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Tim was puzzled. The Harriet that was sitting across the table from him, frowning at the Monopoly board was a different Harriet to the one they’d found when they’d arrived only a few hours earlier. She had lost the air of frailty that she’d had and, with it, the teariness. At that moment, she was in the middle of a complicated discussion with Niamh about buying Leicester Square from her. She was speaking animatedly, waving her hands around, eyes shining. Niamh, it seemed, was every bit as competitive as her mother was when it came to board games. The discussion was likely to go on for a while.
Tim sat back on his dining chair and stretched, feeling the fabric of the T-shirt pull tight against him. When the rain hadn’t let up, Niamh had gone down to the shop for pizza. Then they’d moved from the sofa to the small dining table in order to play a game to pass the time. He hadn’t played a board game in years. He’d forgotten how absorbing it was. It was as though real life had been firmly parked outside and the only thing that mattered was what was on the board. Much to his surprise, he was enjoying himself. Maybe he needed a holiday more urgently than he’d thought.
The act of hanging out together seemed to be melting barriers. Harriet had lost some of her brittleness. Niamh was clearly happier. This was good. Agreeing to stay a few days was the right thing to have done. He thought of Mel and felt a twinge of guilt. Mel wouldn’t like this.
Now that he was getting to know her, Tim had to admit that Harriet was nothing like the picture Mel had painted of her. He now knew with absolute certainty that Harriet had loved Richard. Okay, it was weird that they had such a long distance relationship, with Richard living in Reading and coming up every two or three weekends, but it seemed to have worked for them. Harriet was, as far as he could tell, generous and kind. Now that she was coming out of her sadness, she was also quite good fun.
Harriet and Niamh came to an agreement. They shook hands. Harriet laughed. Her face lost years. She was really very attractive. Aah. No. He shouldn’t be thinking that. She may be a much nicer person than he’d been lead to believe, but she was still Richard’s girlfriend. Fancying her would be just ... weird. Besides, it would be totally disloyal to Mel. This woman had broken up his sister’s marriage.
“Um ... guys. It’s stopped raining.” He pointed to the window. It had actually stopped raining a while ago, but they were all having so much fun, Tim hadn’t mentioned it. The view from the window was still full of grey cloud, so the respite may well only be temporary. “We should make a dash for the pub while it’s still relatively dry.”
Niamh looked down at the crowded board, where she was clearly winning. “We can’t go now. This game is just getting interesting.” She looked back at him. “Besides, there’s nothing to DO in the pub.”
He had to admit that was true. “It’s nearly dinner time though. We could go get something to eat.”
“Or,” said Niamh. “We could get something to eat here. I could go down and get some more pizza from the freezer.”
Harriet who had been watching this exchange in silence, raised her eyebrows at Niamh. Tim wondered if she wanted them to leave. She seemed to have fully recovered now, so there was no real reason to outstay their welcome. “It’s Harriet’s place,” he said. “And we’ve taken up far too much of her time as it is.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Harriet. “It’s quite nice to have company actually. I’ve ... not been out and about as much as I normally would and it’s been ... fun.”
Niamh shot Tim a triumphant look.
Tim said, “Why don’t you let us buy you dinner in the pub? After all you’ve done, it’s the least I can do.”
“Yes. Please, Harriet,” said Niamh.
“In the pub?” Harriet looked dubious.
Tim remembered that she hadn’t told the people in the pub about Richard’s death. “Or, we could go to the bistro instead,” he said. “They looked like they had a good menu.”
“Oh God, no. Angie would kill me if I ate at the competition,” said Harriet. “No. The pub is fine. Thank you. That would be very kind.”
****
What on earth was she going to wear? She searched through the various outfits she had. Most of her clothes were jeans and tops. She had a few ‘smart’ dresses. She pulled them out and realised that she hadn’t worn them in a long while. When she went out clubbing, she wore little sparkly numbers with spaghetti straps, which were perfect for a hot night club, but really weren’t ideal for the pub at seven o’clock in the evening. The last time she had been to the pub for a night out ... had been that Christmas party where she’d got very drunk and embarrassed herself by throwing herself at Vinnie, who was going out with Angie’s niece. Frank, one of the regulars from the pub had had to carry her home. No, tonight was a night for smart, not sexy.
She pulled out an orange dress that was not too revealing. As an afterthought, she added a short black jacket. There. Smart, but not too over-dressed. After she’d done her makeup, she examined her reflection. Richard’s death had aged her. Even under the foundation, she could see that her complexion was less healthy. All that crying earlier had left her with puffy bags under her eyes, which didn’t help.
