Welcome to My World (35 page)

‘Aren’t
you
a sight for sore eyes,’ Brenda called from behind the counter as Harri took off her boots and changed into a pair of trainers. ‘He’s been like a bear with a migraine the last few weeks. How come we haven’t seen you much lately?’

Harri was about to answer when Alex strode in from the kitchen, carrying a denim apron. ‘She’s been busy,’ he said gruffly. ‘Christmas and all that.’

Brenda caught the tension between them immediately. ‘Righty-ho. Well, I’ll hold the fort here and you guys get on with the stuff for tomorrow. I don’t think we’re likely to get a rush now, looking at the way that snow’s coming down.’

Alex threw the apron at Harri and turned back to the kitchen. ‘Yeah, well, call me if it gets too busy.’

Brenda raised an eyebrow at Harri, who quickly took off her coat, stashing it along with her bag and boots behind the counter. ‘Good luck with Mr Mardy.’

Harri tied the apron around her waist. ‘Thanks. I think I might need it.’

In all the time she had spent with Alex, Harri had never seen him like this. He spoke only to give her brief instructions – ‘Chop those’, ‘Make this’, ‘Mix that’ – and the remainder of the time he worked with head bowed, shoulders hunched, eye contact denied. Given Harri’s reluctance to be here at all, that was just fine by her.

Brenda left at four o’clock, with no customers to serve and the snow building steadily on the pavement outside, and Harri was afforded a few minutes’ respite from the stony silence when Alex left the kitchen to see his assistant manager to the door. Alone, she stared up at the strip lights and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She was still angry at him, still reeling from his subtle betrayal, but to be in the same room with him totally devoid of any warmth was worse than not seeing him at all. Needing some noise to keep the silence at bay, she boiled the kettle, fetching two mugs and teabags from the storeroom.

‘What’s going on, Harri?’ Alex demanded, striding back into the kitchen and facing her with eyes that laid her soul bare.

Exposed by his stare, Harri crossed her arms in front of her. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘This –
us
,’ he stuttered. ‘Why are you shutting me out?’

‘I – I’m not . . .’

He stepped towards her, ready for a fight. ‘Yes, you are. For weeks now. I can’t deal with this, Harri; I don’t understand it. I don’t get why you’ve stopped calling, stopped visiting . . . It’s like you’ve built this massive wall around yourself and I can’t get in.’

So much of her wanted to deliver a devastating parting shot and leave, but at that moment Auntie Rosemary’s words reverber ated through her mind:
This isn’t like you, Harri. This isn’t who you are . . .

‘I just don’t know how to be with you right now,’ she answered slowly, every word considered before she spoke it. ‘I’m not sure what to say, or what to believe . . .’

Alex’s brow furrowed and Harri noticed how tired his eyes looked. ‘What do you mean, what to believe? I’m not the one who’s changed – I’m still the same.’

A weight crushed her throat, as if the air in the kitchen had suddenly become thicker than treacle, reducing her voice to a strained whisper. ‘No you’re not. You pity me.’

‘What? No, Harri!’

She nodded slowly, unable to look at him now. ‘Yes, you do. You were only spending time with me because you felt sorry for me.’

Alex shook his head, incredulity claiming his features. ‘Where is all this coming from?’

Straightening up to bring her eyes level with his, Harri felt a shot of indignation firing down through her backbone. He was
not
going to make out this was all her imagination. Not now. ‘I heard you, Alex. I heard you telling Jack you pitied me.’

His expression moved through disbelief and realisation to sheer horror and his voice cracked as he spoke. ‘Hell, Harri, I—’

‘Don’t say you didn’t mean it, OK? Say anything else, but don’t deny what you said. I don’t want you to lie to me because you feel embarrassed. It’s better that I know the truth.’

‘It
isn’t
the truth.’

Harri’s laugh was cold and hollow. ‘Sure.’

‘It’s not!’

‘You’re forgetting, I
heard
you say it, Alex.’

‘I know, I know that, but . . . but I was stupid. If I’d known you were listening—’ He broke off when he saw her expression and pushed both hands up into his hair. ‘Harri, you have to believe me: I didn’t mean it. I don’t pity you at all. Your friendship means the world to me, I – I’d never do anything to jeopardise that.’

She took a breath and released the second accusation. ‘Then why did you tell Chelsea the same thing?’

His expression clouded. ‘Chelsea?’

