"How's the book going?" I ask Katya. I've finally managed to get hold of her one week after the Scottie incident. Our conversation had been uneven. My side of it far too long because so much had happened since I'd talked to her last. It has taken me two hours to fill in, not helped because Katya likes to interrupt frequently and make sure she understands everything, but after a while I knew I had to steer the conversation back to her if I didn't want to come across as a total narcissist. Even if I did need her interpretation of all my events—Monday evening, for instance.

I'd been about to settle down on the sofa to a re-read of An Echo in the Blood when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to a sheepish-looking Stewart and a stunningly beautiful woman I didn't recognise.

Stewart thrust a bunch of flowers into my hands. It looked like he'd picked them from the displays that surrounded the car park, but I supposed it was the thought that counted.

"Eh, aye Gaby. I didnae thank you enough for saving my wee doggie. I'm awfy grateful. Jolene telt me I should come and say thank you properly." He nodded at the woman by his side who extended her hand and gripped mine so tightly I winced.

"Pleased to meet you, eh?" she said. Not Scottish then, the antipodean accent turning every sentence into a question. Katya once told me that just as you should always guess someone as a Canadian when you're not sure if they are Canadian or American, the same applied to Australians and New Zealanders.

"Auckland?" I asked, and a wide smile split her face in two.

"Manukau, South Auckland. Can we come in? I want to chat to you about something and my boyfriend here still needs to thank you a thousand times over for rescuing that stupid dog."

Boyfriend? I had to rescue my jaw before it dropped to the floor. Seriously? As my nanna used to say, there's a lid for every pot, but Stewart is—to use another Nanna-style saying—punching way out of his league. I guessed Jolene to be part Maori, long dark hair, light brown skin, dark-eyed and extremely muscular if that handshake was anything to go by. Stewart must have hidden—I shook my head, unwilling to guess what talents for attracting beautiful women he might possess.

"Of course," I said, doing a quick mental run-over the house wondering if I'd left out anything embarrassing such as that book I'd ordered from Amazon the other day, How to Find Lasting Love with the Right Man. Nope, it was safely hidden away upstairs next to my bed.

Stewart and Jolene stared around them reverentially. "We've never been in this house," Stewart said, moving to the windows at the front and running his fingers down the neat join in the panes that didn't let any draughts in at all.

"Yeah, that stuck-up cow never lets anyone in here, eh?" Jolene said, making me like her one hundred times more than I had five seconds ago. She stared up at the atrium.

"Isn't that annoying in the morning when it gets light at four thirty?"

Not really, I told her. I liked the light waking me up in the morning and I managed to fall back asleep again anyway. "Have a seat," I said, and Jolene eyed the sofa and chairs warily.

"This is the kind of house you're frightened to sit down in," she said, "in case you make a mess."

Funny that. Jack had said something similar when he told me he preferred houses that didn't look as if they'd been done by an interior designer. Maybe I was wrong to think Kirsty's house was so amazing.

"Don't worry," I said, "the cat sitting service website includes full house cleaning afterwards. And I'd rather have people in here. What did you want to talk about?"

Jolene sat down opposite me. "I do the Lochalshie website. Mhari uploaded the film she took of you rescuing Scottie."

Stewart nods. "Aye, Scottie looks his best. I've already had aw these folks getting in touch with me asking if he's still got all his tackle because they want to breed their—"

Jolene shot him a death stare and remarkably, he shut up.

Thanks to the internet absence, I couldn't check out the film immediately, but I made a mental note to self to say to Mhari that she might have asked my permission first.

"Anyway, it's gone viral," Jolene said, the death stare departed and a smile lighting up her features. "Which means we've had tonnes more visitors than usual. Stewart built the site, so fortunately it didn't crash but it does need updating."

Ah. I'm pretty sure I can guess where this is going.

"Because we want to attract as many people as possible this year to the Highland Games. It's a big money-maker for the village. Or it used to be."

The games, she went on to tell me, brought in lots of visitors in the old days. People loved watching strong men toss cabers, whatever that is, or tosses and throws where you fling hammers over bars. The dancing displays went down a treat and the sight and sound of pipers marching down the high street playing Flower of Scotland was enough to melt a stone heart. Visitors flooded the place, staying overnight in the two hotels and the B&Bs, spending their money in the general store and the pub, and many of them made it a proper holiday staying a few nights or even the whole week.

