Le Chat Noir

For somebody who was trying to avoid the paparazzi, going out drinking every night of the week wasn’t exactly the best course of action. Even if all he was drinking was water and, when he was feeling particularly reckless, a can of Coke. But surely being photographed leaving a pub in the early hours of a Thursday morning was going to put a damper on Harry’s progress toward a better reputation in the media. Of course I’d told him this multiple times, but he just smiled at me in that dimpled, toothy way he’s started doing lately and I dropped the subject until the next night.

What surprised me most was that on Friday night, Harry arrived at his usual time with somebody else in tow. Judging by the bleached blonde hair and the way he — very loudly — pointed out that there was an Irish flag hanging above the bar (albeit along with several other flags) the second they stepped through the doorway, this second person was none other than Niall Horan.

I was a bit worried about Lucy, who looked as though she might have a heart attack the second she spotted them shuffling through the crowd. But that shock wore off when they found themselves seated on two stools on my side of the bar. She seemed to have gotten used to Harry doing so, but adding another popstar into the mix definitely wasn’t going to put Lucy in a good mood.

So I did something I would probably regret later, and tapped her on her sun-kissed shoulder. “There’s a bunch of table orders I’ve got to fill, would you mind covering on my end?”

Lucy glanced at the waiting celebrities and it clicked in her head that I hadn’t served them yet. She nodded feverishly and sidestepped me to go and talk to them. I hadn’t been lying about the table orders, so I went to work filling pints and setting them on a tray. I made sure to give Harry and Niall a wide berth as I went about the pub serving drinks to those who’d ordered, because I could already feel Harry’s eyes on me and I didn’t want to see the look on his face. I wasn’t the only observant person here, and it was fairly obvious that I was avoiding him. Only he probably thought it was because he’d upset me somehow, when really I was just trying to avoid future wrath from Lucy.

Knowing all this, I really shouldn’t have been surprised when I came out of the kitchen a few minutes later, my tray now loaded with baskets of chips, and nearly collided with Harry. He stepped back just in time to avoid my tray slamming into his chest, his eyes widening a fraction. “Careful, Zola,” he muttered.

“These are going to get cold if you keep blocking my path, mate,” I replied sharply. Harry’s eyebrows shot up at my tone, and after a moment he stepped aside to let me through.

I really didn’t have much of a reason to avoid being behind the bar after distributing the chips, so I set down my tray and thanked Lucy for covering (though she’d really only been paying attention to Niall, who seemed to enjoy it) my side. She gave me a tightlipped smile and shuffled back over to her end, shooting a sultry look at Niall as she went.

When Harry sat back down, his gaze focused on me, Niall promptly stood up. “Sorry, mate, but that other barmaid’s been giving me eyes, and I’m not one to pass up an opportunity,” Niall said, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

“Go flirt to your heart’s content,” replied Harry, waving him off. He picked up his pint and took a long pull, which I wasn’t going to let slip unnoticed.

“So you’ve decided to be an alcoholic again?”

“One pint doesn’t make me an alcoholic.”

I pressed my lips together, trying to think of another strategy. “You’ve been staying sober all week, and suddenly you’ve decided to drink?”

“Maybe I was just trying to save money until the weekend,” Harry said, and I snorted. That made him raise a challenging eyebrow at me. “Just because I’ve got money doesn’t mean I waste it all on booze.”

“And you obviously aren’t spending it on clothes. This is the third time this week you’ve worn those tatty jeans and white t-shirt. It hasn’t even been washed, there’s the stain from when you spilled your Coke on Wednesday.”

By the look on his face, Harry probably had a comment or two about how I’d been keeping track of his attire. “I could say the same to you,” he replied instead. “Those are only the second pair of jeans I’ve seen you wear all week.”

“I haven’t got the time to go shopping.”

“You’re a barmaid, your shifts don’t start until the evening.”

“Don’t be so quick to assume things about me, Harry,” I snapped. He’d hit a sore spot. But I didn’t want to go into a tirade about my double-job lifestyle, and how I barely got more than three hours of sleep a night, so I turned my focus to the man who’d just taken Niall’s vacated stool.

