Page 28 of Mad About You

It took barely any time with the three of them all marching up and down the seagrass-matting stairs, Harriet and Sam at one point exchanging Can You Believe It! knowing glances as they passed each other. She was grateful Sam seemed sane and kind. There might be an opportunity for him to explain what went on, at some point – interesting that the friendship had survived. Sam must be an incredibly forbearing person. Though Harriet wasn’t sure she wanted the R-rated version of what happened at the wedding. She’d grasped the essentials.

‘We’re going to have a beer in the garden, if you fancy joining us?’ Cal said, with excessive good manners, given this must be the last thing he wanted.

Harriet pasted on a smile. ‘Thanks, but I’m going to do some unpacking instead.’

Cal nodded tightly, with what Harriet read as equal parts relief and resentment in his eyes.

She shut the door of her spacious room, and sagged. There was a key and she turned it, feeling reassured by the click of the lock snapping, though she wasn’t sure why. Cal would hardly be seeking her company out.

The room had varnished floorboards the colour of honey, walls in a colour that Harriet had learned through weddings was called ‘eau de nil’, and a large paper lightshade like a wasp’s nest. The surfaces had clearly been vigorously fumigated in anticipation of her arrival. Harriet had the childlike homesickness of an unfamiliar-smelling environment. She pulled the jewellery box from her handbag and put it by the bed.

She plunged about in her luggage to find two framed photos and placed them on the windowsill. One was of her grandfather in his dressing gown, water-gunning pigeons from the roof of his house with a luminous water pistol, and the other was one of herself and Lorna as over-sugared young teenagers, mugging in tinsel disco wigs and cheap lipstick. Neither picture had been allowed at Jon’s; he’d quietly moved them out of sight. When she demanded to know why, he’d said: ‘I’m sure they have great sentimental value, Hats, but displayed prominently, they make us look a little batty, don’t you think?’

Harriet loved these photos, they instantly transported her back to when they were taken. She could hear her grandad cackling delightedly when he got a direct hit, could taste thecherryade she and Lorna were drinking. Roxy had arrived later, in sixth form college, when the cherryade became WKD Blue.

She pulled her Doc Martens off and laid down on the double bed, under the window. From Jon’s spare bed to Cal’s. (Callum? Calumny? Calamity?)

It was extremely comfortable, pillows like clouds: Cal’s ex couldn’t be faulted. Jesus Christ – his ex, as in Kristina. She pictured the diminutive woman with the oil-slick black hair wafting around that bridal suite, brandishing a coupé of Pol Roger, with no idea of what was in store for her next. She’d left this beautiful home too? Did Cal chase her out at the end of a pointy stick, held by a lawyer?

Harriet felt treacherous. Imagine if Kristina could see her here. It would look as if she’d used her failed wedding as an opportunity to network.

‘What the fuck just happened?!’ Cal Clarke said, at low yet perfectly audible volume, somewhere beyond the room. ‘Tell me that didn’t happen.’

‘Only you could achieve this,’ Sam replied. ‘It’s like you’ve decided to turn your life into a sitcom.’

‘Sitcom? Horror movie.’

Harriet sat up, vibrating with self-consciousness. The tenor of a conversation not intended for her ears was unmistakeable. She could now hear squeaks of mirth that clearly weren’t coming from Cal.

‘This isn’t funny! This is hell.’

‘How the fuck have you moved your wedding photographer in without knowing that’s who she was?!’

‘I didn’t meet her, did I? Kit booked her.’

‘OK, how did she not know whoyouwere?’

‘Like I said, we didn’t meet before today. I was so traumatised by Ned The Frequently Naked that I thoughtoh fuck it, might as well pick names from a tombola. She rang me as soon as the room was advertised and I thought,well, Ned proves I don’t have a functioning radar for wild eccentrics with Prince Alberts and tattooed arsecheeks anyway. Might as well take a punt.’

Harriet momentarily wondered if perhaps she wassupposed tooverhear this, some brutal bullying move to provoke her to go? But more likely: Cal had never slept in his own back bedroom, and had made the erroneous calculation that she was upstairs and indoors and he was outdoors and at ground level. In reality, they were a few feet and one single glazed window apart.

‘She’s probably nice. She was really sweet to me actually, she calmed me down and walked me to the car,’ Sam said.

‘OH GREAT,’ Cal hissed, with forceful sarcasm.

‘What?’

‘She’ll be even more Team Kit then, won’t she.’

‘Everyone who attended that day is Team Kit. There aren’t two teams. That’s like saying, I hope she’s not one of the people who came away fromStar Warswith a poor opinion of Darth Vader.’

‘I could really do with you enjoying this a bit less!’

‘Mate, I got punched in the face for you. I still see her dad calling me “Sideshow Bob Twat” in my nightmares. So, I will enjoy this exactly as much as I want.’ Pause. ‘Harriet’s nice, and also, fit …?’

‘No! Absolutely not!’ Cal said, which Harriet, cringing, chose to take as blunt denial of Sam’s right to approve of her. She briefly imagined appearing at the window, a reverse Cathy inWuthering Heights, and causing them a fright.

‘Don’t rile me even more,’ Cal continued.

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