Page 67 of Mad About You

Harriet felt her stomach drop through her pelvis.

Blocked YOU? Why would he do that?

He must’ve worked out where you got the information to contact Marianne from, I guess? Or be battening down all hatches. I only know as when I checked back, he’d disappeared, and so I looked him up on The Dive account. And there he still was. Don’t fret too much, H – he’s waving his guns because he can’t really do anything. As you say, he can’t write to your fiancé. Sit tight and don’t panic. It’s what he wants. Xx

Harriet thanked Lorna, while knowing the very fact she had changed her tune was a terrible sign. Lorna wasn’t going to kick Harriet when she was down: the letter had been sent and the shots had been fired. There was nothing to do but reassure Harriet, and hope for the best. It was the advice-giving equivalent of moving from reflective tabards, dire warnings, hard hats and clear instructions about handrails, to simply lighting a scented candle and handing you a glass of wine.

Game On.

Harriet had priced Marianne betraying her into the policy, she’d declared it more likely than not. Marianne would be under Scott’s thumb, as she once was. It still hurt. No matter how many times she’d said this good turn wouldn’t deserve or provoke another, it was a lot to get her head round. Marianne had read those words and rejected them. At a deep level, Harriet had been convinced her truth would out.

Harriet rationalised, rehearsed, the mental equivalent of rubbing worry beads: what did she have in this world she cared about? Her friends: who knew the deal with Scott. Her work: unless he got hold of a list of her upcoming bookings, which would require hacking her laptop, hard to see how he could destroy that. Property: no, she had a rented back bedroom in Meanwood. A love life? Hahaha. Revenge porn: he had no material to work with, so that was out, unless he was any good at making deep fakes.

Maybe, trying to unnerve her was all he had.Maybeagain. All her previous maybes had been wrong.

By the time they parked up in town, she’d figured out how Scott could have found out where she lived. She’d invoicedDanny and Fergus both by email and with a hard copy that had her address on it. There’s no way they’d suspect foul play from the world’s best, best man, so all he’d have to do is call them and say, hey, Marianne borrowed a lipstick or found a scarf that belonged to their wedding photographer, and would they know where he should post it? Danny and Fergus had told her they were only doing a ‘mini moon’ before a lavish winter trip, so they’d be at home to look the paperwork out. She could contact them and confirm that was what had happened, in an innocuous way, if she needed to know for sure.

Call her a coward, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. If it wasn’t Danny and Fergus, she was out of alternative possibilities.

Should she tell Cal? She looked at the back of his dark-blond head. He’d said she should’ve warned him about Jon, except she didn’t know Jon required a warning. She absolutely did know that Scott required one, but not the sort where he was likely to turn up in person. Jon had mistaken Cal for Harriet’s boyfriend, but she didn’t see how Scott would make the same error – and even if he did, what could he do?

And what was she supposed to say to Cal? ‘I might’ve stirred something up with another ex who might also be a threat, in ways I can’t predict’?

It was both pointless and unfair to ask Cal to feel agitation at something so vague; it was burdening him without any constructive purpose. She shouldn’t do it. Yet the painfully obvious threat still remained.

It wasn’t going to stop at the flowers.

30

‘What about your parents, Harriet, are they in Leeds?’ Cal’s mum said, pleasantly, as the mains were cleared away.

Harriet wished she had been in a better condition to enjoy an indulgent blowout at The Reliance – Bicicletta cocktail, bruschetta, roast beef and red wine. Cal was putting on a brave front, but Harriet suspected she knew why he was so discomfited: whatever gloss was put on it, it was far too much like her being his date. Cal’s dad had bombarded her with so many questions, she feared he thought shewasthe new girl, and Cal was simply being coy.

‘No, they’re both no longer with us,’ she said, with a small smile. She was so used to this conversation, she knew its beats off by heart. Cal’s head snapped up and he looked at her intently, as if this was something he should’ve known. Lodgers were hardly likely to have brought up their origins story, surely.

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ his mum said.

‘Thank you, it’s OK.’

‘You’re young to have neither parent around,’ said Cal’s dad, putting his hand over hers, and leaving it there a momenttoo long for Harriet’s comfort. She glanced at Cal and he looked silently aghast: she was an unwanted invader and now she was pulling their heartstrings with tragedy? She was making other people’s feelings her problem again, but surely Cal could see she’d not intended any of this?

‘Yes. Not everyone’s as fortunate as Cal,’ she said, with a smile towards him, trying to lighten things. His brow was still furrowed in consternation.

‘Hah. Not sure that’s how he sees it,’ Andrew laughed.

‘Do you mind me asking, did you lose them in recent years?’ Sandie asked, and Cal admonished, ‘Mum!’through gritted teeth.

‘It’s fine. My dad died when I was five and my mum when I was six,’ Harriet said. ‘Cancer in both cases. My late grandparents – on my mum’s side – raised me.’

‘Oh my goodness! Oh, Harriet,’ said Sandie, and now she rubbed her arm.

Cal said nothing.

‘Do you have a boyfriend, someone looking after you?’ Andrew said, in gruffly paternal manner.

‘Not at the moment. My best friend Lorna who I’ve known since school is a force of nature and the value of three-and-a-half boyfriends, I think.’ (‘Like a Bull Mastiff in Ruby Woo,’ was how Lorna liked to self-describe, in fact, but probably best to omit that.)

Cal’s parents laughed and said ‘awww’ in unison, and Harriet was glad to have defused the tension.

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