Retrouvailles

“Are you still mad at me about what happened?”

I sighed, setting my mug down on the bedside table. Harry was stretched out in my bed, hands clasped behind his head and the duvet draped over his lower half. I didn’t know how he wasn’t freezing without a shirt on (not that I minded), because the heating in my flat was practically nonexistent.

We’d spent the majority of Harry’s first full day back (after finally getting around to eating breakfast at twelve) talking about the ‘Birthday Incident.’ Harry was brutally honest about the fact that he didn’t remember every detail about the night and that he wanted a night out with the lads for his birthday; that it hadn’t been them pressuring him into disobeying the warnings from their management, but it was a mutual decision to go to the club that night. And once he’d gotten through the lengthy tale of constantly turning down the women that approached him (with a few bad jokes here and there, as this was Harry after all), I came to the conclusion that it was very, very difficult for me to stay mad at him for long. I was sad that he’d gone out with the intention of having a good time, but ended up drinking himself into oblivion and without a warm body to curl up next to or somebody to listen to complain about his hangover.

“No,” I replied, after a minute or two of silence, “I’m not mad at you.”

“You seem a bit, I dunno,” Harry said, rolling his lips together as he surveyed me. “Off.”

“Just tired,” I said.

“I thought you weren’t working as much,” he said with furrowed brows. “Aren’t you getting more sleep than before?”

“Less,” I admitted.

Harry frowned, reaching over and pulling me into his chest. He pushed my hair back from my face and grazed his fingers along my cheekbone with a featherlight touch. “Nick said you haven’t been well lately. Said you aren’t eating or sleeping.”

“Traitor,” I muttered.

“Hey,” Harry murmured, tilting my chin up so he could look into my eyes. “He’s just looking out for you. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you leaving in the middle of the night. You look exhausted, Zola.”

We’d shared a bed almost every night this week, save for the late night interview two nights back, when his house was closer to the studio than mine and neither of us could be bothered to go to the other’s home.

“And you’ve barely told me off since I came back,” he continued, “Even when I ate half of your meal yesterday at the restaurant you didn’t complain or try to stop me.”

Despite being a very observant person, who often saw things in people they’d rather not share, I hated it when somebody noticed certain parts of me I was trying to hide. It was worse when Harry did it, and as he was particularly adept at reading me, this happened more often than I would like. I hated keeping things from him, because once I’d opened myself up to somebody it was hard to stop. But I knew he’d make a big deal out of this, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that today.

“I dunno, maybe I’m coming down with the flu,” I said, hoping he’d drop the subject of my weariness.

“Does that mean I get to make you the Styles chicken soup special? It’s my Nan’s recipe. Been in the family for years.”

“I’m not that sort of ill,” I said, “I’m just…tired.”

Harry frowned. “I’ve seen you go three days with only a few hours of sleep and be chipper as a chipmunk.”

“Never say that again.”

“I mean,” he insisted, “that there has to be something else going on that’s causing you to feel like this. So what is it?”

“I hate it when you do this,” I said, burying my face in his neck so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “Stop caring about my wellbeing.”

“Kind of hard for me to do that,” Harry replied, his thumb tracing slow circles along my spine. “I leap at the opportunity to support you, since you’re so bloody put together all the time.”

“I’m not that put together,” I admitted, and felt Harry’s hand pause against my back. He was waiting for me to say something, to tell him what was the cause of my uncharacteristic behaviour. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m even doing with my life.”

Harry was quiet for a long time. “With your life,” he began, drawing out every syllable more than necessary. I could feel his words rumble against my cheek. “Or with me?”

So he was more perceptive than I thought. Maybe he’d picked up on the way I avoided his gaze and tucked my hands into my pockets whenever we went out, or how aside from that first morning and last night, I’d stopped us before we went further than a few shed bits of clothing.

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly. Because I didn’t know if it was my relationship, or if it was just me.

“It this because I’ve been gone? I know the long distance is a bit of a struggle, but we’re doing the best we can.”

I swallowed, trying to focus on his steady heartbeat. I wondered how many times Harry had had this conversation before, and if his career was what had caused break ups in the past. I didn’t want it to be the reason for ours, because when he was with me Harry more than made up for the weeks spent apart.

“I think this is more about me than it is you,” I said carefully. “There are things in my own life that are stopping me from getting too comfortable with the way things are.”