“What can I get you?” I asked, my tone considerably lighter than it had been moments earlier. Harry had put me off my game, and I wasn’t in the mood to guess what this man’s drink should be.

“Whiskey. Neat.” he said, sounding exhausted.

I nodded and quickly fixed his drink before moving onto another patron. I worked my way around Harry, not guessing any drinks, until everyone in the immediate area had been served. Only then did I return my attention to Harry, who was giving me a curious look.

“I’ll have another pint,” he said, tapping on the rim of his now empty glass.

By midnight the pub was pulsing with life, filled to the brim with people all wanting their share of liquor. Charlie had to come out to help with the extra patrons, and all breaks were waved off. Even when the bar got unbelievably chaotic, Harry remained in his stool and kept on asking for top-ups of his glass. I lost count after the fifth pint, but his face was flushed and he was leaning heavily on his forearms. Whenever anyone came near him, Harry narrowed his eyes at them and worked his mouth, never actually saying anything.

“He’s cut off,” I muttered to Charlie, who was working in the middle of the bar, as I motioned to a heavy-lidded Harry.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Charlie agreed. “I don’t want to be branded as the pub that got Harry Styles smashed off his face, so take him into the kitchen and give him some coffee, yeah? I can run things fine out ‘ere.”

I nodded. I had to duck past several people to get around to Harry, who was posing for photos with a few girls. His grin was wide and his eyes shut, and I was sure the rumours would be circulating within a few hours.

Once they were finished, I stepped right in front of Harry. His eyes snapped open and he frowned at me. “Just say it,” he said.

“Say what?”

“I told you so.”

I rolled my eyes. “Come on,” I said, and grabbed his arm. I had to put one of Harry’s arms around my shoulder, and in turn slipped mine around his waist. Compared to his broad shoulders, Harry had unbelievably narrow hips. Despite the fact that I was a whole head shorter than he was, Harry managed to burrow his face into my neck.

The dim lighting of the pub was replaced by the fluorescent bulbs in the kitchen, and Harry’s response was to groan and shift his entire body into my side. At the fryer, Archie chuckled. “He’s finally gotten into the drink, has he?”

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, not bothering to look up from my shoulder.

“Nobody to worry about. Okay, Harry, I need you to sit here.”

I positioned him in front of the counter where I usually sat on my breaks, and watched as he clumsily lifted himself up. I moved to go to the coffee machine in the corner, but Harry had latched onto my wrist with surprising strength.

“Harry, I’ve got to make you some coffee, and I need you to let go, alright?”

“No,” he said.

“Harry—“

“Zola,” Harry mocked.

“I’ll make the coffee, Zo,” said Archie, sauntering over to the machine.

“Cheers,” I sighed. “Will you let go now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I do, then you’ll leave,” Harry said in a very serious tone, eyeing me with suspicion. The flush of his cheeks reminded me that he was still very drunk, despite the clarity of his voice.

“If I promise I won’t, then will you let go?”

Harry hesitated, but released his grip on my wrist. “Are you mad? About when I said that thing about your job?”

“I’m not mad,” I told him, but Harry wasn’t convinced. “I just can’t explain it all to you, because you wouldn’t understand.”

If there was anything I should’ve learned about Harry from the past week, it was that he was persistent, and never backed down from a challenge. “Try me.”

“You’re drunk. I’m not going to share my life story with a drunk person.”

“Why not? Drunk people tell you their life stories every day.”

He had a point.

“Here’s your coffee, mate,” said Archie, handing Harry a styrofoam cup.

Harry accepted it and took a tentative sip, then grimaced. “Hot,” he murmured, and sipped it again anyway.

“I know I promised I wouldn’t leave, but we’re closing soon and I’ve got to help clear out the pub. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, alright?”

Harry nodded. The coffee must’ve brought some sense back into his brain.

Just after two, once the last customers had been persuaded to leave, I returned to the kitchen. By the set of his shoulders Harry wasn’t sober yet, but I didn’t really expect him to be.

“What happened to Niall?” Harry asked me as I came through the doorway.

“He left with Lucy about an hour ago,” I told him. “She’s gotten good at sneaking out while Charlie’s not looking.”

