Welcome to My World. Miranda Dickinson

and the damning evidence of her involvement in garish red letters.

      Viv tutted. ‘Stop being so melodramatic, Harriet! He is not going to kill you. He is going to thank you when all those lovely ladies start to reply. Trust me, I’m his mother. Nobody understands Alex like I do.’

      Harri mentally activated everything crossable and hoped that, for once, Viv was right.

      The week passed by in a blur as Harri tried to comprehend the new upgraded status of Alex’s ‘Free to a Good Home’ article. After the initial shock of seeing the feature so prominent in the magazine, her confidence began to bounce back. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Even if Alex did find out and was annoyed at first, surely if Harri had managed to find him the woman of his dreams as a result then that would be enough to make him forgive her. Besides, by the end of the week Harri had something else to occupy her thoughts – namely, an unexpected argument with Rob on Friday evening.

      Knowing he was unlikely to be home until after seven that night, Harri decided to surprise her boyfriend by making dinner for him. He seemed to be working so much lately that she thought he deserved a treat. She spent a good hour cleaning the kitchen and preparing the meal, creating a selection of Spanish tapas for a starter, with a main course of lemon, thyme and garlic roast chicken with butternut squash wedges and Mediterranean roasted vegetables – a little more adventurous than Rob would normally choose (being a firmly English eater, suspicious of anything ‘foreign’) but still safely recognisable for him to take the risk.

      At seven-thirty, just as Harri was beginning to wonder what could be keeping Rob, her mobile rang.

      ‘Hey, Red.’ Rob’s voice sounded weary.

      ‘Hey you. What time will you be home?’

      There was a long pause. ‘I won’t. Not until Monday night.’ Harri’s eyes drifted over the dining table with its two perfectly prepared place settings, candles and open wine bottle. ‘Oh.’

      ‘That’s what I was ringing to tell you. Kingston Corp found a glitch in our proposal and we had to travel up straight away to try to save the deal. I know I should’ve called you earlier, but it’s been manic here since I arrived.’

      Harri felt her heart plummeting. ‘I wish you’d called me, Rob. I made dinner.’

      There was a long sigh at the other end of the line. ‘No, Red! Oh baby, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

      ‘It’s fine, I understand.’

      ‘No, you’ve every right to be upset. But I honestly had no choice but to come here.’

      Moving to the table, Harri began to clear away the cutlery. She could feel angry tears building but she was determined not to let them fall. ‘I know you didn’t. I’ll just be glad when you can finally tie up this Preston thing and get your life back. It seems a bit unfair that you’re always the one who has to go dashing up the M6 every time your company hits a problem.’

      The weariness increased in his voice but his answer was gentle. ‘We’ve had this discussion before and it leads us nowhere, does it? I’m really sorry I didn’t ring you and I feel bad that you went to all that trouble for me, but I’m here now and there’s not much more I can do about it, is there?’

      Harri hated it when things between her and Rob were tense. They had never been the kind of couple to bicker much in the past, but since the Preston job appeared in their lives it was as if a brooding tension was never far away from their conversations. Of course, she didn’t blame Rob – he was just doing what his bosses asked him to. But Harri could feel considerable resentment growing within her at the company which demanded his absence from her so often.

      ‘Well, maybe if you had a different job . . .’ she began, instantly kicking herself for saying it.

      Too late. Rob’s irritation buzzed against her ear. ‘Oh like that’s going to happen with the way the job market is at the moment! You know how important this job is, Red – not just for me but for both of us.’

      ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just think you deserve more than TGP give you. That’s all I’m saying.’

      ‘Oh, like you get from SLIT, you mean?’

      Harri felt her hackles rising. ‘That’s completely different and you know it.’

      ‘How? How is it different? George has had you doing more or less the same job since you started. I’ve worked my way up at TGP and now I’m head of a sales team with four people under me. That brings responsibility. Which means having to work away from home when they need me.’

      ‘What about when I need you, Rob?’ Tears stung Harri’s eyes as the frustration of the past few months broke free. ‘I know you have to work but ever since this Preston job appeared it’s like I’ve been relegated to second place. And I’m sick of you working away at weekends. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth . . .’

      Rob groaned. ‘Come on, Red, please . . .’

      ‘No. I’m not going to apologise for how I feel. I wanted to spend this weekend with my boyfriend, not be twiddling my thumbs at home. And yes, you should’ve called me. Because then perhaps I wouldn’t have wasted my time this evening.’

      ‘What do you want me to do, eh? Quit my job? Come home? I’ve said I’m sorry, and yes, I would much rather be spending this weekend with my girlfriend than be holed up in some crappy office in Preston. But I can’t change the situation and to be honest I don’t want to fight about this. I think I’d better go.’

      ‘Fine.’ Harri ended the call and threw her mobile onto the table with a loud cry of frustration.

      An hour later, curled up on her sofa with Ron Howard lying expansively across her lap, Harri had calmed down sufficiently to call a truce. Reaching for her mobile, she sent Rob a text:

      I’m sorry. Call me when you get this. H xx

      After staring at the mobile screen for a long time, Harri came to the depressing conclusion that Rob wasn’t ready yet to accept her apology. Well fine, let him stew for a bit. In the meantime, she knew she had to do something, go somewhere – anywhere – to stop herself brooding over the argument. Who was likely to be around at ten o’clock on a Friday evening? Scrolling through the names on her mobile’s address book, she considered the possibilities:

      Auntie Rosemary? No, she would be at her Knit’n’Natter group with friends she had met in antenatal classes when she was expecting Rosie and James, and had kept in contact with ever since. They took it in turns to meet at one another’s houses and put the world to rights over dry sherry, old movies and the brightly coloured knitting projects they never actually looked at as their needles clicked away.

      Stella – now there was an idea. She’d mentioned earlier that Stefan was in Milan for the weekend so she would be at a loose end. Harri dialled the number and waited.

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Hey, Stel, it’s me. Just – er – Rob’s busy so I’m free, if you wanted to do something?’

      There was a muffled sound that bore a remarkable resemblance to a male laugh and Stella muttered something away from the phone. ‘Hey, hon, sorry, I . . . Something came up . . .’ Another stifled laugh, this time matched by Stella’s own. ‘Call you tomorrow, OK?’

      Before Harri could answer, the call ended. Fantastic. Returning to her address book screen, Harri continued the search.

      Viv? Harri stared at her number and took a deep breath. Viv would want to know why Harri wasn’t with Rob this evening. Which would, undoubtedly, entail her having to endure an endless commentary from Viv about Rob’s job. After all the upset she’d already experienced tonight, was she really ready to put herself in the Vivienne Brannan firing line of animosity? She shook her head and looked over at Ron Howard, who had jealously claimed ownership of the TV remote control by sitting on it.

      ‘What do