My mother had a lot to do with this. I’d told Harry a little bit about her resurgence in the last few months, and our awkward conversations over tea about the last five years when our contact had been minimal at best.

“What can I do?” Harry asked.

“Don’t, whatever you do, let me push you away,” I murmured, staring at the year inked in the dip above his collarbone.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” he said, relieved.

I propped myself up on my elbow, narrowing my eyes as I looked at him. “Did you think I was going to break up with you?”

He rolled his lips together. “There is a chance I may have been thinking that.”

I slapped his chest, eliciting a surprised yelp from Harry. “Heeey,” he whined, rubbing the spot where I’d hit him. “What was that for?”

“For being a stupid git,” I said, frowning.

Harry lifted his head pecked me on the lips, before dropping back down onto the pillow with a smug grin. “Your stupid git,” he corrected.

| | |

I yawned as I wiped down the bar, my eyes focused on the football highlights on the telly. Harry had gone to one of the matches last weekend, all pleased with himself because he’d gotten away with a tie and one of his headbands. I could hear Alan and Archie laughing in the kitchen while they ran glasses through the dishwasher.

We opened in twenty minutes. Since our conversation this morning, Harry had lingered in my flat watching telly and making tea and eating all of my crisps. Only when I yelled at him from the shower to go home and stop eating my food did he leave, but not without first placing a note in his all-capitals scrawl tacked on my fridge where he knew I’d see it.

WILL STOP BY PUB LATER WITH REPLACEMENT CRISPS. - H. XX

Of course, by later Harry meant that he’d come around closing, when there were only a few people still lingering.

The glasses were still being arranged behind the bar when Charlie emerged from his office to unlock the door. I could hear Archie putting the first batch of chips into the fryer as I knelt down to turn on the radio, switching through the stations until a decent song started playing through the speakers located in various corners of the pub.

Our first customer of the night wandered in at half past six. Alan, who’d been watching the telly with a sort of detached interest, leapt into action the moment the man approached the bar. A few more people entered just after the man, one coming up and ordering a round of pints for the group while his friends crowded around a table. By seven, we had a decent crowd going and I had the feeling it was going to be a good night.

Despite the fact that I was tired beyond recognition, a few sips of ginger beer every five minutes kept me alert. A woman with diamond earrings (and an even more impressive ring) took a hesitant seat at one of the vacant stools on my end of the bar, her eyes drifting along the shelf of alcohol behind me. Because I was feeling the way I was, I noticed a few things about her that reminded me of what I saw when I looked in the mirror.

She was obviously wealthier than I was, but I’d learned recently that money didn’t make somebody else any less human. They couldn’t hide behind it any better than I could hide behind my tangled heap of corkscrew curls. And even though she did a decent job on her makeup, I could see those dark circles under her eyes and the slight downturn of her mouth. There was a visible exhaustion in her demeanour that I was sure I showed most days; her shoulders sagged when she sat down and she kept on blinking rapidly to keep herself awake. I was aware the fact that I was well on my way into a downward spiral, but seeing myself in this woman who I would never have associated with before was the wakeup call I needed.

I fixed her a martini, and didn’t miss how she watched me prepare the drink without having anybody order anything. Not one muscle in her face twitched when I placed the glass in front of her, my fingers dragging away from the slender stem and entwining with my other hand on the lacquered surface of the bar. “How long has he been away?” I asked.

That elicited a reaction from her. The woman looked up from her martini in surprise, her red lips parting slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“Your husband,” I clarified, nodding at her fancy ring. “How long has he been away?”

“A month,” she said slowly, dragging the martini glass toward her and taking a sip. Her shoulders sagged a little more, but this time it was out of the relaxation that only came when the first alcohol of the night coursed down your throat.

“Business?”

She nodded. “He’s in Dubai until Tuesday.”

“What does he do?”

“Hotels.”

“Must be nice to have a free place to stay whenever you go on holiday,” I replied, attempting a smile.

The woman laughed lightly, nodding. “We don’t have time for holidays, but yes, I suppose that is a benefit.”

“Are you two apart often?”

She sighed. “At least six months out of the year. One of us is always somewhere that’s not here.”

“What do you do?”

“My husband is also my partner. We’ve got hotels on nearly every continent.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which continent is missing?”

She smiled. “Antarctica.”

