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Chapter Three

All About Alex

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.

‘Busy day?’ she asked, as he joined her by the counter.

Alex rubbed his forehead. ‘Yeah. It’s been crazy since we opened. I was worried people would stay away because we’re not like the old place.’

Harri laughed. ‘Did you ever visit the old place?’ Alex shook his head. ‘Then you don’t know what you’re missing! I mean, look around here: the place is far too welcoming. You should be putting the fear of God into anyone who dares set foot on the premises! And those sofas? Too comfy by far! What are you trying to do, make people want to stay here?’

‘Blimey, was it that bad?’

‘Yes, it was. Trust me, this place is just what Stone Yardley needs.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

They exchanged shy smiles.

Alex pushed his hands into his pockets self-consciously. ‘So – if you’d like to follow me, I’ll sort out some food.’

Up in his flat above the coffee lounge, Alex made Singapore Noodles while Harri walked around, gazing at the photos that covered the walls. After they’d eaten, she sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling a steaming mug of jasmine tea and trying to contain her excitement like a kid at Christmas, as Alex produced box after box of treasures. Postcards, fabrics, sculptures, seashells and countless photo albums emerged and were spread out over the floor, while Alex recalled his travels and Harri listened, wide-eyed, her mind brimming over with images almost too wonderful to bear.

‘This shell came from Philip Island, in Australia – you should see the penguins there, Harri. It’s just mad to be surrounded by them on a beach! . . . An old priest in Belarus gave me this icon – he said it would keep me safe on my journey. Then he prayed over the coach we were travelling in, except he had to use a prayer for blessing a horse and cart because it was the only one for a mode of transport in the prayer book.’

Harri picked up a picture of Alex standing next to a Maori man, easily half a foot taller and almost twice as wide, with an enormous white smile that dwarfed even Alex’s grin. The smiley Maori had his arm slung around Alex’s shoulders and they looked like they’d just heard the most hilarious joke.

‘Who’s this?’ she asked, turning the photo towards him.

‘Oh, wow, that’s Tem – he’s a great guy I met on South Island in New Zealand. He ran the local bar and he gave me a job for three weeks when my funds were running low. He taught me some Maori – that’s where Wātea comes from. It means “to be open” or “free”. He said I was a free spirit and I had to stay like that, wherever I went. I learned a lot from him.’

Harri looked at the collection of mementoes laid out before her and shook her head. ‘Al, this stuff is amazing. How come you don’t have it all out on display?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Because, honestly, nobody wanted to look at them – until I met you again, that is.’

‘That’s crazy. This stuff is . . .’ she struggled for a moment as all the superlatives that came to mind seemed suddenly inadequate. ‘I think this is wonderful, Alex. You have no idea how lucky you are to have all these memories.’

Alex smiled, his dark brown eyes catching the light from the group of tealight candles on the coffee table. ‘I think we’re going to be great friends, you and me,’ he said. ‘Soul mate travellers, that’s what we are.’

Harri wasn’t exactly sure what a ‘soul mate traveller’ was, but she was happy to be called one nevertheless. This, she was to learn, was one of the things that set Alex apart from the others in Stone Yardley: he had a vocabulary for his world that surpassed the horizons of anyone else. Looking through his eyes, Harri saw the world around her in a new, altogether more attractive light. Alex was the ultimate dreamer – hopelessly optimistic about everything he surveyed. Even the most mundane thing became a magical mystery tour when he was involved – like the time he turned mopping the floor into a game of curling, using two steel buckets as stones and mops like the brushes. And while his unrealistic view of life lay at the bottom of many of his romantic problems, often landing him with a broken heart, at least when Alex was around life was never dull.

Over the next year, their friendship grew with each Wednesday night meal. Alex cooked dishes he had collected during his ten years travelling the world and Harri listened to his stories as the scents of spices, meats, fish and fruit fragranced the flat above Wātea.

‘Pad Thai,’ he announced, one evening, as spicy cinnamon, chilli and allspice-infused steam filled Harri’s nostrils. ‘They cook this everywhere in Thailand – little street stalls serving this up on almost every street corner. I got the recipe from Kito, a Japanese lady who moved to Phuket twenty years before when she married a local man – she was the landlady in the hostel where I was staying. Her Thai mother-in-law had insisted that Kito master the dish before she gave her blessing to the marriage, “so I know my son won’t starve” – and Kito had cooked it ever since.’

