Читать книгу Welcome to My World - Miranda Dickinson - Страница 9

Chapter Four

Recycle Your Man

Harri can’t think straight: too many voices competing for attention inside her weary mind. She looks down at her shoes – new and probably too expensive for her, bought especially for tonight – even though until the very last minute she wasn’t even certain she was coming to the party at all. They are gorgeous – and they were meant to make her feel special, which they do – or did, at least until about an hour ago. Sixty quid for a pair of purple high heels – more than she’d ever spent before. How times change . . .

‘That photographer bloke you like’s got a new book out,’ Rob said one Saturday morning as they were browsing the bookshelves in Bennett’s Pre-Loved Books in Innersley, the market town that lay five miles from Stone Yardley. Rob and Harri had spent most of the weekends of their relationship here, mooching about the farmers’ market, enjoying coffee at Harlequin Café or wandering round the various antique shops dotted along the main street, but since Rob’s promotion last year to Sales Team Leader in the specialist hydraulics firm where he worked, he had been working away most weekends – so this occasion was a notable exception.

‘I know, but it’s forty quid,’ Harri sighed. ‘I can’t justify that cost for a book. Even if it is Dan Beagle.’

Rob wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘I know it’s tough right now, but if I make good on the Preston job things’ll start to look brighter.’

Harri slipped her arm round Rob’s waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Reckon we can scrape enough change together for a coffee?’

Rob kissed the top of her head. ‘I think we can manage that. You go and grab a table and I’ll buy the drinks.’

Harri walked to the side of the bookshop where a few small tables were nestled between the bookcases. Choosing one near the large window that looked out onto Innersley’s Sheep Street, she sat down. The bookshop had a unique scent – dust, old leather, ink and coffee – and no matter how many times she came here, she was always bowled over by it. Watching the sun streaming through the window in swirling dusty splendour, she drank in the moment. It was days like this that she loved the most – just her and Rob, whiling away the lazy hours together.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Rob appeared, his figure cutting through the rays of sunlight as he walked towards her carrying a tray.

‘Nigel took pity on us,’ he grinned as he sat down. ‘He said he needed help finishing off these muffins, so I volunteered our services.’

‘Excellent. Good old Nigel.’ As Harri took a bite of raspberry and white chocolate muffin, Rob slid a green and white striped paper bag towards her.

‘And this is for you.’

Surprised, Harri stared at it. ‘You haven’t been spending money on me again, have you?’

Rob’s eyes were full of sparkle. ‘Might have. Open it and find out.’

Harri reached inside the bag and gasped. ‘Dan’s book! But – that’s so much money, hon – you can’t afford it.’

‘Yes, I can. You’ve had your heart set on this book for months, so I wanted you to have it. No arguments, OK? If Tierney, Gratton and Parr want me to work all hours to win their precious Preston contract then I think the very least they can do is fund your travel book collection.’

Harri hugged the book to her chest. ‘Thank you so much!’

‘Ah, here they are!’ boomed a deep voice as Nigel Bennett, owner of the bookshop, appeared by their table. Though it had been many years since he retired from the RSC in Stratford-upon-Avon, his theatrical Shakespearean delivery was still impressive – every word correctly enunciated and every ‘r’ rolled. ‘Our semi-resident young lovers! How good to see the two of you – Lucien and I had all but given you up for lost.’ He reached down and lovingly patted a doe-eyed chocolate Labrador by his side. ‘Shall we imprison young Robert here to save him from Preston’s clutches, Harriet?’

Harri smiled. ‘Maybe we should. Thanks for the muffins – they’re wonderful.’

Nigel flushed with pride and proffered a flourishing bow. ‘My pleasure, dear lady. I shall leave you lovebirds to enjoy your Saturday. Adieu!’

Rob watched him go. ‘Got to love Nigel.’

‘Absolutely. It is great to have you all to myself this weekend, though,’ Harri admitted.

‘Yes, it is. Hey, I don’t like working away all the time, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘But it’s for us, Red, honestly. If I can land the Preston contract then it means we can start to think about – you know – the future and stuff.’

The sun streamed through the window of the bookshop in swirling dusty splendour as Harri leaned against her boyfriend. It was days like these that she longed for – where anything was possible and they were together. If only Rob’s company would grant him more free weekends . . .

