A Woman of Our Times. Rosie Thomas

It was like a man, Harriet thought. At the same rebuff a woman might have revealed hurt, or anger, or anxiety. In a man, it was simply annoyance. She crossed the room quickly and rather unsteadily. She told herself that she had had a lot to drink, that she mustn’t drink any more.

      After she had said goodnight to the couple who were leaving, Harriet went upstairs. She locked herself into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bath. She studied Jane’s asparagus and spider plants grouped in their wicker basket, the bowls of soap and jars of cosmetics and creams, and the moon-face of the bathroom scales. She breathed deeply and evenly, remembering that she had felt breathless, like a silly girl. She decided that she had had a fortunate escape, and ignored the steady impulse to run downstairs and find the man again. That would be the first of the inevitable steps that would lead them back to her borrowed flat. When they reached it she would unbutton the blue shirt and wind her fingers in the black curls. It would be good and it would hurt nobody.

      ‘Shit,’ Harriet said aloud.

      She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror over Jane’s washbasin. Then she rummaged in Jane’s quilted make-up bag and found the plum-coloured lipstick. She applied it to her own mouth, and found that it didn’t suit her either.

      She didn’t know how long she had been locked in the bathroom; it was absurd to cower in there any longer. She flushed the lavatory unnecessarily and unlocked the door.

      In the kitchen Jane and the last stragglers were drinking coffee.

      ‘I’d love some,’ Harriet said. She took the wedding mug that Bernard the vegan had used earlier and tried to interest herself in a conversation about gender bias in nursery education. She was looking out of the corner of her eye for the blue shirt, hoping that it wouldn’t reappear. When it did, there was a thick, dark sweater over it. David had come, with the couple who had brought him, to say good-night to Jane. He kissed Jane on the cheek and thanked her, but he held out his hand to Harriet. She shook it, with the certainty that he was laughing at her.

      ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again,’ David said. The northern accent seemed pronounced now.

      ‘Perhaps.’ Perfectly straightforward, neither encouraging nor unnecessarily chilly. Harriet was proud of herself but although she couldn’t see his grin, she knew it was there. She formed some words experimentally in her head, smug and arrogant amongst them.

      As she watched him go, ducking his head in the doorway, she discovered that she was quite strongly tempted to run after him. She stood absolutely still, and heard the front door open and close.

      Then she let her shoulders drop. It had indeed been a narrow escape. Was this going to happen, then, this knock-kneed surge of barely focussed lust, whenever she met a new man, just because Leo was no longer glowering at her side? Harriet smiled at the thought. She didn’t have time to indulge herself with anything of the kind. Tonight was an aberration, and the man’s impact was fading already. She couldn’t even remember the configuration of his boxer’s features.

      ‘I’ll make another pot of coffee, shall I?’ Harriet volunteered to Jane.

      At last, the stayers drifted away. They engaged themselves, as late guests always did, in vehement conversations held half in and half out of the front door. But finally only Jane and Harriet herself were left to survey the damage in the kitchen.

      Jane shoved a line of dirty glasses to one side and sank down on one of her pine chairs.

      ‘I’m not doing anything with any of this until tomorrow,’ she announced. Her hair had half-freed itself from its plait, and the last vestiges of the plum-coloured maquillage had disappeared. She looked as if she was relieved. She rested her chin in her hands and beamed across the table at Harriet. ‘Isn’t this always the best bit of a party? When everyone’s gone, and you can sit back and talk about them?’

      ‘I had a good time. Did you?’

      Jane gave a long sigh. ‘I don’t, usually, not at my own parties. All that scurrying about with drinks and dips. Husbands are useful for that, at least.’

      Harriet grinned. ‘Leo was never much good at it. You’d do better to hire a butler.’

      Jane wasn’t listening. ‘But I did enjoy tonight. Did you see him, in the blue shirt? Yes, of course you did. You danced with him, didn’t you? What did you think of him?’

      Harriet opened her mouth but she heard the warning bells. She had felt relief that Jane didn’t know him a little prematurely, it seemed.

      ‘About who? Oh, yes. Him. Quite nice, I suppose.’ Harriet stretched her feet out on the chair next to her. She saw that someone had neatly dropped ash in the suede folds of her boots.

      Jane was listening carefully enough now. She looked narrowly at Harriet. ‘Did you fancy him?’

      ‘What? No. Or only from afar.’ She had locked herself in Jane’s bathroom, run through the entire future sequence of events, and decided that she couldn’t spare the time. That was all. ‘I’m too busy for that sort of thing.’

      ‘Hmm. He’s staying with the Greens. He’s some sort of a builder.’

      ‘So I gather.’

      ‘You talked to him as well?’

      Harriet held up her hands, laughing, defending herself. ‘Only for five minutes. He’s yours, take him.’

      Jane sighed again. ‘I’d welcome the chance. Well, he knows where to find me.’ She frowned at Harriet, not quite soberly. ‘What do you mean, you’re too busy for that sort of thing? Perhaps a short sharp affair is just what you needed at this point?’

      ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t told you what I’m going to do. Can we forget the builder for a minute?’

      ‘If you say so.’

      ‘I’m going to start a business.’ Harriet jumped to her feet, unable to keep still while she talked. She began to clear up, cutting a swathe through the debris. Jane watched her, blinking, her chin still resting on her hand.

      At the end, Harriet leaned back against the sink and folded her arms. ‘So what do you think?’

      Jane pondered. ‘I think …’

      Harriet waited, knowing that Jane’s approval was as important, in its different way, as Charlie’s had been, and also knowing that she would go ahead with her plan whatever Jane said.

      ‘I think it sounds a fine idea.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Harriet bent down and hugged her, and the fraying plait tickled her cheek.

      ‘So put that bloody tea towel down, and tell me how you’re going to get started.’

      ‘Homework. Lots of homework, and then trying to raise the money. Charlie made it quite clear that it wouldn’t be easy.’

      Jane thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got some money saved. A couple of thousand, that’s all, but you could have that if it would help.’

      Harriet was amazed. Jane’s generosity was on a far grander scale than her embryo plan called for, and she was touched by it. To hide her feelings she teased, ‘It might be a good investment. You’ll get a healthy return on your money, I promise.’

      Jane was scandalised. ‘I offered it for you, not because I want to make money out of you.’

      ‘I know that,’ Harriet told her. ‘And I’m grateful.’

      ‘I hope so. Oh God, look at the time. It’s nearly four o’clock.’

      ‘I’m going home alone to Belsize Park.’

      ‘To slip between the balance sheets.’

      Their laughter acknowledged their singleness, and their affection for each other.

      ‘Won’t you stay the night?’

      ‘I’d rather go home. I’ll