Crooked Heart

“Wren asked how you were,” Allison said, her gaze flicking up to Fiona briefly as she swiped at her toe with electric blue nail varnish.

Fiona’s fingers froze over the keyboard, and she fixed the screen with a steely glare. “You talked to her?”

“At work,” Allison clarified, her voice careful. “Ordered her drink — and, by the way, she drinks fucking hazelnut macchiatos, which is so predictable — and then asked how you were, all casual like. I didn’t even know what to say.”

“What did you say?”

“That she had no right to ask after you, obviously.” Fiona spun around in her chair, her eyes wide and uncharacteristically vulnerable. Allison’s smile was soft when their gazes met. “I’m your best mate, Fiona. When your ex comes into my work and has the audacity to ask me how you are after what she did, you bet your arse I’m not going to act nice. Fuck that.”

“Thanks,” Fiona sighed, the word zapping all the energy out of her.

“I’m not finished just yet.” Allison waved the varnish brush in the air with authority. “She said she was worried about you, cos somebody’d told her you weren’t yourself lately. Didn’t say who it was. I’m guessing it was some twat in your course thinking he knew something when he didn’t. Maybe that, what’s his name, Liam Payne?”

Fiona snorted. “Liam doesn’t know shit.”

“Well,” Allison said. “Then after I’d said she should just keep her arse out of other people’s business, she went and told me how ridiculous it was that you were cut up about the break up at all, because you’d brought it about yourself. Personally, I always thought she was a bitch, and now I know she drinks hazelnut macchiatos, so who even cares what she thinks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said, though the argument could be made that the girl in question was a bitch to everyone but Fiona, just like Fiona was a bitch to everyone but her. It was why they’d worked; for a little while, at least.

“I mean, she’s well fit, so I sort of see why you suddenly turned into a lesbian,” Allison said flippantly, a grin curving her ruby red lips upward.

“That,” Fiona scowled. “Is not how it works. I did not suddenly turn into a lesbian because she was fit.”

Allison raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, so maybe that was part of it,” Fiona admitted. “Like, a tiny, almost microscopic part specifically pertaining to my being attracted to her in the first place. And you know I’ve been with girls before her!”

“No, you’ve flirted with them. And before you say it, that girl in the summer after college so doesn’t count.” Allison grinned, wider this time.

“This conversation is over,” Fiona said with a huff, flying out of her chair and stomping out of the room. She wanted a cigarette, but the pack was back in her room, so she settled for tea instead. It struck her as she slammed through the cupboards how silly her anger was.

Allison had always accepted Fiona for who she was — and for who she liked — and that was far more important than a little bit of teasing. A few years before, when Fiona had first noticed the same gender and realized that she was just as attracted to girls as she was to boys, Allison hadn’t even batted an eyelash. When Fiona couldn’t talk to her parents about it, Allison had been there — and was, still, for her to open up to. Only having one person there for her for so long made it difficult for Fiona to talk to her close friends, even though they’d accepted her just as quickly.

Niall was sprawled across the sofa, a bag of crisps spilling out on his stomach as he watched the football match on television. Fiona wandered over as she waited for the kettle to boil, stealing one of the crisps out of the bag. The coffee table was littered with papers, three different colours of highlighter, and four books left open. Niall may have been lazy, but unlike Louis, he actually got his coursework done.

“Harry texted me,” Niall said, his speech hindered by the crisps in his mouth. “Said something about cooking supper.”

“Here?”

“Mm,” Niall grabbed another crisp off his stomach and popped it into his mouth, then squinted at her from behind his thick-framed glasses. “I think it was pasta. Or maybe some kind of pie? Dunno, he called me from the supermarket to ask if we have cream. We don’t, if you were wondering.”

The fanciest thing Fiona knew how to cook were poached eggs. If he wasn’t the bane of her existence, then maybe she’d be overjoyed to have a friend who worked in a restaurant and liked using them as guinea pigs for all the new recipes he was learning. As it was, she settled for silently enjoying the food Harry made for them and refusing to admit that he was actually a pretty fantastic cook. Niall was very vocal about his appreciation for Harry’s culinary skills, so it evened out anyway.

When the water had boiled and she’d fixed herself some tea, Fiona padded down the hallway to her room. But the unmistakable sounds of Harry banging around in the foyer as he took of his coat and shoes made her stop, breathe, and square her shoulders before taking another step.

They ran into each other at the corner, Harry’s arms weighed down by bags from the supermarket, all sorts of things poking out from them, including leeks. Fiona raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t your kitchen bigger? Why don’t you cook there?”

“My kitchen smells like hash brownies,” Harry replied.

