The Way You Smile

by Kiki Archer

  “I like this business, Mum,” said Ethan with a nod. “It might not be as cool as the cosmetics spa or as universal as the shopping app, but you’ve got a solid business plan.”

  Julie laughed. “She hasn’t got anything, she’s not bloody in it!”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be in tonight’s show.”

  Julie continued. “Oooh look, they’re all getting frustrated that they can’t find an idea.”

  Camila watched as Brett ripped up a patent drawing on the screen, smiling at the familiarity of the sight. “But you’re all privy to the fact that they do,” she said with a smile.

  “Julie told me about your box,” said Debbie. “We haven’t got kids what with Roy’s problems so we’re not going to buy it.”

  Camila stared at Julie. “I told you not to go into detail about it.”

  “Debbie’s not going to sell her story!”

  “She tried,” said Roy, “but the paper said they weren’t interested.”

  “He’s lying!” gasped Debbie.

  Roy shrugged. “I’m not.”

  “Is that the door?” said Julie. “Get the door would you, Camila? I think Harriet’s finally here.”

  Camila shook her head. “I’m not missing this bit, even for Harriet. It’s the snippet from tomorrow night’s show. I think I might be on it! Cassie could you could go, please?” Peering around the girl who stood up without question, Camila re-focused on the screen. And yes! There she was! Smiling in front of the nation. Her. Camila Moore.

  “It’s you!” screamed Julie.

  “You look good, Mum,” added Michael.

  “Shush, shush, shush!” said Camila, pointing at the TV as she shook with excitement. They were playing the section where Harriet was introducing her, reeling off the monologue about Camila’s arrival: “Is she my trump card? Has she been up my sleeve? Is she the ace in my hole?” Camila smiled, suddenly gasping as the footage cut to the words: “She’s my lead inventor. My soulmate. I’ve fallen head over heels in wild, passionate love with her. I love you, Camila, and I want the whole world to know.”

  “That’s been cut down!” cried Camila. “That’s out of order! That’s out of context! That was meant to be cut!”

  “Out in the bloody world now though!” said Julie with a tut. “Knew you couldn’t trust her. Bloody fauxmance at its finest right there.”

  “Mum?” said Ethan. “You said it was nothing serious.”

  “And Dad’s not going to be happy,” added Michael.

  Debbie joined in. “Boys, your mum loves her too, she told me at the start of the week. Hasn’t she told you yet? Julie, did you know?”

  “Of course I bloody well knew,” said Julie.

  The cough came from the lounge doorway. “Hi, everyone,” said Harriet with a smile. “Sorry I’m late to the party.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Why are you still smiling?” snapped Camila.

  “You said you loved me! Admittedly you’ve not directed it towards me yet, but you’ve obviously said it to that woman who had pizza on her chin.”

  “That was Debbie and I didn’t.” Camila sighed. The evening had descended into utter chaos. Julie had told Harriet she was playing the fauxmance card to which Debbie said it didn’t matter as people would definitely vote for Harriet now that they’d seen her vulnerable side. Julie had then tried to explain that this was what a fauxmance was before Ethan had asked his mother in front of everyone if she loved Harriet back, to which the room fell silent and Camila told everyone to go home or go to bed. Michael had then asked if Cassie could stay the night, to which Camila had replied ‘Of course not.’ It then transpired, however, that Julie had let Cassie stay the night when she’d been in charge of the boys so it made no difference if she stayed again now, to which Ethan then asked if Harry could stay which caused a scream of ‘Not a chance!’ from Camila, who was only now starting to realise how that must have looked given the fact that Ethan had had many male friends stay over in the past. Now, however, with this new found sexual ambiguity hanging over his head it was a definite no, but she hadn’t wanted to give this as a reason so she’d had to throw all her dummies out of the pram and kick everyone out apart from her own flesh and blood and Harriet who was still standing here, smiling.

  “Why couldn’t Ethan’s friend stay?” asked Harriet.

