‘. . . and don’t think I haven’t noticed the amount of texting going on in this place,’ George’s voice boomed through from his office as Tom hid his laughter behind his X-Files mug and Nus rolled her eyes. ‘It may have escaped your attention but this is not the Carphone Warehouse!’
Harri screwed up her aching eyes and tried to focus on the phone call. ‘Sorry, yes, this is Harri.’
‘OK, good. Hi, it’s Becks. Sorry to ring you at work, but it’s kind of an emergency.’
Becks? Becks who? Harri had been secretly hoping that the caller would inadvertently offer her some clue to their identity, but now all she could conclude was that Victoria Beckham had just happened to have phoned Sun Lovers International Travel.
She shook her head. There was no other option. ‘Look, forgive me for being dim, but who is this?’
‘Becks? Becky Yarnell – I met Alex last night.’
A large, shiny penny, like the ones Harri’s dad used to save in an oversized Bell’s whisky bottle, dropped in her mind, sending alternate ripples of relief and panic racing through her. ‘Oh, of course. Sorry. I’m not quite with it today . . .’
‘We might have a problem,’ Becky rushed. ‘Might we?’ Harri couldn’t help noticing the sudden thudding heartbeat in her ears.
‘I just might have – inadvertently – um, let a little something slip last night?’
Oh brother. ‘Like what?’
‘It wasn’t my fault, Harri. You have to believe me. It’s just that he was so . . . lovely, you know? I mean, of course you do. You’re the one who nominated him, after all . . .’
Harri shuddered. Don’t remind me. ‘. . . He was asking me to tell him about how I knew you and I tried, honestly. But I was there, gazing into those awesome brown eyes of his, and – I don’t know – I got a bit muddled and . . .’
‘Are you likely to be on the work phone for long, Harriet?’ an incandescent George hissed right by Harri’s ear, making her jump. ‘Only I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to see some work done in here today.’
Harri placed her hand over the receiver and turned to glare at him. ‘This is an emergency call, George. The caller called me, OK? And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this travel agency is so deserted today that it makes the Marie Celeste look like Westfield shopping centre on the last Saturday before Christmas.’
George opened his mouth and shut it quickly, obviously thinking better of unleashing whatever vitriolic comeback he was about to choose. ‘Right, well, just as long as it’s at their expense . . .’ He backed quickly away to the safety of his office.
‘Sorry, Becky. You were saying?’
‘I got confused. I couldn’t remember whether I was a friend of a friend, or just a customer you got chatting to . . . So I said both. And then he asked me which friend and my mind went blank. So I said Justine. And he said, “Justine who?” – and I panicked. The only surname I could come up with was . . .’
Harri shut her eyes. ‘Moore?’
Becky gasped. ‘Yes! How did you know?’
‘I’m a genius,’ Harri groaned, secretly praying that the threadbare office chair on which she sat would miraculously sprout wings and whisk her away. ‘So what did Alex say?’
‘He didn’t. But I could tell he didn’t believe me. I don’t think he wants to see me again, either, ’cos he did the whole “well, it was nice to meet you anyway” speech at the end of the evening and didn’t offer to walk me home.’
‘Ah.’
‘Just thought you should know. I really am sorry.’
Harri let out a long sigh. ‘It’s fine. Thanks for telling me.’
‘Mind if I say something?’
‘Knock yourself out.’
‘Alex doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who needs help to find someone.’
‘Hmm, well, believe it or not he asked me to help him, so—’
‘For what it’s worth, I think it’s wrong to lie to him. He seems to trust you a lot.’
Harri could feel her heart plummeting to her toes. ‘Right. Er – thanks.’
‘OK. Bye then.’
As Harri ended the call and dropped her forehead on the desk, Nus patted her shoulder and placed a mug of hot coffee beside her. ‘Don’t let the George flip get to you,’ she grinned. ‘Come on, Tom and I need your help to deal with all these thousands of customers.’
Harri lifted her head and managed a weak smile. ‘Absolutely. Bring them on.’
