Page 58 of Mad About You

‘Your village won Britain in Bloom seven times, Dr Dre,’ Cal said, and Harriet had to put her hand over her mouth so she didn’t spit her drink.

They were a slickly amusing double act, she’d give them that.

Harriet accepted a second marg and marvelled at alcohol’s ability to bear you aloft on its tide. You stopped feeling out of sync and unwilling and became generally happy to bob around, in your metaphorical rubber ring.

A sudden shower of rain pushed them indoors, to the front room, and Sam conspired with a couple of others to put karaoke up on the television.

‘Oh God, Sam no, not the karaoke. You PROMISED,’ Cal said, sitting down and groaning as the lyrics to ‘Waterloo’danced across the screen. Cal picked up a cushion and pressed it onto his face as the room was thronged with partygoers carolling ABBA.

Harriet, the other non-karaoker, snuck a sly look at Cal.

There was no one feature you could alight on and say, there, that’s why he’s so good-looking, unless you counted the laser-clear, pale green eyes.

Like some very fancied women Harriet had known, thebeauty wasn’t in any detail but in the way the whole hung together. Everything in proportion, everything working in harmony. Harriet often felt like a jumble of bits that weren’t quite meant to be juxtaposed. Cal’s neat nose was clearly meant to go with those lips, which looked exactly right set in that jaw.

There was something else appealing about him too, something undefinable. She vaguely wanted to wipe the easy smile off his face, and see those eyes darken as they focused on her. No, she couldn’t and wouldn’t be any more specific about how she might achieve that. (Ugh, Hatley, get a grip! How much tequila, and you think you’re dirty?) But she betted there were a few people here who knew what she meant.

The karaoke enthusiasts cycled through ‘I Want It That Way’, an admittedly very poor B52s ‘Love Shack’, and a workmanlike Spice Girls, ‘Say You’ll Be There’.

Repeated attempts to get Cal up and singing failed miserably.

He was someone who drew all the attention he wanted without trying, Harriet thought, with no need to make himself the centre of it.

‘Harriet, Harriet, come on!’ Sam pestered, after each turn was complete.

Eventually, fired by Sam’s belief she’d ‘smash it’, Harriet sighed and stood up: ‘I’ll have a look what there is.’

‘Yes! Count HH on to the dancefloor!’

After sceptical song flipping, Harriet said: ‘“Dancing In The Dark”, Bruce Springsteen. OK, I’ll do my best.’

She pulled a dubious face as it struck up, and Cal said: ‘Oh thank God, I thought you said, “Dancing In The Moonlight”,’and made a forehead, chest and shoulder touching prayer sign, which relaxed her into giggling as she began singing.

Harriet was glad she’d not tried a feminine-yodel type of ballad and actually, the song was quite a good one for an ordinary voice to carry.

Harriet’s confidence grew, and by the time she was bellowing the chorus, she was well into it. She knew what Bruce meant.

She stuck her hand out to Sam, who put his drink down, grabbed it, stood up and took the other microphone, keeping hold of Harriet while they both sang the lyrics together. Was she flirting? She didn’t know, but she felt briefly happy, and that was enough of a miracle for her not to really care.

Cal was looking at her strangely when she sat down again, flushed and rather triumphant.

Yeah, I know what you’re worried about – I’ll settle down with him to spite you.

Multiple females entreated Cal –c’mon, c’mon, ONE– and he consented to join a toneless group singalong of ‘Get Lucky’, mugging with a finger in one ear.

As a result, only Harriet heard the doorbell. Whoever it was really meant business, too, holding it down for seconds at a time, so that when you tuned in to its frequency, it was like a piercing alarm. Uh oh. Furious neighbours?

‘Isn’t that the door?’ Harriet said, to no response.

She got up to answer it and pulled it open to see a stunning, diminutive and distinctly grumpy woman, with long black hair pulled back from her face.

‘Kristina?’ Harriet blurted, in the disinhibition of margaritas.

27

‘Hi. Is Cal in? Wait, you used my name? Where do I know you from?’

‘The photographer. From the wedding. I’m Cal’s lodger.’

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