  “I don’t want anyone staying. In fact, I’m not even sure I want you here.”

  “The boys said I could stay the night.”

  “Yes, they said that as a bartering tool to make me give in to them.”

  Harriet shook her head. “No, they’re cool with it. They said I could stay. I’m going to stay. Is that okay? It’ll be nice to wake up together and have breakfast together, then maybe we can have a day date before tomorrow night’s show? I’ve got a few interviews to do but they’re on the phone, in fact I bet the magazines will want to talk to you too.”

  “What are you doing, Harriet?”

  “Planning our weekend. Yes, most of the interviews and interest will come on Monday morning after the grand finale so we’ll have to keep our schedules free, but I think tomorrow could be quite a nice day.”

  “I mean you’re completely ignoring what’s just happened. You’ve told the world that you love me.”

  “And you’ve told Debbie.”

  “I haven’t! And you said it would be cut.”

  “Lydia’s a producer. At the end of the day they’ll show what’s good for the ratings.”

  “So you used me?”

  “No. Ask her yourself. I told her to cut it. But maybe it’s better now that it’s out there.”

  “I don’t want it out there.”

  “Why not?

  “Mick. My boys. My family. My friends. My sister’s tried to call me fourteen times already and my brother’s even sent an email; he never emails.”

  “Your boys are fine. They’re the important ones.” Harriet tried to reach out for Camila’s hand. “What’s worrying you?”

  Camila stepped back at the contact. “You’ve taken everything away from me, Harriet. All ownership of who I am. I should have been the one to address this if and when I wanted to.”

  “It’s happened and we need to move on.”

  “It’s really that simple for you?”

  “I’m sorry, but what more can I say? I asked her to cut it. I’m just happy that you told Debbie you loved me.”

  “I didn’t tell bloody, Debb… you know what, I think I’ve had a busy week and I need an early night.”

  “They said I could stay.”

  “I don’t want you to stay.”

  Harriet nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry, I really am, Camila, but I meant every word I said. I love you. I’m in love with you. I know things are hectic with the show but it doesn’t change how I’m feeling. You know where I am and I’ll see you on Sunday morning for the rehearsals, if not before.”

  Camila watched as Harriet made her way out of the lounge. Should she follow her? Should she stay strong? Was she being stubborn to spite herself? Her boys had given Harriet permission to stay, even after she’d said no to their requests for evening company, and that was huge. That was momentous. She stepped out of the lounge and looked to the front door: that opportunity had just disappeared. Camila kept her feet planted. She couldn’t go running after Harriet, she needed time to absorb all of the chaos and sort out a solution. There were phone calls to make, apologies to give. Her sister would be so cross that she was suddenly a lesbian without informing her. She wouldn’t understand that Harriet was just a person she’d fallen in love with. Camila threw her hand to her mouth. There it was again.

  “You should go after her, Mum,” said Michael from the top of the stairs. “You’ve been a different person these last few weeks.”

  “Quite literally,” muttered Camila.

  “I mean it. You’ve been an actual person, not just my mum.”

  Camila turned towards her son and started to climb the stairs. “You’re a goo
d man, Michael, and I love you lots, but this is all a little too complicated to explain to you.”

  “I have my own complications going on.”

  “You want to talk about them?”

  “I’m not allowed.”

  “Says Cassie?”

  “It’s her secret.”

  “Secrets aren’t good.”

  Michael laughed. “Says you. Everyone thought you were a boring housewife. Not anymore.”

  “Oh, is this just really awful?”

  “No, Mum, it’s magical.”