In the past few months, Rob’s mentions of ‘the future’ had become noticeably more frequent, fuelling Harri’s hope that maybe he was leading up to formalising their commitment. He had occasionally alluded to them moving in together, but what Harri really wanted was for them to get married.

Truth be told, while Harri’s regular attendance at Stone Yardley’s parish church contributed to this decision, the main reason for her resistance to cohabiting was that she wanted to be proposed to. Old-fashioned it may be, but Harri maintained her hope that Rob would actually want to marry her. And despite the passage of seven years without any such monumental happening, Harri’s hope remained. After all, Rob loved her and he was working hard to provide for their future. Therefore it was only a matter of time before he proposed. Wasn’t it?

When Harri first met Rob, at a charity football match organised by Merv, Viv’s on-off gentleman friend, she had been completely bowled over by him. And, it seemed, the feeling was mutual.

Rob had been talked into joining the football team by his boss at work and, hoping for a promotion, he agreed. His case was greatly helped by the fact that he was pretty nifty on the pitch, scoring three textbook goals against a team of weedy solicitors from several local law firms. Athletically built and fast on his feet, Rob ran rings around their defence and Harri couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was perfect: his chestnut-brown spiky hair, hazel eyes and olive complexion, coupled with a smile that could melt chocolate, made for a killer combin ation. Harri couldn’t help thinking he looked like Frank Lampard – the reason she had watched several televised matches, even though she possessed very little interest in the beautiful game itself. When Merv called him over to meet Harri, Rob Southwood had looked at her like all his birthdays had arrived at once.

‘A redhead, eh?’ he had smiled. ‘I’ve heard they’re trouble.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’

‘Oh, really? Then I wouldn’t mind dispelling the myth with you sometime.’

‘That sounds like fun,’ Harri had replied. ‘So how about this evening over a drink?’

‘Perfect.’

So they arranged to meet, Harri hardly believing her good fortune at securing a date with the handsome stranger. Drinks had quickly become dinner, which turned into a lively, animated discussion at his house late into the night. When Harri finally stood to leave, Rob escorted her to the door, opened it and then surprised her by placing an arm across the doorway.

‘You’re amazing, Harri. I have to see you again.’

‘I’d like that, Rob.’

Then he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her in a way that made her toes tingle.

In the weeks and months that followed, Harri and Rob were practically inseparable. They spent every weekend together, exploring the local countryside, heading off on day trips to Cheltenham, Worcester or Oxford, walking, cycling or just sitting in coffee shops, talking for hours. Rob fascinated her – with his knowledge of nature and his endless opinions on just about everything. It became a kind of a never-ending game that Harri played, bringing up new topics to see how quickly he could form a viewpoint on them. Rob loved that she loved it too; he would answer her with a wry smile, his cheeks flushing slightly at her wholehearted interest in what he said. She still loved their discussions, but his workload had significantly lessened the times when they were possible. While her love for Rob burned as brightly as ever, she could feel a dark resentment at his growing obsession with work bubbling within her. Since the Preston contract had loomed large in their lives, their time together seemed to be dictated by the company that employed him, as it demanded more and more of Rob’s time.

Of Harri’s friends, Viv was the most vocal about Rob’s job.

‘Ooh, that man,’ she glowered, when Harri went to visit her a few days later, slamming a large bone-china teapot onto a cast-iron stand in the middle of the large pine table in her kitchen to emphasise her disgust. ‘If he put half the time he spends at that job into considering you, then you’d be married by now.’

Fearing for the teapot’s safety, Harri reached across the table and gently rescued it from Viv’s vice-like grip. ‘I’ll pour, shall I?’ She was beginning to wish she’d never mentioned how much Rob’s absence was upsetting her.

Viv grimaced, clearly rattled. ‘Sorry. That poor teapot – it’s a wonder it’s still here.’

‘Maybe we should get it some counselling,’ Harri said, pouring tea into two china mugs.

‘Do they do counselling for inanimate objects?’

‘Maybe they should.’

‘If they do then we can book your boyfriend in,’ Viv replied with a wicked smirk. ‘He’s about as inanimate as you can get when it comes to proposing to you.’

