All Bets are On

SEVEN


Rule #8 A player will want to go public with his conquests. You are a trophy, not a girlfriend.





The brink of a working week full of meetings to decide the direction of the new account didn’t really sit well with a sleepless night.

Not one of this kind at least.

There had been many nights where sleep took a back seat, of course. Sex into the small hours with no strings attached. Yet that had never exhausted Harry’s mind the way last night had over one little kiss. That kiss was progress. A step towards the gravitas win that would show he had the perfect touch. Cash and kudos would be in the bag.

He should have slept like a baby. Instead there were heated delicious imaginings of how it might have been if he’d followed that kiss up instead of retreating to his car, of how the softness of her skin might feel beneath his. Physical frustration wasn’t the end of it. He hadn’t accounted for the unexpected unease that she had given herself up to him. Not completely. Not yet. But enough to push him towards this frustrated sleepless state that felt innately wrong because she had no idea of his hidden agenda.

Turned out he had a conscience. Or at least he seemed to when it came to her. Who knew?

* * *

For the first time in months Alice wore her hair down for work and it was definitely not for the benefit of Harry Stephens. It was simply a part of her re-integration into socialising, an attempt to express a side of herself that wasn’t totally work-driven.

And spending a little longer on her appearance this morning was sensible, because she was likely to be attracting some glances today from her work colleagues. She was actually looking forward to being the centre of attention for a change, this time for a good reason instead of a butt-of-the-joke reason. No one got a reputation like Harry’s from being discreet. So she could expect him to be shouting from the rooftops today that he was dating Alice Ford.

In your face, betting ring participants.

He was late. Typical.

But she was prepared to overlook that as she emerged from the morning meeting expecting to be stared at with envy by the group of gossiping girls around the coffee machine and questioned about her new relationship by her extremely nosy PA. She’d planned to enjoy feeling smug for a bit, then maybe she would suggest to Harry that they grab a sandwich together at lunchtime. Just to cement the fact even further in the minds of her workmates.

Nothing.

No stares, no whispering, no nosy questions. No Harry. Eleven-thirty came and went and his desk remained empty. She kicked herself yet again for losing her mobile phone. The temptation to ring HR and see if he’d called in sick grew by the minute. She toyed with hacking into his work calendar. And the gnawing feeling that she was being played somehow wouldn’t quit.

Worst of all, she really shouldn’t be so infuriated. He was infiltrating her thoughts far too much. She should be completely detached and noting down this new behaviour in her notebook for proper unbiased analysis later.

She swept furiously into her twelve o’clock meeting because of course she really felt like discussing packaging right now, and there he suddenly was. As if he hadn’t disappeared for half the day with no word. Two spaces along from her at the oval meeting-room table, a sheaf of notes in front of him. He caught her eye briefly and she shot what she hoped was a seriously dagger-filled look at him.

* * *

Harry raised eyebrows back at her. The frown knitting her eyebrows made her look seriously cute and he found it hard to keep his eyes from darting back to her. He’d left it as long as he could before coming in to work, scheduling in a morning meeting that he could have conducted by phone. All to put off what seemed inevitable. Her knotted-up attitude was bound to give them away. That was if she hadn’t announced their relationship herself already.

He should be revelling in the ability to dangle his prize—so nearly in his grasp—in front of his colleagues, a large proportion of whom had money staked on nailing her themselves. Harry of a week or so ago would have really got off on that, without a moment’s consideration for Alice, secure in the knowledge that they’d clearly agreed on it being just a bit of fun. He told himself it was simply because he wanted the bet won before he broadcast it. No sense in encouraging anyone else to hit on her.


But in the depths of his heart he knew his desire to keep her under wraps had nothing to do with outwitting the competition.

The whole idea felt vaguely seedy now. She wasn’t some airhead who wouldn’t care one way or the other. She was an intelligent woman and he found to his honest surprise that he wanted to be her friend. To hold her up like some almost-his trophy felt distasteful suddenly. There would be no enjoyment in it.

And so he pressed ahead with what he’d decided was his only option. Play down what had gone on between them. Getting a bit of professional distance in place ought to do it, possibly with some kind of disagreement. In short, putting her back up publicly so she would think twice about holding them up as some rainbows-and-butterflies couple.

A bit of antagonism ought to do the trick.