She stood up and examined her middle. She was going out a lot less, but being in Trewton Royd, where there were hills in every direction, meant that she remained reasonably fit. Thank goodness.
After a few moments deliberation, she put her hair up, which suited her better. Her hair was still healthy, but it needed a cut. Briefly, she wondered what Tim would think. He was, she couldn’t help noticing, quite fit. He was also a terrible Monopoly player. He had no killer instinct. Unlike Niamh. Harriet smiled at the memory. That afternoon had been the most fun she’d had in months. She liked Niamh and Tim. They seemed to have an easy way with each other. If they could recapture that relaxed atmosphere, tonight would be a good laugh too. And that was just what she needed right now. All this time she had been trying to placate the loneliness with alcohol and meaningless encounters in nightclubs, when all she’d needed was something far simpler. Good company. A laugh.
Again, she wondered if Richard had somehow sent Niamh to her. Fanciful as it was, the thought was comforting. He was still looking out for her. Seeing Niamh was helping ease the pain. But was she meant to do something for Niamh as well? She thought of all that had been said the night before. Niamh needed to cry and talk and reconnect with memories of her father and Harriet had helped with that. But what about her mother? A young girl needed her mother.
She had. In the dark, dark times after the baby had died, she tried to call her parents. Her father refused to talk to her and her mother ... her mother went along with her father. She had disgraced them when she eloped. There was no going back. She had written to them, but there was never a response. She wondered if they’d read her letters. Or had they just burned them on the little fire in the living room? Did they even know about their grandchild who almost existed? Did they even care?
Harriet went into the living room and looked at the phone. She reached out her hand to pick it up and punch out the number. How many times had she done this? How many times had she bottled out? The last time she’d dialled them was a few years ago, when Richard stood by her, encouraging her to at least try. Her father had hung up as soon as he realised who it was.
She curled her fingers into a fist and moved her hand back. No. It was too late for her to mend the rift between her and her own mother. But she could help with the one between Niamh and Mel.
The night before, Niamh had told her repeatedly how Mel was trying to poison her with lies about how Richard had cheated on Mel with Harriet. Richard had told his daughter that he was innocent. It wasn’t strictly true. Harriet sighed. She could understand why Richard wanted to keep his daughter’s view of him unsullied, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe all it was doing was hammering in the wedge between Niamh and Mel.
Harriet looked at the phone again. She could help. Except it would be disloyal to Richard. She sighed again, picked up her handbag and let herself out of the flat.
****
The pub had a few regulars in already when Harriet arrived. Frank, who was in his usual seat, raised his pint glass to her and winked. Harriet winced. Memories of the Christmas party were never going to go away. Still, she had to live here and Frank was a fact of local life. She raised a hand half-heartedly. Angie finished taking a couple of food orders and beckoned Harriet to the side of the bar. Oh dear.
“Are you okay, our Harriet?” said Angie.
It was “our Harriet” now, was it? What was that all about? “Ye-es,” Harriet answered cautiously.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Angie’s brow was furrowed when she looked up at Harriet.
“About what?”
“About your Richard. We had no idea. If we’d known ...”
If they’d known ... what could they have done? They couldn’t have brought him back. They would have just badgered her and made her think about it when all she wanted to do was hide away and pretend it wasn’t happening; that Richard was going to show up at the weekend, just like normal.
Angie laid a hand gently on Harriet’s arm, all sympathy and concern. Oh Lord. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not to Angie. Not to anyone. Thankfully, Niamh came into the bar and Harriet took the opportunity to escape Angie’s questioning. “Niamh.” She turned away, knowing she was being rude, but too desperate to care.
“Hi.” Niamh had changed into her spare clothes, which fit her better. Her hair was tied back, making her eyes all the more noticeable and Harriet could see all the traces of Richard in her. Niamh grinned and Harriet automatically smiled back.
The table they had been at the night before was still free, so Harriet led her to it.
“I don’t know where Uncle Tim is,” said Niamh. “He’s probably started checking his email and got distracted.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s always going on at me for being glued to my phone. He’s worse.”
“What does he do?” She’d spent a whole afternoon with him and not bothered to ask. Richard had said something about Tim being an academic, but that was all she knew. She liked Tim, now that she’d got to know him, but she wasn’t sure what he thought about her. Richard had said that Tim was completely under his sister’s thumb. Which meant he wasn’t ever going to like her. To her surprise, Harriet realised that she really wanted Tim to like her.
“He’s a researcher,” said Niamh, with a trace of pride in her voice. “He works on the effect of river pollution on freshwater fish.”
