55
The room in Chapel Allerton was fine and the woman, Valerie, she was sharing with was fine, and it was a pleasant enough house and quiet enough street and it was all fine, except it wasn’t fine.
She’d pronounced that was the end with Cal Clarke, yet her emotions weren’t complying. Harriet couldn’t stop thinking about him. Actually, thinking about herself too.
Thinking about how Cal’s worth to her wasn’t one night in his bed, yet she’d let him think that, for fear of looking too keen and foolish. She’d thought she was being so self-aware and self-protective, and as a few days rolled by, she wondered if she hadn’t in fact been a bit of a fake.
She could make her lack of expectations to Cal clear, but that wasn’t synonymous with acting like she didn’t care.
Harriet had drafted a small speech in her head, going over and over precisely what she wanted to say. Not in hope of any reciprocation, but for the value of telling him in itself.
It didn’t matter if a Gatsby like him found it slightly overheated, or even gauche, like a plastic rose on Valentine’s Day. What mattered was that she had the bravery – now, in a truly post-Scott world, she understood the value of saying what she meant.
Between bride prep and ceremony for Jacob and Leah at The Mansion in Roundhay, when Harriet broke off to have her Tupperware of car pasta, she found the opportunity.
It had been nearly a fortnight since she’d starred in a viral video and booking inquiries had noticeably re-energised: they’d actually started to surpass her usual level and she’d even referred a few of them on to Bryn. Some asked: Are you the girl in that thing?
Derailing a wedding shouldn’t be catnip to her demographic and yet being a very limited kind of famous drove loads to the website. It turned out ‘having heard of you’ was a helpful differential – Oscar Wilde was right. Come for the notoriety, stay for the galleries of superbly lit wedlocking. End up pinging an availability query.
Harriet found Cal’s name in her WhatsApp, and typed.
Hello! I hope you’re good and the next lodger doesn’t have a pimped didgeridoo. Now I’m safely out of your way, I wanted to tell you something I was never gutsy enough to say to your face. I thought I’d bash it into a phone instead.
I only realise when looking back how low my expectations had got, by the time I moved in with you. First the Scott trauma, and then the stupid rebound mistake with Jon. I’d started to think that life was mostly to be endured. I’d lost hope that I could ever sincerely feel certain ~feelings~ again.
When I said our worlds wouldn’t collide outside your house, I didn’t mean it wasn’t wonderful that they did, or that I won’t cherish that time forever, because I will. I didn’t want to become a minor admin responsibility that didn’t fit into your next adventures, instead of a good memory.
When I think back to the voyage of self-discovery that was living with you, it’s the laughing I’m going to remember the most.
You know the school science project where you dipped a penny in fizzy drink and it came out shining and new? That’s how you’ve made me feel. Thank you for being the off-brand cola to my coin.
You demonstrated that life can be good, Calvin Pants. Better than I ever thought it could be, in fact. For that I will be so eternally grateful. I want every wonderful thing for you, and you’ll forever have a place in my heart.
Love always,
Harriet x
There. Her plastic rose, in cellophane printed with tiny hearts. She threw her mobile on to the passenger seat and thought: a watched pot never boils, so don’t look at it again for hours. Don’t. Harriet knew she didn’t have the willpower, but suddenly, willpower didn’t need to apply. No sooner had she put her fork into her penne, than the mother of the bride was tapping on her car window.
‘I’m SO sorry but we’ve got an elderly contingent on Jake’s side who are going to go straight after the ceremony, I’m wondering if you could take some snaps of them before Leah arrives?’
‘Of course!’ Harriet said, re-lidding her food, pocketing her phone and hefting her camera kit from the back seat.
It was a reliable rule of thumb that the flashier the wedding, the heavier the workload, and the marquee at Roundhay, with its chandeliers and all-white table centrepiece flowers, was no exception.
Harriet had just finished pictures of Jacob and Leah waltzing to ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ – why did it suddenly give her a lump in her throat? Harriet must be pre-menstrual – when she remembered the message.
Her phone! She couldn’t get to it fast enough. He’d probably have igno— his name was on her lock screen. It arrived two hours ago. She fumbled it open.
I think the point of the coin experiment was to show us how bad sugary drinks were for us, but I’ll take it. I’m not going to pretend ‘laughing’ will be my No.1 ‘things I’ve done with Harriet’ stand-out memory, but it’ll definitely be the second. You don’t have a place in my heart. You have it.
Cal xxx
Harriet went hot and cold at the same time, and slightly limp with desire. That … seemed quite unequivocally a declaration? Was ‘you have my heart’ ever a sign-off catchphrase? Catch ya later, Jim! You have my heart.
Harriet couldn’t take the brinkmanship anymore, if that’s what it was. She’d get home and call him. Or, alright, maybe not call him but certainly spend an hour crafting a suitably arousing reply, that confessed what he surely already knew.
The DJ had segued into Elton John’s ‘Tiny Dancer’.
Harriet’s line of sight settled on a handsome man across the disco-ball-lit expanse, eyes fixed on her, his hands in his pockets. His outline was exactly like … As he saw her, seeing him, he smiled.
Harriet was rooted to the spot in shock.
