Like Clouds Cross Skies

“Hot chocolate? Really?”

“I don't like tea or coffee.”

Harry's droll expression becomes one of disbelief. “How?”

I shrug. “Not everyone has to like tea or coffee, you know. It's not the law.”

“It is,” he says stoically, throwing me a grin before turning to the waiting barista to order.

When he'd suggested breakfast, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't automatically expected some kitsch restaurant with pretentiously strange décor and napkins shaped like lotus flowers. Yet when we'd stepped outside into the early morning breeze and Harry had taken an immediate left, bypassing his Range Rover, I had felt a slight hint of confusion. And when he had started steering me towards the Costa Coffee on the high street, that confusion became paramount.

If I was going for breakfast with Harry Styles, I at least wanted the full shebang.

Let's be honest, though, would I really have enjoyed something fancy? No. Besides, it's only breakfast. And this is not a date.

When the barista asks if we're 'eating in' or 'to-go' and Harry replies with, “to-go”, it's my turn to raise an eyebrow again. He catches my expression and says, What?”

I shrug. “Oh, nothing.”

We move to the end of the counter, waiting for our drinks to be brewed and food to be toasted. “No, go on, tell me,” he presses.

“You're just full of surprises is all,” I reply.

His smile sticks for a minute before growing. “I try.”

What I said was the truth, I suppose. He's not entirely what I expected. I had been awaiting the arrival of the Harry the media had painted: womaniser, party-animal, commitment-phobe. Instead, this Harry has turned up. Still relatively confident, still a smart-aleck, but surprisingly caring. Yes, I guess at the end of the day he has shown a kind streak. He's stuck up for me and he's apologised when he hasn't really known what for. He's proved me wrong, I'll give him that.

The barista brings our drinks in the red to-go cups I love the colour of, and our food in a brown paper bag. Harry takes the bag and his drink, and I cradle my own cup in my hands, the warmth seeping into my skin.

We leave Costa and I expect Harry to go right, back towards the flat, but instead he goes straight ahead and the direction makes me falter.

“Now where are we going?” I ask him, rushing to catch up. A bit of my hot chocolate sloshes out the tiny opening in the lid and I wince.

Harry looks at me just as I'm sucking the liquid off my hand. He smiles and spreads his arms wide. “It's a lovely morning,” he says. “I thought we could for a stroll.”

“Stroll where? The tube stations?”

“There's a park just over there, right?” he goes on, pointing.

I nod. “I haven't been there since I first moved into Nick's flat.”

We stop at the crossing, waiting for the little green man to shine. “When did you move in with your brother?” Harry asks.

The traffic stops and we cross the road. “About five months ago now.”

“Did you move after sixth form?”

The park springs into view ahead, a sudden stain of green in the grey landscape. It's just a patch of greenery, a smattering of trees, and a kid's playground, but it looks nicer than I remember, cleaner.

“Yeah, I'm on a gap year,” I answer Harry's question. “I have a place at Birmingham university waiting for me this coming September.”

“Studying what?” Harry asks, full of questions today as he holds open the little blue iron gate to the enclosure of green. The gravel path crunches beneath our shoes.

“Sociology,” I say. “I didn't really know what I wanted to do, and I liked the subject, so...” My voice trails off. I shrug. I don't like talking about it that much. There's a part of me that wishes I'd had the guts to apply for a different course.

“I was gonna do Sociology at sixth form,” Harry says before taking a sip of his coffee. He grimaces and grumbles, “Too hot.”

I smile. I don't even know why. It just starts of its own accord. “But then One Direction happened.”

“Yeah,” he says. He's not looking at me; he's watching his feet move instead. “Kinda crazy how everything I had planned just changed.”

I wish I could say the same.

“Must have been odd.”

“Very odd,” he says. “But good.” He looks up and nods towards a bench beside the path, overlooking the playground at the base of the gentle slope. “Wanna sit down?”

“Sure.” My stomach feels like it's on the verge of grumbling that long, dying whale noise.

We sit on the bench and Harry fishes our food out of the paper bag. “One bacon roll for you,” he says, passing it to me, “and one all day breakfast roll for me.”