Harriet nodded and tried to think of something relevant to say. “He must be busy.”
“I think he doesn’t mind the research, but gets quite annoyed with the teaching and admin that he has to do.”
Harriet glanced across at the bar and caught Angie watching her. The landlady gave her a small smile before looking away. Harriet sighed, her earlier good mood now dented. It was silly really, to believe that she could have kept it a secret from the whole village. This place, where you could sneeze in the comfort of your bathroom and people would ask about your cold the next day. They hadn’t noticed for a whole year, though. They had all assumed that Richard had dumped her and they had judged her behaviour afterwards. It wasn’t great, but it was still better than having to face the fact that he was gone.
Niamh was complaining about her mother again. Harriet half-listened and made interested noises. She didn’t give a monkeys about Mel, but Niamh needed her mother. An image of her own mother flashed into her mind and she was swamped by another wave of sadness. Losing contact with her mother was another loss. Maybe it wasn’t as dramatic, but over time, it had eroded a space in her heart, just as losing the baby and losing Richard had done.
She watched Niamh talking, a young girl trying to be a grown up and fighting a pointless fight with her mother. Most of the things that Niamh was complaining about, Harriet could do nothing about, but there was one thing she could do ... but would Richard want her to?
“And she’s always trying to make out like Dad was the bad guy. She lied about you and him, for a start. It’s so pathetic that she needs to do that.” Niamh threw up her hands in indignant astonishment.
Harriet looked down at her hands. It wasn’t Mel who had lied to Niamh. When they had first met, Richard hadn’t told Harriet that he was still married. By the time he told her, he had filed for divorce and she was already too in love with him to send him away. Mel may not be right about the cause of the breakup of the marriage, but she was right about Richard cheating on her, even if it was only for a couple of weeks. Harriet looked up at Niamh. In letting Niamh believe her father’s version of events, wasn’t she in effect lying as well? Would telling Niamh the truth help heal the rift between Niamh and Mel?
She tried to focus on what Niamh was talking about instead. Niamh made a gesture with her hands to emphasize what she was saying. The mannerism was so much like Richard’s that Harriet almost forgot to breathe.
How? How could he be dead? Who was she trying to kid? She couldn’t deal with this. The sadness, vast and black, wrapped itself around her again.
****
Tim peered into the main room of the pub. Harriet was sitting at the table in the window, with Niamh opposite her. Her hair was pulled up into a messy knot, highlighting the delicate lines of her face. She looked effortlessly lovely.
He was late because he had just spent twenty minutes sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to remind himself that Harriet was out of bounds. She was the woman who had broken his sister’s marriage. He could not be attracted to her. Yet, when he’d come in and spotted her, his heart had lifted. He would have to be really careful to keep those sorts of feelings in check so that he didn’t end up in more trouble than he already was.
It didn’t take him long to see that something was wrong. He could feel it in the way Harriet was staring at the table. She had gone quiet and was nodding to what Niamh was saying, but he could tell by the way she was picking at a crack in the table top that she wasn’t really focusing.
He tried to join in the conversation, but the easy atmosphere that had formed in the flat was gone now. He had rather thought she might be flirting with him earlier, but he had clearly been flattering himself. She wasn’t interested in him. He should be grateful, really.
“Shall I go order the food?” he said. He pushed himself up to stand. Disappointment was putting a bit of a downer on the whole evening, but he’d promised Harriet dinner and he was going to deliver on that, even if she wasn’t interested in him.
“Uncle Tim. Can’t I have a real drink?” Niamh said.
“No.”
“Mum lets me have a tiny bit of wine with dinner from time to time.”
He wasn’t falling for that one. Now that he knew what an accomplished liar she was, he’d have to be extra careful. “No way. I’m bending far too many rules for you as it is.” Like, every single rule Mel had set. Although she hadn’t explicitly set a “don’t take her to see her Dad’s mistress” rule, he was pretty sure there was one.
Niamh pulled a face. She slid out of her seat. “You’re no fun. I’m going to the loo, I’ll be back in a minute.”
He watched her head off and sat back in his seat. “I really need to get better at reading teenagers.”
“Good luck with that.” Harriet sank back into her seat, as though moving away from him. “No one understands teenage girls. Not even teenage girls.”
“You seem to get on well with Niamh though.” He smiled, hoping to thaw the atmosphere.
Harriet shrugged. “She and I have something in common right now. Besides, I’m not an authority figure in her life. I’m just someone peripheral. It’s not worth investing emotional energy fighting me.”