“Impressive,” I said with a nod. I had to pause the conversation in order to refill a few pints, but this woman’s life interested me. How she found herself in The Black Cat was beyond my comprehension. “Do you travel too? Or is it just your husband?”

“I’m mostly here, although I do have a soft spot for Los Angeles.”

“My boyfriend just got back from LA,” I said, not really certain where I was going with this. I made a point of not mentioning Harry to anyone. But this woman and I were similar on some level, despite the fact that she ran hotels across the globe and I was a barmaid who liked to read people.

The woman seemed intrigued by my little divulge of personal information. “Have you been?”

“I have,” I replied, figuring I’d keep out the part about only going for a weekend. That was too frivolous for any old barmaid, and if this woman ran a hotel chain she was smart enough to tell when something was up.

“How did you find it?”

“Too hot for my liking,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “But my boyfriend loves it there, for some reason.”

My voice carried a hint of sadness that I couldn’t quite control, and she had picked up on it. Maybe because she too had noticed the same similarities in me that I’d seen in her. “How long was he there?”

“Three months.”

“That is a long time,” she breathed, sipping her martini. “Long distance is awful, isn’t it? I know Peter and I have a dreadful time, our schedules make it impossible to talk for more than a few minutes.”

“I know the feeling,” I told her. The customers had started to build up, so I had to leave our conversation at that. But, in a weird way, it was sort of nice to know that I was the only person who found this way of living difficult. I kept reminding myself that Harry was worth it, because he was, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of desolation and weariness in my bones.

Just after midnight, while the pub was in full swing and customers were asking for drinks left and right, I was ready to collapse on the spot. The world seemed to be working against me when I spared a glance toward the door and saw Brian walk in, followed by Chris and Fletcher. All it took was a few smiles and a wink before they were pulling up chairs to a table occupied by three girls. I sighed heavily, having neither the energy or the patience to deal with Brian today, and tried to focus on pouring pints.

“Hi, Zo.”

It was Chris, a shy smile on his lips as he leaned against the bar. I turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in expectation. To be honest, I was glad that he was the one standing there instead of Brian, because Chris would at least be polite and not linger when he knew that I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“What can I get you?” I asked, when he didn’t say anything.

“Three pints, please,” he said, and indicated the tap that he preferred. “I think we’ve got a tab, yeah?”

I nodded, filling his pints and sliding them across the bar. Chris muttered a quiet thank you before scampering back to the table with the pints in his arms. I noticed Alan cast me a sidelong look, his mouth working as he contemplated whether or not to ask if I was going to be alright with Brian and his friends here.

Brian shouldn't bother me anymore. It’s been months since we split up, and I’ve moved on. But I had a feeling that there would always been something about him that got on my nerves, and not in the affectionate way that he used to. It was too easy for Brian to get a rise out of me, because he knew me inside and out, better than anyone before Harry came along. The truth was that Brian was a cocky piece of shit that needed a good slap before he ever learned that being a dick didn’t make you cool. I didn’t know why I ever dated him, now that I knew what being with a nice person was like.

Then again, my current boyfriend had gotten blackout drunk and (nearly) cheated on me with some blond slag that reminded me a little too much of my former coworker, Lucy.

I loaded pints onto a tray and let Alan know I was going to distribute them to a booth across the pub. This booth had been consistently ordering drinks all night, and due to the sheer mass of people seated there I was obligated to bring the alcohol to them. I stepped around people and tried to keep the tray steady, sighing when some bloke nearly elbowed me in the face and managed a short sorry, love before going back to whatever it was he was doing.

“Is this you?” one of the girls at the booth asked when I set my tray down to distribute their pints, brandishing her phone at me. I blinked at the screen, taking a second to look at the photo.

It was blurry and taken from across the street, but I could make out my curls next to Harry’s lanky frame. We were outside a coffee shop near his house, clutching our drinks to our chests and keeping our heads down. It was from a few days ago, and I distinctly remembered having spent most of the night sitting in Harry’s living room watching telly while he slept upstairs.

When asked whether or not I was involved with Harry, I remained as vague and noncommittal as possible. It was declared a while back that we were a couple, but the two of us had decided that we didn’t want it to be a public issue. Harry’s publicist was aware of this, and kept me out of the spotlight as much as possible.

