Part 35 (1/2)

Later, she felt a hand clamping down on her shoulder. 'There you are, Hat! Having fun?'

'This might surprise you, but yes I am.'

Howard laughed. 'Excellent. Now come and sit with me.' He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her towards his table. Most of the chairs were empty, people having got up to wander about and chat. Howard pulled out the one next to his. 'Drink?' he offered.

'No thanks, I'm driving home later.'

'You mean you're sober and still enjoying yourself? You'll be telling me next that the world is round. So tell me how the kiddies are. Looking forward to Christmas, I'll bet. When mine were little they would write wish lists to Santa that were as long as my arm.'

'They're pretty much on the case,' Harriet said lightly. This was a huge understatement. On an hourly basis Carrie was changing her mind about what she wanted. Her requests included a pair of purple rollerskates that lit up with flas.h.i.+ng lights, a bike with at least ten gears, a CD player, some kind of dis...o...b..be game (like Emily has), bright-pink nail varnish (again like Emily has), a sticker collection, a b.u.mper pack of felt-tip pens, and a hamster (like Rebecca's). In contrast, Joel's list was heartbreakingly thin on the ground; he'd asked for a new pair of slippers.

'But I guess their excitement must be tempered by knowing this will be their first Christmas without their parents,' Howard said. 'The same must be true for you; you'll miss your sister, won't you?'

Touched by his solicitude, she said, 'We'll cope.'

'Of course you will. But it won't be easy. How's the house move going?'

'All set for the fourth of January. I've booked a day off, by the way.'

'Only the one? Take two, at least.'

'There's no need.'

He shook his head. 'You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?' He filled his wine gla.s.s and took a mouthful. 'So how's your love life? Any men on the scene?'

She laughed out loud. 'Do I have to answer that?'

'Yep! It's a new office rule. Come on, tell Uncle Howard about all the blokes who must be interested in you. I know for a fact that Dangerous Dave would give up his real-ale fetish for a night of bliss with the delectable Miss Swift.'

'What rubbis.h.!.+'

'It's true. I've seen the way he hovers round your office, his ears p.r.i.c.ked up and his tongue hanging out like a randy dog. How about that bloke in Dublin? Is he still keen?'

Alarmed, she said, 'Dominic's an old friend. Nothing more. As I recall telling you at the time.'

'No other blokes then? I find that hard to believe. A great-looking girl like you.'

'For all you know I could be gay.'

'And I'm a Dutchman's uncle! Believe me, I'd know if you were, Hat. Besides, my sources tell me that you were heard talking to a guy called Will on the phone. Who's he? Another friend?'

Was there nothing this man didn't know? 'Have you been tapping the phones?'

'No, just listening to office gossip. It's the best reason to employ women: through them I can keep up to date with everything that's going on. Yeah, I know, it's shocking, isn't it?'

'You must be the most non-PC boss in business.'

'And I get away with it because I'm a world-cla.s.s sweetheart. Come on, talk to Uncle Howard. Tell me all. You know you want to. I've noticed a few changes in you recently; one minute you're fizzing away like a nun who's just been snogged, and next you're looking like the mother superior who wasn't so lucky.'

Harriet shook her head in bewilderment. How did he do it? But the extraordinary thing was, she was actually tempted to open up to Howard. It made her wonder if she really was sober. Was it possible to be a pa.s.sive drinker, inhaling everyone else's alcohol fumes? But to talk to Howard about Will - about how much she missed him, how she wished she could spend an evening with him just to make sure he was all right, how she felt so screwed up by dumping him when she did - was she mad? Apparently yes, because before she could stop herself the words were leaping from her mouth and she was unburdening herself.

When she'd finished, he said, 'The poor devil. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to either of my children. They're both in their early twenties and living away from home, but I still worry like h.e.l.l about them. So why didn't it work out between you two?' he asked. 'Was it the age gap?'

'Yes,' Harriet lied. No way was she going to tell Howard the whole truth - that a moment of madness had caused her to become hooked on the thrill of being with Will.

'Do you want to know what my advice is?' Howard asked.

This she had to hear. 'Go on,' she said warily.

'It sounds to me like you still fancy the bloke, with or without the extra years he's carrying, but I'd advise you to put him out of your mind. After what's just happened to him, he's seriously damaged goods. Best keep away from him altogether. Start offering your shoulder for him to cry on, as you girls love to do, and you'll end up in big trouble.'

'You really think so?' Harriet was surprised at Howard's take on the situation. She had expected him to say something cra.s.s like, 'Get stuck in; you know you want him!'

'Trust me, he's in no fit state to get involved with anyone right now. Why? Were you thinking of getting back with him to ease your conscience, given the timing of your dumping of him?'

'No!'

'Good, because the man will be vulnerable and if you come along and toy with his affections again, he'll very likely tip over the edge. Leave well alone is Uncle Howard's top tip for the day.'

Harriet drove home with Howard's words echoing in her ears. The thought of rekindling her relations.h.i.+p with Will hadn't crossed her mind, but it had certainly gone through her mind to provide him with a shoulder on which to lean, if not to cry on. If Howard was right and Will was vulnerable, her being there for him could well make matters worse.

