Welcome to My World

Alex held his hands up. ‘Whoa, Harri, my good friend, it’s not real.’ He observed her carefully. ‘OK, seeing as you’re so woefully inept at this, let me help you. Let’s go for somewhere not too far away to start off with, like . . . like Italy, for example.’ Harri felt her heart give a little leap and her face must have betrayed this as Alex’s smile broadened. ‘Ah, good, Italy it is, then. How about Rome?’

‘Maybe . . .’

‘Florence?’

‘I’d like to see Rome before Florence.’

Alex clapped his hands, clearly enjoying this new game. ‘OK, good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Er – Milan?’

Harri thought. ‘I’d like to see Rome and Florence before Milan.’

‘Excellent.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘So, we need to find a destination to usurp Rome from the top spot.’ He screwed his eyes up, then opened them wide, snapping his fingers. ‘Aha! Got it! Venice!’

Harri recoiled. ‘No. Not Venice.’

Surprised, Alex leaned back in his chair. ‘Oh? Why not?’ She really didn’t want to be drawn on this, especially as Alex didn’t know about her secret longing to visit the city. ‘Just not, that’s all.’

‘But it’s meant to be beautiful, H.’

‘I know, but . . .’

His eyes narrowed. ‘What’s Venice ever done to you, eh?’

She wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Nothing. This is getting daft now. Can we change the subject, please?’

But her protestations were in vain. Alex had sensed the story beneath and wasn’t going to let go without a fight. ‘Nah. I want to know why not Venice. Let me guess: you don’t like canals?’

‘No.’

‘You think it’s too touristy?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You have an irrational fear of gondoliers?’

Harri had to laugh at that one. ‘You’re impossible.’

Alex smiled cheekily and took a mouthful of goulash. ‘So tell me, why not Venice?’

There was no point arguing with him when he was in a mood like this. Taking a deep breath, Harri told him the truth. ‘Because I don’t want to go there on my own.’

‘So get Rob to take you.’

She dismissed it. ‘He wouldn’t enjoy it, Al, you know that.’

He leaned closer. ‘So, you do want to go to Venice?’

‘Of course I do! I have so many books on the city that I could probably write a guidebook myself without ever having set foot there.’

He leaned closer. ‘Really? So where’s the first place you’d go when you arrived?’

Feeling her heart skip, Harri closed her eyes and she was there in the city she loved so dearly. ‘Santa Maria della Salute church and the Dorsoduro, where the maskmakers have their shops,’ she breathed. ‘Or anywhere. I’d just step off the vaporetto onto the fondamenta and head off in a random direction, so I could get lost – then have fun finding my way back.’

‘Blimey, you’ve really planned this, haven’t you? So I still don’t get it: if you love a place so much, why not head there first?’

Harri sighed. ‘It’s just that if I’m heading anywhere, like you say, leaving all my responsibilities behind, then that means I’m travelling alone, right?’

His expression clouded over. ‘Er, yes, but . . .’

She stared at him. ‘So why would I want to go to one of the most romantic cities on earth on my own? Venice should be somewhere you are taken to, by someone who loves you.’

‘I see. And if the person you love doesn’t want to take you there?’

Her heart sinking, she shrugged. ‘Now can we change the subject, please?’

Alex agreed, but sadness filled his eyes as he watched her eating.

Two years since their first Wednesday evening – and countless whirlwind romances, acrimonious break-ups and midnight heart-to-hearts later – Harri was well versed in the Alex Brannan Rollercoaster of Life.

A week after his mother’s Big Idea, Harri found herself rudely awakened by what sounded like a herd of frantic buffalo charging her front door. Struggling to focus, she grabbed her alarm clock and juggled it up to her eyes until its bouncing red numbers calmed down enough to make sense: 2.47 a.m.

Muttering murderously under her breath, she snapped on the bedside lamp (half blinding herself in the process), wrestled the duvet away from her legs and half ran, half fell down the stairs towards the unrelenting hammering of fists at the door.

‘OK, OK, I’m here,’ she grumbled, fumbling at the chain and wrenching the door open. ‘What do you want?’

The sight of the sodden, sorry figure on her doorstep stopped her anger in its tracks as torrential rain blew into the hallway, lashing her legs. ‘Alex? For heaven’s sake, it’s nearly three o’clock.’

‘I’m sorry. I just – I didn’t know where else to go . . .’

‘Whatever, just come in.’

Harri turned and strode through into her tiny living room, turning on lamps as she went and cursing as she stubbed her toe on a pile of books in the dim light. Alex followed behind, his soaked jeans and sweater leaving a trail of muddy water in his wake. Wincing as the kitchen strip light blazed into life, Harri filled the kettle and noisily pulled out two mugs from the cupboard overhead, throwing haphazard spoonfuls of coffee into each one. She let out a sigh and rubbed her sleep-filled eyes with clumsy fingers. For a moment the only sounds in the kitchen were the low buzz from the strip light and the hiss of water boiling. Then, Alex spoke from the doorway.

‘I’m sorry, mate.’

‘Al – look, it’s OK, just – just let me wake up for a minute, yeah?’

He sniffed and splodged over to the sink, twisting his sweater sleeve to release a thin stream of water. The pathetic sight made Harri laugh and Alex did the same, shaking his head as rain dripped off his brow.

‘Loser,’ she smirked, throwing a tea towel at him.

‘Thanks,’ he grinned, catching the towel and rubbing his hair with it.

Coffee made, they returned to the living room. Harri found an old T-shirt of Rob’s (several sizes too small for Alex) and spread a towel on the sofa so he could sit down. With much protesting, Alex surrendered his sweater and T-shirt to the tumble dryer, peeled off his socks to hang them over the radiator and rolled up the legs of his jeans, before donning the too-small T-shirt.

‘I look like a dancer in an Elton John video,’ he whined, flopping down on the sofa. ‘I’m going through a traumatic twist in my love life and you add insult to injury by making me wear this.’

‘Consider it your penance for waking me up at this ungodly hour.’