Meeting Alex was as refreshing as Welsh mountain air; his sense of humour, wry view of the world around him and intense interest in other people made him irresistible company. And as the weeks stretched to months, Harri found herself increasingly opening up to him – more than she had to Stella, Viv or even Auntie Rosemary. In turn, Alex’s trust in Harri grew – leading, eventually, to the subject of his not-so-wonderful love life one Tuesday evening when Harri received a text as she was about to go to bed.

Hey H, are you still up? Fancy a chat? Al ;)

Harri almost ignored it, the lure of her warm bed and favourite Venice book vying for her attention, but Alex had never contacted her so late before and that alone was enough to make her call him.

He sounded tired when he answered, the spark gone from his voice. ‘Mate, I’m sorry for texting so late.’

‘Is everything OK, Al?’

He gave a long sigh. ‘I’m fine, really. I just had my last date with Claudia – you know, the accountant I’ve been seeing for a couple of weeks?’

‘Oh, hon. What happened?’

‘Man, I don’t know. She just isn’t the woman I thought she was. Turns out the only reason she agreed to date me was because she wanted to make her ex jealous.’

‘Ah.’

‘And, apparently, the plan worked. Hence my final date. After all that I just needed to speak to someone normal, you know?’

Harri laughed. ‘Oh, let me guess: the normal person didn’t answer their phone so you had to call me instead?’

‘Yeah, something like that. No, actually, I value your opinion.’

Quite taken aback by this unexpected compliment, Harri took a few moments to respond. ‘Oh – right – er, thanks, Al.’

The ice thus broken on the subject, discussions about Alex’s love life began to pepper their Wednesday night conversations. Harri didn’t mind, really – it was worth it for her armchair adventures traversing the globe.

It was about this time that Alex took the brave step of tackling the thorny subject of Harri’s lack of travel.

‘OK,’ he said one Wednesday night as he passed a bowl of spicy, smoky Hungarian Goulash to Harri. ‘Imagine right now I could give you a plane ticket to anywhere in the world.’

Harri tore a strip of still-warm walnut bread and dipped it in the paprika sauce. ‘Then you’d be a millionaire and I doubt we’d be eating dinner in a tiny flat above a coffee shop.’

Alex pulled a face at her. ‘Seriously, think about it, H: if you could pack a bag right now and just go anywhere, where would you go?’

‘Well, it depends.’

‘Depends on what? Come on, H, you don’t need to plan an entire itinerary before you go. This is make-believe, OK?’

Harri scooped up a spoonful of goulash and blew on it, feeling cornered. ‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to just pick somewhere, Al. It doesn’t work like that.’

‘It does, Harri! I’m talking turn up at the airport – money no object – and choose anywhere in the world. Just like that.’

Harri dropped her spoon with a loud clank. ‘See, that’s so easy for you. Just pack your bags and go, without any thought for who or what you’re leaving behind. I have responsibilities, you know: my job, my cat, Rob . . .’

Alex held his hands up. ‘Whoa, Harri, my good friend, it’s not real.’ He observed her carefully. ‘OK, seeing as you’re so woefully inept at this, let me help you. Let’s go for somewhere not too far away to start off with, like . . . like Italy, for example.’ Harri felt her heart give a little leap and her face must have betrayed this as Alex’s smile broadened. ‘Ah, good, Italy it is, then. How about Rome?’

‘Maybe . . .’

‘Florence?’

‘I’d like to see Rome before Florence.’

Alex clapped his hands, clearly enjoying this new game. ‘OK, good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Er – Milan?’

Harri thought. ‘I’d like to see Rome and Florence before Milan.’

‘Excellent.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘So, we need to find a destination to usurp Rome from the top spot.’ He screwed his eyes up, then opened them wide, snapping his fingers. ‘Aha! Got it! Venice!’

Harri recoiled. ‘No. Not Venice.’

Surprised, Alex leaned back in his chair. ‘Oh? Why not?’ She really didn’t want to be drawn on this, especially as Alex didn’t know about her secret longing to visit the city. ‘Just not, that’s all.’