She grinned. “Is that meant to be a bad thing?”

Harry sneered at her. Then, “Do you like cayenne?”

It wasn’t the response she was expecting. Her surprise made Harry smile. “Er, yeah. Why?”

“Recipe calls for it. I know Niall can’t handle his spice, so I thought I’d make it extra hot.”

“Are you…” Fiona narrowed her eyes at him. “Letting me in on your plan?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” he said, eyes glinting. “You look ill, Fee. D’you need to sit down?”

The nickname knocked her out of the trance. “Piss off.”

Fiona shouldered past him as he chuckled, flitting off to make his leek, cream, and cayenne concoction. Back in her room, Allison was sprawled out on the bed, bright blue toes dangling off the end, reading a memoir for one of her classes. Allison did history at uni, and was sometimes assigned novels and other things Fiona had read, but mostly it was just long academic papers and dense textbooks that Fiona couldn’t begin to understand the appeal of. She was much happier reading things from poetry collections and plays to Romantic novels and modern classics.

They worked without conversation for a while, with one of the instrumental playlists Fiona liked to study to playing in the background. Then Niall let himself in — as he always did, without so much as a warning — and threw himself down on the bed next to Allison. Niall often complained about Fiona having a double bed when he was stuck with a single, but it was really his fault for letting her have the bigger room with the closet when they first moved in. Still, he often showed up in the middle of the night to sleep in there when the girl he had over was taking up too much room on his narrow mattress. Things got complicated whenever Fiona’s bed was occupied with two people already, which it had been for most of the summer.

But after the first few times, they were used to Niall sneaking in. He was always warm and kept to one side of the bed, so he wasn’t really an inconvenience, aside from the soft snoring. When he’d slip into the room in the middle of the night, Fiona was usually already awake, and they exchanged tired nods as he climbed under the blankets and promptly fell asleep. Stuck in the middle, as she always ended up being, Fiona had to climb out over Niall (since he was the heavier sleeper) to go make her late night cup of tea.

Those had been happier times, Fiona was certain of it. The three of them lying in bed and discussing Niall’s terrible date (terrible, despite the fact that they’d gone home together), giggling and whispering until they heard the girl leave. Then Niall would get a scolding for being a prat, yet again.

“Is anyone going to ask me why I’m here?”

“No,” Fiona answered, and Allison grinned behind her book. She shifted away from Niall, leaning against the headboard, knees pulled to her chest and toes bright blue against the coral comforter.

“But I need your help!”

Fiona sighed, saving the assignment she was working on and swivelling around to face the bed. She met Allison’s gaze over Niall, and the caramel-haired girl raised an eyebrow before snapping her book shut and setting it aside. “All right, Niall, out with it.”

“I only came in here cos Harry was ignoring me, and besides, he knows nothing about girls. The lad hasn’t gone on a date in a million years. I’m beginning to think he wants to die alone.” Niall shook his head, and Fiona gave him a look that said: ‘get on with it, already.’ “Right, so, remember last week, when I went to see Guardians of the Galaxy with Marissa?”

“I remember you shouting at me from across the cinema lobby,” Fiona recalled with still-simmering irritation. “Thanks again for that, by the way. Everyone at work still talks about how hilarious it is that the only friend of mine they know about is a loud Irish bloke.”

Niall grinned, because this distinction didn’t carry the same negative feeling as it did for Fiona. “Well, anyway, Marissa texted me just now and asked if I wanted to go out again.”

“And?”

“What should I do?”

“Well I don’t know, Niall! Do you want to see her again?”

He shrugged, removing his glasses and wiping at the lenses with his not-so-clean shirt, then putting them back on. “Dunno. She was okay. Talked a lot.”

“So do you,” Allison pointed out.

“When you’ve got two people talking all the time it doesn’t really work though, does it?” Niall asked, tilting his face to the side to pout at Fiona. “But she was gorgeous. And she did this thing with her mouth—“

“Stop.” Fiona said firmly, kicking his foot where it dangled off the end of the bed. “I do not need to know any more about your sex life than I already do.”

“Why don’t you make a pros and cons list?” Allison suggested. Niall flipped over, putting his back to Fiona.

“Nice one, Allison. Thanks! Can I have a piece of paper, Fiona? And a pen?”

“Are you serious?” Fiona asked, staring at him incredulously.

Niall clambered across the mattress until he was sat facing her, blue eyes wide and hopeful. “C’mon, Fiona, it’s just a bit of paper!”

“No, I’m talking about the pros and cons list. That’s ridiculous.”

“Well I think it’s great.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot.”

