Page 31 of A Wish For Jo
Harvey bit into a Pop Tart, then spat the mouthful back onto the plate. It tasted like hot, sickly sweet cardboard. He tossed the whole lot in the bin and grabbed some digestive biscuits instead.
Back at the computer, Harvey shut down the screenplay and Googled 'new restaurants in Edinburgh.' He didn't know the city's dining scene well, and wanted to find somewhere to impress Jo. Mind you, he didn't know if she would eat out with him again…
Scrolling through a list of possibilities, he paused. The Crooked Cauldron had only been open three months, but already had plenty of five-star ratings from happy customers. It was situated in the New Town, and the photos showed a semi-Gothic interior, with lots of black and red, offset by trendy Perspex chairs and slate-topped tables.
About to scan the menu, Harvey started when his phone signalled a new message. Reaching hurriedly across the table, he sent it skidding onto the floor. He retrieved it, cursing, and noted another set of cracks and scratches marring the screen.
Hi Harvey. Sorry for the delayed response—had an early night. Dinner out in Edinburgh would be lovely. When and where did you have in mind? Jo x
The corners of Harvey's mouth twitched upwards and the revolting aftertaste of the Pop Tart faded from memory as he clicked on The Crooked Cauldron's menu options.
Rum-cured salmon, passion fruit, lime & coriander dressed spring-onion salad, pickled coriander seeds.
Cider-braised lamb shoulder, courgetti & pickled apple salad, toasted pine nuts & tomato sauce.
Harvey paused. A bit too pretentious? How did you pickle coriander seeds, and what the heck was courgetti? Still, the rave reviews and reasonable prices swung it. He checked table availability before firing off a reply to Jo.
Does this Friday work? I was thinking of The Crooked Cauldron, a newish joint with rave reviews. It's a bit fancy-sounding, but check it out and let me know if it's a pickle too far ??x
Now he was adding a smiley face! Appropriate, as Harvey's grin now stretched across his face. Bugger stupid screenplays and scratched phone screens, this rare foray into fun felt good. Better than good. It felt like stepping out of an icy downpour into a cosy pub with a roaring fire and a sea of friendly faces.
Harvey paced the room, anxious for Jo's response. He pictured her face, perhaps with a little frown making way for a full-blown grin to match his own. Or … she'd changed her mind. His mood flailed around for a foothold, then hit the floor. He opened his computer again and searched for some music. Radiohead?
You need to be uplifted, sweetheart, not mired in misery. Put on something romantic or positive. One of our songs. Just not the Bocelli one about saying goodbye.
Lindsey.Harvey wondered if he'd ever stop hearing her voice. If he'd ever want to stop hearing her voice. Or would a new voice eventually drown out his imagined conversations?
He decided on 'Reach' by S Club 7. Cheesier than a cheese factory, but they'd always loved it. They’d dance to it after a few drinks, Lindsey singing along and failing miserably to reach the high notes. Refreshingly upbeat, it reminded him of the times when he felt as if he'd grabbed the entire solar system in his fist. He kept the volume low, though, just enough to satisfy his need for nostalgia.
Bopping around, Harvey contemplated a wee dram to oil his dodgy dance moves. Just a snifter, nothing more. He shimmied into the kitchen, the air still heavy with the smell of toasted Pop Tarts. An upturned glass lay by the sink, the whisky bottle within easy reach. He poured a generous measure, its golden lushness luring him in, raised the glass, and—
'Harvey, are you there?'
Harvey froze. A voice at the front door. Muffled, but unmistakably Jo's. He shoved the glass in the fridge, beads of sweat peppering his brow. Why was she here? Had her phone conked out? Did she want to tell him face to face that they had nothing in common and only complete weirdos ate courgetti? He went to the door, his heart pounding.
'Hi!' Harvey didn't know what to do with his arms. He went for a casual propped-up position against the door frame, but it seemed unnatural. He crossed them instead, now guarding his territory.
'Hi.' Jo's stance mirrored his own. 'I hope you don't mind me dropping by unannounced, but I felt we had unfinished business.'
'We do?' Harvey loosened his arms a fraction.
Jo's arms dropped to her sides, her face telling a story Harvey didn't know how to read. 'We do. We… I don't quite know how to say this, but I need you to kiss me. Right now. Before we go out again. I really want to go out again, but I need to know if there's something there. Physically, I mean.'
As gobsmacked went, Harvey's gob felt well and truly smacked. Never in a million years — light years, even — could he have conjured up this scenario. A woman he liked — more than liked — turning up on his doorstep and asking to be kissed? And he'd been fretting about overly fussy ingredients?
'Erm, please come in.' Harvey stepped aside, allowing Jo to enter. The closing bars of the song played, about dreams coming true. Seconds later, he wrapped his arms around Jo and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed again…
CHAPTER33
'Jo and Harveysitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.' Aaliyah kept singing the annoying playground ditty, interspersing it with equally annoying squelchy kissing noises.
'Would you please give it a rest?' It was Monday morning at the café and Jo was ready to scream, or alternatively, shove Aaliyah into the industrial-sized mixer. Why, oh why had she confessed to kissing Harvey at all? Not that a confession had been needed, as Aaliyah had immediately clocked Jo's flushed cheeks and smudged lipstick.
For the past twenty-four hours she'd been teased relentlessly and bombarded with questions.
'Was he a good kisser?'
'Did you use tongues?'