The morning dragged by. The lack of footfall, coupled with an uncharacteristic efficiency within SLIT, meant that Harri had precious little to occupy her mind, inevitably allowing her anxiety to pace back and forth. By lunchtime, she could bear it no longer. It was time to face the music. If Alex had rumbled her plan, the best thing she could do was confront the situ ation head on.
Wātea was alive with lunchtime activity when Harri walked in. A wide cross-section of Stone Yardley residents were noisily enjoying their lunch – teenagers, elderly couples, middle-aged ladies from Viv’s bridge club and several businessmen taking advantage of the coffee lounge’s free Wi-Fi, their netbooks and papers strewn across the bar that looked out onto the High Street.
Alex was weaving his way through the packed diners, holding two plates of bruschetta and salad high over his head, a white tea towel slung hastily over one shoulder and two sets of knives and forks tightly wrapped in serviettes poking out from the back pocket of his jeans. Watching him expertly navigating the chairs, baby buggies and bags pushed thoughtlessly into his path, Harri mused that he could probably do this journey with his eyes closed.
Harri moved slowly towards the counter, keeping her eyes on him, as Alex reached his destination – a perfectly attired older lady and her much younger female companion on the far side of the room. Both ladies’ faces lit up as he spoke to them. Alex’s ability to make everyone feel at home was something Harri marvelled at: no matter how rushed off his feet he was, he always found time to make his customers feel like they were the only people in Wātea. The perfect host.
Just then, he looked over and his eyes met hers. Harri felt fear creeping around the edges of her stomach as he left the ladies and began to pick his way back towards her. Was he stressed, or just caught in the busyness of the lunchtime rush – or was it anger she saw in his expression? She couldn’t tell. As he reached the counter, he summoned the attention of the plump, forty-something lady with shockingly peroxide blonde hair, who was busy reloading and attaching an espresso arm of the coffee machine.
‘Bren – are you OK to hold the fort for five minutes?’ Brenda nodded, her round face flushed from the machine’s steam. ‘Just don’t be away for ages, yeah? The bank lot’ll be in any minute.’
‘Cool, thanks.’ Alex turned to Harri. ‘Let’s go up to the flat.’ Harri followed him through into the work kitchen behind the counter and up the winding staircase into the coolness of his living room. Bright sunshine streamed in through the large windows, a light breeze making the long voile curtains billow out like sails.
Nervously, she looked at her watch. ‘I – I haven’t got long, Al. George is having one of his “bad days” and I need to make sure he doesn’t offend the others too much.’
‘Right . . .’ Alex seemed distracted, moving absent-mindedly round his kitchen, tidying crockery from the sink drainer away in cupboards, switching the kettle on, then off again.
Harri took a deep breath. ‘Look, Al, there’s something I need to—’
‘Do you think I’m paranoid?’ Alex blurted out suddenly. ‘What?’
His eyes were full of concern as he faced her. ‘Seriously, do you?’
‘Paranoid about what?’
‘Something’s been bugging me since I met your mate Justine’s friend yesterday. I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with me.’
Harri’s mouth had suddenly become dry. She swallowed hard. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I mean it, H. You’ve introduced me to all these lovely, completely normal
women and I should just be enjoying the experience. But all I can think of – and it’s been the same with every one of them so far – is that they’re hiding something from me.’
‘Like what?’
Alex leaned heavily against the kitchen worktop and raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I have no idea. It’s just like their stories are – I don’t know – missing something. I mean, that girl from yesterday . . .’
‘Becky.’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. We were getting along great and then I asked her how she knew you and she just went weird on me. I’ve gone over and over it in my head and I can’t rationalise it at all. It was almost as if she was guilty about something, you know? But there was no reason why she should be guilty about anything. And then, about an hour ago, it all made sense.’
‘Ah. Well, I need to explain why—’
Shaking his head incredulously, Alex shrugged. ‘I’m projecting memories of Nina onto them.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I worked it out, Harri. I’m expecting them to be hiding something. Maybe it’s because I didn’t see it coming with Nina that I’m so defensive now.’