‘Viv, that’s not fair. Rob is a fantastic boyfriend and he’s working really hard for us. It isn’t his fault he has to be away so often. I just miss him, that’s all. And as for him proposing, well, I think that might be closer than we think. He bought me Dan’s book the other day – that’s the third present in a fortnight – and he keeps talking about “the future”. I honestly think he might say something, once this horrible Preston stuff is over. Anyway, the way things are at the moment, he’s fortunate to have a job at all, so I really shouldn’t be complaining.’

Viv’s expression softened and she patted Harri’s hand. ‘Oh, my darling girl, I only worry because I want you to be happy. It’s what your mum would have wanted too . . .’

It was time to change the subject, as Harri was feeling decidedly queasy. ‘So – I sent the letter.’

‘Which one?’

‘To Juste Moi. About Alex.’

Viv’s eyes lit up. ‘And?’

‘I haven’t heard anything yet.’

‘Does Alex know?’

Hmm, interesting question. Alex knew that Harri was going to help him find somebody – he just didn’t know how she was planning to do it. ‘I’ll tell him if they choose to feature him.’

‘Excellent,’ said Viv, rubbing her hands together like a silver-tressed, Laura Ashley-attired, fifty-something Bond villain. All that was missing was the large white Persian cat . . . ‘Then our plan is officially in action.’

‘Well, yes, if they accept him, that is,’ Harri warned.

‘Of course they’ll accept him! He’s gorgeous – way out of their usual league. I mean, you should see some of the sorry excuses for manhood they dredge up most months!’

‘Let’s just wait and see if they put our sorry excuse for manhood in their column, eh?’

Alex was back to his usual chirpy self when Harri arrived at Wātea that afternoon – an amazing feat considering it was ‘Mad Mothers’ Wednesday’, when the local young mums’ group descended on the café. Harri picked her way carefully through the minefield of baby buggies to the counter, where Alex was filling measuring jugs with warm water and carefully balancing feeding bottles inside.

‘Do me a favour, pass these to the table behind you, would you? Lady with the screaming baby.’

This description didn’t exactly narrow it down, as almost every woman at the large table appeared to be wrestling a noisy bundle of animosity. In desperation, Harri held the measuring jugs aloft one by one.

‘Purple stripe?’

‘Over here.’

‘Tommee Tippee?’

‘That’s mine, thanks.’

‘Mothercare?’

‘Which one?’

‘Er – pink bunny and yellow teddy bear.’

‘Bunny’s mine and teddy over there.’

Alex looked appreciative when she turned back to him. ‘You’re a natural, mate. Are you sure you don’t want to change your career and work for me?’

‘What, and leave my exciting jet-set lifestyle at SLIT? No chance!’

Alex returned to the espresso machine, grabbed a coffee arm and banged out the spent grounds. Filling it afresh from the coffee dispenser and tamping it down, he reattached the arm and set a mug underneath to catch the thick brown liquid as it dripped lazily from the machine. No matter how many times Harri watched him do this it never failed to fascinate her. There’s something incredibly powerful about watching someone work, Harri always found: Stella swiftly typing a letter without looking at the keyboard once; Viv cooking; Auntie Rosemary assembling a bouquet of flowers in one hand as she floated around her shop; even her completely barmy Grandpa Jim building some Heath-Robinsonish contraption in the small workshop at the bottom of his garden in Devon.

Alex poured milk into the long-handled steel milkpan and turned a handle on the machine to release steam into its base. It was such an evocative sound – bubbly, crunchy and metallic all at once. Once frothed, he let the pan stand for a while, before bumping the base smartly on the wooden worktop and pouring its contents into the mug, holding the froth back with a spoon and then scooping out snowy blobs onto the top of the cappuccino.

‘There you go. I think you’ve earned that today,’ he smiled, dusting the top with chocolate powder as he pushed the mug towards her.

‘Thanks. So how’s Mad Mothers’ Wednesday going?’

‘Mad. I swear there’s more of them in here each week. I think they’re cloning themselves. Honestly, it looked like a scene from Ben Hur: The Early Years in here earlier – all those chariots parked up everywhere. Some of the old dears couldn’t even get in through the door. I’ve been a bit sharp with them, to be honest.’

