Welcome to My World (3 page)

In Harri’s world, there were two versions of herself: the confident, spontaneous one in her mind, who would throw caution to the wind and go wherever her heart desired; then the
real
Harri – thinking about things too much and planning imagin ary journeys from the safety of her little cottage at the far end of Stone Yardley village.

One day
, she frequently told herself,
one day I’ll stop worrying about it and just go
.

So, instead, Harri would buy another travel book and spend hours poring over the intricate details of other people’s adventures across the world. She became an armchair traveller – fluent in three languages and a dab hand at pub quizzes whenever travel questions came up. The world in her mind was safe, constantly accessible and, most importantly, just
hers
– a secret place she could escape to without anyone else knowing. For years, this had been her solitary pursuit. Until she met Alex. Then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t alone.

A cold breeze blowing through the gaps in the grubby skylight above Harri’s head increases and small drops of rain begin to hit the toughened glass. She shivers and hugs her thin cardigan round her, feeling goose bumps prickling along her shoulders.

Trying to take her mind off the cold, she looks around the vinyl walls of the cubicle, absent-mindedly reading the motley collection of graffiti. There’s quite a selection of revelations (‘Debbie is a dog’, ‘Kanye Jones luvs ur mutha’ and ‘Sonia likes it backwards’, to name but a few), along with some startling creativity (one wit has written ‘Escape Hole’, with an arrow pointing to a Rawlplugged scar where a toilet-roll holder once was). Over in one corner of the cubicle, by a rusting chrome door hinge, one small message catches her eye:

ALex woz eRe

Harri catches her breath and shuts her eyes tight.

When Alex Brannan moved back to Stone Yardley, Harri’s world suddenly became a whole lot bigger.

Viv’s only son had always been around when Harri was growing up, but she’d never really had that much to do with him; their paths rarely crossed. It was only when he returned from ten years of travelling the world that their friendship began in earnest.

It started with the closure of Stone Yardley’s traditional tea rooms, three years ago.

When the Welcome Tea Rooms closed, many locals declared it a sad day for the town, bewailing the loss of an institution. The truth was, however, that most of those who complained had not actually set foot in said institution for many years, largely because it was anything but welcoming. The proprietress, Miss Dulcie Danvers, was a wiry, formidable spinster who had inherited the shop from her maiden aunt. No amount of scalding hot tea or stodgy home-baked scones that made your teeth squeak could combat the frosty atmosphere of the place: so you ordered (apologetically), you consumed your food in self-conscious silence and you got out of there as soon as possible. Finally, at the age of seventy-three, Miss Danvers admitted defeat and retired to a sheltered housing scheme in the Cotswolds.

For several months the former café lay empty and lifeless in Stone Yardley’s High Street, a gaping wound in the bustling town centre, but then, at the end of October, the For Sale sign disappeared from the shop front and work began on its interior. Residents noticed lights ablaze inside and shadowy figures moving around late into the night. Three weeks later, a sign appeared on the door: ‘New Coffee Lounge opening soon.’

A week after that, Viv asked Harri if she’d like to go to the launch party of her son’s new venture.

‘You remember Alex, don’t you?’

Harri nodded politely, although what recollections she did possess were decidedly vague. ‘He’s in London, isn’t he?’

Viv pulled a face. ‘Well, he
was
, but the least said about
that
particular episode, the better. Anyway, the point is that he’s moved back to Stone Yardley and he’s starting his own business.’

‘What’s he doing?’ Harri asked.

Viv beamed the kind of proud smile that parents wear when watching their children performing in a nativity play (even if they’re awful). ‘He’s taken over the old Welcome Tea Rooms. It’s going to be quite different and I think he’s worried that nobody will turn up. Would you mind awfully?’

‘No, not at all. Rob’s away working this weekend so I have a free night on Friday.’

The moment Harri set foot inside Wātea, she felt at home. Alex had transformed the dark café into a relaxed, warm and welcoming coffee lounge. Large, comfy leather armchairs rested on a green slate floor, whilst a bar by the window – made from what looked like a large driftwood beam – offered a great view of the High Street outside. Travel books and magazines were stacked casually in wicker baskets by the sides of the chairs, and treasures from Alex’s travels adorned the walls: South American paintings, an African mask, Maori figures and Native American blankets.

