‘Thank you so much for bringing them round,’ Harri said, squeezing her aunt’s arm. ‘They’ve really cheered me up.’
‘You’re welcome, my darling. Well, you have a lovely day and I’ll call you later on in the week.’
As Rosemary left, Tom and Nus hurried over to enthuse about the surprise bouquet with Harri, leaving George gesticulating impotently by the wonky whiteboard.
At lunchtime, Harri went to Wātea to grab a sandwich. Alex was stacking thickly cut, gooey squares of chocolate brownie on the glass-dome-covered cake stands and waved to her with the pair of silver tongs in his hand as she walked in.
‘Hey, H. How was Oxford?’
‘Gorgeous. The spa was amazing.’
Alex pulled a face. ‘Ugh, not my idea of a day out to be slathered in expensive crud and pummelled to within an inch of your life, but each to their own.’
‘Well, I enjoyed it,’ Harri smiled ruefully. ‘And when all’s said and done, that’s what matters. What can I get you?’
Harri looked up at the large chalkboard behind Alex’s head to read the tempting options available to her. ‘Oh, blimey, I don’t know. My head’s a shed today. What would you recommend?’
Alex observed her carefully. ‘The brie and pancetta’s hard to beat if you don’t mind waiting for me to toast it for you. Tough night?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Hmm. How about I get us both a coffee and you can tell me all about it?’
‘I’d love to, but I really should be getting back. George is on a charm offensive with STD coaches and Tom and Nus are threatening to resign. I daren’t leave them alone with each other for too long.’
‘Right you are then. That boyfriend of yours hasn’t upset you, has he?’
‘No he hasn’t.’ She felt pride swelling inside her. ‘Actually, he just sent me the most amazing bouquet of flowers.’
‘Excellent, that’s what we like to hear. So your love life’s sorted, but what about mine? When am I meeting your next friend?’
‘I have three for you to choose from, actually,’ Harri replied, the morning’s surprise giving her a shot of boldness she maybe should have checked before firing back at him.
Alex chuckled and his brown eyes sparkled. ‘Why not set up dates with all of them and I’ll decide from there?’
Harri nodded. ‘Absolutely. Leave it to me.’
Chapter Thirteen
So Many Girls, So Little Time . . .
Harri can feel her toes beginning to lose their feeling as the coolness of the ladies’ creeps further into her bones. She stamps her feet on the magnolia floor tiles, hearing the sound of her heels echoing around the walls, as empty as the cavernous hole in her own heart.
I should have said something. For the past hour she has been trying her best to ignore the insistent voice of her conscience, but now it pushes its way to centre stage in her mind. I shouldn’t have just run.
After all, running away had created the problem in the first place . . .
There is a lot to be said for organisational skills, and Harri’s aptitude for organisation was flawless. From her very first class at primary school, her abilities were noted and utilised by almost every teacher in each successive year. Often, Harri wished that she could have been blessed with something more exciting: like Angela Hartley who, from the age of about twelve, was known for her beautiful singing voice in school productions and church events; or Liam Richardson, whose razor-sharp wit marked him out as a popular comedian and eventually paved the way for his moderately successful career on the stand-up circuit; or Fiona Dart, who had hearts breaking all over Stone Yardley as soon as she hit her teens, with her periwinkle-blue eyes, porcelain skin and thick, lustrous black hair. Still, at least Harri’s gift was always going to be useful.
But even Harri’s considerable aptitude for organisation was struggling now. Trying to juggle work, Rob (whose work schedule was especially erratic this week) and arrange to vet three new dates for Alex was turning out to be a much more complicated proposition than she had bargained for. Not least because of the tricky problem of thinking up plausible stories to explain how she knew each of the ‘Free to a Good Home’ applicants.
‘So I’m a friend of a friend?’ the tall, blonde woman sitting opposite her asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Which friend?’
Harri smiled as best she could. ‘It doesn’t matter. Make a name up – Alex won’t bother to ask.’
‘But what if he does? I’ve got to say, Harri, this whole thing doesn’t sit easy with me. I mean, if Alex turns out to be the love of my life then how am I going to feel knowing that I lied to him right at the start of our relationship?’
