Helga Trumpet's Bestseller

By Lisa Stewart

Helga Trumpet is a scatty health worker who considers herself a celebrated author. After all, her debut novel Candy Martini Reaches Out did hit 114 on the bestseller list. Having enjoyed a splash of stardom through social media, interviews and personal appearances, Helga is now grappling with her follow-up novel – Candy Martini Goes Viral. Her patients must come second.



Strange incidents at work suggest an intruder is on the prowl and all staff are on high alert. Helga fails her team as their crumbling health centre heads for closure.



Can Helga learn from her mistakes in time to finish her novel and save the health centre?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Dog Books
• Release date: Aug 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781839522741

Lisa Stewart

Lisa Stewart is an Angel Intuitive, Reiki Master, Crystal Healer, Spiritual Teacher and Mystic. She has worked in holistic healing for more than ten years and has gained a good knowledge of the chakra system and the use of colour therapy for healing. She works closely with the Angelic Realm, in particular, Archangel Michael.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Helga felt a prod on her shoulder. She whirled round to see two giggling teenage girls, one dressed as a tiger the other a lion. She didn’t like to ask the reason.

‘Can you do us a photo?’ The tiger waved her mobile phone in a furry paw.

‘Of course!’ Helga beamed. She snatched the bobble hat off her head and tugged her fingers through her wilful brown hair. ‘I think I’ve even got a spare copy of Candy Martini if you’d like me to hold it up?’

‘A copy of what?’

‘My novel – Candy Martini Reaches Out.’ Helga moved towards the boot of her car.

‘Och, we don’t have time for that! Are you going to take our photo or not?’

‘Daft old bag,’ the lion muttered.

‘Oh … you mean a photo of you two?’

‘Aye! Me and my cousin.’ The teenagers hugged each other, their fuzzy cheeks pressed together.

‘Right,’ Helga sighed, capturing the blurry image before handing back the phone.

Hastening to zip up her jacket, Helga caught the skin under her chin. ‘Aya!’ she yelped. A sharp gust chased a swirl of crisp packets down the street. She pulled the bobble hat back on and picked her way up the rough path to the bleached front door. Remembering from previous visits that the bell had long since stopped working, she rapped on the splintered wood. Shouts came from beyond the flimsy door, which sprang open. Helga was met with the scowl of a shapeless woman in stretched, stained cottons and matted sheepskin slippers. As she spoke, the cigarette – gripped between tight lips – flicked ash down her front. ‘He’s out the back. Again. You’ll have to do something about it or he can’t stay here much longer. I’ve got enough problems with my prolapse without having to look after him.’ Helga made for the back door, mindful not to breathe in the stale cooking smells from the morning’s fried sausages, the remains of which languished in a frying pan of gritty white lard. A tangle of wild grass and shrubbery led to the railway track at the foot of the garden. Several years ago the street had clubbed together to give the outdoor space a much-needed makeover – the results of which were long forgotten. Helga followed the tyre marks through the rutted terrain. Stumbling over a corpsed gnome, she twisted her ankle. ‘Dennis!’ she shouted irritably. He ignored her clamouring. She approached the mobility scooter that he’d propelled to the land’s perimeter a few feet from the industrial train tracks. A raw wind blasted across the deserted route. Helga checked in both directions before stepping into his eyeline. The old man shook with cold as he gripped a tousled mutt with stiff hands.

‘Come on inside, Dennis. It’s flipping Baltic out here.’

‘Never going back,’ he mumbled into the dog’s fur. ‘They hate me.’

‘No, they don’t.’ Helga sighed. ‘Come on, Dennis – you’ll freeze to death.’

‘This time I’m going over. I mean it.’ He revved the scooter, inching it towards the railway line.

‘At least give me Pepper,’ Helga reasoned. The dog’s ears pricked up hopefully.

‘If I go, I’m taking him with me. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. They care more about this damn dog than me.’ Pepper gave her an imploring look.