He waited until his input was required by the meeting, until all eyes were on him, and then he turned to Alice, keeping his voice neutral with a dash of animosity.

‘Alice, have you had approval on the packaging design samples?’ he snapped at her, knowing perfectly well that she hadn’t—he’d spoken to the contact himself just that morning.

For a brief moment she stared at him, and then he saw the light blush creep upwards from the silk neckline of her blouse as she realised the CEO was watching her closely.

She flicked through her own sheaf of notes, and looked back at him with a ‘what-the-hell-are-you-doing?’ stare.

‘I’m still waiting for a response on that,’ she said.

He leapt straight back in.

‘If you could chase,’ he said irritably. ‘We really can’t move forward until that approval is pinned down. You’re holding up the whole team.’

She was staring at him, lush mouth slightly open in furious disbelief at the obvious dig at her professional ability.

He swept on quickly to outlining his own proposals for brand development and the next time he took a glance at her she was staring down at her notes, a furious expression on her face.

Mission accomplished.

She practically rugby-tackled him by the water cooler outside the meeting room.

‘What the hell was that all about?’

‘What?’

‘Treating me like some inefficient junior. Showing me up.’

He took a deliberate step backwards in case anyone saw them.

‘I was being professional. That’s more important than ever now that we’re dating—if you’re going to hang onto your respect with your colleagues we need to be whiter than white.’

For a moment she looked as if she might explode.

‘Professionalism has never been a priority of yours before!’ she snapped. ‘So what the hell has changed?’

The CEO unexpectedly turned into the corridor flanked by a couple of cronies, just in time for her voice to hit crescendo pitch.

Harry grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her around the corner, out of sight and through the nearest door, which happened to be the stationery cupboard.

She was standing close, inches between them, her face upturned slightly to meet his in the dark stuffy space. He was hotly aware of her nearness. The musty smell of paper and print supplies mingled with the vanilla notes of her perfume. He could just make out the outline of her features and even in the dim light he could see she was furious. His mind chose that moment to play a rerun of yesterday’s kiss and before he could stop himself he was sliding an arm around her waist.

She batted him away angrily.

‘If you think I’m having some tryst with you in the damn stationery cupboard you’re insane,’ she snapped in a stage whisper. ‘What the hell is the big deal with keeping our relationship under wraps? We’re both professionals.’ He saw her shrug in the semi-darkness. ‘Well, I am...’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Why the hell are you so keen to broadcast it?’ he hissed back. ‘It doesn’t make sense to me. We’ve agreed it’s nothing serious, you’re supposed to be Miss Professional, so you tell me how affairs with workmates fit into that.’

She made her voice slow and sarcastic. ‘a) It isn’t an affair, and b) in case you’d forgotten, I have a bit of a...what did you call it? Reputation. Aloof, you said, didn’t you? Basically meaning frigid. Well, maybe dispelling the gossips might be nice for a change.’

That was so close to the premise of the bet that it made him feel suddenly cold inside. She knew how she was viewed and she hated it. What would she think if she knew he was playing on that very insecurity?

‘I can’t understand why you care so much about what other people might think of you,’ he said. ‘It’s just gossip. I thought you were way stronger than that. Career driven, focused. I’m surprised you’d worry about that superficial rubbish.’

A long silence from her. Long enough for him to hope he’d got through to her.

‘Maybe you have a point about the professionalism,’ she said. ‘Perhaps some distance at work would be sensible. I’ve not long had this promotion.’

‘Exactly.’

He slid his arm back around her waist and tugged her closer.

‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked. ‘How does this fit with keeping a professional distance?’

‘I was talking about above the radar,’ he said, lifting a hand to stroke her hair back from her cheek. Her skin felt satiny and heat began to climb through him. ‘A bit of secrecy adds to the excitement. Now I’ve disrespected you in the boardroom, no one will suspect a thing. I could have you right here and no one would be any the wiser.’

He tangled his fingers in her hair and found her mouth with his in the semi-darkness.

The scent of aftershave, warm skin and the nearness of him made Alice’s knees feel as if they might buckle at any given moment. His lips tasted faintly of the strong coffee he liked. Heat tingled its way through her body. Rationality disappeared and she melted into the deliciousness of the moment, letting her hands tug his shirt free so she could slide them beneath it.