‘But it’s meant to be beautiful, H.’

‘I know, but . . .’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s Venice ever done to you, eh?’

She wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Nothing. This is getting daft now. Can we change the subject, please?’

But her protestations were in vain. Alex had sensed the story beneath and wasn’t going to let go without a fight. ‘Nah. I want to know why not Venice. Let me guess: you don’t like canals?’

‘No.’

‘You think it’s too touristy?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You have an irrational fear of gondoliers?’

Harri had to laugh at that one. ‘You’re impossible.’

Alex smiled cheekily and took a mouthful of goulash. ‘So tell me, why not Venice?’

There was no point arguing with him when he was in a mood like this. Taking a deep breath, Harri told him the truth. ‘Because I don’t want to go there on my own.’

‘So get Rob to take you.’

She dismissed it. ‘He wouldn’t enjoy it, Al, you know that.’

He leaned closer. ‘So, you do want to go to Venice?’

‘Of course I do! I have so many books on the city that I could probably write a guidebook myself without ever having set foot there.’

He leaned closer. ‘Really? So where’s the first place you’d go when you arrived?’

Feeling her heart skip, Harri closed her eyes and she was there in the city she loved so dearly. ‘Santa Maria della Salute church and the Dorsoduro, where the maskmakers have their shops,’ she breathed. ‘Or anywhere. I’d just step off the vaporetto onto the fondamenta and head off in a random direction, so I could get lost – then have fun finding my way back.’

‘Blimey, you’ve really planned this, haven’t you? So I still don’t get it: if you love a place so much, why not head there first?’

Harri sighed. ‘It’s just that if I’m heading anywhere, like you say, leaving all my responsibilities behind, then that means I’m travelling alone, right?’

His expression clouded over. ‘Er, yes, but . . .’

She stared at him. ‘So why would I want to go to one of the most romantic cities on earth on my own? Venice should be somewhere you are taken to, by someone who loves you.’

‘I see. And if the person you love doesn’t want to take you there?’

Her heart sinking, she shrugged. ‘Now can we change the subject, please?’

Alex agreed, but sadness filled his eyes as he watched her eating.

Two years since their first Wednesday evening – and countless whirlwind romances, acrimonious break-ups and midnight heart-to-hearts later – Harri was well versed in the Alex Brannan Rollercoaster of Life.

A week after his mother’s Big Idea, Harri found herself rudely awakened by what sounded like a herd of frantic buffalo charging her front door. Struggling to focus, she grabbed her alarm clock and juggled it up to her eyes until its bouncing red numbers calmed down enough to make sense: 2.47 a.m.

Muttering murderously under her breath, she snapped on the bedside lamp (half blinding herself in the process), wrestled the duvet away from her legs and half ran, half fell down the stairs towards the unrelenting hammering of fists at the door.

‘OK, OK, I’m here,’ she grumbled, fumbling at the chain and wrenching the door open. ‘What do you want?’

The sight of the sodden, sorry figure on her doorstep stopped her anger in its tracks as torrential rain blew into the hallway, lashing her legs. ‘Alex? For heaven’s sake, it’s nearly three o’clock.’

‘I’m sorry. I just – I didn’t know where else to go . . .’

‘Whatever, just come in.’

Harri turned and strode through into her tiny living room, turning on lamps as she went and cursing as she stubbed her toe on a pile of books in the dim light. Alex followed behind, his soaked jeans and sweater leaving a trail of muddy water in his wake. Wincing as the kitchen strip light blazed into life, Harri filled the kettle and noisily pulled out two mugs from the cupboard overhead, throwing haphazard spoonfuls of coffee into each one. She let out a sigh and rubbed her sleep-filled eyes with clumsy fingers. For a moment the only sounds in the kitchen were the low buzz from the strip light and the hiss of water boiling. Then, Alex spoke from the doorway.

‘I’m sorry, mate.’

‘Al – look, it’s OK, just – just let me wake up for a minute, yeah?’

He sniffed and splodged over to the sink, twisting his sweater sleeve to release a thin stream of water. The pathetic sight made Harri laugh and Alex did the same, shaking his head as rain dripped off his brow.

‘Loser,’ she smirked, throwing a tea towel at him.