‘Now you know that’s not true.’

‘Tis! They keep me locked up in my room all day without so much as a snifter.’

Helga chanced a step closer. ‘Give me Pepper.’

His grip tightened. ‘I’m nearly eighty-five you know.’

‘Dennis, you just had your eighty-fourth birthday last week.’

‘And what did I get for it? An Asda sponge cake and a pair of bloody new pyjamas! Not even a bottle of whisky for the old man. What do I want with new pyjamas? Who do they think I’m trying to impress?’ He raised his hands in frustration. Pepper seized the opportunity and made a dash for the back door.

‘Pepper!’ he cried. ‘See, even the dog can’t bear to be near me. No one will miss me!’

‘Well, I’d miss you, Dennis – you know how concerned I am about you,’ Helga said in soothing tones. She glanced at her watch. ‘Let’s get you inside before both of us end up with the flu.’

‘If I did, no one would come and visit me.’

‘Dennis, we’ve had this conversation before. If it’s company you’re looking for, we’d be delighted for you to join us at the Tuesday Chatters.’

‘Load of old women moaning on, I expect?’ he grumbled, blowing his nose on a soiled hankie. ‘What do you lot get up to anyway? I bet it’s all jigsaw puzzles and Happy Clappy singing.’ Helga took this as consent to retreat into the house as she moved the scooter into reverse.

‘Not at all. We have a real mix of folks. Peter’s in his thirties and Kamal’s only twenty-two.’

‘Then what do they know about getting thrown on the scrap heap?’

‘Well you can ask them yourself next week.’ She followed Dennis as he navigated the scooter through the kitchen and into his bedroom, which appeared to be doubling up as a laundry facility. His daughter emerged at the doorway, blocking the exit. ‘You should stop wasting everyone’s time,’ she barked at her father. ‘Oh, it’s no trouble,’ Helga said, squeezing through the narrow gap into the hall. ‘Your dad’s agreed to come to our wee social group on Tuesday.’

‘Has he?’ she grunted. ‘Will you give him a bath?’

‘That’s not really what he’s there for,’ Helga answered, thinking the entire family would benefit from a good soaking. ‘He’s there to make new friends. The minibus will pick him up about one thirty if you can have him ready and dressed.’

‘Dressed?’ She snorted, stubbing out the cigarette on the doorframe. ‘He’s so lazy he sleeps in his clothes.’

‘Then why buy me bloody new pyjamas?’ Dennis hurled back.

Helga took a hurried left into the staff car park and, checking all the nooks and crannies for an empty space, abandoned the car on double yellow lines. She was locking the vehicle when Vanda exited the building. ‘Ah, Helga, I’m just going out for a sandwich – want one?’

‘No, thanks, I’ve brought my lunch today. Leftover mac cheese,’ she replied, patting her bag. ‘At least I hope I’ve remembered it.’ She rummaged around in her crammed shoulder bag but came up with nothing. Dumping the holdall on to the pavement she reached in and handed Vanda items one by one: scarf, gloves, purse, umbrella, a paperback. ‘What – not yours?’ asked Vanda, with her arms full.

‘Hang on.’ Helga raked around the bottom of her bag.

‘You do know we only get thirty minutes for lunch?’

‘Looks like I will need a sandwich,’ Helga nodded, repacking her bag.

‘What kind do you want?’

‘I’ll just have what you’re having.’

‘Tuna mayonnaise?’

‘Oh no, I don’t want that.’

‘What about ham salad?"

‘Och, it’s a bit cold for that. See if they have cheese savoury but if the savoury is red onion forget it. I’d rather go for something else.’

‘Chicken?’

‘I had chicken yesterday.’

‘Helga!’

‘Oh alright, just get me anything.’