‘She told me, a couple of weeks ago. Said you felt sorry for me because my parents died and I’ve had such a pathetically tragic life.’

‘No, no, you’ve made a mistake, Harri. Chels wouldn’t say that. I know she wouldn’t.’

Harri began to quickly untie her apron, hurt and embarrassment making her hands clumsy. ‘Whatever. I can’t do this any more.’

Alex stepped forward and took hold of her shoulders. ‘Stop – just
stop
, will you? This is ridiculous, Harri. I don’t want to lose your friendship over this.’ He paused, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of forgiveness. ‘OK, if you say she said that, then I believe you. I can’t understand it and all I can think is that she’s got her wires crossed somewhere. But I believe you, Harri.’

For a long time they remained, eyes locked, breathing like runners after a sprint, each one unsure of their next move. Stalemate. The closeness was disquieting, but Harri couldn’t move.

A loud click from the kettle reaching the end of its boil made them both jump, breaking the tension between them. Alex’s hand lowered as Harri’s shoulders relaxed.

‘I was making you tea,’ she offered weakly.

‘Good,’ he replied, staring blankly at the kettle, then back at her. ‘Why didn’t you say anything about what I said to Jack?’

‘Because I was hurt and angry. And I didn’t want you to deny how you felt.’

‘I honestly didn’t mean that. I can’t imagine not having you in my life. You’re my closest friend and I depend on you more than I let on.’

‘Then why say it? Twice?’

He stared at her. ‘Jack was winding me up and I – I suppose I just said something to shut him up. And Chels – well, I did tell her about your mum and dad, but I swear I never said I pitied you. Look, H, I can’t excuse being an idiot, but I really am so sorry I hurt you.’ He glanced back at the kettle. ‘Will you be staying for a cuppa?’

Harri summoned the tiniest of smiles forward for duty. ‘I guess I will.’

The ceasefire was uneasy and far from a full armistice, but it was sufficient to slacken the strain between them. They drank their tea slowly, Harri aware of a thousand thoughts trekking across Alex’s brow. When she reached out to collect his empty mug, Alex caught her arm, gathering her up in his arms, not waiting for an invitation, and they hugged uncomfortably for several awkward moments, Alex prolonging it for much longer than Harri did.

By the time Harri left, she was feeling more positive. While it was clear that it would take more than a cup of tea and a faltering hug to repair the damage done over the last few months, it felt like a step in the right direction. Their friendship had survived its biggest test in years.

But unbeknown to both of them, a larger ordeal lay ahead.

Preparations for the Binchams’ big day started early the next morning. When Harri arrived at the snow-covered church, Auntie Rosemary was already there, wobbling on the top step of her trusty stepladder as she attempted to fit a garland around the stone doorway.

‘Auntie Rosemary, what on earth are you doing?’

‘Won’t be a tick, Harri. Be a dear: hold these, would you?’ She passed down a handful of foliage sprigs and a pair of secateurs.

‘How long have you been here?’

Rosemary tutted and straightened a pink ribbon bow near the middle of the garland. ‘Ah, that’s better. I’m sorry, my darling, what were you saying?’

Harri smiled. ‘Nothing. So, what can I do?’

Rosemary carefully made her way back down the ladder and dug in her cardigan pocket for a shabby-looking folded envelope with writing on the back. ‘Let’s see . . . um . . . could you fit the end of pew arrangements for me? They just need hanging.’

‘No problem.’

‘Excellent.’ She pulled a chewed biro from the messy bun at the back of her head and ticked another two items off her list. ‘That’s almost everything done. Not bad, considering I only arrived here at six this morning.’

‘
Only?
’

They walked into the church together. ‘Believe me, Harriet, six o’clock is practically a lie-in compared to some weddings I’ve worked on over the years. It used to drive your cousins mad when I got them up before the birds, dragging them out with me because I had wedding flowers to do.’

‘Oh, I bet James loved that!’ Harri laughed.

‘Well, let’s just say I wasn’t his favourite person in the summer,’ Rosemary replied, sitting down on a pew and rubbing her back. ‘So is Rob coming tonight?’

‘Yes. There wasn’t any point asking him to help with the preparations today: he’s useless at anything practical.’

Auntie Rosemary nodded, but her eyes had a strange look to them. ‘You are happy, aren’t you, darling?’

