Page 91 of Mad About You

‘Have you got your phone?’ Cal said, in the bedroom, and Harriet handed it to him as she sat down on her bed.

‘Here it is, I’m going to put it in the charger. No contacting anyone until tomorrow when you feel clearer. Drink that water, take the aspirin next to it, get some rest.’

Harriet was trying and struggling with reduced motor skills to remove her shoes. Cal knelt down and unlaced them for her, helped pull them off. She gazed at the top of his head and inhaled the sea-salty aftershave he wore. Ugh, he wasso hot.She might not be able to afford him, but she wouldn’t mind a borrow. A designer hire.

‘Are you going to help me with the rest, too?’ she grinned. Somewhere, in a room beyond a thick door in her Drunk Brain, a voice screamed,dooooon’t say that!Harriet laughed at it, and herself.

‘That feels like something the inebriate should do for herself. Sleep well.’

‘Calvin?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have a lovely face,’ Harriet said, as he opened the door and she flopped backwards onto the bed. Cal grinned.

‘Thank you.’

‘You could even be the Deceased Perfect Husband in the montage at the start of a film.’ Harriet’s speech had untethered from her mind’s checks and balances entirely, and was running its own show.

‘… You what?’

‘You know in a film when there’s a scene with the Tragically Deceased Wife dancing on the beach, laughing, in a home movie. Or Deceased Hot Husband at Christmas, with a dog. Their only job is to look like the nicest, most picture-perfect spouse ever. They show why your main character is so sad as the story starts.’

‘So they’re conventionally attractive but ultimately irrelevant?’ Cal said, hand on the door handle.

Harriet whooped. ‘Yeah. It’s a non-speaking role. But you get the whole plot going.’

Cal laughed and shook his head.

‘That’s the most cunning putdown I’ve ever received.’

Harriet gurgled with laughter, a few units beyond expressing that it really wasn’t a putdown.

42

Harriet woke at dawn, and despite a head full of bees, had perfect clarity about what she’d do next.

Harriet knew that Jon a) habitually got up at bastard early o’clock (‘One of the habits of highly effective people, Hatmandu!’) and b) would’ve been warned by Roxy that she knew, and be waiting for her to make contact.

That was the point of what he’d done, after all, she thought, as she scrubbed at her furred tongue with her toothbrush.

How Roxanne could be participant in her exploitation, and not really care, was baffling to Harriet. She’d not want to be used by a man as a weapon. Harriet was confident this wasn’t her ego speaking: she was sure Jon thought Roxy a glittering trophy, most men did. But Jon was distraught about Harriet, only weeks ago. Of course he’d not spontaneously fallen for one of her best mates in the time it takes milk to turn.

As she rinsed and spat, she was reminded of a phrase of Cal’s, to Kit:this isn’t howhuman beings work.

The one benefit to the agony of being awake at this hour was not having to see Cal before she left the house. Theidiocies of her behaviour last night kept revisiting her, in agonising flashbacks. TheDeceased Husbandmontage, aaaaaaargh.

She rationalised – Cal couldn’t not know he was good-looking, and he could’ve reasonably guessed Harriet thought he was good-looking. She hadn’t giventhatmuch away, if you were going to be hyper-logical about it. Yet her having told him this, in so many words, was exquisitely embarrassing.You have a lovely face?!God, NO.

Oh God, oh God – wait, did she make a joke about him undressing her?! That was halfway to a real come on? Oh God. BRING ON DEATH. Which, inspecting her reflection, looked as if it was on its way and stuck in traffic. Bloodshot eyes were magnified by glasses.

She didn’t want to risk waking him with a phone ping, so Harriet scrawled Cal a message, which she propped next to the kettle.

SORRY FOR BEING SUCH A PISS ARTIST and thanks for putting me to bed if you fancy an apology takeaway later, it’s on me. H x

Then she sent a WhatsApp:

Hi Jon. I’m coming round to see you in an hour, if you’re in?

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