‘So when you found out about Naomi, were you relieved?’
‘No. I was very hurt. I felt rejected.’
I pulled a cushion to my chest. ‘Even though you’d rejected Dad first?’
Mum flushed. I could see she was struggling to explain it. ‘Feelings are complicated. I felt really guilty about cheating on your dad. I know it hurt him as much as his affair hurt me. It’s not like our infidelities cancelled each other out. I hated myself for what I was doing. What I was doing to you, most of all. I was splitting up our family. I know how hard it’s been for you with your dad moving out.’
‘“Moving out” is putting it mildly.’
‘It breaks my heart to see you fighting with each other when you used to be so close.’ She reached out and brushed my hair with her fingers. ‘You are so much like him, you know.’
It had been a while since she’d done that, the fingers-in-the-hair thing. I usually batted her hand away, but this time I snuggled in beside her like a joey into its mother’s pouch.
Go ahead, diary: vomit in your mouth.
Now, I slide my diary to the side of my desk and turn our conversation over again in my mind. I think about what Mum said about her and Dad splitting up. What surprises me is that she didn’t try to justify anything. I respect her for that.
She was right about one thing: feelings are bloody complicated.
I think about what she said about her relationship with Graham, and how it works because of their differences, not in spite of them.
It makes me think of Harriet.
Then I try not to think of Harriet.
But the truth is, I like thinking about Harriet. And ever since that kiss …
I wasn’t even aiming for anything. It was just meant as a cover. A way to hide the truth about Amelia Westlake. But she kissed me back: with her hands on my face and her lips apart.
I don’t know what to do. It’s not like we’ll be kissing again. She made that clear seconds later, by acting outraged in front of Duncan.
Anyway, she has a girlfriend.
Although apparently not at the moment. Because of Nat’s Messenger article exposé.
Why am I even considering this? Harriet being single is irrelevant. We’ll never be together. Can you imagine? Me and Harriet Price? Besides, going after someone who’s on the rebound is never a good idea. And she and Edie were made for each other.
I open my laptop and find her profile pic online – the one with both of them in it. Edie. Look at her. Well-groomed. Good posture. A two-hundred-dollar haircut. Her face is so damn clear it looks photoshopped. Nothing like oily-skinned, slouchy old me.
For the first time since the storeroom, my mood dips.
Great. Now I’m getting jealous about some privileged overachieving ponce from Blessingwood. This is ridiculous. Damn Harriet Price for putting me through this.
And that’s when I work it out. I’ve been happy all week, but it’s a delusional state. As pathetic as some smiling kid who gets a letter from Santa in the postbox.
Just tell the kid he doesn’t exist! Get it over with! Rip off that bandaid, fast!
That’s what I need to do, I realise. Rip off the bandaid.
So I leave the house.
I grab Mum’s car keys from the bench on the way out.
It’s late afternoon by the time I make it to Harriet’s. She opens the door wearing nothing but swimmers and a beach towel.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Vodka fumes waft off her. Her hair drips water, like she was caught in a flash flood minutes before I showed up.
Seriously, universe, what do you have against me? I swallow. ‘You’re shivering.’
‘What do you want?’ Her eyes are wild, violent.
‘Shouldn’t you put some clothes on or something?’ My voice is unsteady, like I’m the one who is standing half-naked in the cold.
‘Just say what you have to say,’ Harriet says, impatient.
Droplets cling to her skin. I swallow again. ‘I can wait while you get a jumper.’
She gives a curt shake of her head and stays where she is. I gaze at her and my thoughts start to wander. Perhaps she doesn’t own any jumpers. I know cardigans are more her thing. There are pimples of cold on her shoulders. Should I rub them smooth?
Of course not.
Her reflection jitters in the door glass, she is shivering that much.
‘I’m here to apologise,’ I press on when she fails to move. ‘I tried to save our butts except I got us into a whole other pile of shit instead. I know that. I’m sorry I even tried. I promise that what happened in the storeroom won’t happen again.’
There. I’ve done it. I wait for a word from her. A sound. Anything.
‘Okay, that’s all,’ I say finally. ‘You really should get dressed.’ Gingerly, I reach out a hand to coax her.
Harriet’s fingers bat mine away; my skin buzzes at her touch.
We stand there looking at each other. A metronome keeps a dizzy pace deep in my chest.
My thoughts float back to the storeroom. Our hands on each other. The warmth of her breath.
A sharp heat rises up my neck.
Harriet sways towards me and her arm grazes mine.
It’s happening.
She reaches out her hand. Our fingers meet. She presses her palm to my cheek.
She sighs, and my belly jolts.
She takes her hand away. Steps back. ‘You need to leave,’ she says coldly, and slams the door in my face.
Chapter 24
HARRIET
Under the glare of the bathroom light I slap my cheeks with water and wipe them dry. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are as pink as a rabbit’s. My hair is a mess. Everything tingles, like I’ve just had oral surgery and the anaesthetic is wearing off.
Why won’t Will Everhart leave me alone?
In for four, out for