Harry's is basically a fry-up in a roll, and he can't take a bite fast enough. Meanwhile, I'm possibly the slowest eater in the world.

It's a weekday, so there are no kids on the playground. I always find deserted playgrounds eerie. All that colour but nothing is moving. Except for a swing, nudged by the breeze. Its creaking sounds louder when there's no other noise about. Nothing but the undertone of car engines, the bark of a dog, and birdsong. I think I should come here more often.

“You know what?” Harry suddenly says. I look at him and he smiles. “Let's start over.” He extends the hand that isn't holding his roll towards me, and I stare at it like he's just offered me a dead fish. “What's your name?”

I meet his eyes again, swallowing my mouthful of bacon roll. He's smirking at me, and I smirk back. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” he says, settling it.

I look at his hand a little longer before shaking it. There's no harm in going along with the game. “Kailey Hart. And yours?”

“Harry Styles. It's a pleasure to meet you. Where are you from, Kailey?”

I drop his hand, but now that he's looking at me like that I can't bring myself to finish my breakfast in case I drop it all down me. “Weybridge, Surrey. You?”

“Holmes Chapel, Cheshire.”

“Ah, you're a Northern boy,” I say with a smile.

“It's the accent, isn't it?” he says.

“Just a bit.”

“Three interesting facts about yourself. Go.”

The order catches me off guard. It's things like this that make you suddenly forget everything that's happened to you, every book you've read, every film you've watched. “Urm...” I flounder, and Harry's smile only grows. “I... I've watched all The Lord of the Rings films thirty times-”

“Thirty times?” Harry interrupts in disbelief.

I shrug and feel heat rise in my cheeks. Maybe that was a bit of a strange fact to say. “They're good. Anyway...” I try and think of more normal things, but it's hard when Harry's looking at you like he's stifling a laugh. “I really wish I could meet Robert Downey Jr.-”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly. “I could make that happen.”

I give him a deadpan look. “Don't even joke about these things.”

He grins. “Third fact, come on.”

What a way to learn you don't lead a very interesting life. I really can't think of anything else, so I blurt the first thing that comes to my head. “And... it's my birthday in ten days.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “What do you want for your birthday?”

I shrug. “I don't know. Books, DVDs, CDs, clothes. The usual, really.”

“That's boring,” he says. “Everyone knows you have little things like that and then one main present.”

“Well, Mr Birthday Expert, if you want to find a main present then be my guest because I can think of shit all.” Once again, the words just kind of come out, and it's only when Harry replies that I realise what I've just said.

“Okay.” His smile only grows as mine wavers.

The heat returns to my cheeks just as my phone rings, its shrill tone startling me. I dig it out of my parka pocket and look at the screen. Mum. Don't get me wrong, I love my mum, but if there was an award for the world's most embarrassing and oblivious parent then it would go to her. And if there was also an award for the person who talks loudest on the phone, it would go to her as well.

“It's my mum,” I say. “I haven't spoken to her all week. I'll only be a minute.”

“Alright,” Harry says as I get off the bench.

I quickly put a few feet between us, skirting the lip of the small slope before answering the call. “Hi Mum.”

“Hi sweetie!” she says. “How's my youngest?”

“Your youngest is fine,” I say. “Just having breakfast.”

With Harry Styles.

I can imagine Mum's disapproving look when she says, “Not pop tarts, I hope.”

“No, a bacon roll.”

She sighs. “That's a bit better, I suppose. I should really get your brother to stop you from buying those things. You don't eat healthily, Kailey.”

“Well, I'm not obese yet,” I say.

“Anyway, sweetie, I called because I've organised a BBQ.”

“Mum, it's not even Spring yet.”

“You know what I mean, Kailey, I've just organised a kind of get together, family and friends, that kind of thing.”

“When?”

“This Sunday.”

I pause. I don't have a single plan made, and therefore not a single excuse to get out of this get together. It doesn't matter though because I can't really bail anyway. I haven't seen my parents since Christmas, and if I cancel on another event then I'll only get invited to the next one and the next one and the next one. Plus, Mum loves these things; I'd feel mean bailing on her again. “Yeah, I can do Sunday.”