  ****

  Padding down the stairs the next morning, Camila was still smiling at her eldest son’s words. He’d been pretty much monosyllabic for the past three years yet last night he’d been profound. ‘Magical,’ he’d said, and that was exactly what the past few weeks had felt like. Yes, it hadn’t convinced Camila to race after Harriet, but it had ticked the box that her boys were okay. She smiled. They were more than okay. They were mature and thoughtful and most importantly they wanted her happy. Whether Harriet could make her happy was still up for internal debate, but she knew this internal debate, in its simplest form, was just overthinking: She was being too technical in her need to categorise what was going on. She needed to stop worrying and go with the flow even though her sister didn’t agree, and neither, it transpired, did her sister’s friends who’d apparently been on the phone airing their concerns. Sexuality was serious, apparently, and not something you should play around with. Camila felt a rush of arousal: Harriet could play around with her sexuality in any way she wanted.

  As she descended the final step, Camila noticed a piece of cardboard halfway through the front door’s letter box. Was it hate mail? The only person she needed to deal with was Mick, but her sons had said he was on a booze cruise to Calais with Jackie and wouldn’t have watched the show. But Camila wasn’t stupid, someone would have helpfully messaged him, and like Ethan and Michael had announced last night, it was the ultimate kick in the teeth for any man – his missus leaving him for another woman. The fact remained, she reminded herself, that she hadn’t left Mick, he’d left her and she was free to see whoever she chose. The public announcement that she’d chosen a high-flying famous female entrepreneur probably wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t his business all the same.

  Freeing the cardboard from the slot, Camila laughed. It wasn’t from Mick, or any other hater, and she felt ashamed that the idea had even crossed her mind as everyone’s response had been positive, mostly. She smiled at the handwritten note, Harriet’s writing.

  Treasure hunt, it said. The first clue is on your car window.

  Camila laughed again; not very cryptic. She tiptoed down her driveway. It was early and not many people on her estate were early risers, plus everyone was used to seeing Julie in her dressing gown so the sight of her barefoot and in pyjamas wouldn’t shock, even if the pyjamas were a rather silky new set she’d bought for Harriet’s benefit. Grabbing the damp bit of cardboard clamped under the windscreen wiper, Camila felt her heart flutter.

  I love you, be at my house at two.

  Again, not very cryptic or even very treasure-hunty, but fun. The note was fun. Turning the cardboard over, Camila recognised the corner section of a famous shoe logo. Harriet must have grabbed whatever she could find in her car last night, which would have been a posh shoe box. She was definitely the type of person who carried a spare set of shoes and spare set of clothes in her car rather than reams of paperwork because Harriet was an electronic organiser. It was always the things that took effort and initiative that meant more and, yes, while ripping up a shoe box and scribbling a couple of lines might not seem like much, it was. Harriet could easily have driven home and ordered flowers. A grand gesture that actually took little more than a click of a mouse and money. Flowers weren’t impressive anymore. Hand-written messages on make-shift notes were though. Camila groaned at herself. Why was she being so rose-tinted? Harriet was naughty and she was still cross with her.

  Camila paused. But what if it genuinely wasn’t Harriet’s fault? What if Harriet had genuinely asked Lydia to cut it? Wasn’t it wonderful that she had declared her love in the first place? Wasn’t this the big romantic happy ending people dreamt of? Camila gasped. What if Harriet had meant two a.m.? She’d obviously left the note last night: be at my house at two. Had she been setting up for some big sex fest? Dashing back inside, Camila found her phone. 2.00p.m.? she texted.

  Harriet was quick to reply. Obviously 2.00p.m. I don’t try and apologise for my mistakes by offering up a 2.00a.m. booty call. But if it crossed your mind I’ll remember it for next time.

  Camila smiled. Harriet had signed off with a wink. Was she winking that there’d be a next time? Another miscommunication to sort out? Or was she being cheeky? Either way it was light-hearted and fun, a lot like their relationship to date. Would it always be this way or would things suddenly get heavy? Sighing, Camila knew she was the one complicating matters. She’d read a quote from an author somewhere that went: Just always be honest about your feelings. If everyone did that then the world would be a much simpler place. The quote had stayed with her. This ideal that you’d always be open about your feelings: the good, the bad, the scary, the dangerous; and, yes, it was an ideal as you couldn’t always be honest. She thought for a moment; or could you? Wasn’t that the whole point of the author’s quote? What would she say to Harriet if she had the nerve? She’d tell her that her heart was fluttering. She’d tell her that she made her feel confused. She’d tell her that she loved spending time with her. But most importantly she’d tell her that the love announcement was too soon.

