Yardley, Harri’s world suddenly became a whole lot bigger.
Viv’s only son had always been around when Harri was growing up, but she’d never really had that much to do with him; their paths rarely crossed. It was only when he returned from ten years of travelling the world that their friendship began in earnest.
It started with the closure of Stone Yardley’s traditional tea rooms, three years ago.
When the Welcome Tea Rooms closed, many locals declared it a sad day for the town, bewailing the loss of an institution. The truth was, however, that most of those who complained had not actually set foot in said institution for many years, largely because it was anything but welcoming. The proprietress, Miss Dulcie Danvers, was a wiry, formidable spinster who had inherited the shop from her maiden aunt. No amount of scalding hot tea or stodgy home-baked scones that made your teeth squeak could combat the frosty atmosphere of the place: so you ordered (apologetically), you consumed your food in self-conscious silence and you got out of there as soon as possible. Finally, at the age of seventy-three, Miss Danvers admitted defeat and retired to a sheltered housing scheme in the Cotswolds.
For several months the former café lay empty and lifeless in Stone Yardley’s High Street, a gaping wound in the bustling town centre, but then, at the end of October, the For Sale sign disappeared from the shop front and work began on its interior. Residents noticed lights ablaze inside and shadowy figures moving around late into the night. Three weeks later, a sign appeared on the door: ‘New Coffee Lounge opening soon.’
A week after that, Viv asked Harri if she’d like to go to the launch party of her son’s new venture.
‘You remember Alex, don’t you?’
Harri nodded politely, although what recollections she did possess were decidedly vague. ‘He’s in London, isn’t he?’
Viv pulled a face. ‘Well, he was, but the least said about that particular episode, the better. Anyway, the point is that he’s moved back to Stone Yardley and he’s starting his own business.’
‘What’s he doing?’ Harri asked.
Viv beamed the kind of proud smile that parents wear when watching their children performing in a nativity play (even if they’re awful). ‘He’s taken over the old Welcome Tea Rooms. It’s going to be quite different and I think he’s worried that nobody will turn up. Would you mind awfully?’
‘No, not at all. Rob’s away working this weekend so I have a free night on Friday.’
The moment Harri set foot inside Wātea, she felt at home. Alex had transformed the dark café into a relaxed, warm and welcoming coffee lounge. Large, comfy leather armchairs rested on a green slate floor, whilst a bar by the window – made from what looked like a large driftwood beam – offered a great view of the High Street outside. Travel books and magazines were stacked casually in wicker baskets by the sides of the chairs, and treasures from Alex’s travels adorned the walls: South American paintings, an African mask, Maori figures and Native American blankets.
But it was the photographs that caught Harri’s eye and made her heart skip. Beaches and rainforests, deserts and islands, snow-covered mountain peaks and azure ocean vistas. And the star of every picture, in various wildly dramatic poses – and always with a huge grin – was Alex.
While the other guests sampled coffee and ate tiny cocktail quesadillas, spicy chorizo and olive skewers, and shot glasses of intense gazpacho, Harri moved silently round the room, letting her fingers brush lightly against the richly woven textiles and ethnic sculptures as she gazed at the photos. She was looking intently at a picture of an Inca settlement when a deep voice close behind her made her jump.
‘Machu Picchu. I loved it there. The altitude is amazing, though – you have to move really slowly so you don’t get out of breath.’
Harri spun round. She came face to face with a wooden Maori-carved bead necklace and lifted her eyes till they met the huge-grinned star of the photos. Alex extended his hand quickly, suddenly self-conscious, running the other hand through his sandy-brown mop of hair. ‘Hi. Sorry to make you jump there. I’m Alex.’
Harri smiled and took his large warm hand in hers. ‘Hi, I’m Harri. This place is amazing . . .’
‘Ooooh, fantastic! You two have already met?’ Viv exclaimed, appearing suddenly between them, as if by magic. ‘Al, darling, you remember Harriet Langton, don’t you?’
Alex’s large brown eyes widened in surprise as he took a step back and looked Harri up and down, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘No way! Chubby Harri with the pigtails?’
‘Yes!’ Viv beamed. ‘Little Chubby Harriet!’
‘But . . . but the last time I saw her she was, ooh, this tall?’ Alex motioned to just above his waist.
‘I know!’ Viv agreed. ‘She’s a fair bit different now, though, eh?’
‘She certainly is,’ Alex replied, looking so intently at Harri that she could feel a blush creeping up the back of her neck.
Viv’s eyes misted. ‘Her mother would’ve been so proud of her. All grown up and standing in your new coffee lounge!’
Harri lifted a hand and waved weakly between them. ‘Hello? I’m actually here. And may I just remind you both that I was given that evil nickname when I was four years old?’
‘Aww,’ Viv gathered her up into a hearty embrace, which nearly expelled all the air from her lungs, ‘sorry, my darling. Harri works at the travel agent’s a few doors down from here, Al. She knows everything there is to know about, well, just about anywhere in the world. You should ask her over and show her all that strange stuff from your travels. Ooh, and your photos too! Wouldn’t that be lovely, Harri?’
It was Alex’s turn to be embarrassed. ‘Mum . . .’ he protested, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor, ‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to see all that . . .’
‘No, no, I would. Really. It would be great,’ Harri said quickly.
Alex looked up at her, his expression a strange mix of amusement and genuine surprise. ‘Seriously? Nobody’s ever asked to see my stuff before – I usually just bore people to death with it whether they like it or not.’
Harri smiled. ‘Trust me, I would love to find out where you’ve been and what you’ve seen. My boyfriend says I’m an armchair-travel junkie, so you’ll be helping to fuel my addiction.’
Alex’s eyes twinkled and the broad grin from his photographs made another appearance. ‘Well, in that case I’d be happy to oblige. We’ll co-ordinate diaries and do it!’
Harri told Rob the following Monday evening about Alex and his invitation to dinner. Over the weekend, she had suddenly started to worry that perhaps Rob wouldn’t be pleased in this relative stranger’s interest in his girlfriend, but her fears soon proved unfounded.
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Rob smiled over the top of Survival Monthly.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind that he’s invited me for a meal?’
‘Not at all.’ He shook his head, lowered the magazine and reached over to stroke her cheek. ‘You haven’t been worrying about that, have you?’
‘A little.’
‘Well, you don’t have to. An evening of travel gossip sounds right up your street and it will be good to chat to someone who shares your travel thing. Let’s face it – I’m not the best audience when it comes to that, am I?’ He smiled that deliciously crooked smile of his, which never failed to make her heart skip. ‘So you get a night of travel trivia and I get let off that duty for once. Everyone’s a winner.’
Encouraged by her boyfriend’s words, Harri began to look forward to the evening with Alex. But as the week progressed, a new concern began to root itself in her