Chapter 2

Vanda strode off as Helga entered the health centre. She took the stairs to the first-floor corridor and tapped in the security code. She pressed a further code to enter the office that she shared with the other members of the Harrison Intervention Team: Vanda, Bobbie, Aiden and Molly. Molly was alone in the office, sitting at her PC when Helga entered. ‘Oh, hi, Helga,’ Molly said without turning round. ‘You just missed Chan. She was in here looking for money from you. Says you sponsored her son to do the school’s sponsored silence.’

‘How much?’

‘A pound for every hour. So that’s eight pounds.’

‘Gosh – he’s not a Tibetan monk, is he? I thought teachers were always complaining they can’t control the kids.’

‘Seemingly it’s not so hard when they’re raising money for a school trip.’

‘I don’t remember offering to fund a world cruise.’

Molly handed Helga a pink sticky Post-it note. ‘And someone called Kate Crosbie left a message.’

‘Oh, that’s my agent,’ Helga said breezily. ‘Did she say what she wanted?’

‘Something about plans for a bog tour?’

‘A blog tour, Molly!’

‘Oh, I don’t know about these things. And she mentioned a Writers’ Block?’

‘Ah yes,’ Helga nodded. ‘Did I mention that I’ve been asked to participate as one of four local authors?’

‘Hmm, I think you did say something about that.’

‘Are you coming? It’s on the fifteenth of March at Musselburgh Town Hall. Seven thirty.’

‘What day of the week is that?’

‘Wednesday.’

‘Ah well, Wednesday’s always a bloody nightmare in our house. Caz is still doing her shift at Morrisons to pay back what she owes and I need to run Mandy to Brownies.’

‘Can’t she go herself?’

‘It’s way over at Gilmerton.’

‘So?’

‘She’s seven,’ Molly tutted. ‘And I can’t risk leaving Connor unsupervised for any length of time. Last week when I nipped to the supermarket he attempted the Heimlich manoeuvre on our dog and I came home to find vomit all over the stairs.’

The door code sounded and Vanda returned with the sandwiches. She dropped a cellophane pack on to Helga’s desk.

‘What about you, Vanda?’

‘What about me?’ she asked, flicking on the kettle and taking a large bite from a baguette. She glanced into the mirror above the sink and ran a hand through her spiky blonde hair.

‘Did you say you wanted a ticket for my Writers’ Block evening in March?’

‘Did I? Don’t think so. What night?’

‘Wednesday.’

‘Can’t. Meeting my pal at the Black Horse. It’s steak night.’ She stirred her coffee, winking at Molly, who turned back to her PC.

The door code punched again and Aiden swept in, chucking his rucksack on the floor and collapsing on to his chair. ‘That Mrs McGowan is doing my nut in!’

‘What’s she done now?’ Vanda queried, booting up her PC.

‘We’ve spent the last six weeks practising getting in and out of the bath, which she can manage fine. And now she says she wants the bath taken out and a shower put in. Says her son is insisting. But you can manage the bath fine, I said. But no, she says she’s putting her foot down.’

‘Isn’t that what got her leg broken in the first place?’ Vanda quipped, not taking her eyes off the screen.

‘Aiden, are you coming to my Writers’ Block evening next month?’ Helga asked the back of his head.

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ He filled up his sports bottle from the water container.

‘Remember I told you? It’s an evening when myself and three other female authors talk about our writing and discuss what themes are emerging out of our novels?’

‘Why would I be interested in that?’ He took a long swig.

‘It might enlighten you to understand more about the female psyche.’

‘Helga, I’m surrounded by women. If I don’t understand what makes you lot tick by now, I never will.’

‘There are veiled influences that you can’t imagine,’ Helga insisted. ‘We’ve been misunderstood and maligned for centuries. We’ll be exposing our inner ruminations.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’ Aiden asked.

‘So you’ll come?’

‘No chance.’

‘Will J.K. Rowling be there?’ said Molly.

‘Don’t be daft!’ Vanda scoffed. ‘She probably owns Musselburgh and she certainly doesn’t need to plug her books.’

