Page 3 of Strawberry Moon

CHAPTER TWO

The doorbell gives its discordant ring that always sounds like a dying duck because the battery is running down.

“Oh my god ,” I groan. “He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” my mum calls as she comes into my bedroom. “Jesus Christ, did we have a home invasion?” She looks around at all the clothes spread everywhere.

“It’s Harry,” I say shortly, shoving some briefs into my already overstuffed case.

“Harry from the shop? What’s he doing here?”

I stop dead in my panic and stare at her. “I’m going for the weekend with him to his cousin’s wedding. Do you ever actually retain a tiny word I say?”

“Is that this weekend?”

“No, it’s in a fortnight. We’re just having a dummy run.”

“Sarcasm never gets sparkly young men a boyfriend.”

“You lie.”

She starts to laugh and then raises a quizzical eyebrow at my grandad who’s perched on the chair in the corner of the room. He’d look dignified if it wasn’t for the thong on his shoulder which landed there when I had my first clothes-related panic at seven this morning.

“And why are you here, Dad?” she asks. Nobody says anything, and she looks between us before slowly shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure I do not want to know.”

“I knew you were a wise woman,” I say. I do a twirl in front of her. “Quick, tell me what you think of this outfit?”

She looks me up and down slowly, a frown appearing on her forehead.

“Well?” I prompt.

She’s obviously sorting through her words. “You look different,” she finally says.

“You had thirty seconds to answer the question, and that is what you’ve come up with?”

“You just don’t look like you,” she says. “I like the outfit, Clem, but it might be a bit more appropriate on my bank manager.”

I look down at my beige chinos and blue, gingham-checked shirt. “Your bank manager?”

She grimaces. “Sorry, love.”

“That’s brilliant,” I exclaim. “Just the look I’m going for.”

She looks at my grandad. He rolls his eyes. “Life’s too short to get into that conversation,” he says.

“You’re probably right.” She looks me up and down again still seeming alarmed, but then shrugs. “Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart. Shall I go and let Harry in?”

“No,” I say, waving my hands in panic. “He might come upstairs and realise that my tidying standards aren’t to everyone’s taste.”

“Your tidying standards are more suited to the tip at Bodmin,” my grandad says. He jerks his head at my mum. “Go and let the lad in, Nessa, there’s a good girl.”

She gives him an affectionate look and spares one more glance at my outfit before shaking her head and vanishing downstairs. I hear the front door open and then muttered voices.

I look at my grandad. “So? Have I got everything?”

“Clemo, I lost track of time at seven thirty this morning when you emptied your suitcase for the second time.”

I shake my head and sit down hard on my suitcase, straining to zip it up. “Fasten, you little bitch,” I say through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me hurt you, motherfucker .”

“Language,” my grandad says laconically. There’s a rustle of clothes at the door.

“That’s a ghost standing in the doorway, isn’t it?” I ask my grandad hopefully.

He offers me a grimace. “I’d like to say that, but your grandmother prefers me to try being honest at least twice a week.”

I spin around and find Harry at the door.

He’s dressed in a pair of close-fitting beige chinos cropped at the ankles, a white T-shirt that shows off his muscled torso, and Birkenstocks.

He looks cool and collected, his Ray-Bans in his hand.

The ends of his hair are still wet, and this close I can smell his shampoo.

His eyes are wide as he looks around the room and then brings them back to me.

“Erm.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I know it’s a bit messy.”

“A bit ?” he says as a shirt that was hanging from the light fitting chooses that moment to fall to the floor with a soft thwomp .

“Don’t mind his floordrobe,” my mum says cheerfully, squeezing past him and offering him a cup of coffee. He takes it with a smile of thanks that lights up those pretty eyes of his.

I offer her the stare of death as she moves past me and perches on the arm of the chair by my grandad.

“How lovely that you’ve brought my boss up to my bedroom,” I say through gritted teeth. “What’s next. Is he sharing my bath?”

“Ouch!”

I look over and find Harry nursing his hand where he’s spilt his drink. “Oh no. What happened?” I rush over and take his hand to examine it. The skin is red, and I pat it gently. I look up and disappear into his eyes. They’re so clear and beautiful.

“Nothing,” he says hoarsely, and I wonder if his hay fever is playing up. He looks at me and frowns. “Are you going like that?”

I gaze down at my outfit. “Yes,” I say, but it’s more of a question than an answer. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh nothing.” He looks me up and down again. “You just look a little muted, that’s all.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Good. That’s the idea.”

