CHAPTER 10
Harriet
Dorset
‘Tell me all about yourself,’ he had said.
Harriet had panicked. All about yourself was an awful lot. And this experience hadn’t been quite what she’d expected. Though what she had been expecting, she couldn’t exactly say.
Since Joanna’s return, things seemed to be changing.
Wasn’t she glad that her sister was around?
Well, yes, but . . . One moment Joanna was being evasive and secretive, the next thing she was treating supper with their neighbour as some sort of counselling session.
Mother was revelling in the attention of her younger daughter and hadn’t called a tradesman out for days and Harriet had found herself with a rare commodity known as free time, which she wasn’t quite sure what to do with.
She’d seen a prowler last night who might or might not be dangerous.
And she’d just had her first blind date in the Boat and Barnacle.
Life seemed to be becoming very complicated.
She was walking back to the long-stay car park, snug in Joanna’s chestnut-coloured leather jacket.
The shops on East Street were closing and the town was quiet.
She glanced at her watch. Telling Hector all about herself had taken just one hour and forty-five minutes. What did that say about her life?
It had started well enough. She’d made her way to the Boat and Barnacle, taken a deep breath and pushed open the door, blinking as the comforting fug and fragrance of roasted coffee and chocolate brownies wafted her way.
She’d walked confidently across the varnished floorboards towards the counter, still scanning the occupants of the café, and then she’d spotted him.
‘Harriet?’ And then when she failed to respond: ‘You are Harriet?’
She’d nodded dumbly. Where had her confidence gone? Where was her determination? All she could do was wonder why she was here. It was all very well emailing and fantasising and the like. But that was a very different prospect from actually meeting someone.
Hector seemed undeterred. ‘What will you have? Coffee? Tea? Glass of wine?’
Harriet felt a spear of panic. For goodness’ sake . . . ‘Coffee,’ she croaked. ‘Please.’ Did that sound as if she was assuming he’d pay for it? She groped for her purse.
‘Oh, no. Allow me.’ He held up one hand. Masterful? Or controlling?
She shrugged. Ungrateful? Or indifferent? What a minefield this was. Why would anyone do this awful, scary thing?
A few minutes later they were seated in the upstairs lounge.
The walls were painted a deep pomegranate and rich velvet curtains framed the Georgian windows.
Someone at the Boat and Barnacle knew about creating atmosphere; the lamps were dim, letting out a warm, golden light that somehow made Harriet feel safe.
‘Why do it, eh?’ he said.
‘Exactly what I was thinking.’ She tried not to stare at the part of his face where cheek met ear. After all, countless people had facelifts these days.
‘Searching for a mate,’ Hector said. ‘I suppose that’s it.’
‘Yes.’ Harriet tried not to dwell on this.
‘Looking for love,’ he elaborated, gazing into her eyes.
Harriet didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure she knew why she was doing online dating.
She had joined for a bit of fun and simply got interested in reading profiles and indulging in unthreatening banter with unknown men – something she’d never had the chance to do before.
Oh, she knew that she wanted to escape from her life somehow, but the practical part of her also knew that the dating site she was using, Someone Somewhere, was unlikely to provide such an escape – for that, she needed a miracle.
She missed her father. Harriet felt the accustomed boot in her stomach that she experienced whenever she thought of him. Like the dream, it never went away.
A waiter appeared with their coffees and what looked like a large brandy for Hector.
‘Don’t look so worried.’
Was she?
‘You know what they say.’
‘No.’
‘Smile and it might never happen.’
Harriet scowled even more. ‘Or it might,’ she felt bound to point out.
He beamed. ‘Sit back and relax.’ Now, he was beginning to sound like her dentist. ‘And tell me all about yourself.’
*
‘Have you done this often?’ she had asked him, having told him about the farm (a version of), her childhood (a version of) and her family (she’d have to be crazy . . .).
‘I’ve met a few ladies,’ he admitted. His voice wasn’t bad, she decided – low and a bit like a mug of night-time Ovaltine. If you closed your eyes . . .
