Welcome to My World

by Miranda Dickinson

On Wednesday evening, after an hour of general chat over dinner, Harri decided to cut to the chase. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, then?’

  Alex’s smile faded and he grabbed their empty plates. ‘I’ll just put these in the kitchen. Do you want more coffee?’

  ‘No, I’m fine thanks. Is everything OK?’

  Alex’s carefree laugh was completely unconvincing. ‘Of course. If you want to move to the sofa I’ll be right with you.’

  Harri settled down in the ample confines of Alex’s oversized sofa, tucking her legs up underneath herself and feeling completely at home. She adored their conversations: the op portunity to discuss the world with someone who completely understood her fascination with it. Alex had a million conversations beginning, ‘When I was in . . .’ – so unlike anyone else in Stone Yardley.

  ‘When I was in Tokyo working at the Hilton . . . When I was in Vietnam . . . I remember this amazing thing that happened when I was in Ecuador . . .’

  This evening had been no exception. Over richly steaming bowls of creamy clam chowder and yellow cornbread, Alex had told Harri about the New Orleans Mardi Gras, bringing vivid-hued images dancing into her mind – jumping brass bands, drums, laughter and crowds of brightly attired people swaying through the city streets.

  ‘I tell you, H, it was amazing. Noise like you wouldn’t believe, and it seems like everyone in the city is out dancing. I was working in the kitchen of this hotel and Carlos, the head chef, gave me the evening off so I could go. He was like, “Get out there, boy! The music is waitin’ for ya!” It’s crazy! Everyone’s so friendly and you just get swept along with the parade. I ended up at this tiny restaurant with a girl I met in the crowd. I think she was relieved to meet a fellow Brit in the middle of all the madness. She was travelling across the States and had decided to go for a slap-up meal on her last night in the city. Poor girl, she’d spent ages getting ready, hair and make-up all done and her best dress she’d brought from home, and then they gave her this huge, white plastic bib to wear while she was eating the meal. She was mortified! Mind you, we ended up laughing about it.’

  ‘Did you keep in touch with her?’

  Alex pulled a face. ‘Nah. Of course not. When you’re travelling it’s better not to get into relationships. Everyone’s heading in different directions: it doesn’t make for a firm foundation, you know?’

  Harri smiled. ‘So what was different about the girl you came home for?’

  A familiar sadness claimed Alex’s eyes. ‘She was heading home. And so, it turned out, was I.’

  Harri didn’t ask Alex about Nina very often. She knew most of the story already – not just from Alex himself but also from Viv, whose take on the whole thing was a lot less charitable than her son’s. After nine and a half years of travelling the world, Alex met Nina in a bar in New York – and everything changed. She had been travelling for a year and was spending her final month in Manhattan before coming back to the UK to start a restaurant in Bristol with her brother. It was love at first sight for both of them and, after three weeks of inseparability, Alex made the decision to return to England with her. They opened the restaurant, moved in together and Alex proposed (much to his mother’s delight). A month before the wedding, Alex came back to the flat they shared to find Nina in bed with his best friend, Tim. Incensed, he moved out and ended up staying with his friends Sandie and Brendan in Somerset for a few months. While he was there, Brendan found the advert for the auction of the Welcome Tea Rooms and encouraged Alex to bid for it. And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Most people would have sworn off relationships after an experience like that, but for Alex it had the opposite effect. After years of non-commitment, being in a loving, seemingly settled relationship brought about a sea change in his thinking, making the security it afforded him something he craved to feel again. Hence the past three years of searching for someone to claim his heart as Nina had done – and the countless heart-aches encountered along the way. Not that anyone but Harri knew this, of course. As far as anyone in Stone Yardley was concerned, Alex was the jovial, laid-back guy who owned Wātea, with surfer-style good looks and not a care in the world.

  ‘Budge up, chuck!’ Alex had arrived back from the kitchen with a plate of ratafias and flopped down on the sofa next to Harri. ‘Try one of these.’

  Harri took a bite of the crisp, dome-shaped biscuit and the most intense sweet, almond flavour filled her mouth. ‘Wow, that’s amazing.’