I stirred in my seat. Something must have shown on my face because Jolene anticipated what I was going to say.

"I know it doesn't sound exciting. Especially these days. The committee is working on new ideas for the games this year. We've got a travelling fair coming along so we can offer rides and we've lined up Psychic Josie, that woman who speaks with the dead to help you work out who you're going to marry."

I kept my expression neutral. Neither idea sounded promising.

"...so we wondered if you could update our website for us—make it look modern and exciting? And then more people will decide coming to our games and perhaps staying in the village for a few days is a good idea."

I could hardly say no, could I? Over the years, I've found that when you tell people you're a graphic designer they think it's easy for you to create images or websites. Or that it doesn't take long. And I knew without asking that Lochalshie's village committee would have no money in their budget for professional photos. Mena chose that moment to appear, strolling down the stairs and yowling. Stewart leapt to his feet, whirling round to face her and yelling 'go away!' at the top of his voice. Mena stopped, looked him up and down disdainfully and walked past him to the kitchen. At that, Stewart had a sneezing fit, droplets of liquid flying from his nose so fast they hit me full on the face. I only just managed not to vomit. Other people's bodily fluids should stay in their own bodies unless...well, we all know the exception to that rule.

Jolene leapt up too, pulling tissues out of her handbag. "Stewart, you muppet! Gaby, I promise you he is house-trained even it did take me three years to get him to put the toilet seat down after using it."

Stewart wiped a hand across his nose and then over his trousers and I wondered what Jolene's definition of house-trained meant.

I decided it was time to end my first Lochalshie visitors event. Nice as it had been to welcome people in, who knew what Stewart might do next? In my rush to get rid of them, I ended up not only agreeing to a full update of the village website but also to design all the posters and signage for the event. Oh well. Maybe it meant that if the villagers held a party after the Highland Games, this time I'd get an invitation.

Unlike Jack's event.

"The book," Katya says now as we catch up, "is a total nightmare. Remind me never, ever to ghostwrite for anyone ever again. And there's a meeting in London I have to go to next week to discuss a 'change in direction', so it looks as if everything I've written so far is about to be trashed and I'll need to start all over again."

I make soothing noises and then ask if she's seen the Scottie rescue video. When I eventually saw it, I was horrified. Scottie might have looked good, a female dog's dream come true, and cute-looking as he tucked his little head in my arms and wagged his tail furiously when reunited with his owner. I, on the other hand, looked terrible. Not surprising really as I'd just emerged from freezing cold water. My hair was stuck flat to my head, never a good look, my face bright red and worse of all, thanks to the chill factor, my nipples were clearly visible through my top. Plenty of people had commented on that online and I now have a new nickname—Nora Nipples, something I've always wanted to be called. Not. Is part of the reason the blasted video went viral because of that, rather than my dog-rescuing heroics?

When I saw it for the first time, my heart sank all the more when I realised Jack will have gotten an eyeful too. He was first on the scene when I came out of the water. The thought turns me hot and cold.

"No, I haven't had a chance I've been working so hard. I'll look now."

"Don't bother," I say. "It's very boring."

There's a loud trill in the background—the land line. "What's that?" Katya asks, and exclaims too when I tell her. Like me, she's never used one before. I beg her to try to carve out some time to visit me and hang up, making the other phone just as the answer machine kicks in.

"Gaby!"

Aha. Mena's owner, no doubt checking up on my care of her cat. And yet again, sounding breathy almost as if she is jogging at the same time.

"Mmm?" I say and mouth 'Miaow, Mena' to the cat who ignores me, busy as she is with her advanced cleaning routine.

"I thought I'd update you on my plans! I knew you'd be desperate to know what I'm doing!"

I mouth agreement. Kirsty's original reason for needing to employ a cat sitter was that she had to escape after a relationship ended. At that stage, I didn't know she was an internet star and a YouTube celebrity. Maybe she's in London having meetings with sponsors or something.

