One Hundred Proposals by Holly Martin Page A

movement inside. I could hear music coming from the lounge so he probably hadn’t heard me. Carefully, I leaned over the bannister, putting my hand on the windowsill for balance and peered through his window.
    Harry was there, sitting on the sofa with no shirt, intently watching something I couldn’t see, though it wasn’t the TV – it was the wrong place for that.
    I raised my hand to knock on the window when a movement caught my eye. A woman. Sexy Samantha. Dressed only in her underwear, she walked towards Harry with two glasses of champagne, she passed one to him then straddled him. I watched him smile as he moved his hand to her waist. She took a sip of her champagne then kissed him.
    I couldn’t move. I was frozen in shock. It had taken me hours to sum up enough courage and Samantha was in there with him doing exactly what I wanted to be doing. I’d thought they had broken up. I watched with a huge wave of disappointment as she ran her hands down his chest to the buttons on his jeans.
    So that was it. The conversation, the words I’d spent ages practising faded from my mind.
    It was stupid to think that Harry could ever feel that way about me, not when he seemed to have a huge collection of girls on tap. I had to go quickly before he saw me.
    I pushed myself off the windowsill, but my foot slipped off the step behind me. I head-butted the window hard, toppled over the bannister and fell into the bush below. A second later the red sweet and sour sauce, the noodles and Harry’s favourite prawn with cashew nuts emptied their contents all over me. The bag of prawn crackers fell at my feet.
    I stared morosely at the mess, wondering if I could still use the prawn crackers to mop up the sauce.
    To make matters worse, I wasn’t alone. Jemima, Harry’s cat, stood unblinking at me from the depths of the bush. Then, almost as if she shrugged, she stalked towards me and proceeded to lick the sauce off my face.
    If Jack was here now, if somehow he had been brought back to life, I would wrap my hands round his throat and kill him all over again. Immediately guilt lanced through me at such a horrible thought and coupled with the crashing disappointment of seeing Harry with Samantha, I pulled Jemima tightly against me and cried into her fur.
    ‘Hello, who’s there?’
    Harry’s angry voice came from up above me and I froze, trying desperately to stifle my sobs.
    ‘Bloody peeping tom,’ I heard Samantha say.
    Footsteps came down the steps towards me.
    ‘There’s someone in the bushes,’ Harry hissed.
    ‘Shall I call the police?’
    Oh God, could this situation get any worse. Although maybe the police taking me away would be better than having to face Harry and Samantha.
    ‘Get my baseball bat,’ whispered Harry. I heard her footsteps run back inside the house.
    What was he going to do with the baseball bat? Ok this was getting out of hand. I stood up, popping up out of the bush like a jack in the box.
    ‘Hi.’
    Noodles slowly moved across my forehead and down my cheek, thankfully my tears seemed to be lost in the sweet and sour sauce.
    Harry, still without his shirt, looked at me and slowly broke into a huge smile.
    ‘Hello.’
    Jemima was still licking my face.
    ‘I brought Chinese.’ I held up the now empty bag. ‘I thought we could watch the latest zombie film. Though I see you are already set for entertainment tonight so I’ll leave you to it.’
    I climbed out the bush as gracefully as I could, but Harry was already coming down the stairs towards me.
    ‘So the noodle hair, is this a new look you’re trying out? I think I prefer the onesie.’ He picked a clump of noodles and beansprouts from my head and threw it on the floor. Jemima treacherously leapt out of my arms and started eating the remains. ‘I’m presuming none of this is blood, are you hurt?’
    My pride and my heart were definitely. Though any external pain I’d received from the fall had yet to catch up with my brain. I shook my head.
    He