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Harriet was surprised at how much better she felt. Ever since leaving the graveyard, she’d felt progressively lighter with every passing minute. It was as though the cloud of grey that she’d worn around herself was finally peeling off, letting the real Harriet emerge. Some of this, she had to admit, was because of Tim. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him. More than liked him. If she felt this strongly about him when she was sober, she’d best be careful not to drink too much around him.
She and Tim were sitting in his flat, eating Chinese food using chopsticks. It had started off as a joke, but neither of them had been willing to give up. It was silly, but it lent the meal a sense of fun and camaraderie that made it easier for them to talk. And talk they did. So far they had covered a range of topics from village news, to work to world politics. Right now, Tim was telling her about how Mel had apologised to him for the first time ever.
“I’m glad,” she said. “If you didn’t ever call out her behaviour, she’d just carry on thinking it was acceptable.”
Tim nodded. The prawn on his chopsticks dropped back into his bowl. He picked it out again. “You’re very wise, you know,” he said. “Especially what you said about Niamh. She and Mel are getting on much better now.”
“Good.” She meant it. Niamh was a lovely girl. She deserved to be understood better. “It’s really good that she’s getting on with her mum again. It’s an awful thing to not be able to talk to your mother.” She hadn’t spoken to her own parents in fifteen years. She’d picked up the phone many a time, but never plucked up enough courage to make the call.
She looked up from her bowl to find Tim watching her. “What?”
“Do you talk to your mother, ever?”
For a second she was startled, until she remembered that she’d told him about it on the night that he’d kissed her. There were very few people who knew about her life before. She shook her head.
“Have you tried to get in touch?”
She looked down at her food and shook her head again. “My dad’s pretty stubborn,” she murmured. “My mum pretty much goes along with what he says.”
There was a soft plink as he put his bowl down. “How do you know that things haven’t changed?” he said. “They may miss you too.”
She raised her gaze to his. “How do you know I miss them?”
His eyebrows rose a fraction, one rising higher than the other. “Don’t you?”
He had her there. “Yes,” she said.
“Then call them,” he said. “Or write. Keep trying.”
The one letter she’d sent had been returned unopened. Her parents didn’t even know about the baby. She pulled a face. “My dad was a pillar of the community. I embarrassed him. He won’t talk to me.”
“If you don’t try to change the situation, it’ll just carry on looking acceptable,” he said. He gave her a tiny, half hesitant smile. God, that was sexy.
She smiled back. “Fine. I’ll try again.”
“Good.” He picked up the bottle of wine that was on the table and topped up both their glasses.
“Woah. I hope you’re not trying to get me drunk.” She said it to lighten the mood, but the minute the words came out, she saw him tense.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have asked.” The relaxed atmosphere between them frosted over.
“I was joking.”
“But you’re right. I should have checked.” He wouldn’t meet her eye now. What was going on?
After a few minutes, he said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m stuffed. I couldn’t eat another thing.”
“Uh, yeah. Me too.” It was mostly true. She stood up. “Let me help you.”
They put lids on the leftovers, working methodically, but no longer chatting.
Harriet watched Tim as he knelt in front of the small fridge, trying to stack the boxes in between whatever else he usually kept in there. What had just happened? One minute they were talking easily, the next minute this awkwardness.
She leaned against the work surface. “Tim?”
“Hmm?” He found a space for the last container. “Gotcha. There.” He stood up, closing the fridge door as he did so. He didn’t turn to look at her.
“Is something wrong?”
The stiffening of his shoulders were a bit of a giveaway. “No.” He turned slowly. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve been acting weird ever since I made that crack about the wine.”
He didn’t reply for a moment, just looked at her, with a tiny frown line between his eyes. She studied his face and couldn’t understand what she saw there.
“Was it something I said?” she asked.
He sighed. “It’s not you. It’s me. I remembered what you said about the desolation when you’ve had too much to drink. And this ... friendship.” He gestured between them. “I don’t want you to think that I would try to push it further.”
Oh bugger. She’d hoped to do just that. “Why not? Does your sister object to you having contact with me?”
“No. I mean, yes, she does, but that’s not it.”
