Masturbation was her feminist duty, probably. Sexual self-sufficiency made sense. Heaven knows Harri was hardly ready to enjoy sex as a contact sport. When she had a free weekend, she would have a really good go at masturbating. But first, she would get those prints to the framers, and replace her pans, and do something about that damp spot on the ceiling in the hall.

Still, she remembers the giddiness. She remembers, with great clarity, a holiday in Greece, tipsy touching and kissing and working herself into such a state that she was left bent over a ferry rail, breathing through her mouth and shifting from foot to foot, while Andy said, in wonder, ‘Your eyes are all pupil’ and asked if she’d got hold of an E while they were in the Customs queue.

Harri is breathing through her mouth right now, fast and shallow. She is, she realises, licking her lips.

Her thumb slides a little further up.

She has lived through many winters. Winter is treacherous. It is not just the length, the darkness, the bitter, numbing iciness of it—it’s the way the cold kills hope. It makes us push our tenderness and vulnerability far out of reach. It makes spring seem illogical, impossible.

But the earth is moving, the ice is melting, and spring is coming. And Harri’s memories are joyful, now. She touches, and touches, and remembers how magical and mysterious it is that this tiny button buzzes her toes, her neck, her nipples. And love breaks over her body in great waves, and just when she reaches the point of glorious unbearability, she feels a great soaring, a surging, a release.

This is love, she realises. Now, this is enough for me. She opens her eyes. The sun has come up.

Acknowledgements

All books are born through acts of creative collaboration; I have never been more aware of that, nor more grateful for that, than when writing Careering. Working on this book during 2020 and 2021 was a challenge, but it was a joy and a privilege too, thanks to the excellent team at Sphere and Little, Brown. It’s because of the kindness, encouragement and talent of my brilliant editor Darcy Nicholson that I could take refuge in Imogen and Harri’s world when the real one became especially difficult to bear.

I’d like to also give enormous thanks to Millie Seaward and Brionee Fenlon—whose hard work, skill and imagination are responsible for getting this book into readers’ hands. Thanks to Thalia Proctor and Vanessa Neuling for their brilliant editing skills and making the text as fresh and sharp as it could possibly be. Thanks to the magnificent Bekki Guyatt for her truly fabulous cover design—I’m so, so lucky to work with her.