumping her on the couch. I found her 15-tog duvet (needed in Scotland even in the summer) and covered her. When I returned from the kitchen with a glass of water, Xavier had lifted her head to put a cushion under it and was carefully moving her hair out of her eyes.

He stopped as soon as he saw me. Hmm. Double hmm.

He stood up. "I better 'elp Ashley lock up."

"Yes, I'll make Mhari drink all this water and then head off myself. Thanks, Xavier."

He smiled, sketched me a wave and let himself out of the flat.

Mhari mumbled something indistinct. "Drink this and hurry up," I said. "I need my beauty sleep."

"Too right you do. Better stay asleep for the rest o' the month." That wasn't mumbled. Mhari was not your typical gal pal.

"Gaby, d'ye think..." She burst into tears, startling me.

"Mhari! What on earth's the matter?"

I'd known her for more than two years and never seen her cry. Not even that one time when she dropped her phone down the toilet. Good job I was only sitting on the sofa arm, allowing me to lumber to my feet again and find toilet roll. My eyes prickled themselves, crying being the one thing I now did relentlessly.

"Here," I said, pressing a wad of it to her.

"Why are you greetin'? What's wrong wi' you?""

"Oh, hormones making me weepy, the preg—nothing! Period due! Want to tell me why you're so upset?"

The problem upsetting her came out in fits and bursts, not helped by her stumbling over words and repeating herself several times. The gist was Mhari and Lachlan were no more. Definite this time. He'd met someone else—how, how, how and why hadn't he confided in Jack, swearing him to secrecy so that then Jack could... oh. That was why.

Hyun-Ki was heading off to LA putting him out of the picture too. Had I misjudged their relationship, thinking it mainly conducted online?

"Nae even a sniff o' an invite for me, Gaby."

I pointed out LA's population was more than four times the size of Glasgow. Mhari hated cities.

"Oh shu'-up! He still shoulda asked, shou'nt he? I wan' a proper boyfriend!"

News to me. Katya, who'd also lived with Mhari once upon a time, reckoned she preferred other people's love lives to her own. All that opportunity to ask personal questions and not bother with the complicated bits yourself.

"What about Xavier? He's nice, isn't he?"

A big sniff. "Dinnae be daft. He's no' gonnae stay here. When we leave the EU, he'll need tae go back tae Canada."

"Canada isn't in Europe, Mhari."

"Is it no'? Anyway, he's loads younger than me."

Four years. The same age gap as her and Hyun-Ki. I referred to this. A drunken explanation that this was exactly why she wasnae going to waste her time on younger men. Shallow. Totes immature. She ended the last statement with a loud fart, which made the two of us giggle for ages. Mhari, the woman able to fart to order.

I checked the time discreetly, desperate to go to bed myself. "Can you drink your water? Will you be okay if I go home?"

Too late. She was fast asleep. I put the water beside her, found a bucket under the kitchen sink and stuck it next to her just in case, and set off for home.

Punters were still spilling out of the Lochside Welcome as I walked by, snatches of lively conversations drifting over the top of my head. A woman standing outside Jamal's General Store flicked her blonde hair, making me do a double take. Not Katya, surely? But then she turned, phone pressed to her ear. My age. No, a bit younger.

"Miles, it's perfect," she said. "Great location for filming, busy and—get this!—loads of gorgeous men. You should come take a look. How about next Friday?"

She listened to the reply, head bobbing up and down in agreement.

"See you then."

I watched as she turned and let herself into the house next to Jamal's store. Jamal hadn't said anything about new neighbours. Nor, more importantly, had Mhari noticed any newbies in the village and she knew everything and everyone. Often far better than they would like.

Great location for filming, Ms Mystery had said. A-may-zing. It must mean Starz the TV company had finally decided to film an episode of Outlander in Lochalshie. Most of the 'American' locations in the series were Scottish. Perhaps they wanted our village to double up as an 18th century one in North Carolina.

About time too!