‘Oh, we’re not there to plug our books!’

‘Really?’ challenged Vanda with her mouth full. ‘So you won’t have a pull-along suitcase of Candy Martini?’

‘I might have a few to hand for signing.’ Helga sniffed.

‘Anyway, you lot better get a move on with your lunch. Quinn’s starting the meeting in ten minutes,’ Molly advised, picking up her notepad and pen. ‘I’m going to set up the room downstairs. ‘Can someone bring him a mug of coffee? He takes it with milk. Where’s Bobbie?’

Quinn Adamson commandeered the head of the table. He wore a fitted grey waistcoat with starched white shirt and pink tie, his sleeves rolled up and held in place with chrome armbands. His fingers tapped the table with impatience, as though giving a speedy rendition of ‘Chopsticks’. ‘Where’s the other one?’ he asked.

‘What other one?’ Vanda replied.

‘You know!’ he snapped. ‘The … you know – the older lady?’

‘Bobbie?’ Vanda frowned. ‘She should be on her way.’

Quinn checked his watch again. ‘I’m giving her one more minute then we’re starting.’

‘Has everyone signed the sheet?’ Molly asked, skimming a piece of paper across the table. Vanda, Aiden, Helga and Molly sat facing six other representatives from the building’s teams. Opposite Quinn a twenty-something-year-old sat solidly with her arms folded and face blank. ‘Sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced?’ Molly said. ‘I’m Molly – admin worker from upstairs. I don’t think I know you?’

‘Probably not,’ the girl mumbled. ‘I’m on placement with the community health project.’

‘Lovely! How are you enjoying it?’

‘I only started yesterday. It was mostly giving out condoms.’

‘Lovely,’ Molly repeated, scribbling ‘student’ on her sheet.

‘Right, let’s get moving,’ Quinn barked. ‘I haven’t got all day. He swiped at his iPad. ‘Any other business anyone wants to add?’

‘Shouldn’t we do a round of introductions first?’ Molly suggested, nodding towards the student.

He sighed. ‘Mr Adamson, general manager.’

‘Vanda, staff nurse, Health Intervention Team.’

‘Aiden, occupational therapist – same.’

‘Helga, link worker – also based in that team.’

‘You all know me – I’m Molly.’

‘Chan – Chinese health.’

‘Angie – Smoke Free.’

‘Danny – CPN.’

‘Linda – student nurse.’

‘Cameron – podiatrist.’

‘Audrey – social worker.’

‘Lance – community health.’

‘Happy now?’ Quinn grumped.

‘Can I add something to AOB?’ Audrey asked. ‘The Easter Fundraiser dinner.’

‘What you get up to after hours is not my concern,’ said Quinn. ‘Let’s stick to core business. The main purpose for today’s meeting is to update you on the building’s closure. One of the—’

The door flew open and Bobbie waddled in, grey hair escaping a bun and full-length winter coat flapping. In one hand she held an open brown paper bag and, in the other, a floppy chip. The room was filled with the aroma of a sausage supper, salt and sauce. She bustled to the furthest end of the table and squeezed herself next to Linda, who reluctantly shifted her chair.

‘That’s Bobbie,’ Molly whispered for the benefit of the student.

‘Is that absolutely necessary?’ Quinn complained.

‘You mean lunch?’ asked Bobbie, all innocent. ‘I’d say so. Can’t work all day and survive on coffee alone. Chip, anyone?’ She held out the bag as chips were plucked like raffle tickets. ‘Ooh, greasy!’ Molly smiled.

‘Can we get on?’ Quinn said, through gritted teeth. ‘Now where was I?’

‘Shutting us down?’ Molly supplied helpfully.

‘It’s not me that’s shutting you down. The building is deteriorating week by week. It’s only a matter of time before the whole thing collapses.’