“That's brilliant,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. It makes me feel better. “I've invited the usual people, you know, aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents. I also invited Jill Hamilton and her husband, and Aaron of course. Jill was saying that Aaron's staying in university accommodation in London. Have you seen him around at all?”

My good feeling sinks like a lead balloon. “I don't know, Mum. I haven't been out much recently.”

“Oh okay. Maybe you'll bump into him sometime. It'll be good for you two to have a catch-up.”

Been there, done that, didn't go too well.

“Yeah. I'll keep an eye out.”

The worst part is that Mum thinks Aaron and I ended things amicably. She thinks we'd decided to be friends instead. I couldn't bring myself to tell Mum the truth, not when she values her friendship with Aaron's mum, Jill, so much. I didn't want to hurt either of them. It's not like Jill would believe anything I said anyway; she thinks her son is a saint.

“Why don't you invite Harry Styles?” Mum says.

Oh good lord.

“Mum!” I hiss. I glance over my shoulder, but it's not like Harry can hear me from way over there.

“Sorry, sweetie, I couldn't help myself. I saw you and him in my Heat magazine. Almost fell off my seat!”

I sigh. “Well, no falling off seats will be needed, Mum, because nothing is going on with him. Lianne is interviewing him for Wildfire magazine. She got a promotion, remember?”

“I do,” Mum replies, but she still sounds like she's mocking me.

“She was ill that day so I went in her place. I was just interviewing him for Lianne, that's all.”

“Okay, sweetie, I'll take your word for it,” she answers. I roll my eyes. Too bad she can't see that. “Anyway, I'll leave you to it. See you Sunday then.”

“Alright Mum, see you then.”

“Bye!”

“Bye Mum.”

I hang up and head back to the bench. A gust of wind hits me, sending my tangle of hair flying about my head. I try and grab some strands, but they dance like arms in the wind. Thankfully, the breeze dies out as I sit down, and I manage to get my hair under control.

“Sorry about that,” I say to Harry, but when I look at him I find him frowning at me. Self-consciousness grips me. “What?”

“What's that scar on your forehead?” he asks.

I stiffen, I can't stop myself. Usually, on the off chance someone asks that question, their voice is tactless. But Harry's was gentle.

“Car accident,” I say. “Hit my head on the windscreen.”

True.

Harry's frown deepens. “When did it happen?”

“Last year.”

True.

“Were you driving?”

“No.”

True.

“Who was?”

“My friend Sarah.”

Lie.

Harry's still frowning, and I go on before he can ask anything else about it. “It doesn't matter, anyway, it was only a minor collision.”

I try and think of any way I can change the conversation, any topic, but thankfully Harry changes it for me, and I'm grateful he doesn't keep badgering me like people have done before. “What did your mum have to say?” he asks, a simple question, casual. He leans back against the bench.

He's finished his breakfast, but mine still sits on a napkin beside me. I don't feel hungry any more. “Oh, she's just organised some get together. Told me to invite you, actually.”

Harry's face seems to light up. “Really?”

I smile with him. “Yeah. She saw those pictures from the café in a magazine.”

“Am I actually invited?” Harry asks, a little sceptical.

I frown. “Well, it was kind of a joke but... I guess so. It's gonna be torture anyway.”

“Why?”

Still full of questions. “Because Aaron will be there.” Harry's expression darkens, and I continue, “His mum and my mum are still friends. They think we ended on good terms. It's fine, though, I'll just steer clear of him. He wouldn't kick up a fuss in front of his mum.”

Harry scoffs. “I guess his mum thinks he's an angel then.”

I nod. “Pretty much.”

I shiver involuntarily against the sharp breeze. Harry notices. “Are you cold?”

“A bit," I answer, pulling my parka tighter around me.

"Wanna head back?"

"Yeah, okay."

We pile our rubbish into the brown paper bag. I feel bad about putting my half-eaten roll in there. But I still have my hot chocolate. “Thanks for breakfast,” I say as he dumps the bag in the bin.

Harry smiles. “Any time you feel like having something other than pop tarts then don't hesitate to call me.”

I laugh. “I'll keep that in mind.”