“Hey!” Allison exclaimed, because it had been her idea in the first place.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Sorry. But if you have to make a list to figure out whether or not you like this girl enough to take her out, then maybe you shouldn’t take her out.”

“You’re not being helpful,” Niall said, turning back to Allison. The two started talking about Marissa and all of her positive and negative qualities, creating a pros and cons list without the paper. Fiona grabbed what was left of her tea, her pack of cigarettes, and a lighter, and left them to their conversation.

On her way out to the balcony, she passed by Harry in the kitchen area doing four things at once, unruly hair swept up into a bun and brow creased in concentration. Their balcony was small, with a dingy plastic chair, ashtray, and leafy plant that Niall had picked up to “brighten up the place” but which he never remembered to water. Since Fiona was the one who spent more time out here, she ended up being the one who cared for it. While she sat with a cigarette burning between her fingers, she picked off the dead leaves and checked the soil to see if it needed watering.

Fiona tilted her chin up, blowing out a stream of smoke, as the balcony door cracked open and Harry stuck his head out, nose wrinkling when a bit of smoke drifted his way. “Have you got any white wine?”

“Dunno about white, but all the alcohol’s in the bottom cupboard next to the fridge.”

“Cheers,” he said, but didn’t move.

Fiona took another drag of her cigarette, eyeing him. “What?”

“I didn’t know you smoked, like, on the regular.”

She flicked a bit of ash off the end. “Do you criticize Zayn or Louis for smoking a lot as well? They certainly do it more than me.”

“I wasn’t criticizing.”

“Please, Harry, you’re always criticizing. I can see it in your face.”

“I only meant,” he said, opening the door further so he could lean against the frame and gaze down at her seriously. “It’s like…you run as well, yeah?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Smoking and running aren’t exactly compatible hobbies, are they?”

“And? Loads of people smoke. Louis does football and then gets high with his teammates afterwards.”

“Don’t compare yourself to Louis.”

“I wasn’t—“

“You were!”

“Whatever,” she muttered, crossing one leg over the other and taking a frustrated drag of her cigarette.

“I guess I just thought you had more consideration for your body, with the running and that,” Harry said. “But for you it’s all about letting off steam. You’ve got a lot of steam.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say dumb shit sometimes.”

Then, and she couldn’t believe he’d gone this long looking so serious, Harry grinned. “‘Sometimes?’ That’s high praise, coming from you, Fee.”

“Oh piss off, Harry.”

And piss off he did, looking smug as he shut the balcony door and went back to his cooking. Fiona finished off her cigarette and thought about having another just so she’d have more reason to stay out of her room, but ended up heading inside. She meant to leave her empty mug by the side of the sink and then leave, but got distracted by Harry.

Cooling on a cutting board were four chicken breasts, a block of puff pastry sat next to them, and Harry was monitoring a pot that Fiona guessed contained the rest of the pie ingredients. But it wasn’t the cooking that caught her eye, it was the notebook lying open on the counter. Fiona immediately recognized it as the Moleskine Harry always had on him, the one she’d only ever had glimpses of. Harry’s hasty scrawl covered both pages, outlining the ingredients and steps involved in the dish he was cooking. There were a few little drawings too, and she thought she saw the lyrics to an Arctic Monkeys song, but she could’ve been wrong, because a second later Harry’s tattooed hand came down on the notebook and obscured what was written.

“I guess we’ll have to add spying to your list of hobbies,” he said.

Fiona sneered at him and spun on her heel, stalking back to her bedroom. A flicker of curiosity lingered within her, because Fiona had never actively tried to get to know Harry, and this little glimpse into his mind made her wonder what she’d been missing out on. Anyone who kept a journal had to have something to write about, and Harry couldn’t just be using his for recipes. She had never considered Harry’s thoughts past ‘does he know he’s being a twat?’ or ‘how many snide comments can he think up to annoy me with this time?’ His behaviour lately had made her even less interested in him; all the rudeness and teasing convinced her that he had absolutely no concern for her personal life. Why should she have any concern for his?

But the notebook was something else entirely. He guarded it so closely, never writing in it when anyone was around, but she couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t have the little journal within arm’s reach. Fiona was well-acquainted with wanting to keep things hidden, to lock away memories and thoughts where nobody could find them, and in the year that she’d known Harry, his character had remained two-dimensional. He was just that annoying, clumsy boy who invited himself over and was adored by everyone except her.

“Deep in thought, are we?” Allison asked as Fiona shut the door behind her.

“God, I hope not.” Fiona rubbed her eyes, willing all thoughts of Harry and his mysterious Moleskine out of her mind. She reminded herself that Harry was horrible ninety-nine percent of the time and there was absolutely no point in wasting her thoughts on him.