‘When are we getting moved?’ Cameron asked. ‘The podiatry centre has been ready for ages but we haven’t heard anything. We’ll need at least six weeks’ notice to pack everything up and rearrange all our patient appointments.’

Quinn sighed. ‘As far as I know it’s still the same issue with procuring the sterilisation equipment. The new-build is way over budget so we’re having to make efficiencies where we can.’

‘Maybe we could save money by throwing all the equipment into the dishwasher along with the dirty plates?’ Cameron scowled, crossing his arms. ‘The staff are getting really fed up with the conditions here. Only last week a patient got stuck in the toilet for two hours because the lock jammed.’

‘Well, certainly the fabric of the building is forcing us to focus,’ Quinn conceded.

‘So perhaps the building needs a little push?’

‘Which brings me to the rest of you lot,’ Quinn said. He swiped at his iPad again. ‘So last time we met I informed you that all the teams will be relocated on separate premises. Well,’ he coughed nervously, ‘there’s been a bit of an update on that scenario. It’s looking like there is some risk we might have adjusted requirements going forward. As you are aware, when the building closes, some teams will be merged, resulting in duplication of roles.’

‘Which teams?’ Aiden probed.

‘I can’t exactly say.’

‘Why not?’ Vanda demanded.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Try us,’ said Aiden. ‘I know we’re pretty remote out here and operate under some fairly revolutionary practices but we do speak English.’

‘If you must know,’ said Quinn, irritated. ‘It’s the Intervention team at risk.’

‘What?’ the team chorused.

‘Why?’ Helga asked.

‘As you know, you will be merged with the larger South Team and there are not sufficient referrals to justify the workforce.’

‘Have you seen our waiting list?’ Aiden said hotly. ‘We’re not exactly short of work.’

‘Ah, but some would say you could work smarter and get that list right down.’

‘Who would say?’ said Aiden.

‘I’m not at liberty to divulge.’

‘But surely you’ll back us up?’ Vanda persisted. ‘You know the range of work we cover.’

‘I will do what I can but we have to consider other options too.’

‘For example?’

‘There may be some natural wastage. Perhaps some people are thinking of retirement?’ Quinn glared at Bobbie, who was chomping on a battered sausage. ‘Wha...?’ she said with her mouthful.

‘Bobbie’s not going anywhere.’

‘Then you better start getting your numbers up.’

‘And how can we possibly do that?’ Helga asked in amazement. ‘All our referrals come from the GPs and district nurses.’

‘Well, I suggest you get out there and sell yourselves.’

‘We’re not hookers,’ Vanda objected.

‘I’m merely suggesting—’

‘That we prostitute ourselves?’ said Helga.

‘Am I minuting that?’ asked Molly. ‘Mr Adamson recommends we don a red cocktail dress and parade around the GP practice in the hope that we get more business.’

‘I didn’t say that!’ Quinn snapped.

‘So Bobbie’s an OAP and Vanda’s a tart?’ Aiden fumed.

‘Thanks, Aiden,’ Vanda said. ‘Why can’t Helga be a tart? Helga, you’re multitalented.’

‘Look, this is getting out of hand,’ Quinn growled.

‘Is that how you like it?’ Vanda jibed. ‘I have heard that rumour.’

‘Enough!’ he blustered, gathering up his iPad and shoving it into a briefcase. ‘I don’t have time for this ridiculous nonsense. I’ve tried to be fair with you – I’ve shared our concerns and given you a positive steer.’

‘Thanks,’ Aiden muttered.

Quinn pushed his chair back and slammed the door behind him.

‘So, what about the fundraiser?’ Vanda grinned.

‘I’ve had this flyer up on the noticeboard since last week,’ Chan said, passing round the sheet of paper. ‘So far we have twelve names. No one from podiatry – Cameron?’

‘We’ve got another night out that evening – Keir’s stag do,’ he answered, leaving the table.

‘But who’s going to massage our feet after we’ve been dancing all night?’ Vanda called out to him.