"I've come up with this A-MAY-ZING idea! I'm going to personalise my blogs and podcasts, you know? I've always concentrated on giving people advice, but it's my story they want to hear, isn't it? I'm going to take my own advice, Gaby, and I'll document my journey. Guess what my destination is?"

"Um," I say, but she doesn't bother waiting for the answer.

"Jack, of course! I mean, I've got millions of followers and they all use my advice to find a man. It makes perfect sense for me to do so. Boyfriend Hunter takes a new direction. I've already hinted at it in blog posts and updates and people tell me they can't wait to see what I do. I'm going to call the blog Christina's Tips for Moving Date to Life Mate. Isn't that brilliant?"

Lame, Katya says in my head. I nod agreement. If you need someone to think up a red-hot title for you, don't do it yourself, ask my mate. She's the words woman.

"Why did he break up with you?" Kirsty is more likely to tell me what I've been dying to know ever since I moved here. Mena stops licking her bottom and looks at me. I have tried asking her, but so far the answer has only been a yowl.

There's a pause, then the words come out in a rush. "He said we didn't want the same things. He's wrong, though. Jack doesn't know what he wants, but by the time I've finished with him he'll want me more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. I'm going to implement a ten-stop process and when people see how successful my methods are, imagine how many followers and fans I'm going to get."

As well as Jack. I keep the thought quiet though. I don't want Jack to go back to Kirsty for obvious reasons. I'm under no illusions I stand any chance with him, but at least if he's on his own I have a five percent chance instead of a big fat zero. Besides, Kirsty is the Dating Guru. She'll have lots of information to hand to help her. And she strikes me as one very determined lady. This. Is. Not. Good. News.

"Will you help me, Gaby?"

Argh. "Um, I don't know what—

"I know you're on my side. Jack is the love of my life. He just doesn't know it yet. But I know it. The first time I met him, my heart fluttered to new life and flooded with joy."

I must repeat that one to Katya. She'll howl with laughter.

"Tell me," she says, the voice dropping to a purr that would do Mena proud, "Does he still have that painting of me hanging in his upstairs hallway?"

"Yes," I say, the word coming out through gritted teeth.

"All I need you to do is talk about me from time to time when you see him. Mention how heart-broken I am, that I spend my evenings crying and confused, trying to work out what I did wrong. Oh, and also say that there's a bad boy billionaire who is very interested in me."

"A bad boy billionaire?" I repeat. "Like Christian Grey?"

"Yes. Jack's beautiful looking, but he's not a billionaire. I need him to feel guilt and pain that he's hurt me, but also threatened. These are the emotions that will bring him back to me. My agent says if I can get him to propose in two months, we'll be able to generate amazing publicity for the... oh, nothing."

She pauses, and then goes back to telling me how dreadful the split was for her and how unexpected. There she was, happily drifting along totally in love and making plenty of money from her website when BAM, out of the blue it came. The text Jack sent her telling her he needed to talk. She thought he was going to propose and spent ages making sure she looked her very best so that when she uploaded the pictures on Instagram no-one would be surprised her boyfriend felt the need to ask her to marry him after only three months. But no! He'd told her instead that he didn't feel they wanted the same thing and he wasn't comfortable continuing their relationship. Jack, she mutters darkly, has a history of never lasting longer than three months in a relationship. She'd thought she would be the woman to change him.

Kirsty even cries and I wonder uncharitably if this is just to convince me of her heartbreak. I mean, when she talked about the living proof her solutions worked, I began to wonder if she only wants him back so that her website will do better if she has Jack in tow.

"So, you will help me won't you Gaby. Imagine how amazing your review on the cat sitter site will be if you help me with this too!"

That almost sounds like a threat. And imagine how terrible it will be if you don't. But then she adds one more thing and the tearfulness sounds genuine. "When I lost my dad seven years ago, I vowed I'd only ever date or marry a man who was every bit as good as my father. Jack is such a man, Gaby. I must get him back."

My mum and dad split twenty years ago, but I saw a lot of him as I was growing up. The thought of either of my parents dying sends shivers down my spine. Kirsty lost her dad as a really young age.

Yet again, I could hardly say no.

AUTHOR'S NOTE - do you think Gaby should do as Kirsty asks, or run for the hills?!