Niall was still sprawled across the bed, propped up by his elbows, and he fixed Fiona with a tentative smile. “Allison’s just been telling me about Wren.”

“Oh?” Fiona sat back at her desk, feigning a smile.

“I know the break-up was shit, and we’ve all agreed she’s a bitch, but…you’re all right, yeah?”

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I’ve become some fragile thing just because I got dumped,” Fiona said, glaring at the carpet. “It’s not like it’s never happened before.”

“We’re just worried,” Allison said quietly. Fiona raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s been over a month and you’re still upset about it. I know it takes time to get over someone, especially if you loved them and they stomped all over your heart, but you’re, like, stuck in this miserable state and—“

“I get it, Allison, thanks.”

“Sorry, Fiona, but you know what I mean.” Allison looked deeply apologetic; she’d probably never been so direct in her whole life, she was usually too polite for that.

“I don’t know how many times I have to explain it to you, though. I’m just…this is just me, okay?”

Allison and Niall exchanged a look, and Fiona wondered if she’d be storming out of her own bedroom for the third time that evening. But then Niall smiled and chuckled, and relief flooded through her system. The questions were coming more frequently these days, but she was getting better at convincing them she was fine.

Maybe one day, she’d believe it too.

There was a light knock at the door. “Come in!” Niall called, despite it being Fiona’s room, and earned a glare from her in response.

Harry poked his head in, taking in the three of them and the fading tension in the air, and glanced hesitantly at Fiona. “Pie’s in the oven. Am I allowed in here or is it a restricted zone?”

Normally, she’d say no without batting an eyelash. But since he was being polite about it, she decided to be nice. Just this once. “Go on then. Just don’t touch anything.”

“If I can’t touch anything, then where am I supposed to sit?”

Fiona gave him a flat look. “The floor.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then promptly shut it and sat on the flat-woven rug that ran between the foot of the bed and Fiona’s desk. “Am I all right here?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Brilliant. So what are we all talking about?”

“We were just saying how Fiona—“

“Shut up, Niall.”

Niall frowned, not realizing that Fiona didn’t want to be the topic of discussion when Harry was around. Rather than let the room stew in tense silence (all of which was coming from Fiona), Allison piped up. “Niall was trying to decide whether he should see Marissa again.”

Harry leaned back on his hands, long legs stretched out on the carpet. There was a hole in his sock, and his big toe stuck out of it. “Was she the one you took to the cinema?”

“Yeah.”

“She was nice. Bit loud, though.”

“So is Niall,” Fiona said, reiterating their earlier conversation. “Did anything ever come of that pros and cons list?”

“No,” Niall sighed, laying on his back.

“I think you should take her out again,” Harry said.

“Yeah?”

“Just go to her place this time, all right? I don’t need to hear you having sex again.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes at Harry. “You don’t even live here!”

He raised his eyebrows. “D’you want to hear Niall have sex, Fee?”

“Obviously not, but—“

“So we’re all in agreement. Niall, take Marissa somewhere nice this time. Not one of them dingy pubs you like.”

It was just like Harry to come in and take over the conversation. Fiona remembered a time, back when they’d just met, when he wandered up to her at a party and invited himself into a conversation she was having with a gorgeous blonde girl. He’d flirted shamelessly with her until she was more interested in him than Fiona, only to end up leaving the blonde hanging while he got a ride with Zayn and Cassidy back to their house. When the memory entered her mind, Fiona realized that this was just one of the instances in their first few months of getting to know each other that made her despise Harry. He could be just as thick as Niall, but there were times that he did things for the sole purpose of pissing her off. This only became more and more frequent as they were thrown together at pubs and parties, increasing her irritation with him until her blood started to boil just by being in the same room.

Fiona could feel it rising in her, the burning itch to just go off on him. It wasn’t even about this conversation, but all of them, every single word that had passed between them in the year they’d known each other.

But then her phone rang, and the moment passed. Fiona had a feeling the universe didn’t want her to break, to say all the things she couldn’t stand about Harry and hurt not just him, but Niall and Zayn too. Because Harry was their friend, after all, and had been long before Fiona came along with her explosive temperament. The worst part of it all was that it was Harry who brought it out in her. Fiona had never been outwardly emotional about anything before they met.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” Harry asked, as the phone continued to ring.

Fiona, her hand hovering near the device, hesitated. There was a 33.3% chance it was her little brother, but an even greater chance it was one of her parents. She met Allison’s eyes across the room, because she was the only one who knew. The other girl gave a slight nod, and Fiona picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Fiona?”

