Page 15 of A Wish For Jo
Jo checked her watch. Just time to pop to the loo, say her goodbyes and head to Harvey's. Oops, mustn't forget her contribution to the meal. She headed to the kitchen, where she found Aaliyah stir-frying noodles and swigging a beer. 'Lookin' mighty fine, boss,' she said, lacing her noodles with a glug of soy sauce and a sprinkling of chilli flakes. 'Have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do.'
Jo dropped the triple-cooked chips and sticky toffee pudding into a plastic carrier bag. 'I've never quite got that expression, but I'll be on my best behaviour. And I'm sure Harvey will be too.'
'Whatever. Just enjoy it, Jo, and don't worry about me. I’ll dive into the delights of Netflix and perhaps partake of those profiteroles for dessert.'
Striding along the street towards Brae Cottage, Jo wondered what the evening held in store. If Harvey proved as dour as ever, though, she’d leave him to it. Life, as she well knew, was too short to waste on misery.
CHAPTER17
Harvey checked the oven.The steak pie was browning nicely and the truffled cauliflower cheese bubbled away. All that remained was to pop in the triple-cooked chips, and Bob's your uncle. Whoever bloody Bob was.
The minuscule table and two folding chairs didn't exactly scream fine dining. Harvey had attempted to pimp them up with an old tablecloth he'd found in a cupboard and a pair of cushions, to lessen the hardness of the chairs. A bottle of white wine was in the fridge and an opened red breathed on the kitchen worktop. Stupidly, he hadn't asked what Jo preferred. Perhaps she didn't drink. He had sparkling water and some cans of Irn Bru, described as Scotland's other national drink apart from whisky. And he had plenty of that, too.
He inspected himself in the mirror. He was freshly shaven, wearing one of the new shirts and a decent pair of chinos. He fingered the scar on his cheek, as familiar now as an old friend — or a sworn enemy.
Not for the first time, Harvey marvelled that no one in Cranley had recognised him. Admittedly, he hadn't been the star ofChasing Shadows, but over its four-year run it had brought in audiences of several million. In between series, he'd acted in a few low-key stage productions. He preferred live theatre to TV roles, but he couldn't deny that the show had paid very well.
He glanced at the mantelpiece, Lindsey’s photo conspicuous by its absence. Taking it down felt like a betrayal, but Harvey didn't want to field questions about his wife. He didn't plan on revealing much about himself, but he wanted to know more about Jo. Hardly fair, but that was how he wanted it to be. How itneededto be.
A knock on the door signalled Jo's arrival. Harvey hurried to answer it, not that reaching any point in Brae Cottage required more than a few steps.
'Hi. Hope I'm not too early.' Jo swung a plastic bag from her left hand, her right held out expectantly.
For a mad moment, Harvey imagined grabbing it and twirling her around as he used to twirl Lindsey on the dance floor. He blinked away the memory and shook Jo's hand. At least that was an improvement on the last time she'd tried to instigate a handshake. 'Not at all. Perfectly punctual, as one should be.' Jeez, every time he spoke in this woman's company it came out wrong.
Stop being a pompous prick and act normal!Lindsey again. Except that Harvey had forgotten how to act, normally or otherwise.
'Erm, can I come in?' Jo hopped from one foot to the other. Harvey noted her cute boots: exactly the kind of footwear Lindsey went crazy for.
'Sorry. Please, come in.' He stood back, allowing Jo to enter. She dropped the bag and removed her coat, hanging it on one of the pegs in the hallway. Harvey admired her dress and the way her hair sat on her shoulders. Not over the top, but natural and very attractive.
'Here's the chips and pudding,' said Jo, proffering the bag. 'Something smells delicious, by the way. Can I do anything to help?'
Harvey took the bag and shook his head. 'All under control. I'll just get the chips underway while you make yourself at home. Not that it's much of a home, but…'
Jo touched his arm, and Harvey's resolution to treat the evening as a casual get-together took a battering. That touch ignited feelings he'd put on ice for a long time. 'It looks lovely to me. Home is where the heart is, right? That's what my parents used to say.' Her eyes misted over and Harvey sensed a deep sorrow behind her smile.
'It's a nice expression, but I'm not sure where my heart lies these days,' he replied, bitterness souring his words. 'Let's concentrate on our stomachs instead.'
Jo followed him into the kitchen and removed the packaging from the chips. Harvey wrangled them into the tiny oven alongside the other dishes. He offered Jo a drink, and she opted for a glass of red.
'Here you go.' Harvey poured two glasses, steered Jo into the lounge, and gestured for her to sit down in one of the sagging armchairs.
She raised her glass in a toast. 'What should we drink to?'
Harvey shrugged, still pondering why this woman's presence unnerved him so. It wasn't just her physical resemblance to Lindsey; her mannerisms and her obvious warmth threatened to chip away the stone wall around his heart. 'To friendships,' he replied. 'Rarer than hens' teeth, in my opinion.'
They clinked glasses, sipping quietly and contemplating the next conversational gambit.
Jo made the first move. 'I have a feeling that talking about yourself isn't something you're comfortable with, Harvey.'
Nail firmly hit on the head. Harvey nodded, taking another, more generous, swig of wine.
‘That's fine by me. Some people spill their entire life stories in the time it takes to open a packet of biscuits. I'm always happy to listen, but if someone doesn't want to talk, that's their choice.'
An awkward silence descended for ten minutes, until Jo sniffed the air. 'I think something's burning.'
Bollocks!Harvey sprinted into the kitchen, grabbed the oven gloves and opened the oven. The pastry was a little dark and the cauliflower cheese a tad charred around the edges, but the chips were golden and crispy. 'Let's eat,' he said, scooping food on to his two least offensive plates. 'You bring through the bottle, I'll get these on the table.'
