Finding Harry

Chapter 2

On arriving at the Café, we clambered out of the car. Harry locked the door, and we walked in. Some teens at the back of the room stood up and waved us over. I was nervous, my heart was pounding, but I managed to brave a friendly smile.

"Hi gang, this is Hannah, an old friend," said Harry, "Hopefully she'll be staying with us for a while, while she gets herself on track."

"Cool," they chorused, and we sat down.

"Hannah, this is Charlie...", Harry said, pointing to a thin lad in the corner. He had greasy, slicked back hair, a prominent nose, and a large, blue, suede jacket. He gave me a cheesy smile and a wink. He was cool.

"...Linda..." He pointed to the girl next to Charlie. She wore a white dress with large, red polka dots. She had brown, mid-length hair that was brushed back and held with a thick red hair clip.

"Hi," she said.

"...This is Sandy..." He pointed to a girl who was sitting directly opposite me. She had long, blonde hair that was brushed down past her shoulders. She wore a plain white blouse and navy skirt.

"...And the fella next to you is Bobby..." He said, indicating the guy sitting on my right. He was quite a hunk – a prominent jaw, blonde quiff and large, blue eyes. He wore a striped shirt and black trousers. But I knew that no matter how good-looking the blokes I would meet were, Harry was the one I wanted.

"Hi," he said, shaking my hand, and giving me a warm, friendly smile.

"So, that's the formalities over with...let's chat!" said Harry, eyes bright. I could tell he was a very social person.

"What's up with your clothes?" asked Charlie, in as polite a way he could. Oh no, I had forgotten...in all my preparations to make this trip, I had forgotten to change my clothes...I had only come in bell-bottom jeans, an FCUK T-shirt and a beige fleece...I began to sweat, and I felt my face go red.

"Um..." I stammered. They were all looking at me, eagerly awaiting an explanation for my outrageous dress-sense. I guess Harry and his mum must have been too polite to question my appearance.

"Oh, this is the way we dress, where I come from," I said, hoping that would be enough. The gang looked interested.

"That T-shirt – surely it doesn't say what I think it says?" asked Linda, slightly nervous.

"No, no, it stands for 'French Connection UK'...it's a clothes company," I said.

"I've never heard of them – are they from France?" asked Sandy.

"Yes, they're quite new, and not many stores stock them, but they're very good quality." The gang smiled. I saw Bobby looking at my jeans.

"Oh, and the jeans," I said, trying to put as much calmness into my voice as was possible, "They're my own style – I made them myself...felt like being a non-conformist, you know?!" I laughed, and got a good reaction. I was doing well.

"But," said Harry, with a slightly worried tone to his voice, "But girls aren't meant to wear jeans..."

"I know," I said, sounding as relaxed as I could, "But I just couldn't walk for miles in a dress. I had to wear these."

"Aaah, okay," smiled Cliff.

A waitress came to our table and asked for orders. I followed everyone's example and ordered a lemonade. I was winning them over.

"So how long do you think you'll be down here for?" asked Charlie, when the waitress had left.

"Oh, I'm not sure - it depends on how long it takes me to get a job and some money together."

"Well, you came to the right people!" said Harry, in that trademark, warm voice of his. I looked up at everyone else. Linda still looked sceptical.

"So when did you get to know Harry?" she asked. I began to feel nervous again, like I was taking part in a Spanish inquisition or something!

"Oh I was at the school, Waltham Cross, where he came, when he moved over here, from India. I wasn't there for long, but long enough to get to know him, I guess."

"Prove it," said Linda, still sceptical.

"How...?" I asked.

"Harry, ask her three questions. If she gets all three right, we know she's a genuine.

"I can do better than that," I said, "I'll tell you most of Harry's life story just by looking into his eyes..."

"You can do that?!" exclaimed Harry.

"Sure," I said.

"Go on, then," said Linda. I turned to face Harry. He was grinning. I looked into those two beautiful brown eyes of his, and pretended to search for information...

"Um...let's see...you were born on the 14th of October, 1940, as Harry Rodger Webb (after your father), in a small town called Lucknow, in India. You had an older brother, Frederick, but he died as a baby. You moved here at the age of 7, and you now have three sisters, Donna, Jackie...and Joan. You failed your 11+ and were deeply disappointed by it, but you're hoping to do better with your O-levels...you like to play football, you hold the school record for javelin throwing, and you're excellent on the rugby pitch – a real fighter. Your favourite food is curry...you enjoy listening to the radio, although it doesn't inspire you much..."

" – Okay, okay, that's enough!" laughed Harry, "Man, that's weird that is...it's like, it's like you're reading my thoughts or something!" I smiled.

"How do you know all that?" asked Linda.

"I know him, that's all," I said. She smiled, and surrendered.

There was a short breath of silence, when the waitress appeared with a tray, carrying six tall glasses of lemonade. The gang reached for their purses.

"No, guys, these are on me," said Harry, "I got paid on Saturday."

"Thanks, Harry!" we chorused, and sipped slowly at our chilled drinks.