Welcome to My World

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘Wow.’

  He looked uncertain. ‘Yeah.’

  She nodded slowly, calm on the surface masking a frantic battle within. ‘So how can I help?’

  As he answered, his eyes held a strange sadness, in sharp contrast to the positive expression he wore. ‘Would you listen to what I’m planning to say? I’ve been trying to find the words for a while and I don’t know if it’s sincere or just pathetic.’

  No! screamed the confident version of Harri inside. Find some other mug to ask. This is beyond what I can offer you . . . But as she looked at him, so unsure, suddenly so out of his comfort zone, she knew she couldn’t refuse. ‘Go on, then.’

  His face brightened, the relief impossible to conceal. ‘Really? Thank you so much, H! Seriously, the hassle this has caused me so far . . . OK, sorry, I’ll – er . . .’ He nodded at the piece of paper now held aloft in his hands, shaking slightly. ‘Right. Well, I thought I’d start by saying how the past few months of my life have been so amazing, etc, then, you know, say it’s all down to her, blah, blah . . . Say how alive being with her makes me feel and, I don’t know, maybe something about spending the rest of my life with her? Not sure about that bit – borderline cheesy, d’you think? Anyway, then I’ll go for the big ending, the one-knee thing, the ring, and then I thought I’d just go for the classic “Will you marry me” line – none of that “Would you do me the honour” stuff . . . OK, what?’

  Despite the war within, Harri couldn’t hide her mirth. ‘Al, that’s dreadful! You sound like you’re giving a business presentation, not begging the woman of your dreams to spend the rest of her life with you! I really hope you’re not going to do it like that on Monday night.’

  He looked aghast at her. ‘How else am I meant to do it? I mean, she already knows all this stuff and last week we even ended up talking about what kind of ring she’d like. It’s hardly going to come as a surprise to her, is it?’

  ‘Alex, listen. Every girl dreams about the day someone proposes to her. You hope it’s only going to happen once in your life, so it needs to be memorable. It needs to come from your heart.’

  He stared at his notes, then helplessly back at her. ‘But it is. Man, I’m going to be rubbish at this. I can’t do the whole lyrical, romantic spiel.’

  ‘You don’t need to. Just be yourself.’ From his perplexed expression, it was obvious that he needed more than this to go on. ‘OK, listen. When I was at college and we were learning about selling holidays, the best way for us to learn what to do was to pair up and practise on each other. So, why don’t I pretend to be Chelsea and you can say it like you’re going to say it to her?’

  ‘Ew! That’s just going to be well weird.’

  Harri sighed. ‘Yes, well, it’s not exactly how I’d anticipated spending my Wednesday evening either, but it might just put your mind at rest.’

  He folded his arms and looked around the room as he mulled it over, his foot tapping nervously. Then he let out a massive sigh and slapped his hands decisively on his knees. ‘Oh, what the heck, I’ll do it – but you have to promise never to tell another living soul about this, all right?’

  She nodded and traced a cross on the left side of her breast-bone with her fingers. ‘Cross my heart. Now get on with it, before I change my mind.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Good. So, I’m Chelsea – ooh, wait . . .’ she grabbed a cushion and shoved it up the front of her top, stretching it out to Jordan-esque proportions, ‘. . . now I’m Chelsea.’

  ‘You’re not funny.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Removing it, she turned to face him. ‘OK, ready.’ Rubbing his hands together, Alex hesitantly took her hand and glanced at his paper. ‘Right . . . Chelsea, I—’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’

  ‘What now? Come on, H, this is excruciating.’

  ‘Lose the paper.’

  ‘Eh?’

  She gently took his script from him and he watched helplessly as it was placed out of reach. ‘You don’t need this. Stop panicking, calm down and just speak from your heart. Now . . .’ She offered her hand back to him.