She took a step closer to him. “Then what?” Get on with it. Spit it out. Up close, he was handsome. You saw past the cute smile and the nice forearms and saw the kindness, the genuine desire to help. A good man. She remembered what it was like to kiss him. A very good man.
“I like you, Harriet. I really, really like you.” He finally met her gaze and she saw the want in it. Heat flared inside her. She stepped closer. Almost by reflex, his hands came up and rested on her hips.
“And?” she said. “I like you too. This doesn’t sound very complicated.”
“But you’re in a strange place right now.”
She stilled. “Are you going to tell me I’m Richard’s again?” Surely, he knew her better than that.
“No. Not at all. You’re not anybody’s. That’s the problem. I really want you to be ... mine.”
They were so close now, she could feel his chest move when he breathed. Her breath mingled with his. She understood that doubt in his eyes. He wanted her to be sure that she wasn’t just sleepwalking into a new relationship. He wanted her, but he needed her to be sure she wanted him. It was that hesitation that undid her. A level of consideration that she hadn’t even realised she’d needed until he’d offered it to her.
“I’m not ready to be yours,” she said, softly. She put a finger to his lips and traced the line of his mouth. His fingers tightened on her hips. He closed his eyes and his breath was warm against her fingertip.
“How about,” she said. “I agree to be ... ours.”
His eyes flew open. He smiled, a slow, wicked smile that set her on fire. She moved her finger onto his lip again. He took it in his mouth and she felt every single synapse from her fingertip to her groin.
He slid his hands around her, so that she was pulled even tighter against him. “Works for me,” he said and kissed her. It was every bit as wonderful as she’d imagined. She felt the need inside opening up, wanting more. She reached down and pulled at his shirt. This time, he didn’t stop her.
****
A few weeks after Harriet’s visit, Tim went to see Mel and Niamh. He wasn’t entirely sure what reception he’d get when he rang the bell. He’d exchanged a few messages with Mel, but not really spoken to her in any great length. Part of the reason for this was because he didn’t trust himself not to let slip about himself and Harriet.
What with one thing and another, he hadn’t even told Niamh that Harriet had been in town.
Mel opened the door, the telephone tucked against one ear and waved him inside. She gave him a smile, pointed to the phone, and rushed off to the study. Left alone in the hallway, Tim popped his head into the lounge. Alex was sitting in front of the telly, with the Financial Times open on his lap. Tim couldn’t tell which one he was paying more attention to.
“Evening, Alex,” Tim said.
Alex waved, but didn’t look up. Tim withdrew his head and made for the kitchen. There was coffee in the machine, so he poured himself a mug. Niamh would be up in her room. He pulled out his phone and called her.
“Hi, Uncle Tim. How’re you?”
“I’m downstairs in your kitchen, if you wanted to ask me face to face,” he said.
“Oh cool. Be down in a minute.”
A few minutes later there was the thunder of a teenager running down the stairs and Niamh appeared. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said, by way of a greeting. She fetched herself some orange juice from the fridge.
“How’ve you been?” Tim dropped his voice. “How are things going with your mum?”
Niamh slid into the chair next to his. “They’re okay,” she said. “For a while Mum did all this ‘mother and daughter bonding’ stuff, but she’s laid off that now.”
Tim frowned. “Does that mean things are going back to the way they were before?”
Niamh made a so-so motion with her hand. “Not exactly,” she said. “But close.” She shrugged. “At least she found me a box of photos from her life with Dad. They’re like, really young in them.”
“Good. I’m glad things are improving,” said Tim.
Niamh gave a one-shouldered shrug, which Tim took to mean that she agreed. Or at least didn’t disagree.
He took a careful sip of coffee. Now would be a good time to tell Niamh about Harriet, especially as Mel wasn’t around. “Have you been in touch with Harriet at all?” he said. He knew she had been, because Harriet had told him so.
“Yeah. She’s cool. I photographed some of the photos of Dad for her – the ones without Mum in.”
He nodded. “She said.”
“Have you been in touch with her then?” said Niamh.
Tim felt his ears going red.
