Welcome to My World (33 page)

Already feeling lighter for having shared her thoughts, Harri hit Send and relaxed back in her chair. Stella would know what to do – and even if she didn’t, she would definitely have an opinion. All Harri had to do now was wait.

Mrs Bincham was all of a fluster when she arrived at SLIT the next day. It took Tom, Nus and Harri the best part of five minutes to get any kind of sense out of her. Finally, after much cajoling and a hastily prepared mug of strong tea, she regained the power of almost rational speech.

‘My Geoff’s proposed!’

Tom, Nus and Harri exchanged glances.

‘Erm – but aren’t you married already?’ Nus asked.

‘What on earth do you take me for, Nusrin? I’m a respectable woman!’

‘Mrs B, I don’t think Nus was implying that you and Geoff—’

‘And none of your twopenneth either, Thomas!’

‘Ethel, calm down,’ Harri soothed. ‘Now tell us what happened.’

Mrs B dabbed at her brow with a yellow duster. ‘This morning, over breakfast, Geoff looked up from his
OK!
magazine and says, “Eth, I think it’s about time we renewed our wedding vows. What’s good enough for these celebrities is good enough for us. So how’s about it, our bab?” Well, you could’ve knocked me down with a feather when I heard that!’

‘So what did you say?’

‘I didn’t say nothing, Nusrin. I just got out of there as fast as these old legs could take me. I’m an old woman now – he shouldn’t be giving me shocks like that at my age!’

‘I think it’s a lovely idea, Mrs B,’ Harri reassured her. ‘It means he still loves you and wants to tell the world.’

Mrs Bincham fixed Harri with a hard stare. ‘That’s as maybe, but I think it’s got more to do with him being so celebrity obsessed. I blame those blasted magazines he buys, I do. Next thing you know, Geoff’ll be asking me to have one of them boob jobs!’

They all had to look away at this point, hiding their laughter from Ethel’s attention.

‘What on earth’s going on?’ George was standing in the open doorway from the street, macintosh half off his shoulders as if he was about to perform a middle-aged, chubby striptease.

‘It’s fine, George. Ethel’s just had a bit of a shock this morning,’ Tom replied, patting Mrs B’s hand protectively.

For once, real compassion made a brief glimpse on George’s flushed face. ‘Oh dear, are you . . . is everything OK?’

Ethel waved a hand dismissively. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Mr Duffield. I’ll be fine in a jiff.’

‘Geoff’s proposed – again,’ said Nus, clearly loving this Wednesday morning drama.

‘He has? What did you say?’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, I haven’t said
anything
yet. I was too much of a dither.’

George placed his sodden raincoat on the coatstand by the door and approached Ethel. Kneeling down (not an easy task for someone of his considerable girth), he gently took her hand between both of his. ‘Ethel. How long have I known you and Geoff?’

Mrs B was mystified by this question. ‘Years, I s’pose.’

‘And in all that time, I’ve hardly ever known the two of you to fight – bicker a little, maybe, but nothing worthy of note.’

‘Right . . .’

‘Geoff’s a good man, Ethel. He loves you and he’s stuck by you all these years, hasn’t he?’

‘Mostly. Of course, he had that wobble when he turned forty, but we don’t mention that nowadays.’

‘What wobble?’ Tom enquired, only to be shushed by Harri.

‘So all he wants to do is to show everyone how proud he is to be your husband,’ George continued, much to the surprise of the staff gathered around him. ‘One little chance to say to everyone, “This is my wife and I love her.” Now, you wouldn’t want to deny him that opportunity, would you?’ He shook his head encouragingly.

Baffled, Ethel slowly shook her head along with him. ‘No, but I—’

‘I think you should go home now and tell him you accept,’ George smiled.

‘But, the cleaning . . .’

Raising his eyes to heaven, George’s smile tightened slightly. ‘Don’t you worry about the cleaning. I’m sure we can manage without you for one day.’

‘We manage without you most days . . .
ow
!’ Tom yelped as Nusrin’s elbow made sharp contact with his ribs.