Blimey, thought Harri, and I thought I was a forward-planner. ‘OK, let’s think of something else, Becky. How about we got chatting last year when you came into the travel agency to book your holiday?’
Becky considered this for a moment, twisting the stem of her wine glass as she did so. ‘That would be easier to do, I think. So when am I meeting him?’
Harri pulled out a small notebook from her bag and flicked the pages until she found the list that seemed to be running her life this week. ‘Today’s Tuesday, so you’ll be meeting him tomorrow evening, if that’s good for you?’
‘Or I could do tonight?’ Becky’s eagerness was impossible to conceal.
‘No, not tonight,’ Harri replied quickly. ‘He’s busy tonight.’
‘Alex, I’d like you to meet Lucy. Lucy, this is Alex.’
Alex looked down at the diminutive brunette standing before him and smiled broadly. ‘Great to meet you, Lucy.’
Lucy shook his hand. ‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ she rushed, letting out a laugh that sounded like a donkey on helium.
Startled, Alex stared at Harri, who smiled reassuringly and shrugged. Leaving them chatting, she beat a hasty retreat from the Star and Highwayman, checking her list again in the car park. ‘7.15 p.m. Charlotte Manning, Asda café, Lornal.’
Her head was buzzing with everything she needed to do as she drove the seven miles from Stone Yardley towards the larger town of Lornal. The scenery began to change from fields to houses and on into the industrial heart of the Black Country, once the cradle of the Industrial Revolution. The road rose to skirt the edges of what Harri learned in school had been a volcano in prehistoric times, past houses, the large new hospital and the shiny new office complexes rising from the ashes of the old steelworks. Turning past the gleaming steel and glass constructions, Harri headed for the twenty-four-hour super-store nestled between office buildings, shopping outlets and restaurant franchises.
Having parked in the enormous car park, Harri hurriedly made her way to the café. As she entered the bustling space she pulled a photo from her bag and scanned the customers for the elegant face smiling up at her. An eclectic selection of people populated the busy cafeteria: mums struggling to squeeze overstuffed pushchairs into the small space between cream vinyl tables and white plastic swivel chairs bolted to the floor; elderly couples tucking into fish, chips and peas, still wrapped up in overcoats and hats despite the warm summer evening; two off-duty store security guards reading decidedly dog-eared copies of the Sun and the Mirror over the remnants of their all-day breakfasts; a group of sniggering teenage girls pointing at a very embarrassed teenage boy at the next table, who looked like he was willing the laminate pine-effect flooring beneath his feet to gape open and swallow him whole; and a young couple dressed in office clothes, holding hands across the table as they sipped frothy cappuccinos from oversized white cups.
Finally, the lady from the photograph came into view. She was sitting by the window, managing to appear both completely out of place in her designer suit yet utterly at home with her easy smile. She uncurled her long fingers from the stem of her tall latte glass and waved to Harri. One thing was certain: her photograph did her no justice whatsoever – she was stunningly beautiful. Her long, ebony hair was pulled back into an efficient ponyt
ail and the single row of pearls she wore at her neck shone against her coffee-hued complexion. Alex’s dropping jaw was going to cause serious damage to Wātea’s stylish slate floor when he met this lady . . .
‘Hi, Charlotte, sorry I’m late.’
‘No problem. The office was crazy so I only just got here myself. I took the liberty of buying you a coffee – hope that’s OK?’
Harri sat down and grasped the proffered mug gratefully. ‘Thank you so much. You have no idea how lovely this is. I don’t think I’ve stopped all day.’
‘You’re a travel agent, right?’
‘Yes, although today I found myself wondering if any of our customers actually realise they can travel more than a couple of hundred miles.’
Charlotte’s dark chocolate eyes sparkled. ‘Sounds like fun. Mind you, I’d kill for a holiday right now. But the way my schedule’s looking, I’ll be lucky to even get a skiing trip in this year. Maybe I should come in to see you about booking something for next year?’