Her relief at not being found out was tempered by a sudden surge of compassion for Alex. ‘Al, honey, it’s not that at all. You’re just meeting a lot of new people in one go: you’re bound to be a little cautious.’
‘You think? Honestly, H, it’s been niggling me all morning. I don’t want to end up some lonely, old emotional cripple.’
Harri had to laugh at this. ‘Now you are being daft. You’re fine. Maybe three dates in a week wasn’t such a brilliant idea.’
The merest hint of a smile returned to his expression. ‘Hmm, maybe it was a bit ambitious. Still, one more date tonight and then you’ve kindly given me the weekend off.’
‘True. Charlotte’s lovely, though. I have a good feeling about her.’ She looked at the clock above the kitchen counter. ‘Blimey, I ought to get back. Are you feeling a bit better about this?’
‘Much, thanks.’
They returned to the coffee shop and Harri gave Alex a hug before saying goodbye to Brenda and walking to the door. Her hand was just reaching to push it open when it swung in towards her and a middle-aged lady wearing a bright pink beret let out a yelp of surprise.
‘Ooh! Sorry, Harriet, didn’t see you there!’
‘That’s all right, Ivy. How’s business today?’
‘Busy, I expect. It’s my day off, so I’ve left our Sid and that idiotic apprentice of his holding the fort. We’ve got five MOTs booked in. Still, not my problem. So . . .’ she gave Harri’s arm a playful jab with her elbow, ‘. . . here to check on Stone Yardley’s famous Alex, eh?’
Mystified, Harri nodded blankly, reasoning that Ivy Evans must be the latest in a long line of female Stone Yardley residents to join the unofficial Alex Brannan Fan Club. ‘And I’m late for work, so I’d better get back.’
‘Ooh, don’t let me keep you then,’ Ivy grinned. ‘Harri! I’m sorry, was there something you wanted?’ Alex called.
For the briefest of moments, Harri’s conscience prickled into life, Becky’s words echoing inside: It’s wrong to lie to him . . . He seems to trust you a lot . . . Shaking the thought quickly away, Harri called back, ‘No, just thought I’d pop in.’
Alex raised his hand in thanks as Harri began to leave. ‘Job’s a good ’un, then. Hello, Ivy. Lovely to see you this warm Thursday.’
‘No, Alex, it’s nice to see you . . .’
The afternoon passed quietly. George was nowhere to be seen: he had excused himself at two o’clock in order to ‘go and see a potential client’ and didn’t return.
At five thirty, as Harri waved goodbye to her colleagues, she was interrupted by her mobile buzzing in her bag.
‘Can you stop in at Wātea on your way home?’ Alex asked. ‘Sure, but I can’t stay. I’m cooking Rob’s tea tonight.’
‘No problem. It’ll only take a minute. Let yourself in – I’m just clearing up in the kitchen.’
Five minutes later, Harri pushed open Wātea’s door. ‘Hi,’ she called out, walking past the tables stacked with chairs, the smell of disinfectant from the recently mopped floor filling her nostrils. But in the doorway to the work kitchen, she froze.
Instead of finding Alex busily wiping down the stainless-steel work surfaces as she’d expected, she came face to face with him leaning against the sink, a curling copy of Juste Moi open in his hands.
‘“Alex is thirty-three, six feet tall, with sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes. He loves travel, long conversations and old films, but his passion is food, evident in the successful coffee lounge he owns. Having spent ten years of his life travelling the world, he is more than ready to settle down with the right young lady . . .”’
‘Alex, I—’
‘Wait, please. I haven’t finished. “Best friend Harri Langton was only too happy to recommend him to Juste Moi readers. ‘Alex is gorgeous, talented and caring. Any girl would be lucky to call him hers. I count myself incredibly blessed to be his friend.’ Could you be the girl of our globetrotting guy’s dreams? Get in touch!” Fascinating article, don’t you think?’
‘I – it’s . . .’
Alex’s eyes were full of accusation when they met hers. He held up the magazine and pointed to the front cover. ‘And I’m presuming this is your friend Justine Moore’s magazine, right? Justine Moore, for heaven’s sake . . . Seriously, I don’t know what’s worse, Harri – you lying to me in the first place or your woeful lack of imagination when making up back stories for these women.’
