Welcome to My World (21 page)

‘Afternoon, missy,’ she smiled, stepping down from the raised platform behind the counter and instantly losing about ten inches from her height. ‘How’s everything going?’

‘Good, thanks, Doreen. George has me delivering leaflets, I’m afraid.’

Doreen tutted and shook her head, the beehive barely following suit. ‘That
man
. Thinks he’s Stone Yardley’s answer to Donald Trump or something – only without the hair, eh?’ she chuckled. It was a sound that brought back a thousand memories of Harri’s childhood visits to the post office: of idly lingering by the stationery displays looking at pencil cases, novelty erasers and crayon pens with interchangeable colours, while Doreen chatted to Mum.

‘Right, I s’pose you’d like me to put one of those things up, eh?’

‘Would that be OK?’

‘Sure, give it here,’ Doreen replied, taking a leaflet. ‘I’ll stick it in the window. And you tell that boss of yours that he’s five weeks overdue paying his paper bill.’

Harri grinned. ‘I’ll make sure I pass it on.’

The sun had broken free from its leaden cloud prison as Harri stepped outside and heard her name being called. Turning, she saw Emily Williams hurrying towards her, dressed in her bank uniform.

‘Harri! Hey! I was just on my way to see you.’

‘Hi, Emily. How’s everything going?’

‘Good,’ Emily replied breathlessly. ‘Great, actually. I contacted those hotels and B&Bs you found for me and six of them have agreed to do special weekend rates.’

‘Wow, that’s fantastic! Well done.’

‘Thanks. Although I’m starting to wonder if the whole thing might just be a bit too huge a step for us. I mean, Stu and I have only just got everything settled with money and so on – the last thing I want to do is to jeopardise our financial security.’

‘Hmm, if I were you I’d be thinking exactly the same thing,’ Harri admitted. Except, of course, she probably wouldn’t have even reached that stage in her thinking, having talked herself out of it long before. ‘But I think it comes down to following your heart. If you and Stu truly believe in this then you should go for it.’

Emily’s expression lit up like the bright sunlight surrounding them. ‘You think so?’

‘Absolutely. Actually, I’ve got some contacts with a taxi company in Ellingsgate – they might be able to offer you some sort of deal on transfers between the accommodation and the farm.’

‘I hadn’t even thought about that. You’re brilliant!’ Emily flung her arms around Harri, taking her completely by surprise. ‘Ooh, thank you! I’m so glad I ran into you today!’

Walking back to SLIT, an unexpected heaviness claimed Harri’s insides. Maybe it was seeing someone willing to chase their dream – or maybe it was just the thought of the two and a half hours of utter tediousness that lay ahead of her. Firmly discounting the former, Harri picked up her pace to return to work.

‘Come to mine for dinner this Wednesday,’ Alex said. ‘I need to pick your brains.’

Harri stroked a purring Ron Howard and smiled into her mobile phone. ‘Good luck with that, then. Should take you all of – oh – five minutes.’

‘You are a comedy genius, H. You need to warn me when you’re going to unleash your hilarity on me like that. Anyway, say yes.’

‘I’m not sure what Rob’s doing yet.’

‘Please, H. I have a fantastic new recipe for clam chowder and I can tell you all about the time I was working in New Orleans during Mardi Gras . . .’

It was too tempting to refuse. ‘OK, fine, what time?’

‘Eight-ish. And bring something for pud.’

‘I’ll do that. See you Wednesday.’ Harri ended the call and tickled Ron Howard’s ear, which flicked appreciatively. ‘Right, then. Better call Rob.’

Rob’s voice was warm and ever so slightly husky when he answered. ‘Hey, gorgeous. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘Well, the last thing I want to ever be is predictable.’ Harri felt a frisson of delight tingle through her.

His laugh was impossibly charming. ‘I wouldn’t dream of accusing you of that, Red. So, what can I do for you?’

‘Al’s invited me for dinner on Wednesday night. I think there’s some crisis in his life that he needs my help with.’

‘Good job he has you to sort him out then, hey?’

‘You don’t mind if I go? I mean, if you’ve got something planned . . .’

‘Not at all. Go and have fun with your mate. Looks like I’ll be doing late ones all this week, anyway.’ A phone started to ring on his end of the line. ‘And there’s another dimwit who needs my help. I’d better go, lovely lady. I’ll call you later.’