But it was the photographs that caught Harri’s eye and made her heart skip. Beaches and rainforests, deserts and islands, snow-covered mountain peaks and azure ocean vistas. And the star of every picture, in various wildly dramatic poses – and always with a huge grin – was Alex.

While the other guests sampled coffee and ate tiny cocktail
quesadillas
, spicy chorizo and olive skewers, and shot glasses of intense gazpacho, Harri moved silently round the room, letting her fingers brush lightly against the richly woven textiles and ethnic sculptures as she gazed at the photos. She was looking intently at a picture of an Inca settlement when a deep voice close behind her made her jump.

‘Machu Picchu. I loved it there. The altitude is amazing, though – you have to move really slowly so you don’t get out of breath.’

Harri spun round. She came face to face with a wooden Maori-carved bead necklace and lifted her eyes till they met the huge-grinned star of the photos. Alex extended his hand quickly, suddenly self-conscious, running the other hand through his sandy-brown mop of hair. ‘Hi. Sorry to make you jump there. I’m Alex.’

Harri smiled and took his large warm hand in hers. ‘Hi, I’m Harri. This place is amazing . . .’

‘Ooooh, fantastic! You two have already met?’ Viv exclaimed, appearing suddenly between them, as if by magic. ‘Al, darling, you remember Harriet Langton, don’t you?’

Alex’s large brown eyes widened in surprise as he took a step back and looked Harri up and down, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘No way!
Chubby Harri
with the pigtails?’

‘Yes!’ Viv beamed. ‘Little
Chubby
Harriet!’

‘But . . . but the last time I saw her she was, ooh,
this
tall?’ Alex motioned to just above his waist.

‘I
know
!’ Viv agreed. ‘She’s a fair bit different now, though, eh?’

‘She certainly is,’ Alex replied, looking so intently at Harri that she could feel a blush creeping up the back of her neck.

Viv’s eyes misted. ‘Her mother would’ve been so proud of her. All grown up and standing in your new coffee lounge!’

Harri lifted a hand and waved weakly between them. ‘Hello? I’m actually here. And may I just remind you both that I was given that evil nickname when I was
four years old
?’

‘Aww,’ Viv gathered her up into a hearty embrace, which nearly expelled all the air from her lungs, ‘sorry, my darling. Harri works at the travel agent’s a few doors down from here, Al. She knows everything there is to know about, well, just about anywhere in the world. You should ask her over and show her all that strange stuff from your travels. Ooh, and your photos too! Wouldn’t that be lovely, Harri?’

It was Alex’s turn to be embarrassed. ‘
Mum
. . .’ he protested, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor, ‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to see all that . . .’

‘No, no, I would. Really. It would be great,’ Harri said quickly.

Alex looked up at her, his expression a strange mix of amusement and genuine surprise. ‘Seriously? Nobody’s ever asked to see my stuff before – I usually just bore people to death with it whether they like it or not.’

Harri smiled. ‘Trust me, I would love to find out where you’ve been and what you’ve seen. My boyfriend says I’m an armchair-travel junkie, so you’ll be helping to fuel my addiction.’

Alex’s eyes twinkled and the broad grin from his photographs made another appearance. ‘Well, in that case I’d be happy to oblige. We’ll co-ordinate diaries and do it!’

Harri told Rob the following Monday evening about Alex and his invitation to dinner. Over the weekend, she had suddenly started to worry that perhaps Rob wouldn’t be pleased in this relative stranger’s interest in his girlfriend, but her fears soon proved unfounded.

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Rob smiled over the top of
Survival Monthly
.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind that he’s invited me for a meal?’

‘Not at all.’ He shook his head, lowered the magazine and reached over to stroke her cheek. ‘You haven’t been worrying about that, have you?’

‘A little.’

‘Well, you don’t have to. An evening of travel gossip sounds right up your street and it will be good to chat to someone who shares your travel thing. Let’s face it – I’m not the best audience when it comes to that, am I?’ He smiled that deliciously crooked smile of his, which never failed to make her heart skip. ‘So you get a night of travel trivia and I get let off that duty for once. Everyone’s a winner.’