  Taking it again, he took a deep breath and fixed his dark brown eyes on hers. ‘Chelsea . . .’ he began, as if securing the mental image of his girlfriend in front of him, ‘you know how I feel about you. I . . . man, this is hard . . . Er, OK, sorry. Chelsea . . . The past few months have been amazing and it’s all down to you. Being with you makes me feel alive.’ He paused,

  gazing into her eyes, the unexpected intensity of this taking her by surprise. ‘You understand me in a way that nobody else does. I feel complete when I’m holding your hand . . . like this . . . and right now I don’t want to be anywhere else than here with you.’

  Harri could see the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickened, feel the heat in his hand as it cradled hers, his thumb beginning to move in feather-like circles across the top of her fingers. The change in him was phenomenal: gone were the embarrassed, stilted words and, in their place, prose infused with the very beat of his heart began to weave an intoxicating spell around her.

  ‘So, I want to ask you . . . I need to know . . .’ he moved deftly from the sofa to his knee, ‘. . . can this last forever? Because I can’t imagine my world without you in it.’ A brave smile assumed centre stage and Harri was aware of her own mirroring his. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Without warning, without thought, instinctively . . . forgetting everything else and for the first time letting her heart lead, Harri bent down and kissed him. The softness of his lips on hers sent shockwaves blasting through her body, rendering rational thought redundant as he began to return the kiss. It was as if they were two magnetic fields, with no other choice than to connect – the urgency and intensity of which was astounding. Locked together, his fingers tangling in her hair while her arms wrapped around his shoulders, they rose slowly to their feet as if the euphoria building within them could lift their bodies clear off the ground. Right there and then, nothing mattered but this beautiful, shocking, world-changing moment . . .

  Then, in a heartbeat, the poles reversed, forcing them apart. Harri opened her eyes in bewilderment as she realised Alex was breaking free. Staggering back, face contorted in sheer horror, he faced her – and everything suddenly became horribly clear as the reality of the situation fell full on Harri with sickening weight.

  ‘No! I can’t . . . what the hell were we just . . .’ he stammered, the words dancing elusively around his tongue.

  ‘Al, I—’

  ‘No – don’t say it, Harri! Don’t even . . .’ Looking about him hurriedly, he grabbed his coat and began backing towards the door. ‘I can’t . . . It’s all wrong – we shouldn’t have let that happen . . .’ Flinging open the door, he ran out and Harri reached the gaping doorway in time to see his car speeding away.

  Alone in the freezing night, Harri let out a cry that seemed to come from outside herself, slumping against the door frame as the full force of it all blind-sided her. Razor-raw questions surrounded her conscience, jabbing with devastating accuracy. What just happened? How did they move from a stilted role-play to that kiss? Worse still, how could she have allowed herself to be so reckless? How could she face Rob now? How could she ever look Alex in the eye again?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid spontaneity! She had long suspected that following her heart could only end in tears and this had proved the theory. Blankly gazing out at the frigid night, Harri suddenly realised the world-shattering truth: missing the last train home, she stood on the platform of her life, watching Alex disappearing out of view at the very moment she understood what he meant to her. She was falling for him – but it felt like death.

  Struggling to contend with the gamut of emotions bombarding her from all sides, Harri pushed the door closed, leaning the full weight of her body against it as if to shut the new and unwelcome questions outside – only to find they had sneaked in behind her back and were now lining up accusingly in her hallway.

  This can’t be happe
ning, she screamed at herself, standing alone in her hall. Get a grip – think . . .

  Whatever she thought she had felt could never be allowed to rise to the surface again. She loved Rob, not Alex: Rob who, for all his unreliability and frustrations, had stayed with her for over seven years and, even now, was discussing spending the rest of his life by her side. Alex was a good friend – nothing else. And after the way he had fled from her tonight, he couldn’t be anything else, not now, not ever . . . Running a hand through her hair, angry tears racing from her eyes, she clutched the memory of Alex’s kiss and forced it back to the furthermost reaches of her consciousness.

  One thing was certain: she had to forget tonight ever happened. And she had to forget Alex.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Truth and Dare

  ‘It’s getting late, Harri. I would imagine we’re the only ones here now. So let’s stop this nonsense and get you out of here, eh?’