Snuggled up in her cosy cottage with a very appreciative feline draped magnificently across her lap, Harri allowed herself a moment to revel in how good life felt right now. She had a boyfriend who not only was supportive but also downright sexy; her career finally seemed to be taking shape at SLIT with her new assistant manager role, the forthcoming Hillford Hall concert packages and the potential of Emily’s new business to consider; even Alex’s prospective love life looked rosy.

Harri loved the fact that Rob respected her right to have her own friends – even if his obvious respect for Alex and pleasant civility whenever they met didn’t quite extend to Alex’s old university mates – especially during the Sunday night pub quiz at the Star and Highwayman pub. Rob took exception to the world that Alex’s friends represented: middle-class, university educated and moderately successful. Their ‘years-out’ before entering the workplace and apparent lack of career drive were alien to Rob who, like all of
his
friends, had reached their current occupational positions through hard work and dedication, only to find themselves working under managers who appeared to receive ‘golden-ticket’ promotions by virtue of the fact that they had a degree.

That said, most of the rivalry between the two camps was good-natured, blokey banter that highly amused both sides, usually taking the form of mildly offensive team names for the pub quiz: ‘We’re Not Boffins’, ‘All Degree No Trousers’, ‘All Mouth No Degree’, ‘Too Clever To Work’, ‘Dead-End Jobs Aren’t Us’ – and so on,
ad infinitum
. They were all as bad as each other, in Harri’s opinion, but the light-hearted name-calling had nevertheless become somewhat of a highlight every Sunday night at the pub.

On Wednesday evening, after an hour of general chat over dinner, Harri decided to cut to the chase. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, then?’

Alex’s smile faded and he grabbed their empty plates. ‘I’ll just put these in the kitchen. Do you want more coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine thanks. Is everything OK?’

Alex’s carefree laugh was completely unconvincing. ‘Of course. If you want to move to the sofa I’ll be right with you.’

Harri settled down in the ample confines of Alex’s oversized sofa, tucking her legs up underneath herself and feeling completely at home. She adored their conversations: the op portunity to discuss the world with someone who completely understood her fascination with it. Alex had a million conversations beginning, ‘When I was in . . .’ – so unlike anyone else in Stone Yardley.

‘When I was in Tokyo working at the Hilton . . . When I was in Vietnam . . . I remember this amazing thing that happened when I was in Ecuador . . .’

This evening had been no exception. Over richly steaming bowls of creamy clam chowder and yellow cornbread, Alex had told Harri about the New Orleans Mardi Gras, bringing vivid-hued images dancing into her mind – jumping brass bands, drums, laughter and crowds of brightly attired people swaying through the city streets.

‘I tell you, H, it was amazing. Noise like you wouldn’t believe, and it seems like everyone in the city is out dancing. I was working in the kitchen of this hotel and Carlos, the head chef, gave me the evening off so I could go. He was like, “Get out there, boy! The music is waitin’ for ya!” It’s crazy! Everyone’s so friendly and you just get swept along with the parade. I ended up at this tiny restaurant with a girl I met in the crowd. I think she was relieved to meet a fellow Brit in the middle of all the madness. She was travelling across the States and had decided to go for a slap-up meal on her last night in the city. Poor girl, she’d spent ages getting ready, hair and make-up all done and her best dress she’d brought from home, and then they gave her this huge, white plastic bib to wear while she was eating the meal. She was mortified! Mind you, we ended up laughing about it.’

‘Did you keep in touch with her?’

Alex pulled a face. ‘Nah. Of course not. When you’re travelling it’s better not to get into relationships. Everyone’s heading in different directions: it doesn’t make for a firm foundation, you know?’

Harri smiled. ‘So what was different about the girl you came home for?’

A familiar sadness claimed Alex’s eyes. ‘She was heading home. And so, it turned out, was I.’