“I’ll let you decide,” I told her. The girl, to my surprise, smirked and pulled her phone away from me. Confused, I picked up my tray and headed to the bar.

Because my night was already on the verge of awful, I wasn’t all that surprised to see Brian lounging against the bar with a smirk adorning his lips. His hair had gotten longer and flopped around his forehead because he hadn’t put any product in it to keep it out of his face. Despite the fact that it was winter, he wore a t-shirt and low slung jeans. “Alright, Zo?” he greeted, nodding at me.

I cast him a glance with slightly raised eyebrows, then set down my tray and asked the lady a few stools away from Brian if she wanted another drink. Unfortunately, Brian was still there when I’d finished serving everyone around him.

“What?” I snapped, unable to help the irritated tone of my voice.

“Just came for a pint, babe,” he replied, impervious to my annoyance.

I slammed the glass down so hard on the beer mat that some of the liquid sloshed out of the glass and dripped onto my hand. Sighing heavily, I drew my hand back and wiped it on the cloth I kept over my shoulder.

“Cheers,” Brian said, winking at me. But he stayed where he was, taking a long pull from the glass. I glanced across the pub and saw that his friends were still chatting with the group of girls from earlier.

“Aren’t you going to go back?” I asked.

“Thought I’d keep you company,” said Brian. “Now that the curly one’s not around.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “You’re my ex-girlfriend, Zo, we dated for eighteen months. Do you seriously think I’m not the least bit curious in who you’re with now? Or, rather, were with.”

“What?” I said, dumbfounded.

“It’s everywhere, so don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I can assure you that I have no idea what you’re on about, Brian.”

Brian wasn’t amused. “Please, Zo, don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Since I still don’t know what the fuck you're on about, I’d say it suits me fine,” I snapped, not caring that I was agreeing with him.

“He dumped you,” Brian said flatly.

“What?” I exclaimed, my mouth hanging open.

My shock was enough to convince Brian that whatever he’d read wasn’t true. “Oh, come on, seriously? He hasn’t gotten fed up with your shit yet?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. For a moment, I was too traumatized to react. But then my brain exploded into action and I felt fire flow through my veins. If I’d been feeling tired earlier, I was completely awake now. My heart was racing as I stared Brian down, and I knew he could see the flames in my eyes.

“My shit?” I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You have some fucking nerve, Brian, saying that to me.”

“Oi, Zo,” Alan said harshly, his hand gripping my shoulder. “Chill out in the kitchen.”

I shot Brian one last scathing look and stomped off. I was smart enough to listen to Alan and not to blow up in front of the crowded pub. However, Brian didn’t seem to have gotten enough yet and he was striding through the kitchen doors shortly after me.

“Yeah, your shit,” he said. I spun around, my hands curling into fists. “You’re such a bloody chore, Zo. Not only do you never tell anyone anything, but you go completely mental over the smallest problem! Somebody needs to tell that bloke to get out while he can, before you fuck him up too.”

“You are such a fucking twat sometimes, Brian,” I seethed. “Get out of here. Now.”

“No, you need to know what you’re like. You think you’re so good at reading people, but it just makes you blind to your own fucking self!”

“Stop it, you two!” Archie cried, stepping away from the fryer. He stood in front of me, putting one hand on my shoulder as he pushed me back. “Brian, I’m sorry mate, but you can’t be in here.”

“You agree with me, Arch,” Brian said. “She’s fucked up.”

“Just go somewhere else, yeah?” Archie replied. “Nobody wants this to get out of hand. I recommend that you and your mates leave.”

He made sure that Brian and his friends actually did leave the pub, and then returned to me in the kitchen. Placing his hands on my shoulders, Archie hunched over to look me in the eye.

“You alright, Zo?” he asked tentatively. I was still brimming with fury, but I managed a nod. “I think you should head home. You’re not going to do any good here.”

I let Archie guide me into the office where we had a short conversation with Charlie, who agreed to let me go home (he thought that I’d come down with a sudden case of stomach flu and had the strong urge to throw up everywhere). Once Alan called me a cab and took some bills from the register to pay for the fare, I was sliding down in the back seat and letting my eyelids drift shut.

On the drive into Brixton I kept my mind intentionally blank, focusing instead on the passing buildings. I tossed a few bills at the driver when he pulled up outside my flat and hurried inside. All I needed was a hot cup of tea and some sleep, and to forget about what Brian had said to me.