‘You’re right!’ Mrs B stood shakily to her feet and Harri helped her into her coat. ‘Thank you, Mr Duffield.’ She patted the top of his head as she walked out.

Amazed by the spectacle they had just witnessed, Nus, Tom and Harri gawped at George, who was wobbling slightly in his kneeling position.

‘Wow, George, you old romantic you,’ Harri grinned. ‘Didn’t realise you had it in you.’

‘I don’t. I just couldn’t face an entire morning of her moping around doing no cleaning,’ George barked back. ‘Now quit mickey-taking and help me up, will you? I think my back’s gone . . .’

Rob was not impressed by Geoff Bincham’s early morning proposal, although the thought of the old man reading
OK!
with his full English did amuse him.

‘I never had old man Bincham down as a celebrity junkie,’ he laughed, twisting spaghetti onto his fork. ‘He’s such a gruff old beggar whenever I see him.’

‘You’ve never forgiven him for sending you off in that under-sixteens cup match, have you?’

‘Well, I reckon his eyesight was going even then. He was a rubbish referee. So when’s this all taking place?’

‘Just before Christmas.’ Harri took a sip of wine and watched the candle flickering on the restaurant table between them. ‘I think it’s romantic.’

She looked around at the other diners in the small Italian restaurant. It was unusual for Rob to suggest they ate out, even at weekends, let alone on a Wednesday night. So when he had texted her that afternoon to tell her he had booked a table at Violetta’s, she was delighted.

She looked back at him and thought again how handsome he looked. He certainly seemed to be making an effort after the brief Preston blip in September – in fact, he had barely even mentioned work for the best part of a month. It couldn’t have happened at a better time: all the frustration she was feeling with the Alex–Chelsea situation had demanded so much of her thoughts recently that she needed things with Rob to be on an even keel. She gazed into his eyes, the thrill of their unexpected closeness bubbling up inside her. ‘Anyway, don’t you go pretending you’re a love cynic, Rob Southwood. After all, you’re the one who booked a break at an impossibly romantic Scottish castle for us.’

Rob gave an overdramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve rumbled me. I confess, I am a closet romantic.’ He lowered his voice, ‘But keep it quiet. I’m just not ready to come out in public with it yet, OK?’

Harri giggled. ‘Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’

News of the Binchams’ marriage vow renewal spread around Stone Yardley like wildfire. Geoff Bincham had been very specific about what he wanted. ‘We need one of them celebrity weddings with all the trimmings. Only the best for me and my Eth.’ Rising to the challenge, the people of Stone Yardley rallied round: Auntie Rosemary offered to provide flowers, Viv used her powers of persuasion (and, rumour had it, a rather splendid three-layer chocolate cake) to secure Stone Yardley Village Hall at short notice, and Harri was volunteered to enlist the help of Alex for catering purposes. Harri strongly suspected that this had been Viv’s idea as a way of cajoling her son into taking part, but she agreed anyway. At least it would give her a rare opportunity to spend some time with him sans Chelsea.

By Friday of that week, the weather had turned decidedly wintry. Graphite-grey clouds shrouded Stone Yardley in stubborn dankness, while incessant rain, driven by blustering wind, pummelled its streets and inhabitants. George, who had proclaimed to his bemused staff that he was suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder and insisted on ensconcing himself in his office gazing at a daylight simulation lamp, had made the decision to close at three o’clock. Unsurprisingly, nobody tried to dissuade him – in fact, Tom and Nus had switched off their computers and grabbed their coats before George had even finished talking. After checking that her boss was feeling well enough to lock up by himself, Harri left and battled her way down the High Street with her umbrella bending under the force of the wind and rain until she reached Wātea.

Delicious aromas of coffee and the comforting warmth of Wātea’s interior wrapped around her senses like a giant hug as she entered, leaving the stormy street and weather-beaten shoppers behind. The coffee lounge was half full with customers obviously taking their time to put off having to step outside again.

Alex was wiping down the counter and didn’t notice Harri’s arrival. She approached and knocked her fist on the vintage wood.