  Camila nodded. That was it. That was the issue. Her unease was centred around how Harriet could have fallen so fast. It was responsible for the sprinkling of doubt in her mind about what they actually had and where they might actually be going. But what if Harriet had simply been following the theme of the quote? What if Harriet was living life the way the author said life should be lived? Grabbing the moment. Feeling the feelings. Articulating her thoughts. Camila knew what she had to do. She had to write a letter. She’d articulate everything that way, even if only for the simple reason of getting her thoughts out there and ordered.

  ****

  Having given the boys their breakfast and checked for a final time that they were okay with Harriet’s public announcement last night, Camila sent them on their way to the gym and the library, requesting that whatever their afternoon plans were they be back in time for the show at half seven. Both had groaned and asked if they could watch it at friends’ houses instead because another evening of Debbie, Roy and Julie wasn’t their idea of fun. Camila had agreed to keep in text communication and make a decision later on, secretly wondering if she could get out of another houseful herself. Maybe it would go well with Harriet at two? Maybe they could watch it there, just the pair of them all snuggled up? She stopped herself; Harriet’s only television was in her office so they wouldn’t be snuggling, they’d be sitting on chairs, or maybe leaning over the desk. Camila let her mind wander for a moment before tapping her pen on the table.

  She was sitting in her kitchen with a pad of A4 lined paper in front of her from the stash in the homework cupboard, the place where they tried to keep all things that usually went missing: the Pritt Stick, the Blu Tack, the Sellotape, the scissors, the paper clips and the pens that actually worked. She wrote the first line:

  For Harriet, but also for me.

  I don’t know if I’m going to give you this, but I want you to hear it. Maybe I’ll read it aloud to you. That would be strange wouldn’t it? But most of our relationship has been strange. Imagine if my parents hadn’t christened me Camila Uma Moore. We’d never have met. Imagine if the pink-haired punk, now in the focus group, hadn’t gone to the toilet when she did, you’d never have seen me through the screen wearing that mesh outfit. Imagine if I hadn’t come to your office and agreed to eat Thai. Imagine if we hadn’t made each other laugh? Imagine if I hadn’t fe
lt the chemistry. Camila paused. She had felt the chemistry. She’d felt the chemistry from the start.

  I want to be honest with you, Harriet. The chemistry threw me. The feelings threw me. Obviously not enough to make me stay away, but you have to understand that this is all new to me. I know we live in a day and age where sexuality isn’t important and you can be fluid without anyone seeming to mind, but I’ve been with one man for my whole life. This is a big change for me. A big deal. I wish I could jump head first into whatever this is that we’re doing, and I have to admit that I have been, mostly, but there’s something niggling me and I’m not sure what it is. Is it because I’m new to this? Is it because this seems too good to be true? Is it because I’m not sure I fully trust you?

  Camila put down the pen. There. That was the issue. She shook her head. She couldn’t give this to Harriet. Yes, it was the truth but sometimes the truth hurt. If Harriet was genuinely in love with her then that would hurt her, and she didn’t want to hurt Harriet.

  I’m going to keep writing just to clarify everything in my mind. I’m not giving you this letter but I think I need to hear it for myself. I’m not sure if I trust you, Harriet. You’ve not done anything to make me doubt you, but the odd comment about your past and your other women, or “projects” as they’ve been called, are playing on my mind – again not enough to make me stay away, but it’s there, niggling me. Maybe I don’t want to let myself believe? Maybe I don’t want to let myself fall? Maybe this is me in self-protect mode saving myself from any future heart ache? But, Harriet, I’d rather go there with you and have that heart ache than not go there at all. I want you. I want to be with you.