Harley
Volunteer for a Good Cause
Descending the stepladder after changing another library lightbulb, Harley catches sight of Kirsten standing outside. Checking her phone, she looks despairingly at the boxes piled at her feet. Folding the ladder away, he grabs his tool bag and exits through the double doors. Jogging down the stairs leading from the stone terrace to the car park, he heads over, trying not to notice how great she looks, or the butterflies flapping in his stomach. Red hair spilling loose, the indecently tight blue jeans and white blouse showcase her figure, and he clears his throat before speaking. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Oh, Hi. Not really. My van’s in the garage and I totally forgot I have cakes to drop off at the Happy Café.’ She frowned. ‘My taxi’s not coming. The app says it’s cancelled because they can’t find me.’
‘That’s odd. And sorry, thewhatcafé?’
‘Albie mentioned an organisation calledAction for Happinessrecently, so I looked online. One of their activities islocal groups holding Happy Cafés to talk about positive things, and spend time with like-minded people. It’s good for mental health and well-being. I reached out to see if I could provide some free cakes they can sell to raise money to fund research into happiness.’
‘A worthy cause.’
She huffs. ‘If you’re just going to make sarcastic remarks?—’
‘I wasn’t being sarcastic.’
‘Oh.’ Kirsten looks nonplussed.
He shifts, uncomfortable at the assessing light in her eyes. ‘Where’s Rosie?’ She can be clingy, wanting to constantly hold his hand, but seeing Kirsten alone is like seeing a bookend without its matching partner. Wait. Is he missing her? Surely not.
Yep, she says, sounding amused.
Shut up, he tuts inside his head.
‘It’s Wednesday, so she’s at school,’ Kirsten explains. ‘Dropped her in earlier, dropped the van off then got a taxi home. Which is why I don’t understand why they can’t pick me up now.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘Harley, you okay? You’re pulling a weird expression.’
‘Uh, it’s nothing.’ He straightens his face, trying to quieten the internal debate. The voice is currently pointing out that scrubbing the stripped walls of Albie’s cottage with sugar-soap alongside Kirsten yesterday afternoon while Rosie lay on the floor colouring-in, is the closest he’s ever been to happy. Being with them is easy, apart from when he lets slip a swear word and Kirsten scolds him. Even that isn’t so bad because he gets a weird kick out of watching her lose her cool. He wonders when else it happens, and an image of her rumpled and naked in bed, face hot with passion, floats into his mind. Which is exactly why he shouldn’t be spending time with her. But what emerges from his mouth is a croaky, ‘Do you need a lift?’
‘Really?’ When he nods, she gives a little hop. ‘Yes, amazing! Thank you.’ She stops. ‘Wait, am I dreaming? Harley, cynic of the century, volunteering for a good cause?’
He shrugs. ‘If you want to look at it that way. Or maybe I prefer spending time annoying you?’
Her dimple flashes. ‘That, I can believe.’
As they carry the boxes over to the Transit van, past the circular fountain burbling with twinkling water in the morning light, he asks, ‘How did you forget about the cakes? You’re so organised, with all your lists.’
She stiffens. ‘I have loads going on at the moment.’
He throws open the van doors. ‘Don’t get defensive. I know you spin a lot of plates and I admire that.’ He’s surprised by his admission, wondering if it came from him, or the little voice which… belongs to his extra heart? Is there evidence of the phenomenon? Maybe he needs to research it. Or consider talking to a professional, because it’s unnerving how regularly he has conversations withher, whatever the explanation.
‘You admire me?’ Kirsten squeaks.
‘Yeah. Your work ethic running a successful business is impressive,’ he responds, secretly wondering if she’s been distracted by Theo. She kept smiling at him the other day when he was singing. Although, he’s probably a bit young. Surely, she needs someone older who can share her responsibilities, and support her and Rosie?
‘Um, thank you,’ she whispers, wide-eyed and blushing.
He doesn’t know how to reply, concentrating on arranging the cake boxes to stop them sliding around. From the corner of his eye, there’s a glimmer of movement and he jerks his gaze to the fountain. Nothing, except the carved lion heads and roses look particularly pronounced today.
He could’ve sworn?—
‘What’s wrong?’ Kirsten leans into his side, her warmth distracting him.
‘N-nothing. Come on, let’s go.’
As they join the M27, he mentions something that wouldn’t have bothered him a few months ago. ‘I, um, overheard Vanessa shouting at Laurie the other day.’ Flicking a look in his wing mirror, he indicates and changes lanes. ‘It was pretty bad.’
‘How so?’ Kirsten tucks her hair behind her ear, the scent of her perfume drifting toward him.