  ‘My good friend Luca, who I met in Adelaide, gave me the recipe. Pretty good, huh?’

  She nodded and answered crumbily, ‘Fantastic.’

  Alex’s laugh was loud and warm. ‘Such a refined dinner guest. You must come back again. Now, I need to ask you something.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Right. Um . . .’ He took a breath and his chocolate-brown eyes made a wide sweep of the living room. ‘It’s about your friends.’

  Harri frowned. ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Well, Annie and Erin. Actually, more Erin to be honest.’

  ‘OK, what about her?’

  Alex brushed some crumbs from his shirt and turned squarely to face Harri. ‘How much do you know about her, exactly?’

  This was a question Harri had not prepared herself for. Should she tell Alex the truth about his two ‘Free to a Good Home’ dates or perpetuate the stories he had already heard? Suddenly, face to face with her best friend, the prospect of shattering the illusion she had so carefully constructed seemed too difficult to dismantle. Surely the opportunity would present itself further down the line, wouldn’t it? There and then, Harri made a decision: Alex didn’t need to know the truth until he found someone who might become permanent. It would be so much easier to tell him then. ‘I told you, we met through work.’

  Alex wasn’t pacified by this. ‘Yes, I know,’ he answered, dismissively, ‘but how much do you actually know about her?’

  Seeing the trust in his eyes for her and the obvious battle within him, Harri relented slightly. There was no point in making the lie any bigger than it already was. ‘I have to be honest, Al. I only know what I’ve told you. Erin’s the events manager at Hillford Hall and she sings in her brother’s covers band in her spare time. She likes Mexican and Thai food, hates prawns and her favourite film is Magnolia. Other than that, I don’t know any more. Why do you ask?’

  Alex gave the back of his neck a self-conscious rub. ‘Oh, I dunno, H. She seems nice – I mean, really nice – but I just feel like there’s something she’s not telling me.’

  ‘Maybe that’s just you being paranoid.’

  He laughed. ‘Yeah, maybe. Sorry, H. I must seem really ungrateful.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Well, you’ve set me up with two very lovely women and all I can do is find fault with them.’

  Ignoring the stab of guilt inside, Harri smiled and patted his hand. ‘Isn’t that what dating’s about, Al? You try out lots of different people to find what you like.’

  ‘So before Rob, did you date much?’

  The question took Harri completely by surprise. ‘I – er – not that much, really. I went out with a guy in my last year of school for about eight months but it didn’t go anywhere. Then I had a few dates here and there but nothing serious until I met Rob.’

  Alex nodded and looked down at his feet. ‘Right.’

  Unsure of how to take this reaction, Harri added: ‘Not that I’ve ever felt short-changed by my lack of dating experience, mind you. Everybody’s different, Al. Are you seeing Erin again?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He looked up at her again. ‘I’m sorry, H. I don’t deserve everything you’re doing for me.’

  Harri made her best attempt at a smile. Oh, Alex, if only you knew . . .

  Chapter Twelve

  Come Away With Me . . .

  There are stains on the grubby ceiling tiles as Harri looks up past the flickering strip lights. She is instantly reminded of something Dad used to say when she was little: ‘You can m
ake shapes and faces out of everything, if you just look hard enough.’

  Consequently, one of their favourite games when Harri was growing up was ‘Finding Faces’ – smiling faces in tree trunks; funny faces in the concrete slabs of the patio; a spooky-looking ghost-shape in the woodchip wallpaper in their downstairs loo; and dragons, castles and cartoon characters in the clouds above them as they walked on Dartmoor’s hills behind Grandma Langton’s house. Dad loved doing ‘mirror pictures’ with Harri – making strange and wonderful shapes by folding paper over poster paint splodges. Later in life Harri learned that psychologists used these for conducting mental assessments. This always made her smile, wondering what an eminent professional might have made of Dad’s creations.

  Looking at the array of stains across the ceiling, Harri pushes the familiar stab of sadness away and begins to make a mental note of the shapes: butterfly, castle, old man, wine glass . . .

  * * *

  Stella met Harri from work the following Friday and proudly produced two spa passes from her surprisingly authentic-looking Chanel bag.