Sudden footsteps passed by on the other side of the door and brought her to her senses like a slap in the face, making her heart leap in her chest. She took an enormous step backwards, forgetting she was in the tiny room, and sat down with an ungainly thump on a stack of boxes. He looked down at her and even in the darkness she knew he was grinning.

‘What if the CEO suddenly decides he needs an envelope?’ she panted.

The very thought made her feel faint with panic. She could hear his breathing, fast, just like her own, and the thought that he was as fired up as she was made her stomach go soft. Then a chink of light slanted into the room as he opened the door a crack and glanced outside.

‘Spoilsport,’ he said as she got to her feet. ‘There’s no one out there. Where’s your sense of adventure?’

‘It’s not about that,’ she whispered, straightening her blouse. ‘It’s about being professional. I’ve got a reputation to think about.’ She glanced his way with a mischievous grin. ‘Whereas yours is already in tatters. I’m more than happy to announce to the team that we’re dating like grown-ups, but being caught in a clinch with you in the stationery cupboard does not fit my managerial role.’

‘Doesn’t mean you don’t want to!’

He leaned in and stole another quick soft kiss that made her heart thunder back into action, then gave in and held the door open for her.

As they walked together back down the hall she looked straight ahead and kept a sensible distance between them, smiling and nodding efficiently at everyone who passed them.

‘You won’t need to worry for the next day or so anyway,’ he said.

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’m away tonight. There’s a development meeting at the client’s head office tomorrow, focusing on the logo design. It’s in Manchester.’

Manchester was two hundred miles away. A bit of distance, a chance to get some perspective. Exactly what she needed right now. She latched on to that thought and crushed the stupid sensation of disappointment that rose alongside it because she wouldn’t see him for a day or so. For Pete’s sake, she wasn’t some lovesick teenager.

‘Fine,’ she said.

‘Really?’ He leaned in a little and she leaned the other way to compensate. ‘Will you miss me?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she said. ‘I’ll probably go out.’

‘On your own?’

The question irked her. Did he actually think her social ability relied completely on him?

‘I don’t need to be on your arm to leave the house,’ she said.

* * *

Harry slammed the door on the mini bar and flicked through the TV channels for the fifth time. He’d spent the early part of the evening eating dinner with colleagues and discussing the meeting tomorrow but for some reason the suggestion of going on for a drink elsewhere hadn’t appealed in the way it usually did. He must be tired. Innova had stumped up for the usual basic standard of hotel and the room didn’t have much to offer in terms of relaxation. He’d never noticed the mediocre standard of accommodation before—he was never in it for long enough to find anything to complain about.

He picked up the laminated TV instructions. For seven quid he could watch a choice of blockbuster, romantic comedy or porn. None of which appealed. He crushed the small insistent voice in his mind that he was missing her. He was just bored, that was all this was. It had absolutely nothing to do with the thought of Alice back in London. He really didn’t care whether she actually had gone out alone or whether she’d just said that for effect. He was simply thinking of the bet. He didn’t want her meeting anyone else now and scuppering his chances. Of winning the bet, of course, not of winning her.


In fact, just because he was away for the night, didn’t mean he couldn’t keep the pressure on and move things a bit further along from a distance.

Turning the TV off, he settled back on the bed, picked up his mobile and dialled Alice’s home number.

* * *

Back to the old routine of box set, tea and biscuits and Kevin the cat snuggled up to her. Just as if her new foray into dating had never even happened. Surely it should feel like slipping back into a very comfortable pair of old slippers?

It felt like a bed of nails.

Why did she feel so damned antsy? So on edge? Alice Ford was now a slave to her so-called experimental relationship. Whoever the hell was in charge here, it wasn’t her. And all because she’d allowed the project to get physical.

Only now, looking back, did she see how much her past relationships had been about sex. She’d wanted to believe they were about so much more—respect, love, the dream of long-term commitment. She’d convinced herself of that, putting all her trust in Simon. Yet in hindsight she could see how fast-moving it had all been. How she’d mistaken the fast physical intensity of it for love.

Simon wouldn’t have passed up the chance to push last night’s kiss forward as far as it would go, ideally into the house and into bed. Their relationship had been full-on physical almost from the outset and now she knew that had been the whole point of it for Simon. In the face of that, the deliberate gentleness and then withdrawal of Harry yesterday, the obvious message being that this wasn’t full speed ahead, was such a contrast to her expectations that it made her head spin.

