friend into the cramped changing room cubicle, oohing and aahhing in all the right places in the hope that it might encourage a decision. While she waited, she consoled herself with the thought of the large caramel macchiato waiting for her when they were finally released from the store’s clutches. Only thirty-nine garments to go and then it’s all mine . . .
‘Are you listening?’ Stella barked, as the glorious daydream dissolved like a sugar lump in hot espresso, snapping Harri back to reality. ‘I said , what do you think?’
It was the third pair of jeans Stella had eased her perfect figure into and Harri honestly couldn’t tell the difference. ‘How much are those again?’
Stella let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I told you, fifty-two pounds. I knew you weren’t listening.’
‘Sorry, hon. They’re nice, but I like the first pair the most.’
‘Really? You don’t think they make my bum look big?’
‘You don’t have a bum, Stella.’
‘Yes, I do. That’s why it’s a no-carb week this week.’
‘You’re crazy. You look great, hon. And those jeans – any of them – make you look great. But do you really need any more jeans? You’ve got about fifteen pairs at home.’
‘That’s a complete exaggeration, Harri! It’s only nine, and anyway these are Fornarina.’
It was going to be a long day, Harri groaned inwardly, as Stella rotated slowly, scrutinising every inch of her reflection from every conceivable angle. Harri closed her eyes and imagined herself alighting from a packed vaporetto water taxi into the buzzing throng of a Venetian quayside, then wandering through the streets, finding a pavement café and slowly sipping rich espresso as colourful waves of people washed past her . . .
‘So when do you think you’ll hear from Juste Moi ?’
Daydream shattered, Harri shuddered. ‘I don’t know. Probably a few months or something. If they accept him, that is.’
‘Of course they’ll accept him,’ Stella insisted, echoing Viv’s words from earlier in the week. ‘He is a gorgeous man. Irritating as hell, but gorgeous. You wait and see.’
Harri didn’t have to wait long.
Chapter Five
The Point of No Return
The buzz from the fluorescent strip light above the cubicle seems to be getting louder as the rain on the skylight intensifies. The only other sound is the thumping of Harri’s heart, loud in her ears. It’s slowed a little since her flight into the ladies’, wow, thirty minutes ago. She wonders if the survivors of the Stone Yardley Armageddon are still in the hall; or maybe Viv has moved the remnant on, like a brisk police officer shooing onlookers away from a crime scene – OK, people, step away now, nothing to see here . . .
One thing’s for certain: Alex won’t be there. Not after that look . Harri feels a stab of icy pain at the memory. He hates me. I’ve lost my best friend . In all the time she’s known him, she’s never seen him so hurt, so angry. And every last atom of it directed straight at her. No, Alex will be long gone by now. If only she’d listened to her conscience when the letter arrived from Juste Moi . . .
Dear Ms Langton,
Many thanks for your nomination for our ‘Free to a Good Home’ feature.
Everyone here at Juste Moi loved your letter – your friend Alex is exactly the kind of candidate we want to feature in the magazine.
If you could provide us with a few more details on the form enclosed, we’ll set the wheels in motion to find the lady of his dreams!
Looking forward to hearing from you soon,
Chloë Sahou
Features Writer
‘What’s that?’ asked Tom, peering over Harri’s shoulder as she read the letter. It was lunchtime and Harri had finally plucked up courage to open the envelope with the Juste Moi frank that Freddie Mills, the friendly postman, had handed to her that morning.
‘Looks like an exciting one,’ Freddie had remarked, tapping the top of the envelope with a nicotine-hued forefinger. ‘London postmark, that.
‘Are you listening?’ Stella barked, as the glorious daydream dissolved like a sugar lump in hot espresso, snapping Harri back to reality. ‘I said , what do you think?’
It was the third pair of jeans Stella had eased her perfect figure into and Harri honestly couldn’t tell the difference. ‘How much are those again?’
Stella let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I told you, fifty-two pounds. I knew you weren’t listening.’
‘Sorry, hon. They’re nice, but I like the first pair the most.’
‘Really? You don’t think they make my bum look big?’
‘You don’t have a bum, Stella.’
‘Yes, I do. That’s why it’s a no-carb week this week.’
‘You’re crazy. You look great, hon. And those jeans – any of them – make you look great. But do you really need any more jeans? You’ve got about fifteen pairs at home.’
‘That’s a complete exaggeration, Harri! It’s only nine, and anyway these are Fornarina.’
It was going to be a long day, Harri groaned inwardly, as Stella rotated slowly, scrutinising every inch of her reflection from every conceivable angle. Harri closed her eyes and imagined herself alighting from a packed vaporetto water taxi into the buzzing throng of a Venetian quayside, then wandering through the streets, finding a pavement café and slowly sipping rich espresso as colourful waves of people washed past her . . .
‘So when do you think you’ll hear from Juste Moi ?’
Daydream shattered, Harri shuddered. ‘I don’t know. Probably a few months or something. If they accept him, that is.’
‘Of course they’ll accept him,’ Stella insisted, echoing Viv’s words from earlier in the week. ‘He is a gorgeous man. Irritating as hell, but gorgeous. You wait and see.’
Harri didn’t have to wait long.
Chapter Five
The Point of No Return
The buzz from the fluorescent strip light above the cubicle seems to be getting louder as the rain on the skylight intensifies. The only other sound is the thumping of Harri’s heart, loud in her ears. It’s slowed a little since her flight into the ladies’, wow, thirty minutes ago. She wonders if the survivors of the Stone Yardley Armageddon are still in the hall; or maybe Viv has moved the remnant on, like a brisk police officer shooing onlookers away from a crime scene – OK, people, step away now, nothing to see here . . .
One thing’s for certain: Alex won’t be there. Not after that look . Harri feels a stab of icy pain at the memory. He hates me. I’ve lost my best friend . In all the time she’s known him, she’s never seen him so hurt, so angry. And every last atom of it directed straight at her. No, Alex will be long gone by now. If only she’d listened to her conscience when the letter arrived from Juste Moi . . .
Dear Ms Langton,
Many thanks for your nomination for our ‘Free to a Good Home’ feature.
Everyone here at Juste Moi loved your letter – your friend Alex is exactly the kind of candidate we want to feature in the magazine.
If you could provide us with a few more details on the form enclosed, we’ll set the wheels in motion to find the lady of his dreams!
Looking forward to hearing from you soon,
Chloë Sahou
Features Writer
‘What’s that?’ asked Tom, peering over Harri’s shoulder as she read the letter. It was lunchtime and Harri had finally plucked up courage to open the envelope with the Juste Moi frank that Freddie Mills, the friendly postman, had handed to her that morning.
‘Looks like an exciting one,’ Freddie had remarked, tapping the top of the envelope with a nicotine-hued forefinger. ‘London postmark, that.
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