‘Thanks,’ he grinned, catching the towel and rubbing his hair with it.

Coffee made, they returned to the living room. Harri found an old T-shirt of Rob’s (several sizes too small for Alex) and spread a towel on the sofa so he could sit down. With much protesting, Alex surrendered his sweater and T-shirt to the tumble dryer, peeled off his socks to hang them over the radiator and rolled up the legs of his jeans, before donning the too-small T-shirt.

‘I look like a dancer in an Elton John video,’ he whined, flopping down on the sofa. ‘I’m going through a traumatic twist in my love life and you add insult to injury by making me wear this.’

‘Consider it your penance for waking me up at this ungodly hour.’

‘Fair enough.’

Harri sipped her coffee. ‘So what happened?’

Alex’s expression darkened and he stared at his bare feet. ‘Ellie.’

‘Who?’

‘You haven’t met her. She works for one of those citizen journalism websites, writing restaurant reviews.’

Harri stared at him blankly. ‘Right . . .’

Alex rubbed distractedly at his hair with the tea towel and avoided eye contact. ‘She wanted to review Wātea – you know, do an article on us – so I agreed. We’ve been meeting up for the past two weeks and it’s been . . . amazing. Like when you just immediately connect with someone on so many levels, you know?’

‘Um . . .’

‘Work with me, Harri. I’m trying to set the scene.’

‘Al, it’s a miracle I’m awake at this hour. I don’t do emotional empathy before the birds wake up.’

‘Duly noted. Anyway, she came over late last Thursday and we had a meal. Then she tells me the whole interview thing was a ruse to get closer to me. She said she’d been watching me for ages and all she wanted was to be with me.’

Harri shook her head. ‘Oh Al . . .’

‘Seriously, though, what was I supposed to do? I mean, here’s this – this beautiful woman, declaring her love for me . . . Well, one thing led to another and – let me just tell you – the sex was—’

‘Thank you, I get the picture.’

Alex’s grin was mischief personified. ‘Sorry, mate. Damn fine, though.’

‘So what went wrong?’

His expression clouded and his eyes dropped to the floor again. ‘She called me last night and told me she couldn’t see me any more. Just like that. Yet she’s been with me every night this week and I wasn’t aware of any problems. Every night, in my bed and then . . .’

Making a valiant effort to erase the unwanted mental image from her mind, Harri reached over and squeezed his arm. ‘I’m guessing you went to see her.’

He nodded. ‘I had to. I mean, I had to know. I arrived at her house and the lights were on downstairs, so I went to the door but, just as I got there, I saw them through the window. Her and some random guy—’ He broke off, ran a hand through his damp hair and stared at the ceiling.

‘Oh, Al . . .’

‘I wouldn’t mind so much if she’d just been honest, you know? Just wheeled out the old “it’s been great fun but that’s all it was” speech. But the stuff she was saying to me – even a few days ago – about me being the one she’d been looking for, about all the places we could go together . . . Why would she say all that if she had no intention of seeing it through?’

‘Hun, some people just say things to get what they want.’

‘Yeah, I know, but I thought she was different.’

‘Evidently, she wasn’t.’

Alex raised his head and looked straight into Harri’s eyes. ‘It’s always the same. Why can’t I find someone right?’

Watching her friend in the midst of dating agony, Harri thanked her lucky stars that she was so happy with Rob. Dating hadn’t been a priority in her life when they met – in fact, it had come as somewhat of a surprise when she found herself falling for him. How much better to have it happen that way than to endure the constant rollercoaster of hope and disappointment! Knowing that Rob loved her, and feeling the warmth of her complete trust in him was wonderful and she wouldn’t swap places with Alex for anything.

‘Just chalk it up to experience and be more careful next time,’ she smiled, wrapping her arms around Alex as his face crumpled again.

‘I can’t do this any more,’ he moaned against her shoulder. ‘Help me, Harri, help me to find someone. I’m done looking for them. I’m officially rubbish. I need help.’

Viv’s Big Idea appeared in her mind, sparkling like a Las Vegas sign. Harri knew she was going to regret what she said next, but she couldn’t let Alex go through this again. So, squeezing his shoulders, she said: ‘OK, Al. I’ll help you.’