And then there was today at work to think about. Her mind revisited it constantly, gnawed at it. She hadn’t counted on things with Harry being such fun. She’d been so weighed down for the longest time by making an impression at work, furthering her career, that one day had drudgingly resembled the next for months now. Having him around meant she never knew what was coming and it made her feel edgy and alive. She liked feeling that way.

Was all this Harry’s deliberate game plan aimed at gaining her trust? Was he playing it clever by going slow because he knew she’d been hurt in the past, or was there more to it than that? They’d made a real connection yesterday talking about family and she wanted to believe he felt that too. Yet to put her trust in him on the strength of gut feeling would be crazy.

Gut feeling was not reliable. She’d learned that the hard way.

The phone rang and she turned the volume down on the TV and casually picked it up. Probably one of Tilly’s friends.

‘Hello?’

‘I thought you were going out and forging ahead with your new social life,’ Harry said.

Her heartbeat kicked into action so quickly it almost felt as if she could hear it in her head. She sat back down on the sofa and took a calming sip of her tea.

‘Bit of a long day today, so in the end I thought I’d have a night in,’ she said, as if she had a massive circle of friends and hadn’t spent the last three years right here on this sofa. ‘How’s Manchester?’

‘Boring without you,’ he said.

A flush of heat pulsed through her.

‘Yeah right,’ she said in a pull-the-other-one voice. It was already past ten-thirty; he’d clearly been out for the evening.

‘Is that so hard to believe? I had dinner with the client earlier and I could have gone on to a club but instead I’ve come back to this excuse for a hotel room.’

‘Bit tired, are you?’

He sighed.

‘Why does everything have to have an ulterior motive with you? Is it so impossible to believe that I might just prefer getting to know you better to getting wasted out on the town?’

‘Yes.’

He deepened his voice cheekily. ‘What are you wearing?’

She removed the phone from her ear and stared at it in disbelief.

Phone sex? Really?

Why was she even surprised? He’d probably been out, failed to find a suitable one-night stand, and thought trying for long-distance sex with her might be worth a go. It was the perfect way for him to move things forward between them without taking the slightest risk. He probably thought he could talk her up into such a frenzy that she’d be gagging to sleep with him the moment he got back. She grinned to herself and put the phone back to her ear.

She’d soon see how keen he really was.

‘Tartan pyjama bottoms, an old T-shirt and bunny slippers,’ she said. ‘I’m on the sofa with a cup of tea and the biscuit tin and I’m watching a box set with Kevin.’

‘Kevin?’

‘The cat.’

A pause. She wondered if he’d hung up. Or possibly fainted.

‘Not what you were expecting?’ she prompted.

‘The usual kind of answer I get might be something a bit more silky. Or possibly even nothing.’

God, how tragic that these girls would say anything to please him.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she said. ‘I’m not your usual kind of girl.’

‘No, you’re definitely not that.’

She tried to fathom the meaning of that sentence from the tone of his voice but without seeing his expression it was impossible to know if he meant it in a good or bad way. She shook her head lightly to bring back some perspective because she really shouldn’t care either way.

‘If you think I’m about to have phone sex with you, you’re sadly mistaken,’ she said.

She was sure she could hear a smile in his voice.

‘Shame. It could be such fun. And totally risk-free.’

Her stomach gave a slow and far-too-enjoyable flip. But nothing could induce her to put herself out there so openly with someone again.

‘For all I know you could tape the call,’ she said. ‘I’m not about to have verbal sex when I could find myself turned into your ringtone.’

She’d learned from the past. Telephone calls could be taped. Photographs could be shared. Intimacy could be violated.

A stunned silence.

‘You can’t be serious.’ His tone was utterly incredulous. ‘I’d never do that. What do you take me for?’

‘Really?’

He sounded shocked.

‘I’ve never known anyone so paranoid. What the hell happened to you to make you think I’d be capable of that?’

‘Careful, not paranoid,’ she corrected. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’

‘Could you give it a rest on my reputation?’ he snapped suddenly. ‘I’ve told you before, I’m straight with people and I never cheat. I just...don’t like to get too involved.’

‘And how long do you think you can carry on living like that without burning out?’

‘Living like what?’

