So it is that two days after her late-night visit I’m halfway up the path to Harriet’s front door again. I don’t even have a game plan for when I get there. All I know is that I have to see her. I’m like a junkie risking life and limb for the sake of another hit. I push a bamboo frond aside and, lo and behold, there’s Nat Nguyen ambling towards me.
I’ve never seen Nat amble in all my life. She’s more inclined to march swiftly, dictator-style. Seriously, what’s going on with her? And what’s she doing at Harriet’s house?
Nat ambles to a halt in front of me. ‘This is unexpected.’
‘I’ll say.’
‘Really, though. I’m surprised to see you. I heard Harriet and Edie are back together.’
Natasha finger-on-the-pulse Nguyen. Of course she’s heard. It crosses my mind to ask her which leg, left or right, the Premier puts through his underwear first in the mornings.
‘I guess I assumed the storeroom thing was a one-off.’ She says it so matter-of-factly, like the ‘storeroom thing’ is no big deal. Like I could have pashed the President of Russia and it would be of total irrelevance to her. Like we didn’t spend last term doing our own ‘storeroom thing’ in the newsroom.
Let her think she knows what the ‘storeroom thing’ is all about, I decide. It’s better than her knowing the truth about Amelia Westlake, not to mention the other truth: that Harriet is the tune stuck in my head. That every waking thought I have is shadowed by the thought of being with her again.
Deflection seems the preferable approach. ‘Aren’t you even going to apologise for the appalling piece in your gutter press?’
Nat shreds a bamboo leaf with her fingers. ‘I’m a journalist.’
It’s a callous response, even for Nat. ‘That’s your answer?’
‘We stumbled onto a good story. We ran with it.’
‘Stumbled? That’s a funny way to describe sending Duncan out to corner us.’
‘Duncan was picking up some items of his that he stores there. He can’t store them at home because his parents are ultra conservative and wouldn’t approve. He found you guys by pure chance. What were we supposed to do? Our circulation numbers depend upon those gossip pages. And our existence depends upon our circulation numbers.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ I snap. ‘It’s a bloody school paper, Nat. Circulation numbers have nothing to do with it.’
Nat shrugs. ‘Then I knew that a piece about you and Harriet Price would be something people would want to read about. Come on. What kind of a professional would I be if I let my friendship with you get in the way of breaking a story?’
‘A nice one?’
That makes her chuckle. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Are you and Harriet a thing?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. It was a moment of madness, that’s all.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’ Nat asks.
‘I could ask the same thing of you.’
Just then a flock of swallows explodes out of a nearby tree. I hear footsteps on the timber path. Arthur Price appears wearing black jeans, a Teengenerate T-shirt and gardening gloves. He’s carrying a pair of secateurs. ‘You’re still here!’ He puts the secateurs down and gives Nat a squeeze. ‘Hey there, Will!’
I wait for Nat to throw off his hand, but she doesn’t. Instead, she kind of nuzzles into his neck.
I stare at them. ‘You two are …?’
Nat coughs. Arthur grins.
So that explains her strangely pleasant demeanor these past few weeks.
Nat’s face suddenly clouds. ‘Hang on.’ She turns to Arthur. ‘How do you know Will?’
‘We met a few weeks ago when she came around to see our band rehearse before the gig,’ says Arthur.
This is not good.
Nat frowns. ‘What gig?’
‘The one Harriet invited you to at Deep Fryer,’ says Arthur. ‘The night we met, remember?’ He nudges her playfully.
Surely Harriet never told Arthur she invited Nat. I hope to God she didn’t.
‘Your sister didn’t invite me to that gig,’ Nat corrects him. ‘I thought she did at first, but in fact we just ran into each other on our way there.’
‘Oh. My mistake,’ says Arthur.
I breathe out in relief.
‘It’s just that I remember …’ He shakes his head. ‘Never mind.’
There are more footsteps. Harriet emerges from between two plants in her tennis whites, her racket case slung over one shoulder like some Golden Hollywood-era goddess off to challenge Grace Kelly to a game. God, I worship her.
Seeing us, she slows. ‘Hello.’
‘Hey, sis,’ says Arthur. ‘Look who’s here!’ He nods in my direction.
Harriet turns a deep crimson. ‘I’d love to stay and chat,’ she says with an attempt at breeziness. ‘But I’m just off to Tawney practice. With Edie,’ she adds pointedly.
Nat glances between us. ‘Let me get this straight. You guys aren’t a thing? You’ve never been a thing?’
‘Never!’ Harriet shakes her head vigorously. ‘We don’t even like each other!’
In an effort to absorb this punch to the heart, I exhale slowly through my nose.
Something appears to occur to Nat. ‘Art, you were going to say something about why you thought I was at the gig at Harriet’s invitation.’
Bloody journos. Like dogs with bones. Let it go, I will her.
‘Oh. It was just that the night Will came around …’ says Arthur, wavering a little, since at this point Harriet is doing a great impression of someone choking on her own intestines, ‘… the night Will came around you asked her, didn’t you, Harriet, whether she thought Nat would like our music?’
‘I don’t remember that,’ I say emphatically.
Arthur looks surprised. ‘Yeah, you do. We had that chat about Nat knowing Duncan.’
‘Hang on,’ Nat interrupts, looking at me. ‘If you and Harriet have never been a thing, what were you even doing at Harriet’s place that night?’
I glance at Harriet. ‘Um, I –’
‘And for that matter, why are you here right now?’
Harriet opens her mouth to speak, but Nat stops her. ‘No. I think I’m beginning to piece it together myself.’ Her eyes grow wide. ‘That was the same night the newsroom window got smashed.’
I scoff. ‘What’s that got to