“Bastard didn’t even text me,” Harry snarled.

“Probably because he knew you wouldn’t notice until now,” I said. I went to grab my bag from the office, and Harry was still sitting on the counter when I returned. He didn’t seem capable of getting home on his own, so I checked with Charlie to see if I was needed any longer.

“Come in at four and we can give the space a clean then,” Charlie said, once he saw Harry’s still drunken state for himself. “Just make sure nobody takes his picture comin’ out of ‘ere, alright?”

“Harry,” I said as I approached him. He glanced up from his empty coffee cup and smiled. “I’m going to take you home, okay?”

Harry procured a set of keys from his back pocket. “My car’s parked two blocks down.”

“You drove here?” I asked, astounded. “Did you expect to be driving yourself back?”

“I didn’t expect to drink,” Harry said with a shrug. “But blonde people are quite convincing.”

“Alright,” I said, and took the keys from him. I was nervous at the prospect of driving a celebrity’s vehicle, God knows what would happen if we got into an accident. “Let’s head off then.”

We left through the lane, but the front of the pub was free of paparazzi. I’d grabbed the beanie from my bag and tugged it over Harry’s head, hoping that the material would offer some disguise. Since the streets weren’t occupied by anyone sober enough to recognize him, it worked like a charm.

Harry didn’t lean on me as heavily as before, but still needed my assistance to walk straight. He giggled every time our steps synchronized, and found it necessary to point out every few seconds that this wasn’t the way he anticipated his Friday night going.

The biggest challenge came when we arrived at Harry’s Range Rover, and I had to get him into the passenger’s seat. Since the street still had traffic at this hour, it was impossible for Harry to get in at his pace without a few cars honking at us. I slammed the door shut and went round to the driver’s seat, then made sure Harry had buckled himself in before I started the engine.

I’d driven smaller cars before, but never anything the size of a Range Rover. The interior was surprisingly clean, and smelled like a mix of leather and Harry’s cologne. I glanced over once we were on the road to ask Harry for directions to his house, but he’d fallen asleep. At the first red light I prodded his arm and slapped his thigh, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, and turned the vehicle around. If he was going to stay passed out, I had no choice but to bring him to my flat. And driving a Range Rover into Brixton wasn’t exactly the smartest course of action, but I could hardly leave him passed out in his car, parked on the side of the road somewhere.

At the next red light I dialled the number of my second job at Beigel Shop, a twenty-four hour bagel place where I usually worked the morning shift, to tell them that I wouldn’t be coming in today. When asked what had come up, I said that I was coming down with the flu. Since illness wasn’t well tolerated in an establishment that served food, the manager let me off easily. It also had to do with the fact that I was one of his best employees, and I desperately needed the job to keep up with my bills.

Harry stayed unconscious until I parked across the street from my flat. His Range Rover stuck out horribly in this neighbourhood, but at least I could keep an eye on it from the window. The second the engine shut off he blinked, letting out a soft moan. “Are we there yet?”

“Probably not where you expected,” I replied.

“Fine, can I go back to sleep now?”

“Not until you’ve gotten up to the flat. Come on,” I hopped out and went round to help Harry. We stumbled across the street and into my building, and I was grateful that the lift was in working order for once. There was no way I’d be able to get a half-asleep Harry up three flights of stairs.

My flat was small, but it was perfect for me. It had been a bit of a dull place when I first moved in, but a few coats of paint and an eclectic mix of furniture brightened it up considerably. I’d already broken several personal boundaries by bringing Harry here in the first place, so I stopped in front of the settee and let Harry fall onto it, trying not to laugh when he tried to fit his lanky frame onto the cushions and failed.

There was no way I was going to fall asleep with an international popstar passed out on my settee and his ridiculously expensive vehicle parked just outside, so I put on a pot of coffee. I sat in my armchair, an obnoxious — yet astoundingly comfortable — retro thing that belonged to my Gran, and clicked on the telly. My eyes drifted to Harry’s awkwardly positioned, sleeping frame and I tried to figure out the odds that something like this would happen. I figured it was somewhere near impossible.