Page 115 of Mad About You

‘Waaaaaait. Oh my God, did you …? HAVE YOU TWO …?’

‘Come on, Sam, let’s get you to the football!’ Cal said, in a mock ‘carer in an old folks’ home’ upbeat voice.

Cal turned and gave Harriet a quick, hard look at her as he followed Sam out of the door.

‘Goodbye then, Harriet,’ he said, with meaning.

She raised a hand and steadied her heart.

‘Bye, Cal.’

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 allfine, 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.

---