He leant closer. ‘How else do you meet people these days?’ he asked.
Harriet presumed this was a rhetorical question. She didn’t meet anyone. ‘I know.’
‘But online dating’s a bit like a chocolate box,’ he elaborated.
‘In what way?’ Harriet had no idea what he was talking about.
How could you tell anyway, if someone was insane?
She thought of the mysterious stranger she’d seen in the farmyard last night.
Who was he? What was he doing there? What exactly had he wanted?
She’d even wondered for one mad moment if there was some connection with Someone Somewhere.
People hacked into other people’s computers, didn’t they?
Hector could be a potential stalker for all she knew.
The unknown prowler from last night hadn’t looked dangerous with that oversized coat and the owlish glasses. But appearances could be deceptive.
‘You select the coffee cream.’ Hector’s eyebrows rose alarmingly. ‘And you take a bite.’
Harriet flinched. ‘Yes?’
He pushed his empty glass to one side and eyed her appraisingly. ‘Then you look at what’s left in the box.’
‘Oh.’ Harriet was beginning to see.
‘You look very closely,’ he said. ‘And then right at the bottom . . .’ He took hold of Harriet’s hand.
‘Yes?’ Though she wasn’t sure she was ready for physical contact.
‘You find the hazelnut whirl,’ he said.
Harriet wasn’t sure she wanted to be a hazelnut whirl. But what did she want?
Hector ordered another double brandy from the waiter. ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘everyone is economic with the truth on Someone Somewhere.’
Which must be why he hadn’t told her he was an alcoholic.
‘But you,’ he said, ‘you’re different.’
Was this what she had joined the dating site to hear? Insincere flattery from a stranger? ‘How do you know?’ she challenged.
He tapped his nose. ‘Call it intuition,’ he said. ‘In fact, Harriet, I really think I could fall in love with you.’
Harriet gulped.
‘What do you think about that, Harriet?’ Hector was waiting expectantly.
‘I think I’d like to be someone else,’ she heard herself say.
‘Sorry?’ He looked baffled.
‘Someone unshackled,’ she said. ‘Someone who might travel the world – if she felt like it. Or even get a proper job,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘A proper job?’ He let go of her hand.
‘Someone who doesn’t have to look after my mother,’ she added. Like Joanna? Was that what she wanted? To be Joanna?
He leant back in his chair. ‘You have to care for your mother?’ His voice was neutral now.
‘I wish I didn’t have to,’ she confessed. Only she shouldn’t really say that, because that would mean . . . and obviously she didn’t want . . .
‘Can’t you pay someone to do that for you?’ He waved his hand and Harriet looked round, half expecting a nursing assistant to materialise from behind the pine doorway.
What with? Harriet wondered. She shook her head. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said. ‘My life is complicated. Everything’s complicated.’
He looked up at the big station clock on the wall of the Boat and Barnacle. ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘It’s rather late. I should be getting along.’
They lingered for only a moment outside. Harriet supposed that if he planned to fall in love with her in the not so distant future then there was a distinct possibility that he would ask her for a second date. He didn’t, though.
Now, she pulled the keys of the pick-up from her jacket pocket. She opened the door and almost stumbled as she climbed inside. Well, it was heady stuff. She put the key in the ignition. But also, pure fantasy.
Nevertheless, she felt relieved as she backed the pick-up out of the parking space.
She had done it, hadn’t she? She had made the effort.
She had followed through. And she had hardly thought all afternoon about the problems in her life – the money she didn’t have, the cottage that was crumbling around her, the non-existent shepherds’ huts, even the prowler from last night.
But now she was eager to get home. She couldn’t really trust Joanna to look after Mother, and there was supper to prepare.
She drove out of the long stay, turning left and heading for the traffic lights by Bucky Doo Square. What kind of man would have a facelift anyway? And what kind of man drank four brandies in the middle of the afternoon? It might be time, she thought, to turn her attention to contender number two.