“Uncle Tim?” Niamh leaned forward and stared at him. She gave a sudden squeal. “You and Harriet?” She clapped her hands and hooted with laughter. “That’s brilliant!”
“You’re okay with it?” Relief washed through him. At least Niamh was going to be on his side.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I dunno. I thought maybe you’d be upset that she’d been here and hadn’t seen you.”
“Wait. She was here? When? How long for? How come you never said?”
This was the bit he was worried about. “She came to say goodbye to your dad. She wasn’t here for very long, just one night and ... I, well, we didn’t think it was a good idea to annoy your mum so close to things.”
“You could have made up something. You didn’t have to tell Mum!” Niamh said, her voice climbing to volume.
The door to the kitchen opened and Mel came in. “Tell me what?”
Niamh shot Tim a look, but he knew he already looked guilty as hell. Mel’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me what? Tim?”
Tim sighed. He may as well do this now. There was no point dragging it out for more weeks. “That I’m seeing Harriet.”
“What? When? What does she want?” Mel put her hands on her hips.
Niamh gave a snort. “No, Mum. He’s seeing Harriet. You know, like going out with her.”
Mel turned to look at Tim. Her face went pale. Her mouth made shapes but no words came out.
“It’s a long distance thing,” he said. “We’re taking things slowly.” He watched Mel carefully. Her lips compressed. She was about to go nuclear.
“First Richard and now you?” Mel shouted. “What does that woman have against me?”
Even though he had been expecting something like this, he was still shocked. “It’s not about you, Mel,” he said. “It’s about me and Harriet. And how we feel about each other.”
“How could you?”
“Mum! Seriously?” said Niamh.
“You, go to your room. This isn’t a conversation that concerns you,” Mel snapped.
“Actually, it does,” Niamh shouted back. “Harriet’s my friend.”
Mel drew breath. Tim stood up. “Enough.” He put a hand up to stop Niamh’s next comment.
“Ti—” Mel began.
“I said, enough,” he said. “Mel, just listen for one second. I understand this is weird for you. It’s weird for me too. But I really like Harriet. So stop for one moment, okay. Give me a chance to see how this works out.”
When she opened her mouth to speak again, he did something he’d never done before. He asked for her help. “Please,” he said. “I need you to do this. For me.”
In the silence that followed Niamh stood up and moved to stand beside Tim. He gave her a grateful glance. She punched him gently on the shoulder.
Mel’s gaze moved from one to the other. When neither of them moved, her anger seemed to deflate. Slowly, her shoulders dropped. “You’re sure about this?”
Tim said, “Yes.”
Niamh added. “I think we should let them find out if it’s going to work out.”
Mel nodded and looked away. “Okay.” She raised her eyes back to Tim. “Are you planning to move up to Yorkshire?”
“Not at the moment,” he said. “But, if things work out, maybe. I don’t know yet.”
Mel pulled out a chair and sat down. “Right.”
Tim and Niamh exchanged a glance. This was good. Slowly, Tim sat back down.
“If this all goes horribly wrong,” Mel said, pointing a finger at Tim. “Don’t come to me for sympathy.”
Tim smiled. “I won’t.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
There was a tense silence. Finally, Niamh moved across to her mother and gave her a hug. Mel looked surprised.
“I know how hard this is for you Mum,” said Niamh. “I’m proud of you.” She grinned at Tim. “And you, Uncle Tim. Harriet’s awesome. She’d make a cool aunty.”
Both Tim and Mel protested and Niamh laughed. “You guys are so serious,” she said. “I’m going to go call Harriet. I can’t believe you’ve kept it quiet for so long.” She ran off upstairs.
Brother and sister sat in the kitchen in silence. Finally, Tim said, “Mel ... Thank you. It means a lot that you’re not trying to ...” He stopped. He wasn’t sure what word he was looking for. Sabotage was too strong. “I know you’re not pleased, but I appreciate you’re being calm about it.”
Mel gave him a small smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “The other day you said you’d always be there for me.”
“Yes.”
“Well maybe it won’t kill me to return the favour sometimes.”
Tim reached a hand across the table. Mel took it and squeezed.