‘You’re welcome any time. I’m sorry, what is it you do again?’ Charlotte smiled over the top of her latte glass. ‘Barrister. Just qualified.’
‘Wow. That’s amazing.’
‘Thanks. It’s taken a long time to get there but I’m glad I made the effort. So tell me about Alex.’
Charlotte listened intently while Harri repeated the details of her best friend, a speech that already felt like an aged script in her head.
‘Great. And I’m meeting him Thursday?’
Harri nodded. ‘Yes. Now there’s just one more thing I need to mention. It’s about how we know each other . . .’
When Harri arrived home later that evening she was exhausted. It had taken longer than she’d bargained for to convince Charlotte to adopt the ‘how we know each other’ story she’d hastily concocted on the drive to Lornal. Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure that she could trust the beautiful barrister to stick to the story. Still, at least it was one more thing to tick off the List of Doom, which meant one less thing to demand her attention this week.
She flopped down on the sofa and glared at the piles of letters still claiming squatters’ rights on her coffee table.
Never again. Next time, I’ll say no and buy a new travel book instead, she told herself. That’s more than enough adventure for me, thank you very much.
After grabbing one of her woefully underused Nigella cookbooks and toying with the idea of swanning into the kitchen and rustling up a ‘divine little supper’, she quickly abandoned the idea and called Stone Yardley’s only Chinese takeaway instead.
Twenty minutes later, a knock summoned Harri to her front door. Taking her purse from her bag, she skilfully avoided Ron Howard’s ginger and white striped tail that was unhelpfully laid across her route and opened the door.
‘Hi,’ she said without looking up, rummaging in her purse for the right money.
‘You don’t need to give me any money, you know.’
Harri’s head jerked up sharply. ‘Stella?’
‘You were expecting someone else?’
‘I’m waiting for a takeaway. Sorry, come in.’
Stella followed her into the cottage, an odd expression on her face. Harri went to put the kettle on and it was only when she returned that she realised Stella was carrying a huge rucksack.
‘I can’t stay, sorry,’ she said, and Harri noticed her friend was wringing her hands slowly – one of the rare glimpses of vulnerability that she ever displayed.
‘Is everything OK?’
Stella’s laugh was nervous and excited at the same time. ‘It’s happening, Harri! I can’t believe it!’
‘What? What’s happening?’
Stella took a deep breath and sat quickly on the edge of the sofa.
‘I’ve only gone and packed my job in, H! I did it this morning: walked straight in and put my resignation letter into Greasy Garner’s hands. Honestly, you should’ve seen his expression! I thought he was going to have a coronary on the spot!’
Harri sank slowly onto the seat next to her. ‘Stel, are you sure about this? What are you going to do? I mean, how are you going to pay your rent?’
Stella’s eyes were wild with emotion. ‘I’m not. I moved out this afternoon. Didn’t get my deposit back, of course, but it doesn’t matter.’
Harri shook her head, the revelations refusing to make sense. ‘But it does matter! What are you going to do for money? Where are you going to live . . . ?’ she tailed off as her eyes moved to the bulky rucksack.
Stella caught Harri’s expression and threw her head back with an almighty guffaw. ‘Don’t panic, you muppet, I’m not moving in with you! I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, H, I love you heaps and everything, but we’d murder each other before the first week was up!’
Secretly relieved by this, Harri asked, ‘So, where are you going?’
‘I’m following my heart – can you believe I just said that? I mean, that’s the kind of thing that Alex would say and now I’m actually coming out with the same rubbish. Crazy, eh?’
Harri placed a concerned hand on Stella’s arm. ‘Seriously, Stel, you’re worrying me now. Have you honestly thought all this through?’
‘No, not really. I’m just going with the flow – and for the first time in my life I actually know what I want. And it’s not shoes or clothes or the latest designer handbag.’ She gripped Harri’s hand. ‘It’s Dan!’
‘I – I don’t understand . . .’
‘Dan called me last night and asked me to go away with him. We’re going to Tibet – can you believe it?’
Harri opened her mouth to speak, but words failed to materialise.