Encouraged by her boyfriend’s words, Harri began to look forward to the evening with Alex. But as the week progressed, a new concern began to root itself in her head: would they find enough to talk about for a whole evening? After all, she could barely remember Alex – for all she knew about him he might as well be a complete stranger. Added to this, how would she fare in the company of a bona fide traveller, when all of her knowledge was based on other people’s experiences? Would she feel a fraud by comparison?

It was still playing on her mind when she arrived at her aunt’s shop on Thursday lunchtime. Eadern Blooms had served as Stone Yardley’s florist for thirty-five years and, with the exception of a new sign over the door and an A-board for the street (which Harri had persuaded Auntie Rosemary to invest in the year before), the shop hadn’t changed. The sunny yellow tiles and white-painted walls were simple but perfect for making the flowers stand out – they were, after all, the stars of the show, as far as Rosemary was concerned. As she entered the shop, Harri said hello to Mrs Gilbert from the cake shop, who was leaving with a paper-wrapped bunch of deep purple lisianthus.

‘Hello, Harriet, how’s the world today?’ Mrs Gilbert smiled.

‘Quiet, as far as Stone Yardley’s concerned,’ Harri replied, holding the door open for her. ‘Having a good week?’

‘Manic! Dora’s introduced her new Irish Coffee Cheesecake this week and we’ve been run off our feet. Sugarbuds hasn’t been this busy since Christmas.’

Auntie Rosemary was in the workroom at the back of the shop when Harri approached the counter, so Harri tapped the hotel-style brass bell to summon her aunt’s attention. It was something she had done since she was little, relishing the thrill of ringing the bell when her parents had brought her into the shop. She called out, just like her dad had done, ‘Shop!’

Rosemary’s flustered face appeared in the hatchway, which opened to the workroom. ‘Hello, you. Let me just wrap this bouquet and I’ll be right with you.’

Harri absent-mindedly turned the rotating unit on the counter that held a selection of cards for inserting into floral arrangements. Most of them looked as old as the shop: faded painted pink and yellow roses, watercolour storks carrying blanketed babies, white arum lilies bending their heads in sympathy and linked horseshoes surrounded by fluttering confetti. Harri wondered if anyone actually chose to use one of these cards, or if they, like the brass bell and sunshine-yellow vinyl floor tiles, were simply irreplaceable elements of the shop’s heart.

Five minutes later, Auntie Rosemary bustled in, strands of silver-grey hair flying loose in all directions from the messy bun at the back of her head, and a roll of twine around her right hand like a post-modern bangle. ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ she exclaimed, placing her cool hands on Harri’s cheeks and kissing her forehead, ‘and so are you! So, the kettle’s on and I’ve got some sandwiches from Lavender’s – tell me all your news.’

They pulled up wooden chairs behind the counter and ate their crusty sandwiches from Stone Yardley’s bakery as Harri shared recent events with her aunt.

When she mentioned her concerns about dinner with Alex, Auntie Rosemary frowned and took a large gulp of tea.

‘I don’t think you need worry, Harriet, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about.’

‘But he’s actually
done
the travelling thing. I’ve just read about it. I think I’m just worried that he’ll laugh at me.’

‘Don’t be so silly, sweetheart. From my scant experience of men, I can tell you that one thing they like is to be listened to. And if the person listening to them knows
less
about a subject than they do, then all the better. I would hazard a guess that Alex is no different. You’re a fantastic listener and you’ll be interested in all of his travel stories – what more could he want in a dinner guest?’

‘You’re probably right. I’m sorry, Auntie Ro. You know me, always thinking three steps ahead.’

Rosemary smiled and brushed crumbs off her fluffy grey cardigan. ‘In that respect you’re the spitting image of your mother. She was a born organiser – and so are you. Worrying ahead comes with the territory, I suppose.’

‘So you think I’ll be fine?’

Her aunt stood up and ruffled Harri’s hair. ‘I think you’ll have a fantastic time.’

In the end, it was Stella who – in classic Stella Smith fashion – allayed her fears by summing up the situation in one sentence.

‘He seems like a nice bloke, there’s free food and you get to overdose on travel stories. It’s a no-brainer: stop thinking too much and just go.’

So the next week Harri arrived at Wātea for dinner. Alex was just finishing for the day and looked shattered. She waited while he turned off lights and checked everything was ready for the morning.