‘Oh, ha ha!’

‘I’m not dancing,’ said Bobbie, popping the last bite of sausage into her mouth. ‘I’ll come for the meal, though.’

‘Never!’ laughed Vanda. ‘And what about you, Helga – are you coming dancing? The Castle High is a great place to pick up talent.’

‘No, thanks, Vanda. I think I’ll pass on that. I’ve had enough of men to last quite a while.’

‘Oh? Something you’d like to share with us?’

‘She was jilted by her fiancé at the church last year,’ whispered Bobbie.

‘Thanks, Bobbie!’ cried Helga. ‘I don’t think everyone needs to know every detail.’

‘Harsh,’ Aiden sympathised. ‘You must have been broken-hearted, Helga?’

‘Oooh – good name for a book,’ Bobbie grinned. ‘Broken-hearted Helga.’

‘Broken-hearted Helga and her Fucked-up Fiancé,’ Vanda added.

‘Anyway … I’m quite happy to fly solo for a while,’ Helga proclaimed, gathering up her belongings as the meeting drew to a close. Chan tapped her arm. ‘Hi, Helga, did Molly mention my son’s sponsor money?’

‘Oh yes.’ Helga nodded. ‘But I’m in a bit of a hurry right now. I’ll get it to you soon.’

Returning to the office, Aiden browsed the whiteboard. ‘So what’s on the menu for this afternoon?’

‘What?’ groaned Helga. ‘Who put two appointments up for me for this afternoon? I’ve got a blog to write and upload by four o’clock today!’

Molly swivelled round in her chair. ‘Helga, you specifically asked me to book Miss Trench in for her shopping trip today.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes – and the other is a new patient referred by Dr Syme. She said it was urgent so I popped him in for just now.’

‘Anyway,’ said Aiden, stuffing a Helping Hand into his rucksack, ‘you’re not supposed to be writing during the day.’

‘Aiden,’ Helga replied in a calm voice, while she cleaned her glasses with the edge of her jumper. ‘What time did you leave work yesterday?’

‘Four thirty.’

‘No doubt on the dot? Whereas I was still sitting here writing up notes till after six. I have nothing on my conscience.’

‘Just saying – Quinn is looking for any excuse to jettison folk.’

‘I’m not worried about his browbeating tactics,’ Helga said.

‘Oh no?’

‘No.’ Helga loaded her MacBook into her shoulder bag and picked up the case notes. ‘Well, I better be off. Can’t keep my patients waiting, can I?’

Chapter 3

Mr McAllistair’s flat was on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise block in Dumbryden, necessitating a series of lifts, corridors and security doors to access. By the time Helga reached his flat, the door was open and Mr McAllistair was already shuffling back to the living room, his braces hanging off his shoulders. The TV had been paused mid-scene – a young couple stared wide-eyed as a suited gent held up a polished silver gravy boat for inspection.

‘Good afternoon,’ she announced, waiting until he had dropped down on to his armchair with a plop. ‘I’m Helga Trumpet – Harrison Intervention Team’s link worker.’ She smiled. ‘Can I sit here?’ Despite the stifling heat of the room, she kept her fleece on.

‘Aye. That’s a bit of a mouthful,’ he commented. His face had a worried look as he ran his hand over his balding head, smoothing over the remaining three strands.

‘Yes, that’s why some people call us the HIT Squad,’ she confided. ‘So, Mr McAllistair, Dr Syme asked me to come and see you?’

‘Just call me Jimmy.’ He scooped his braces up over his shoulders.

‘Righty-oh, Jimmy. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to make a few notes here on my computer.’

‘Carry on.’

Helga opened up her MacBook, found what she was looking for and began typing away. After a couple of minutes she glanced up. ‘Perhaps you could tell me a bit about yourself, Jimmy? Start at the beginning. Where did you go to primary school?’

‘Eh? Is that really relevant?’

‘It helps me form a picture,’ Helga