‘Do you want me?’ she mouthed, frowning, pointing at herself, with no idea how she was managing jokes when her heart felt like it was exploding.
Cal nodded. He mouthed back: ‘Yes.’
Harriet felt like her legs were made of rubber bands as she headed over to him and he approached her, and they met in the middle of the half-full dancefloor. ‘Tiny Dancer’ was ironically quite hard to dance to.
‘Hi,’ Cal said. ‘You didn’t reply to my message, so I thought I’d turn up in person and say – what the fuck? You send a message like that, then leave me on UNREAD?! Hard as nails. I wasn’t spending all evening trying to work out why. You can explain yourself in person.’
Harriet grinned from ear to ear.
‘Apologies, I meant to reply: “Good to hear,”’ Harriet said, doing a thumbs up. Cal laughed and they exchanged a look of purest mutual adoration.
He was here. He was here?
‘How did you get in?’
‘If you arrive properly attired, it seems no one stops you. I asked Lorna where tonight’s wedding was.’
‘Ah.’
‘About that message you sent me.’
‘Yes.’
‘I wondered if we might be in one of those situations where I’m madly in love with you and you’re at least slightly in love with me, and neither of us are saying so, in case the other isn’t. I know you didn’t say “I’m in love with you, Cal” in your message but it felt like it might be there in the subtext. I’m going to break the deadlock and go first. Harriet, I’m in love with you.’
Even though she knew that was what he was here to say from the moment she saw him, the words still practically lifted her off her feet.
‘OK then, I admit it. I’m in love with you, Cal.’
They gazed at each other in rapt joy as Elton reached a loud part of the chorus and Cal’s hands found hers, pulling her a little closer, sliding round and up her back.
‘There, was that so difficult? What was so hard about tapping that into WhatsApp, and going on with your day?’ Cal said.
Harriet laughed some more.
‘And what was “I don’t want to stay in touch” about?’ Cal said. ‘That messed with my head and knocked my confidence, right when I was working up to my big declaration. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with that, ever since.’
‘I thought the offer was as “friends”!’
‘That was my opening gambit, testing the water. My plan was to follow it with how about dinner next week, until you realised I was suggesting a date. I was trying to go a sly, lazy route so I didn’t end up in a wedding marquee having to say things like, “Harriet, turns out I really did feel every second of having you”.’
Harriet slid her bag off her shoulder, reached her arms up around his neck, and kissed him. She kissed him like she owned him, and the moment, and had no fear. She kissed him like they were the only people there.
‘Was I imagining that you always ruled me out as a prospect, somehow?’ Cal said, as they held one another. ‘Even after our night together, it was like … thank you for your time.’
‘Erm … well, we’re so different …’
‘I should hope so. Why would I want to date myself? The thing is, we’re not. I’ve never felt so understood by someone.’
‘I agree.’
‘Then …?’ Cal widened his eyes to convey: I’m at a loss.
Harriet smiled. There was something else, underneath her conviction he wasn’t meant for the likes of her. Something like … superstition? She felt like she was opening a final clue envelope.
‘I think it was because … My life has had good bits, and not-so-good bits. I think I’ve coped. The one thing I’ve never been is lucky. I’m generally unlucky. Someone as great as you, loving me back? It’s too much luck. You’re too much luck.’
‘My loving you isn’t luck,’ Cal said. He kissed her again, under the disco ball, and eloquently made his point that they were perfectly right for each other. Her whole body lit up in response.
‘Can I have a photo, with my girlfriend?’ he said.
‘This doesn’t do selfies,’ Harriet said, indicating her camera bag with her trusty warhorse of a Nikon. ‘Hang on. Will you take a picture of us?’ she asked a nearby guest in a fascinator that looked like an eventing rosette. The woman stopped swaying and listened politely to Harriet’s explanations of which button did what, before Harriet scurried back into place and the woman balanced it for the shot.
‘Here we go … smile!’
The first photograph of Harriet and Cal as a couple shows them with their arms wrapped around each other, on a balloon-scattered dancefloor. He’s in a suit but she isn’t dressed as if she’s at a party, in a black jumper and jeans. She’ll notice when they get it framed, how much she resembles her mother. They look improbably, deliriously, superlatively happy.
To the right of the frame, unbeknown to either of them at the time, is a photo-bombing bridesmaid, pulling a face like a drooling pervert in a trance, and making an arse-cupping motion with both palms under Cal’s backside.
Two years later, the picture will get a huge laugh in Sam’s best man’s speech.
Dearest Harriet,
When I realised the hour had come and I finally needed to write this letter, I was full of ideas of things I should say: wise advice and vague aphorisms about growing up, finding love, and making the most of your time. Now I’ve got this pen in my hand, it all seems worthless. How can you equip anyone for a future you can’t see?
Then I realised, you don’t need my advice, you need my encouragement.
You’re only a little girl right now but I already know you have the spirit to lead a happy and full life, without us.
I won’t lie to you (I asked your grandparents to save this until you’re a little older): I’m scared, and I’m sad at the days I won’t get to spend with you. But when I look at you, above all, I feel hope.
Whatever you’re doing now, whatever you go on to do – I want you to know this, Harriet.
I am very, very proud of you indeed.
All my love, Mum x