‘OK, look, let me explain . . .’
Alex tossed the magazine to one side and folded his arms. ‘Go right ahead. I’m looking forward to this.’
‘It wasn’t my idea. I just . . . got talked into it. I was going to tell you . . .’
‘Tell me what, exactly? That you’d decided to tell the whole of the UK about how crap I am at dating? That you thought it would be a fantastic wheeze to stick me up for public auction? An auction in some crazed meat market dreamed up by a stupid magazine for people who think Alan Titchmarsh is edgy? Or what, were you thinking that national humiliation was just what I needed to get me back on track with my love life?’
‘But you asked for my help,’ Harri protested.
Alex threw his hands in the air. ‘Yes, Harri, I asked for your help to meet women. But I kind of thought they would be women you actually knew, not some random girls you picked from a list.’
‘I – it wasn’t like that, Alex.’
‘Really? So tell me how it was then, Harri. Come on, I’m curious: at what point did this ridiculous plan seem like a good idea to you?’
It was time to tell the truth. Becky had been right – he deserved to know. ‘It was your mum’s idea,’ she said quietly, wishing she couldn’t see the sense of betrayal in his expression. ‘She asked me to help because she thought I would be able to choose the right girls for you. You have to believe me, I didn’t want to get involved and I’ve been dreading this moment since that damn magazine came out. I ended up spending a whole weekend sorting through all the replies and I hated every moment of it, OK? I’ve really regretted saying I’d help Viv with this.’
‘I should’ve guessed that Mum would have had something to do with it,’ he replied, scuffing at the black and white kitchen floor tiles with the toe of his red Converse boots. ‘Crazy woman. I could well understand her thinking up a scheme like that, but you . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I’m finding this all a bit much to take in. I thought we were friends.’
‘We are friends, Alex.’
‘Friends don’t lie to each other, H. Friends don’t do something as – as – flippin’ dumb as this. I thought you understood me. Now it appears you don’t know me at all.’
‘Oh, Alex, don’t say that.’ Harri watched helplessly as Alex passed her and walked slowly up the stairs, leaving her alone and devastated in Wātea’s kitchen. Heart thumping, she tried to work out what
to do next. Should she follow him or leave? There was something in the way he had looked at her just now that she had never seen before – hurt, disappointment, disbelief. Deep down, she knew she had to resolve the situation. She was not going to lose Alex over this. He was too good a friend let go.
Harri walked purposefully up the stairs to his flat. When she reached the living room he was sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the television, his features illuminated by its flickering blue light.
Harri wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I want to apologise. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry I ever got involved. Just don’t be too hard on your mum, OK? I know she goes overboard with things but, beneath it all, she loves you to bits and she doesn’t want you to get hurt.’
Alex gave a weary sigh and looked at her. ‘A magazine, Harri . . .’
‘Yeah, one that nobody except your mum and Ivy Evans reads.’
‘Do you know how much of a gossip Ivy Evans is? I mean, if this gets back to the lads I’ll be a laughing stock.’
‘I don’t think you will. Especially seeing as you had so many replies – and at least fifty of them were half-decent women.’
A small smile began to dance along his lips. ‘How many replies were there?’
‘Over eight hundred. It took me hours to read through them all.’
‘You read them all?’
‘Yes. Well, Auntie Rosemary helped me.’
He laughed. ‘And where was my mother in all of this?’ Harri felt the tension easing between them and took a step closer. ‘Um, she was . . . things came up, you know.’
‘Figures.’ His eyes searched her out. ‘Who did you do it for, then? For my mum? For the magazine? Or for me?’
‘I just wanted to make sure that the people you met were worthy of you, that’s all.’
He stared at her for a long time, an odd expression playing across his face. Just when Harri was wondering if she should say something to break the uncomfortable scrutiny, he spoke. ‘What are you like, eh? Come here.’ He patted the sofa next to him and Harri sat down. He nudged her and the mischief magically reappeared in his eyes. ‘You are a nutter, Harri Langton.’
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