Harri hated this question. After all, what did it mean? Was it possible to be happy with every arena of your life, or was it more a case of getting the majority of it somewhere near happy and ignoring the rest? In many ways Harri loved her life – her little cottage, her job (for all its annoyances and frustrations it was the best occupation in the world for her), Rob, her friends and her travel books . . . In that sense she was content. But the loneliness waiting for her whenever she was by herself, the queue of dreams still waiting unfulfilled – in these areas she was far from where she wanted to be. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’ Rosemary stood suddenly, her eyes drifting away up the aisle. ‘I’ll just be up by the pulpit if you need anything, all right?’

Surprised by her aunt’s sudden shift in demeanour, Harri set to work.

From the church she went straight to the Binchams’ house to deliver a small blue brooch that had been her mother’s, for Ethel to wear. The house was a flurry of activity, with seemingly half the females of Stone Yardley crammed into the front room of the Edwardian blue-brick semi, whilst Geoff and several friends were in the process of being evicted down the stairs by Ethel’s sister, Flo.

‘. . . but shouldn’t I wait with our Eth?’ Geoff protested. ‘You can see her at the church, Geoffrey, and that’s the end of it. Now get your backside out of that door!’ Flo demanded, bundling her brother-in-law and his entourage out into the porch with surprising force for a lady of her age. ‘This is about the only time we’s’ll ask you to go down the pub, so you’d best make the most of it!’

In the middle of the front room, Mrs Bincham was standing shakily on a small footstool as the women fussed around her, the back of her cream dress hitched up on an ironing board while a red-faced relative ironed the hem with great enthusiasm. The room smelled of violets and lavender, and the faces of the Binchams’ children and grandchildren smiled down from gilt frames clustered upon the mantelpiece.

‘Stand still, our Eth,’ the ironing lady boomed. ‘We don’t want you all creased up going down the aisle, do we?’

‘But I’m going to have to sit down in the car,’ Ethel protested, to no avail. Her face lit up when she saw Harri. ‘Oh, Harriet, you’re here.’

‘You look lovely, Mrs B,’ she smiled, handing her the brooch. ‘Here’s something borrowed and blue for you. It’s old as well.’

Beaming, she accepted it. ‘Oh, it’s proper bostin’, our kid. Proper bostin’ . . .’ She sniffed and caused a minor panic amongst the fussing female guests, who rushed up with hankies. Shooing them away, she smiled down at Harri. ‘Mind you, I’m pretty much sorted for the something old – our Geoff’ll do for that!’

It quickly became apparent that nothing was going to go to plan today. At ten o’clock Harri parked her car in the small car park at the Village Hall, having had to make three detours already: to pick up extra balloons from Clownaround, the party supplies shop in Ellingsgate; to collect a celebration cake that had been kindly donated by Sugarbuds cake shop; and, finally, when she was halfway to the Village Hall, a call from George had her turning the car round and heading back to SLIT to pick up a box of wine he had offered for the party that evening.

At least there had been no more snow. Instead, the pale winter sun shone brightly, causing the lying snow to sparkle like the Clarnico Mint Creams that Grandma Langton had always handed round at Christmas.

Alex was lifting catering crates from the boot of his car when Harri arrived.

‘Hey, you. I thought you were aiming to be here an hour ago.’

Harri balanced the three cake boxes on the roof of her car as she shut the passenger door. ‘Don’t ask. I’ve somehow managed to clock up ten miles over a two-mile journey.’

‘Some skill you have there. Need a hand with those?’

‘Nope, I’m good. Lead the way, sir!’

As they unpacked boxes, set up tables, fixed balloons and streamers around the hall, their conversation flowed easily – much to Harri’s relief after the turmoil of recent months. It was wonderful, and Harri dared to hope that it was a good sign for the future.

Viv breezed in at half-past two, apologising profusely for her tardiness and offering to help. True to form, she had arrived at the very moment everything was done, but – as she pointed out – it was the thought that counted, wasn’t it? Still, at least she found one useful thing to do and, five minutes later, they stood in the middle of the hall drinking hot tea from an eclectic selection of mugs.

‘I never had you down as a Stourbridge Town fan, Mum,’ Alex said, pointing at her mug.

‘I rather like their colours. I’m thinking of signing up for a season ticket, what do you think? Anyway,
you
can talk: apparently you feel like Chicken Tonight.’

‘Why on earth would anyone have a mug with that on it?’ Harri chuckled.