  ‘These, my good friend, are our passports to day-long luxury.’

  An audacious thrill zipped through Harri. ‘This is going to be such a great weekend, I know it!’

  Stella linked an arm through Harri’s as they walked down the High Street. ‘Just think, H: a whole day of amazing treatments and relaxation, then a whole day of shopping. Utter bliss – well, apart from the boring bit tomorrow night, of course.’

  ‘Which just happens to be the main reason for this trip, can I remind you?’

  Stella snorted. ‘Yeah, well, I’m only going to that because your Dan bloke’s a hottie.’

  My Dan. Harri giggled and felt her cheeks turning pink. If only. Still, the thought of an entire evening in the presence of the man who held the key to her dreams was fantastic – and enough of a reward to quiet her concern about not being with Rob for a whole weekend when he was at home. Of course, Rob had been fine about her spending the weekend away. He’d even arranged a long overdue game of five-a-side with his former Dynamo Stone Yardley teammates, followed by a lazy afternoon (and evening too, no doubt) in the Star and Highwayman.

  ‘Go,’ he’d urged her, amused at her reluctance to leave. ‘It’s about time the tables were turned on me. I’m actually looking forward to being the one pining at home for a change.’

  ‘So, are you packed?’ Stella asked. ‘Yep. Did it last night.’

  Stella stopped dead, yanking Harri back like she was on a bungee rope. ‘Last night! My life, Harri, I can’t believe you left it so late! My case has been packed for a week. Planning, H. It’s essential for a trip like this.’

  An hour later, they were speeding down the M40 in Stella’s baby blue Nissan Figaro. Christina Aguilera was blasting from the impressive sound system and Stella was singing along loudly. Harri leaned back in the comfortable seat and let herself relax. This was by far the most spontaneous thing she had done since posting the fateful Juste Moi letter months ago – and this time nothing was going to go wrong. Maybe, she thought to herself, a weekend abroad could be the next step. And then . . . who knows what I might find the courage to do? ‘Baby steps,’ her mother always used to say, ‘take baby steps and then you’ll be amazed by what you can achieve.’

  The sun was just sinking below the horizon when the lights of Oxford came into view. It was all Harri could do not to whoop out loud as they drove through the impossibly gorgeous streets, and even Stella turned down the music to take in the view.

  Stanton Lodge was a gorgeous Regency building of honey-yellow Cotswold stone, surrounded by a small hedged garden. Stella parked and they carried their cases to the large, dark blue front door surrounded by wisteria blooms. Harri pressed the brass doorbell and a short, immaculately dressed woman opened the door.

  ‘Hello, ladies. Come in, come in!’ She ushered them along a brightly lit hallway, painted in a calming palette of creams and soft, grassy greens, towards a mahogany desk, where a young man in a dark blue suit smiled to greet them. ‘Leo, these ladies are staying with us tonight. Will you check them in and then help them with their bags?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hammond.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll let you settle in and then if you would like some tea I’ll be in the drawing room, just over there.’

  ‘That would be great, thank you,’ Stella replied, clearly loving the attention and the luxurious surroundings.

  Leo carried their cases up to their second-floor room. Harri caught her breath as she walked inside – the room was easily as big as the whole of the downstairs of Two Trees Cottage. Two double beds were covered in luxurious linen and matching curtains hung gracefully from the large picture window. The cream carpet sank beneath their feet and ran through into the generous en suite bathroom, complete with slipper bath and an extra-large shower cubicle. Thick, white towels were draped over the heated rail and a basket of Crabtree & Evelyn toiletries had been placed on the glass shelf above the washbasin.

  Stella waited until Leo had left the room before letting out a loud shriek and flinging herself on the nearest bed. ‘How fab is this, eh?’

  Harri sat down on the other double and gently stroked the brocade counterpane. ‘It’s wonderful, Stel. It must’ve cost a fortune.’

  ‘Correction: it did cost Julian a fortune!’

  ‘Stel, I feel awful about that.’

  ‘Pah, don’t. He can afford it. He said I was worth every penny,’ she grinned.

  Harri didn’t dare to think what that little statement implied about her friend.