Harri didn’t ask Alex about Nina very often. She knew most of the story already – not just from Alex himself but also from Viv, whose take on the whole thing was a lot less charitable than her son’s. After nine and a half years of travelling the world, Alex met Nina in a bar in New York – and everything changed. She had been travelling for a year and was spending her final month in Manhattan before coming back to the UK to start a restaurant in Bristol with her brother. It was love at first sight for both of them and, after three weeks of inseparability, Alex made the decision to return to England with her. They opened the restaurant, moved in together and Alex proposed (much to his mother’s delight). A month before the wedding, Alex came back to the flat they shared to find Nina in bed with his best friend, Tim. Incensed, he moved out and ended up staying with his friends Sandie and Brendan in Somerset for a few months. While he was there, Brendan found the advert for the auction of the Welcome Tea Rooms and encouraged Alex to bid for it. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Most people would have sworn off relationships after an experience like that, but for Alex it had the opposite effect. After years of non-commitment, being in a loving, seemingly settled relationship brought about a sea change in his thinking, making the security it afforded him something he craved to feel again. Hence the past three years of searching for someone to claim his heart as Nina had done – and the countless heart-aches encountered along the way. Not that anyone but Harri knew this, of course. As far as anyone in Stone Yardley was concerned, Alex was the jovial, laid-back guy who owned Wātea, with surfer-style good looks and not a care in the world.

‘Budge up, chuck!’ Alex had arrived back from the kitchen with a plate of ratafias and flopped down on the sofa next to Harri. ‘Try one of these.’

Harri took a bite of the crisp, dome-shaped biscuit and the most intense sweet, almond flavour filled her mouth. ‘Wow, that’s amazing.’

‘My good friend Luca, who I met in Adelaide, gave me the recipe. Pretty good, huh?’

She nodded and answered crumbily, ‘Fantastic.’

Alex’s laugh was loud and warm. ‘Such a refined dinner guest. You must come back again. Now, I need to ask you something.’

‘OK.’

‘Right. Um . . .’ He took a breath and his chocolate-brown eyes made a wide sweep of the living room. ‘It’s about your friends.’

Harri frowned. ‘Which ones?’

‘Well, Annie and Erin. Actually, more Erin to be honest.’

‘OK, what about her?’

Alex brushed some crumbs from his shirt and turned squarely to face Harri. ‘How much do you know about her, exactly?’

This was a question Harri had not prepared herself for. Should she tell Alex the truth about his two ‘Free to a Good Home’ dates or perpetuate the stories he had already heard? Suddenly, face to face with her best friend, the prospect of shattering the illusion she had so carefully constructed seemed too difficult to dismantle. Surely the opportunity would present itself further down the line, wouldn’t it? There and then, Harri made a decision: Alex didn’t need to know the truth until he found someone who might become permanent. It would be
so
much easier to tell him then. ‘I told you, we met through work.’

Alex wasn’t pacified by this. ‘Yes, I know,’ he answered, dismissively, ‘but how much do you
actually
know about her?’

Seeing the trust in his eyes for her and the obvious battle within him, Harri relented slightly. There was no point in making the lie any bigger than it already was. ‘I have to be honest, Al. I only know what I’ve told you. Erin’s the events manager at Hillford Hall and she sings in her brother’s covers band in her spare time. She likes Mexican and Thai food, hates prawns and her favourite film is
Magnolia
. Other than that, I don’t know any more. Why do you ask?’

Alex gave the back of his neck a self-conscious rub. ‘Oh, I dunno, H. She seems nice – I mean,
really
nice – but I just feel like there’s something she’s not telling me.’

‘Maybe that’s just you being paranoid.’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe. Sorry, H. I must seem really ungrateful.’

‘About what?’

‘Well, you’ve set me up with two very lovely women and all I can do is find fault with them.’

Ignoring the stab of guilt inside, Harri smiled and patted his hand. ‘Isn’t that what dating’s about, Al? You try out lots of different people to find what you like.’

‘So before Rob, did you date much?’

The question took Harri completely by surprise. ‘I – er – not that much, really. I went out with a guy in my last year of school for about eight months but it didn’t go anywhere. Then I had a few dates here and there but nothing serious until I met Rob.’

Alex nodded and looked down at his feet. ‘Right.’

Unsure of how to take this reaction, Harri added: ‘Not that I’ve ever felt short-changed by my lack of dating experience, mind you. Everybody’s different, Al. Are you seeing Erin again?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He looked up at her again. ‘I’m sorry, H. I don’t deserve everything you’re doing for me.’

Harri made her best attempt at a smile.
Oh, Alex, if only you knew
. . .

There are stains on the grubby ceiling tiles as Harri looks up past the flickering strip lights. She is instantly reminded of something Dad used to say when she was little: ‘You can make shapes and faces out of everything, if you just look hard enough.’