Welcome to My World. Miranda Dickinson
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place. Hardly daring to look, she opened the first bag. It fell forward as she did so, its contents spilling out across the carpet, and Ron Howard sprang onto the sofa to save himself from being engulfed by the tidal wave of letters. Harri bent to pick up a handful and saw, with mounting dread, that each envelope bore the same five terrible words: ‘Free to a Good Home’.
This was a nightmare: Alex was officially a hit with the desperate readership of Juste Moi – and now Harri must uphold the second part of her bargain with Viv: to find a girl for Alex from the vast selection of candidates.
It was going to be hell . . .
* * *
Getting too excited is perhaps not the best idea when you’re in your fifties with sky-high blood pressure and under strict doctor’s orders to avoid stress. But Viv was not likely to let some jumped-up locum’s opinion intervene at a time like this. Harri eyed her friend with concern as she bounced around the living room like a three-year-old on Haribo overload.
‘So . . . many . . . letters!’ she gasped, plunging her hands into the nearest postbag and throwing envelopes into the air like a lottery winner revelling in wads of banknotes.
‘Viv, calm down!’
‘Calm down? How on earth do you expect me to do that, Harri? I mean, look at this! All these beautiful, intelligent young women eager to meet my lovely son! It’s wonderful!’ She clapped her hands together.
‘Look at what you’ve done, Harri!’
Harri ignored her sinking feeling. ‘Shouldn’t that be we, Viv?’
Viv dismissed this with a flamboyant wave of her hand. ‘Ooh, that’s just details.’
Harri eyed her suspiciously. ‘You are planning on helping me go through all of these, aren’t you?’
Viv picked up a pale pink envelope and inspected the handwriting. ‘Of course I am, darling! I’m a tad busy this week, but after that I’m all yours.’
‘Right, well, I’ll wait until you’re free and then we’ll start.’
Staring at her, Viv dropped the envelope back into the postbag. ‘Harri, this is my son’s future happiness we’re dealing with – we can’t delay it any longer. He’s waited long enough, don’t you think? So you just make a start and as soon as the Summer Fair planning committee stuff is sorted I’ll be there to help.’
Harri folded her arms. ‘I am not doing this all by myself, Viv. This was your bright idea, remember? I don’t mind making a start but you’d better be around to help with the lion’s share – planning committee or no planning committee. Right?’
‘Absolutely, darling. You have my word on it. I’ll only be absent from duty for a week and then it’s Team Harri and Viv all the way. In the meantime, you have my moral support, dear. And all the apple pie you can eat.’
By Tuesday evening, when Auntie Rosemary came to visit, the postbags were still sitting unopened underneath the window. Ron Howard, most offended by their presence, had gone off in a huff and was now curled up in the washing basket in the kitchen. There was no use Harri trying to hide the bags before her aunt walked in; the cottage was almost too small for its furniture already, without accommodating four enormous sacks.
‘What, in the name of all that’s good, are those?’ Rosemary asked.
Harri groaned and shut the front door, following her aunt inside. ‘It’s a long story. Cup of tea?’
Rosemary bent down to inspect the sacks as Harri walked into the kitchen. ‘“Free to a Good Home”? What’s this all about?’
‘It’s nothing, really. Just something I agreed to help with,’ Harri replied, hoping that her breezy tone would appease Rosemary’s curiosity.
It didn’t, of course. ‘Wait a minute – Juste Moi magazine? The only person I know around here who reads that tripe is—’
Harri pulled a face and dropped two teabags into the pot. ‘Fancy a biscuit?’ she interjected weakly. ‘I think I’ve got some bourbons in the cupboard.’
Rosemary appeared in the kitchen doorway, face stern and arms folded. ‘What has Vivienne Brannan got you into this time?’
The kettle reached boiling point with a noisy whistling fanfare and Harri was glad of the moment it gave her to formulate her reply. ‘It’s just a project she’s got. A daft idea, really. I only said I’d help her to stop her nagging.’ She placed the teapot, mugs and milk jug on an old rose-printed tray that had been her mum’s. ‘Would you grab the biscuit tin, please?’
Rosemary followed her niece back into the living room. ‘Hmm. If I know Viv, this is probably going to entail you doing a lot of work and her getting off scot-free.’
Harri poured the tea. ‘To be honest, I wish I’d never agreed to the stupid idea in the first place. I should have realised that Viv would try to wriggle her way out of helping. But I have her word this time that she’ll pull her weight, so I intend to hold her to it.’
‘Well, I suppose you know what you’re doing.’ Auntie Rosemary placed a concerned hand on Harri’s arm. ‘But just be careful, OK? Viv’s ideas usually end in disaster and I don’t want you being caught up in the middle of another one.’
Harri smiled at her aunt. ‘I’ll be fine, honest. She’s just thinking of Al, that’s all.’
‘What’s all this got to do with Alex?’
There really was no point concealing the truth from Rosemary. Harri took a deep breath and told her aunt about Viv’s Big Idea. Rosemary listened for a long time, her steady expression masking her true opinion, although Harri could guess what it was. When Harri had told her everything, Rosemary shrugged.
‘I thought that woman couldn’t surprise me any more but I was wrong. That has got to be the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard. Honestly, I swear she never grew out of her teenage phase. Your poor mother was always bailing her out of daft situations. Well, no matter. What concerns me is you, Harriet. I just don’t want you losing a friend over this.’
Neither do I, thought Harri. ‘I’ll be careful, Auntie Ro, honestly. With any luck all the replies will be from complete psychos and Viv will give up the idea.’
Rosemary’s nut-brown eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t believe that any more than I do,’ she observed. ‘You may be setting yourself up for a fall, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘So the police said they weren’t going to investigate the unexplained lights over Innersley any more because of lack of evidence,’ Tom was saying as Harri arrived at work next day.
Nus and George were anything but the rapt audience he was obviously hoping for, but he appeared undaunted.
‘I mean, seriously, what does that say to you?’
Nus inspected her immaculate nails with an air of boredom. ‘That you need to get a life?’
Tom let out a groan and turned to his boss. ‘Aw, c’mon. George?’
George stifled a yawn and slid his ample backside off Harri’s desk, pulling up the sagging waistband of his trousers as he did so. Harri stifled a giggle, recalling a comment Stella had made about him last week: Forty-three with a beer gut to die for and he’s still single? Shockers!
‘Thomas, a busy travel professional such as myself has no time for indulging in idle tittle-tattle. I suggest you turn your overfertile imagination to the task of coming up with irresistible offers on our Summer Coach Spectacular, all right?’
Tom’s frame flopped resignedly. ‘I can’t believe there’s a blatant government conspiracy going on right underneath our noses and none of you is even remotely interested.’ He grabbed an empty brochure box and plodded into the stockroom.
Harri