She had to admit to being impressed with Howard's advice; it struck her as being both shrewd and prudent. All the same, she felt disappointed. She missed Will and hated the thought of him suffering. Naively, she had imagined that if they couldn't be lovers, they could at least be friends. But it looked as if it was not to be.

As for her so-called friend, Dominic, after his foul behaviour the other night he could go to h.e.l.l as far as she was concerned. His interest in Will had been nothing more than a malicious desire to make Harriet look stupid, to rub her nose in whatever sick joke he was playing with her. And why had he tried to make out that Miles had been interested in her, when it was Felicity who had been the love of his life? Okay, Dominic didn't know it for sure - Harriet hadn't told him about the email that had given Miles away - but what kind of twisted mind continually made him want to provoke and embarra.s.s people? Had he got a kick out of pus.h.i.+ng her until she flipped, just to see if he could make her lose control? It was possible. Frankly, she wouldn't put anything past him. She had never thrown a drink in anyone's face before, but she'd do it again without a second's thought or regret if Dominic played any more games like that with her and Miles. Miles was right to say that he thought his brother was getting worse. He was. It had struck Harriet in bed that night that maybe Dominic, given that he suspected Miles had had an affair with his perfect Felicity, was jealous, just as she'd suggested to him in Dublin. Perhaps he hated himself for being gay, knowing he couldn't have Felicity in the way that Miles could, and had lashed out at the easiest targets to hand.

The following morning Miles had phoned her on her mobile and apologised again for Dominic's behaviour. 'That comment he made about you and me, it ... it was totally out of order. I hope you didn't - '

This constant apologising from Miles was getting on her nerves and Harriet had cut him short by saying, 'Dominic isn't your responsibility, so don't keep saying sorry on his behalf.'

'You're right, I know. I'm sorry. Oh ... there I go again. I don't suppose there's any chance we can get together for that chat, just the two of us, is there?'

Knowing that while Dominic was around it would be impossible to do anything without him wanting to get in on the act, Harriet said, 'Not for a while. Let's do it in the New Year when Dominic's gone back to Cambridge.'

'But I'll see you over Christmas, won't I?'

'Sure. I'm counting the days until your parents' New Year's Day sherry fest.'

He groaned. 'Promise me you'll be there. I don't think I could hack it without you. And if you change your mind and want to get together before then, you know where to find me.'

She'd ended the call feeling happier that her friends.h.i.+p with Miles seemed to be back on track.

Gemma was in town, wandering aimlessly. She had thought a look round the shops in Maywood would cheer her up, but it wasn't working. She'd been stupid to think that anything would make her feel happy or normal again. Every morning she woke feeling the same intense loneliness. She'd open her eyes and for a split second it would feel like any ordinary day, but then she'd remember: Suzie was dead. Suzie and her baby, both dead. Dead in the ground. Their bodies side by side; one normal-sized coffin, one obscenely small coffin. But as bad as the mornings were, they were nothing compared to the nights when just as she was nodding off she would relive the terrifying journey to the hospital in the ambulance. With the siren wailing and the paramedic bent over Suzie's inert body, she had tried to convince herself that Suzie was going to be okay, that any minute her sister would wake up and wonder what all the fuss was about. Then there were all the questions the paramedic kept firing at her - how long had Suzie been unconscious? Had she vomited? Had Gemma noticed anything peculiar about her eyes? Had Suzie complained of a headache earlier? Was there a history of migraine attacks? On and on the questions went and with each one that was asked, Gemma dreaded getting something wrong. Something vital that might save her sister. It had been a relief when they finally arrived at the hospital and Gemma had been left alone. Later, when Dad had been taken away on his own, she'd thought the same as him, that the doctor was going to break the news that Suzie was okay but the baby had died. Had it been wishful thinking on their part - let the baby die so that Suzie might live? And had it been so wrong of them to hope for such a compromise? Even if it was wrong, Gemma didn't care. If it happened all over again, she'd wish for exactly the same, for her sister to be alive and looking forward to Christmas.

There would be no Christmas this year. And certainly no going to Paris to see Marcel. Mum had made Steve put the decorations back into the attic. She'd also thrown away all the cards they'd received; any new ones that arrived got the same treatment. Gemma had found Steve fis.h.i.+ng them out of the bin one night and asked him what he was doing. 'These people don't know about Suzie,' he'd said. 'Someone has to write and tell them.'

She'd always despised Steve for being unimaginative and interfering but now Gemma was grateful for his rock-steady help. She didn't know what any of them would have done if he hadn't been around. He was endlessly patient and kind with Mum and Gemma could see that it wasn't always easy. Sometimes Mum would shout at him as if she was taking it out on him that Suzie had died. She had gone back to work the day after the funeral, which Gemma had thought was a mistake. Steve had thought so too and Mum had told him she didn't have any choice; she had a business to run. Steve did too, but he'd said a few days off wouldn't hurt anyone, that she ought to take a leaf out of Will's book and stay at home for a while. His advice had sent Mum into one of her screaming fits. 'Don't you dare tell me what to do!' she'd yelled. 'And don't ever compare me to that man.' She was being scarily irrational.