  Maybe Viv is right, Harri thinks. Maybe it’s time. She slowly stands, her ankles stiff from being seated for such a long time, and reaches for the door lock . . .

  Just then, the door to the ladies’ flies open, the pneumatic hinge squealing in surprise. ‘Vivienne, what on earth are you doing in here?’

  ‘Mervyn Riley, get out of these toilets! Harri, I’ll be back in a min . . .’

  Harri pauses, holding her breath. Viv’s chair scrapes back and her heels click quickly outside as Merv is bundled out of the door into the corridor beyond. Her irritated voice can be heard lambasting him for his rude interruption.

  ‘. . . and walking into the ladies’, for pity’s sake? What were you thinking?’

  Granted a brief reprieve from her inevitable exit, Harri sits back down.

  From: armchairtraveller@gmail.com

  To: stellababy@danbeagle.co.uk

  Subject: I am an idiot

  Hi Stella

  I don’t know if you’re likely to get this at all. I’m going out of my mind and if I don’t talk about it I’m scared they’ll have to cart me off to somewhere padded wearing a nice white jacket that fastens at the back . . .

  Three weeks ago, I kissed Alex. I mean, properly kissed him – and he kissed me back too, which just made everything a million times worse. It was crazy, like something out of a soap opera. One minute he was practising his proposal speech for Chelsea (long story and I know what your face will be like when you read this) and the next we were all over each other. But then he stormed out and hasn’t spoken to me since. The absolute worst thing about it is that it was wonderful. Honestly, Stel, I’ve never been kissed like that before in my life, not even by Rob – and I always thought his kisses were the best. It was only after the event that I realised the terrible truth: I’m falling for him! But it’s all wrong and it just can’t happen. Worse than that, I can’t believe that I cheated on Rob. That looks so terrible written down – I cheated on my boyfriend, who has stuck by me all these years and has been nothing but faithful. How could I do that? I mean, I’m planning to marry him – and, as I mentioned above, Alex is planning to marry Chelsea. Well, actually, there’s no planning involved any more. I just heard today from Viv that he proposed and she accepted. They’ve even set a date – 10th September this year.

  It’s such a mess, Stel. I miss Al so much as a friend, but how can I ever face him again after this? I have officially thrown away one of the best friendships of my life and for what? For a stupid, stolen moment that never had a hope of becoming anything anyway . . . I keep walking past the coffee lounge and I can’t even bear to look in the window to see if he’s there. Would you believe I’ve started crossing the road just to avoid it now?

  Rob doesn’t suspect anything, of course, but that doesn’t make it any better because now I just feel like such a hypocritical bitch. How can I be with him when I have these feelings for someone else? They’re not going away, but I know I have to make them.

  I don’t think I’m asking for advice, here. I just needed to get it out and you are literally the only person I can tell. Auntie Rosemary has been so busy lately that I haven’t seen her, and Viv, as you can imagine, is happy to see Al settling down at last.

  I hope you don’t mind me sending such a huge email.

  Got to go. Take care of you.

  Harri xx

  Stella didn’t reply – not that Harri was expecting her to. For all she knew, Stella could be in a Tibetan monastery perched precariously in the mountain mists – and she was pretty sure there wouldn’t be an internet café there. The weeks passed by, Easter came and went, and still Alex remained firmly off-limits to her.

  At the beginning of April, when a welcome bout of un seasonably warm weather brought the Rose & Slug regulars back to their chairs on the allotment, Viv persuaded her to join them, ‘to get you out a bit more’.

  Viv, concerned over Alex and Harri’s refusal to rebuild their friendship, sat Harri down with a particularly strong glass of elderflower wine, a little way away from the noisy joviality of Merv and the gang.

  ‘Sweetheart, I don’t know what’s gone on between you and Al, but he misses you. I know he does. He’s planning his wedding but his heart isn’t in it. He needs a friend – you could help him so much right now.’

  Harri shook her head defiantly. ‘I can’t. And please don’t ask me to explain why. I don’t think either of us could salvage our friendship if we tried. It’s gone too far for that.’

  ‘Strange. That’s not how Alex sees it.’