‘You act like a perpetual student, no sense of responsibility to others.’

‘I’m just making the most of my freedom. No more, no less. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘So back in Bath with your sister and your mum you were deprived of all-night benders and one-night stands and you’re making up for it now, is that it?’

A pause.

‘That’s one way of looking at it.’

She thought she could hear caution in his voice, but she warmed to her subject, taking a big mouthful of tea ready to give him a piece of her mind.

‘You feel like you’re owed that kind of single social life and you’re damn well going to have it, regardless of whether or not you’re having a good time? That’s just crazy.’

‘I am having a good time. And I’m not the only one who’s distanced themselves from family. What about you?’ he said, turning the tables.

‘That’s different. Yes, my family are a nightmare. I try to restrict my mother to small doses for the sake of my own sanity. Her latest boyfriend is younger than me. And I’m just not that close to my father. But not all of it was disastrous. Up until I was about ten there were lots of good times. Seaside holidays. We used to go to the coast and my dad would take me crab fishing off the rocks at low tide. And we’d picnic on the beach. It’s easy to just remember the bad stuff but there was a lot of good too. And at Christmas the whole family would get together, aunts, cousins, everyone.’

She felt a rush of sweet nostalgia as she remembered her childhood home crammed full of people.

‘The whole thing collapsed because my parents had no staying power, no desire to work things out. They just threw in the towel on their relationship at the first sign of trouble. That’s why disposable relationships aren’t my thing. I won’t make that mistake. I’m not afraid of commitment.’

She shoved away the nagging thought that perhaps her determination to hang grimly on to Simon and work at things had led to her coming off as a bit of a doormat. After all, she hadn’t snatched the camera away from him, had she? Simon had argued that no one had forced her to pose for pictures. It was a thought she was used to pushing away. To acknowledge it would be to mess with blame and she’d spent the last three years apportioning that entirely to him.

‘So you’re not afraid to get serious, you’re just afraid to take a chance on someone from the outset,’ he pointed out.

‘That’s the drawback,’ she said. ‘I haven’t really been a good judge of character when it comes to men. I’m trying to get past that now because I want the dream, whereas you’ve put the whole concept of family behind you without even trying. Tell me about your childhood. There must have been some good stuff.’


The memory of a holiday, way back in the depths of his past, flashed into Harry’s mind.

‘Way back, maybe,’ he said. ‘We went camping one time. When Susie was tiny and my father was still with us. I climbed every tree I could find and we cooked over a campfire.’

A weekend. Filed away so deeply he never referenced it any more. His father had put an end to times like that. Had built them up and then knocked them down. And who was to say Harry was made of more committed stuff than that? She was right, families needed staying power and longevity and he hadn’t exactly found that came easily to him so far. He couldn’t risk becoming his father somewhere down the line, building up a happy family and then becoming suffocated by them and dropping them like a stone. Easier never to go there at all.

‘There you go, then,’ she said. ‘Not all bad.’

‘Not all. But enough.’

‘What about Christmas? What do you do then?’

‘I cook dinner. For Susie and my mother.’

This year he thought he might give that a miss too and stay put in London.

She failed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

‘You can cook?’

‘Again, your disbelief could be seen as insulting. Yep. Roast turkey, all the trimmings.’

‘What else?’

‘Stir-fries, curries, stews. Anything really.’

‘From scratch?’

‘You make me sound like a moron. Yes from scratch. What about you?’

‘I do great sandwiches.’

‘So we’re perfect for each other. You can do the lunches, I’ll do the dinners.’

This was more familiar ground. He let himself relax. They moved on from food to favourite films, TV shows, music. Bucket-list places they wanted to visit and things they wanted to do and try. His childhood ambition to be a famous cartoonist, hers to be Prime Minister.

Alice’s DVD had long since finished. As she finally put the phone down it occurred to her that her eyes felt scratchy with lack of sleep and she was getting cold. She realised that the central heating had clicked off ages ago.

Time had somehow slipped under her radar while they talked, as if he’d captured her attention so completely that it had become irrelevant. She became aware that the quality of the light in the room was different. Almost imperceptibly, dawn was filtering in through the curtains and Kevin was changing from sleepy couch potato in the small of her back to morning-alert.

They’d ended up chatting for hours. Where the hell had the night gone? And what the hell was she doing?