  Half an hour later, Harri and Stella were enjoying tea and generous slices of rich, home-made coffee and walnut cake in the Lodge’s elegant drawing room. Mrs Hammond refilled their bone-china cups and smiled at her guests.

  ‘Would you like some more cake?’

  Stella accepted, having wolfed her first slice down, but Harri politely declined, still enjoying every morsel as if she needed to capture and savour every moment of the weekend.

  ‘So, what have you planned during your stay, ladies?’

  ‘We’re going to La Mer tomorrow and then a book launch in the evening.’

  Mrs Hammond leaned forward with interest. ‘A book launch? How splendid! Which author?’

  ‘Dan Beagle – the travel writer. He’s a bit of a hero of mine,’ Harri replied.

  A wide smile lit up Mrs Hammond’s perfectly made-up face. ‘Daniel! Oh, how wonderful!’

  Harri’s pulse rate shot up. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yes, I know him very well. You see, I was a teacher in my former life and Daniel Beagle was one of my best students.’

  ‘That’s amazing. What subject did you teach?’ Harri asked, on the edge of her seat with excitement.

  Mrs Hammond’s laugh was like a twittering soprano. ‘Everything, my dear! I was his very first teacher at primary school – but even at that young age, I knew he was destined for greatness. I’ve followed his progress with great interest.’

  ‘Do you ever see him?’ Harri’s question carried a slight sliver of hope.

  ‘Heavens, no. Haven’t seen him in years. Mind you, my friend still sends his mother Christmas cards.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, there you go, H,’ Stella laughed, once they were back up in their room, ‘you now have a great excuse to start a conversation with the Beaglemeister. “I know your first teacher”– you have to admit, it’s an original chat-up line.’

  Harri ignored her friend’s amusement and hid behind Dan’s latest book.

  That night, after a sumptuous dinner, Harri snuggled down in the impossibly comfortable bed, luxuriating in the sensation of cool Egyptian cotton against her skin. Resting her head on soft, peach-scented duck-feather pillows, she closed her eyes and drifted into a dream.

  She had just arrived at an airport in some far-flung destination, the hot tropical air shocking her body as she descended the steps from the aircraft onto the baking tarmac, shielding her eyes from th
e bright sunlight. An overwhelming sense of euphoria claimed her entire being: this was it – she’d finally conquered her fears and travelled across the world to arrive here. Everything around her was new and unfamiliar – accents, languages, smells, sights and sounds launched a dizzying assault on her senses. After collecting her case, she walked through into Arrivals, watching as her fellow travellers were claimed by waiting families, welcomed with tears and smiles. A sudden cold shot of panic hit her stomach as, scanning the faces of strangers clamouring around, she realised nobody was waiting for her. Struck by a blow of complete loneliness, she pushed her way through the happy bodies until she emerged on the other side, looking back at their unrestrained glee with aching eyes. Why had she come all this way just to feel as lonely as she did in her little cottage in Stone Yardley? Resignation sapping every ounce of strength from her body, she started to walk back towards the check-in desks. At that moment, a figure appeared in the sliding airport terminal doors, sprinting towards her, his features thrown into shadow by the sunlight behind him.

  ‘Wait!’ he shouted. ‘Please, Harri, wait for me!’

  Squinting against the sun, Harri watched the approaching man until he reached her side, sea-green eyes wild with emotion as his strong arms pulled her close to his body.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming. I thought I was going to be all alone,’ Harri sobbed against his chest as his hands traced tiny circles across her shoulders.

  ‘I’m here now, Harri. You’re with me and you’re safe – and that’s all that matters. The world is ours for the taking. You’ll never be lonely again.’

  Lifting her head, Harri stared into the shining depths of Dan’s eyes as his soft lips enveloped hers, her body shaking as their embrace intensified. Breaking the kiss, Dan buried his head in her neck, his breath hot against her ear.

  ‘Harri . . . oh, Harri . . .’

  ‘Mmm . . . Dan . . .’

  ‘Harri! Wake up, you saddo.’

  The dream dissolved like Alka-Seltzer in water as Harri came crashing back to reality, opening her eyes to see Stella’s amused expression inches from her face. ‘Nice dream?’