‘He said, “Come away with me, Stella. Let me show you the world.” How sweet was that! So I just said yes. I mean, who could refuse an offer like that?’
I couldn’t, Harri conceded silently, pushing the lump in her throat away with a hard swallow. Stella was going to live out the dream Harri had harboured for years: to be so close yet so far to it coming true was heartbreaking. ‘When are you leaving?’
Stella patted the rucksack. ‘Right now. The taxi’s outside, I’ve got all my savings with me and my flight’s booked. I’m meeting Dan at Birmingham Airport in two hours. It’s happening, Harri. This is it!’
Questions pushed, jostled and tumbled over each other in Harri’s mind. ‘But how long are you . . . ? When are you coming back?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t know if I’m ever coming back. But I’ll be in touch, I promise. I’ll try to call you when I land, OK?’
Tears were filling Harri’s eyes as Stella hugged her tightly. ‘Just be careful,’ she managed to say before emotion stole her voice completely.
‘I will. He loves me, H. He says his world isn’t complete unless I’m in it. And I think I might be in love with him too. You take care of yourself, OK?’
Harri nodded as a car horn blared impatiently outside. ‘You should probably go.’
Stella wiped her eyes and stood up. Swinging the rucksack heavily onto her shoulder, she turned and began to walk slowly to the front door. The sight of her lugging the enormous pack would have been comical if Harri’s heart had not been shattering into a million shards at that precise moment.
Stella opened the door to reveal a startled Chinese man on the doorstep, hand still raised mid-knock.
‘Delivery for Langton?’ he stammered.
Harri quickly gathered her emotions and nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’
Stella dug in the pocket of her jeans and handed the delivery man a fistful of notes and change. ‘This one’s on me, H. Keep the change,’ she smiled as he thrust the white, plastic carrier bag into her hands and scurried back down the path. The taxi horn beeped again.
‘Right. Here I go – wish me luck?’
Harri hugged Stella for the last time. ‘You won’t need it with Dan. Have a fantastic time.’
Stella squeezed Harri’s shoulder and started to walk away. When she reached the garden gate, she turned bac
k, the street-light overhead bathing her frame in a soft white glow. ‘Be happy, H.’
Harri forced herself to smile. ‘I will.’
Harri watched the red rear lights of the taxi moving along Waterfall Lane until they disappeared out of view. Alone at last, she finally allowed the crushing weight of hurt to crash over her, sinking to the cool stone of the doorstep in the open doorway. Ron Howard appeared and curled himself around her, pushing his head against her shoulder and resting his paws on her arm. Harri stroked the soft fur of his head as his features blurred into a white and ginger haze through her tears.
How can this be happening? Harri felt more alone than she had in years. Inevitably, memories of the months following her mother’s death flooded her mind and she was back where she started – a lost soul on the steps of Two Trees Cottage, with only the insistent attentions of a ginger and white kitten for company.
Harri couldn’t tell how long she remained there, gazing up at the orange-hued clouds building in the inky blackness overhead, but after a while she felt the tears subsiding and shakily rose to her feet. Picking up the takeaway bag that had been discarded when she fell, Harri slowly shut out the still night and walked slowly towards the kitchen, oblivious to the over-excited mewings of Ron Howard as he dashed in affectionate circles round her legs.
Setting out the foil trays in a space cleared between the dreaded letters, Harri found her favourite DVD from the stack by the television and put it on. She needed to escape from the thoughts ricocheting around her brain. Settling back into her sofa with a bowl and chopsticks, a wave of calm began to lap over her bruised soul as the opening titles appeared on the screen: The Beauty of Venice – a Venetian Guide to La Serenissima.
‘Hi, um, can I speak to Harri, please?’
Harri frowned as she tried to place the voice on the other end of the call. Lack of sleep, combined with the mental effort she’d had to exert this week, was making it hard for her to maintain any semblance of coherent thought. Playing an impromptu round of ‘Name That Voice’ was the last thing she needed today – especially seeing as George was officially on the warpath. It was ten o’clock on Thursday morning and he had already blasted the assembled staff of SLIT with no less than three separate rants.
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