However she looked at it, she’d gone way beyond the necessity of her project. Dating Harry was becoming less about being a task and more about enjoying herself. And she really wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

* * *

Tired from the all-night phone call, Harry worked his way through the morning’s meeting with what felt like cotton-wool in his brain, fighting the constant return of his thoughts to Alice. Tiredness was all it was, he insisted to himself. A good night’s sleep in his own bed and he’d be ready to face her at the office on his usual detached terms.

It was still lunchtime at Innova when Harry got back to the office and he looked around for Alice, thinking maybe he could take her somewhere for coffee and a sandwich. He was a bit concerned at how much pleasure that thought gave him.

He checked the kitchen, thinking she might be there, and didn’t make it out again.

* * *

Alice stashed her meeting notes on her desk and went to grab her yogurt and banana from the fridge. She glanced at Harry’s empty desk as she passed, a tight knot of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Still no sign of him returning from Manchester. And then as if on cue she rounded the corner and saw him across the office, standing in the doorway of the tiny staff kitchen. Her stomach gave a gigantic leap in response that faded to a damp squib of a flutter as she took in the scene.

He was wearing a beautifully cut dark blue suit and a blonde woman.

Her heart performed an unexpected lurch as she did a double-take. He wore the suit in his usual laconic style—top button undone and tie loosened—and, whoever she was, she was holding the lapel of his jacket in an urgent grip and talking earnestly to him.

Alice’s shocked eyes slowly processed the details as she walked closer. Was he cheating on her? She was stunned by the wave of disappointment in that thought. After talking to him for hours, getting to know him, she’d actually begun to question all her prejudices about him. As she got closer she vaguely recognised the girl as one of the marketing assistants. Harry’s hands were in his pockets and he was shaking his head.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ the girl was saying, her upturned face imploring and her attention entirely focused on Harry. ‘I can see now I was pushing things along too quickly, and that’s so not what I wanted.’

‘Right,’ Harry said. She saw him try to take a step back but the woman had his jacket in a vice-grip. He glanced up and jumped visibly as he caught sight of Alice next to the photocopier. Guilty conscience? She raised her eyebrows and gave him a smile, injecting as much sarcasm into it as she could muster.

‘Zoe, that’s very sweet but it’s been over between us for ages,’ Harry said, rolling his eyes at Alice in a ‘can-you-believe-this’ gesture. ‘It was fun while it lasted but it was never going to be anything serious.’

Yet another of his dropped-like-a-stone exes. She’d been knocked off-task by the night spent chatting to him. Well, here it was: her wake-up call. This was how Harry treated women. He took what he wanted and then chucked them away.

‘I know I was too full-on but things are different now. And I’m sorry I was so angry when you ended it. I don’t want to change you, or pressure you.’ Zoe’s face was turned imploringly up to his. For her, Alice didn’t exist. ‘I bought you an iced coffee from the café round the corner,’ she said, nodding at a couple of cups on a nearby desk. ‘I thought we could have a quiet talk in the staff room. Peace offering—what do you say?’

Alice stared at the girl in disbelief. Was she for real? Did she have no self-respect at all?

Her mind tried to sideslip back to a time when she’d regarded Simon in exactly the same way—apologising for being too clingy, excusing his bad behaviour by blaming it on herself. She crushed the memory hard. She would not be that stupid downtrodden girl any more.

‘Please?’ Zoe said.

Simon. Harry. In that moment they blended into one. Alice walked as if in a dream over to the table and picked up one of the plastic cups. It was icy cold beneath her fingers as she peeled off the lid. She took a couple of quick strides, reached up and tipped the whole thing in one freezing splash over Harry’s head. Ice cubes clattered to the floor around his feet and brown liquid dripped down over his face and neck as he gasped at the sudden cold.

Zoe leapt back as if burned.

‘Why the hell did you do that?’ she squawked at Alice, horrified.

Alice tossed the empty cup in a nearby bin and rubbed her sticky fingers together.

‘Because unlike half the office, I don’t have mug written on my forehead when it comes to him. He deserves it.’

She was vaguely aware of Harry in the background wiping coffee from his face and licking his fingers and, she was surprised to see, grinning in spite of the mess.

She patted Zoe comfortingly on the shoulder as she walked away.

‘You’ll thank me for that one day,’ she said.