She was still being odd and formal with him, as though he were a total stranger, not someone who had sat around in her flat, playing board games and making sure she didn’t have a nervous breakdown. “I’m flattered that you think I have any authority over Niamh.”
Harriet gave him a knowing look. “You’d be surprised.”
“Why? What’s she said about me?”
“You’re a constant male figure in her life,” said Harriet. She picked up her drink. “Whatever happens, you’re always there for her and her mum. Especially when Richard ... wasn’t.”
Of course, the reason Niamh’s father hadn’t been a constant in her life ... was Harriet. The thought brought Tim back to reality. Mel was right. The warm cosiness was just an illusion. He and Harriet could never be friends. She had caused too much pain to the people he loved.
“It’s not my fault, you know,” Harriet said, quietly.
“Pardon?” Had he said something out loud?
She looked up. “Mel and Richard’s marriage failing. It wasn’t because of me.”
Much as he liked Harriet, he couldn’t let her get away with that one. “Isn’t it?” he said. “Richard met you when he was off in a sulk. He returned home and just days later, filed for divorce. I’d say there was a link there, wouldn't you?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t know he was married,” she said, quietly. “I didn’t start our relationship. He did.”
He should let it go, but he just couldn’t. All the evenings sitting with Mel while she cried angry tears had left a mark on him. “But if he hadn’t met you, he and Mel might have patched things up.”
Harriet gave a snort. “Yeah. Right.”
“They might have done,” he insisted. Mel had been so sure they would. She had been so devastated when Richard walked out. “Mel said—”
“I don’t care what Mel said.” Her voice rose, attracting the attention of the people at the bar. “I didn’t ruin your sister’s marriage. She did that all by herself.”
For a second, he didn’t know what to say. There was a flare of doubt about Mel’s version of events but the protective instinct ran it over. He opened his mouth to retort.
“This man bothering you, love?” The man from the bar appeared by the table.
Harriet shook her head. “It’s fine, Frank.”
But Frank was not to be deterred. He turned to Tim, standing over him. “You watch what you say to her, mate. She’s had some bad news lately and I’ll not have you upsetting her. You got that, buddy?”
Tim nodded vigorously. He wasn’t built for confrontation.
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, love.” He gave her a nod and ambled back to his bar stool, pausing to give Tim a warning glare.
Harriet picked up her coat. “Listen, this was a nice idea, but I—”
“Don’t go,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Brought what up?” Niamh reappeared. “What’s going on?”
“Your uncle there, called Harriet a marriage wrecker,” said Frank, from his position at the bar. “We’ll not have our Harriet upset.”
“Look,” said Harriet. “It’s fine. I’m not upset. I’m fine. All right?”
The man Frank gave Tim another hard stare.
Tim turned his attention to Harriet, who had stood up and was putting on her coat.
“You’re not staying?” said Niamh. “Uncle Tim?” She glared at him, again reminding him uncannily of her mother. “What did you do?”
Tim put up his hands in protest. “I didn’t—”
“It’s okay,” said Harriet, quietly. “It’s true anyway.”
Niamh spun back to glare at her. “What is?”
Harriet drew a deep breath as though preparing herself. “Niamh,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you.” She reached forward and took the girl’s hands. “What your mum said is true. Your father ... was still married to your mother when we first got together.”
There was a moment of stasis. Then Niamh’s eyes widened. “But you said—”
“I didn’t, actually. Richard told you we met after he’d split up with Mel. I didn’t have the heart to disabuse you of that. It was clearly important to Richard that you didn’t think badly of him ... so I just ... didn’t contradict you.”
Something in that speech was nagging at Tim. He knew what she was saying was true, but something she’d said earlier ... What was it?
Niamh shook her head. She wrenched her hands out of Harriet’s grip. “No. My dad wouldn’t lie to me. He wouldn’t.” She turned her glare on Tim. “This is Mum’s doing, isn’t it? She did something. What did she make you do?”
Harriet reached forward again. “Niamh ... your dad loved you so much. He couldn’t bear it if you took your mother’s side and hated him. I’m sure he didn’t mean for things to get out of hand—”
Niamh stepped back from her, snatching her hands out of the way. “No. Get away from me. You lied to me. I thought ... I thought you were my friend. I trusted you.” Tears filled her eyes. “I ... I hate you.” She turned and ran out of the room.
“Niamh!” Tim noted with gratitude that she’d gone upstairs, rather than out into the night. He wanted to go after her, but first ... He turned to Harriet. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Best go speak to her,” said Harriet, wearily. She turned, gave Frank at the bar a wave, and left. Tim watched her go, his thoughts too scattered for him to react.