‘Knock, knock?’

Alex’s head jerked up and he smiled. ‘Hey, stranger! What brings you to my establishment this early on a Friday?’

‘Oh, you know, the wind blew me in.’

Genuine pleasure lit up Alex’s face. ‘Terrible when the weather does that to you, eh?’

Enjoying the glimpse of the Alex she had been missing so much, Harri grinned back. ‘Dreadful. So, any chance of a coffee?’

Alex folded his arms and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m afraid that’s only possible if it accompanies a seriously large slab of chocolate fudge cake.’

Harri shrugged. ‘Then I have no choice.’

‘Cool. Pick a table and I’ll bring it over.’

Harri chose a table by one of the few remaining photographs from Alex’s travels (him pointing at a Route 66 sign next to the most enormous American sedan she had ever seen), peeled off her coat and unwound the scarf Auntie Rosemary had made for her at the Knit ’n’ Natter group last year, draping them both on the back of her chair. Smoothing down the auburn curls that had blown free from her ponytail during her blustery trek here, she looked around the room, noting how much had changed since Chelsea had arrived on the scene. Gone were the treasures from Alex’s adventures – the Masai blanket, African masks and Australian dream-time art; the stacks of travel magazines in wicker baskets by the sides of sofas had been replaced with month-old editions of glossy women’s magazines and the kind of celebrity gossip rags that Geoff Bincham would have been in seventh heaven with. It was as if the brave, free spirit of Wātea had been subdued behind the bars of somebody else’s opinion – and Harri couldn’t ignore her sadness at its unwelcome incarceration.

‘Your obscenely calorific confection, ma’am,’ Alex said, pushing a large slab of moist, dark cake layered with thick, chocolate fudge frosting, sprinkled with pink sugar crystals. ‘The sparkles are complimentary, by the way.’

‘How fab are those! Where did they come from?’

Taking the seat opposite, Alex handed her a mug of coffee and took a sip from his own. ‘Abigail Reece had her birthday party here after school yesterday.’

‘Really? You hosted a kids’ party?’

‘Well, she came in with her mum and best friend from school, so I got Brenda to dash to the Co-op for candles and girly cake decorations.’

‘Al, that’s so sweet.’

He dismissed the comment, stealing a small corner of her cake with his teaspoon. ‘Nah, it’s just that I know it’s been tough for them since Paul left. Plus, it’s not every day you turn eight.’

‘You big softie. I think that’s really nice, though.’

‘Well, thank you.’

They exchanged smiles, Harri loving the total absence of tension between them.

‘I have a confession to make, actually.’

This sparked his interest and he leaned forward eagerly. ‘You do? Ooh, this had better be a juicy revelation. It’s been far too dull a day so far.’

‘Sorry to disappoint. I’m here on the scrounge, I’m afraid.’

‘Typical. Let me guess: my mother sent you?’

‘No. Well, she might have unofficially had something to do with it, but that’s just a suspicion on my part. Mr and Mrs Bincham are renewing their marriage vows next month and we’re all clubbing together to throw a party for them at the Village Hall.’

‘So you need food?’

Harri gave a sheepish smile. ‘Bingo.’

Leaning back in his chair, Alex crossed his arms behind his head and appeared to be in deep thought. As he did so, Harri caught a glimpse of his carved Maori bead necklace, hidden well beneath the collar of his girlfriend-approved GAP T-shirt. The sight of it made her inexplicably happy – as if it were proof that not all of him had been Chelsea-ised yet. ‘We-ell, I don’t know, being so close to Christmas and everything . . .’

Harri’s heart plummeted. ‘Oh . . .’

A huge smirk broke free. ‘You are so easy to wind up, H! Of course I’ll do it. I think it’s wonderful what they’re doing. But there’s one condition.’

‘OK, what?’

‘You help me. I don’t mind giving my time for free but I can’t ask Brenda or the other girls to do the same. Do we have a deal, Ms Langton?’

Harri shook his hand. ‘Absolutely.’

That weekend, Stella replied to Harri’s email.