  ‘Well, maybe he wasn’t in the same room that I was. Look, I know what you’re trying to do and, believe me, I think it’s admirable, but you just have to accept that my friendship with Al is over.’

  May arrived in the rain, and memories of the April sun were quickly washed away. On a particularly murky Tuesday afternoon at SLIT, Harri received a call from Rob’s mother.

  ‘Hi, Clarice, how are you?’

  ‘Good, good,’ Clarice replied, her mind obviously dashing from one thought to the next. Rob often joked that his mum was so hyperactive if you filmed her and played it on slow motion, she would still look like she was speeded up. ‘I need a favour.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Well, I popped over to Rob’s house this morning to pick up some laundry to iron for him while he’s away and there was one of those blasted cards from Royal Mail saying they’d tried to deliver a parcel that requires a signature. The thing is, it’s his nan’s birthday on Friday and Rob’s arranged for some old cine film of her and my dad to be transferred to DVD as a surprise. I think that might be what the parcel is. But if Rob’s not coming back until next Monday I’ll have to pick it up from Little Swinford sorting office, or else Mum won’t have it in time for her birthday. I knew he’d have his driving licence and credit cards with him, so I had a look for his passport but couldn’t find it. Do you have any idea where it could be?’

  ‘I didn’t realise Rob had a passport,’ Harri replied, a little taken aback.

  ‘It was news to me when he mentioned it. He renewed it a while back, apparently – something to do with legal stuff for his job, I think.’

  Harri thought for a moment. ‘He keeps most of his import ant papers in an old bureau by the wardrobe in his spare room – if it’s anywhere, I’d imagine that would be where he’d keep it.’

  ‘That room is such a tip I daren’t even set foot in there. Good thinking, Harriet. The only problem now is, I can’t get back to his house today. I’ve just taken my car to Evans’ Garage to have the dent knocked out of it from when I hit that bollard at Sainsbury’s.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll head to his house straight after work. Then I can drop the passport with you on my way home.’

  ‘You’re a lifesaver, Harriet. I’ll see you later. Thank you!’

  At six, Harri opened Rob’s front door, pausing briefly to collect his post, before heading up the stairs to the small, third bedroom that Rob sometimes used as an office, but which was, ostensibly, a dumping ground for stuff that hadn’t quite mad
e it into the loft yet. Carefully negotiating old fitness equipment, dusty holdalls and stacks of survival magazines, Harri made her way to the bureau. It was a hideous piece of furniture – some eighties designer’s ill-judged attempt at ‘reimagining a Victorian classic’. Veneered with a layer of too-burgundy mahogany-effect vinyl, with a slatted cover that rolled up jerkily to reveal a range of tiny compartments, the bureau bore more resemblance to a bread bin on stilts than a nineteenth-century gentleman’s writing desk.

  As with the rest of the room, the bureau was a place to stash piles of paper – Rob’s half-hearted attempt at a ‘safe place’ for his important documents. Creased, coffee-stained bank statements and old gas bills jostled for position with cheque book stubs, old mobile phones, photographs of the Dynamo Stone Yardley team, countless letters and used envelopes with nothing inside them. Harri groaned as she surveyed the task before her of finding Rob’s passport in this lot.

  Rolling up her sleeves, she began picking her way through the piles, her heart jumping every time she caught sight of something red, only to find it was an old blood donor card, pocket diary or, strangely, hotel sewing kit. Just when she was about to give up, she spotted it, half-stuffed into a brown envelope. Grasping it thankfully, she navigated the floor junk and raced down the stairs.

  As she reached the front door, the envelope in her hand slipped and a small rectangle of card fluttered to the carpet. Bending to pick it up, she realised immediately what it was.

  A boarding card stub. For a British Airways flight from Birmingham International Airport to Paris Roissy/Charles de Gaulle Airport. In disbelief, Harri read the date aloud: ‘22nd December’. Clamping a hand to her mouth, she let out a yelp of pain as a crashing realisation hit her head on. That was the day Rob was meant to be in Preston after cancelling our Christmas break.