“This is deliberate, then?” He glances at my grandad and mum. They shrug, and he looks back at me. “Why?” He holds up a hand. “I mean, you always look fantastic, Clem, and whatever you wear, you do it really well.”

“I do ?” I breathe. “You think I look fantastic?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Of course.”

I point at him. “And this outfit looks okay?” The nod is a little slower in coming, but I grin. “ Perfect . I want to look right for your family.”

“I beg your pardon?”

I gesture at my clothes. “I know it’s a bit boring, but I don’t want to embarrass you.” He’s shaking his head before I’ve even finished my sentence. “What?”

“I want you to take those clothes off right now.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from my family, and I stare dreamily at him. “You do ?”

He seems to realise what he just said, and red tinges his sharp cheekbones. “Erm. Yes. Hmm. Well, sort of.”

We all stare at him and I’m just indulging in a small daydream of him saying that when we’re alone.

Then he says, “I would like you to take that outfit off and replace it with something you’d normally wear.”

“ What ?” my mum and grandad say together like some sort of Greek chorus.

“What they said.” I point at them. “What’s wrong with this outfit? It screams meet the family to me.”

“It screams boring person meeting the family,” he says firmly. “And you are the least boring person I have ever met.”

Someone at the side of the room sucks in a breath but I ignore them to stare at him. “I’m not?” I ask a lot more hesitantly than I’d like.

His face softens. “No, you’re lovely—funny, kind, and lively, and your exterior usually matches that.” He looks around at the piles of brightly coloured clothing. “What about your normal jeans?”

“The tight ones?” my mum asks.

“Those are the ones.” He hesitates as if waiting for them to rise from the floor and march to his side.

“You can actually tell if I’ve been circumcised in those,” I say helpfully. “Is that something your family would be interested in?”

“Not traditionally, but who knows.”

My mum clears her throat and hands him the jeans.

He thrusts them into my arms. “Thank you, Nessa. And your T-shirt, Clem, with the sparkly heart on it. Where’s that?”

I point in the direction of the open wardrobe door, and my mum hustles to get it. When she hands it to him, her whole face is lit up, and she’s looking at him as though he’s the second coming.

I wouldn’t mind being present at the first coming if he’s involved . I shelve that extremely irreligious thought when he turns back to me.

“And make sure you put on your lip gloss and eye shadow if you want to.”

“What?” we all chorus.

He grins at us, and it’s wide and white and full of happiness. “I don’t want to travel anywhere with that boring person you conjured up today. I’m rather partial to Clem Pascoe.”

“You are?”

He nods. “He’s irreverent and inappropriate, but god, he’s good fun.”

My mum threads her arm through his. “Come downstairs. We’ll leave my dad with Clem. I can see another ceremonial repacking of the case happening anytime soon.”

“ Case ?” He sounds suddenly alarmed. “You know we’re only going for two days, don’t you, Clem?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I call. The door shuts behind them, and I spin to face my grandad who has a very funny look on his face. It’s happiness mixed with a lot of laughter. “Grandad?”

He shakes his head. “Lad, pack your case before his cousin is celebrating her silver wedding anniversary.”

I hasten to do it, jettisoning the boring clothes I bought yesterday without any qualms. My brother can have them. I stuff the case with my usual bright and tight clothing.

Before long, the case is closed and standing by the door. “Right, I’m off,” I say.

He stands up and hands me a bag. “Take this,” he whispers, looking towards the door as if we’re going to be interrupted at any moment. I’ve seen less clandestine drug deals.

“What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

I open the bag and find a book. “ The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire ?” I read. “I’m not sure this is really me. Not unless there were a lot of murders during the fall.”

“Open it.”

I open the dust jacket and grin when I see the book title inside. “ Torridly Yours . Edward Gibbon must be turning in his grave.”

“I swapped the dust jackets. Remind me to change them back or the library will be getting a few complaints from customers.” He taps the pages. “Read it. Study it well and keep me informed.”

“Am I going to war as a spy? Or a family wedding? Should I call you comrade?”

“Only when your grandmother can’t hear.” He clasps my face in his rough, big hands. “Be yourself, Clemo.”

“Really? I thought I was supposed to be Fiona just waiting for Jared to enfold me in his manly arms.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think the only person that Harry has always wanted to take to this party is currently standing in front of me in his usual sparkly clothes.”

“What do you mean always wanted?”