Welcome to My World (26 page)

‘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 back, 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.

‘. . . 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.