‘Ah. Not much chance of you scoring a date with a single mum anytime soon then?’

‘Yeah. I think I might’ve burned my bridges on that one.’

Harri feigned disappointment. ‘Oh, well, Plan B it is then.’ Amusement lit Alex’s eyes. ‘Excellent, maestro. So, what’s the plan then?’

Harri looked around her like a shady informant in a thirties gangster flick, leaned closer to Alex and tapped her nose. ‘Can’t reveal my sources yet. Suffice to say that your name has been circulated in the right – er – circles. We should know more very soon. Until then, there are things only I know that you can’t know until it’s the right time for you to know, understand?’

Alex held his hands up. ‘Crystal clear. Are you sure you’re capable of the mission, though?’

‘You doubt a woman of my obvious covert skills?’ Harri feigned astonishment. ‘I am a woman of infinite capabilities, I’ll have you know. I am a woman on a mission.’

‘With an unusual flair for dairy-related nasal adornment.’ Alex reached out to wipe a large glob of milk froth from Harri’s nose as they both descended into helpless giggles.

‘He is going to kill you when he finds out,’ Stella frowned, picking up a strange garment, allegedly masquerading as a T-shirt. ‘Which way is this supposed to go?’

‘I have no idea,’ replied Harri. ‘I think that’s the arm-hole.’

‘Oh, right,’ replied Stella absent-mindedly, adding the unusual creation to the pile of clothes slung over her arm as the next offering captured her attention.

It was Saturday morning and, with Rob away again, Harri had found Stella’s invitation to accompany her to the large out of town shopping centre appealing. And it had been fun, until Stella appeared to get stuck in TKMaxx. Harri loved shopping, but compared with her best friend, she was a mere amateur. When Stella was on a retail mission, nothing short of an act of God could move her from her path. Two hours after they first entered the store – and no closer to making a purchase – Stella and Harri made a slow advance along the narrow gap between the seemingly endless rails of clothes.

‘You won’t be able to take all those in with you, you know.’

‘I’ll leave some with the girl and keep swapping them,’ Stella breezed, adding another two garments to the pile on her arm, ‘and besides, you’re coming in with me so you can bring some in.’

And so Harri dutifully followed her best friend into the cramped changing room cubicle, oohing and aahhing in all the right places in the hope that it might encourage a decision. While she waited, she consoled herself with the thought of the large caramel macchiato waiting for her when they were finally released from the store’s clutches. Only thirty-nine garments to go and then it’s all mine . . .

‘Are you listening?’ Stella barked, as the glorious daydream dissolved like a sugar lump in hot espresso, snapping Harri back to reality. ‘I said, what do you think?’

It was the third pair of jeans Stella had eased her perfect figure into and Harri honestly couldn’t tell the difference. ‘How much are those again?’

Stella let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I told you, fifty-two pounds. I knew you weren’t listening.’

‘Sorry, hon. They’re nice, but I like the first pair the most.’

‘Really? You don’t think they make my bum look big?’

‘You don’t have a bum, Stella.’

‘Yes, I do. That’s why it’s a no-carb week this week.’

‘You’re crazy. You look great, hon. And those jeans – any of them – make you look great. But do you really need any more jeans? You’ve got about fifteen pairs at home.’

‘That’s a complete exaggeration, Harri! It’s only nine, and anyway these are Fornarina.’

It was going to be a long day, Harri groaned inwardly, as Stella rotated slowly, scrutinising every inch of her reflection from every conceivable angle. Harri closed her eyes and imagined herself alighting from a packed vaporetto water taxi into the buzzing throng of a Venetian quayside, then wandering through the streets, finding a pavement café and slowly sipping rich espresso as colourful waves of people washed past her . . .

‘So when do you think you’ll hear from Juste Moi?’

Daydream shattered, Harri shuddered. ‘I don’t know. Probably a few months or something. If they accept him, that is.’

‘Of course they’ll accept him,’ Stella insisted, echoing Viv’s words from earlier in the week. ‘He is a gorgeous man. Irritating as hell, but gorgeous. You wait and see.’

Harri didn’t have to wait long.