“Hey, buddy,” she replied, relieved.

Allison smiled. “How about we all get out so Fiona can chat with her brother, yeah? Tell Eli I said hello.”

She and the two boys left the room, and Allison made sure to shut the door behind her. “Allison says hello.”

“Hi back,” Eli chimed.

“Is everything all right there?”

“Yeah.”

Fiona knew it would take coaxing to get Eli to admit anything. Just like it did with her. “How’s school?”

“Good. I like Maths best.”

“Maths!” Fiona exclaimed. “Last year you liked Geography. Now it’s Maths? Of all things, Eli Kingsley.”

“Dad says Maths is better than Geography.” Eli had a note of anxiety in his voice that Fiona was all too familiar with.

Fiona leaned back in her chair, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “So, do you like Maths because Dad said it’s better? Or because you like it? The distinction’s important, Eli.”

“I like Maths. Just as much as Geography, probably.”

“Okay. But just remember that you don’t have to like things just because Dad says so, yeah? The same goes for things he says you can’t like. If you wanna like Geography best, then that’s just fine.”

“I know,” Eli said.

“What about friends? Everything going well? No fights?”

“I don’t get into fights like you, Fiona,” Eli laughed.

She pursed her lips. “My fights aren’t like the ones you have with your friends, love.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and Fiona felt her heart shrink at his tone. For a ten-year-old, he was quite perceptive. Fiona thought it must have to do with growing up in an environment where everyone was constantly arguing, even if it wasn’t visible. “Your fights are much worse.”

“What have I done this time? You know I don’t mean to upset you, Eli, never you.”

There was a pause. Then, “You didn’t answer when Mum called you yesterday. I heard them fighting about it. Are you mad at her now too?”

His voice was unabashed in the way that only a child could pull off. “I’m not mad at Mum,” Fiona sighed. “I was on break at work and it was—“ she broke off, not wanting to unload on her little brother. “I’m not upset with her. Would you tell her I’ll ring her tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thanks. You didn’t tell me about your friends.”

“They’re fine. There’s a new boy called Gregory. He’s weird.”

“Bad weird?”

“I don’t know. He says strange things. And he’s got a funny accent.”

“Does he? What sort of accent is it?”

“FEE! TEA’S ON!”

“Who was that?”

Fiona got to her feet. “Just Harry.”

“Who’s Harry?”

“No one,” she said, opening the door.

Eli hummed. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Fiona caught sight of Harry prancing over to the table holding the pie he’d made. “God no. He’s the opposite of that. Aren’t you too young to even have a concept of boyfriends and girlfriends?”

She’d reached the main room by then, and three heads turned to stare at her. Fiona rolled her eyes at them, and sat at the table between Allison and Niall. “No. Lucas and Natalie are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“And are they in Year Five as well?”

“Yes.”

Fiona ran a hand over her face. “Do you have a girlfriend, Eli?”

A pause. “No.”

“Eli?”

“I haven’t!” he cried. “Promise, Fiona.”

“Okay, good. Listen, I’ve gotta go now. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“After you talk to Mum. She’s worried about you.”

“She’s always worried, Eli.” Fiona avoided Niall and Harry’s curious gazes, and Allison’s all-knowing one. “Love you.”

“You too.”

After she hung up, Fiona knew there were at least a dozen questions waiting to be thrown at her. But she didn’t want to answer any of them. Thankfully, Allison intervened. “So, what’s in this pie, then?”

+++

Fiona slid out of bed and tugged on a baggy jumper over her camisole, her movements languid. She had class in four hours and work that night, and she needed a few more hours of sleep. But after an eternity of tossing and turning, it seemed she wouldn’t be getting any more shut-eye.

The early morning air was cool, the sky pitch black as the city slept around her. Fiona slumped back in her flimsy chair, cigarette burning between her fingers, and found herself missing Wren. She hardly ever allowed herself this; to want the other girl again, to remember her wicked smile and tawny hair. Those memories were locked away in the far reaches of Fiona’s mind, where they were meant to stay.

Because Fiona did not like to admit that her heart had been broken. That someone was capable of breaking it. It was hard enough to think it, but to say it out loud was unimaginable. Having someone else tell her that was what had happened made Fiona question her own actions since the split. Had she been too withdrawn? She knew she wasn’t exactly sociable, but she never had been. And yet they were all still so careful with her, like she was going to shatter at any minute. Maybe she was.

The door opening made Fiona jump, and her cigarette fell to the ground, releasing a spray of embers. “Shit,” she cursed, leaning over to retrieve it. After deciding it was still good enough to smoke, she took a drag, then glared at the intruder. “What the fuck do you want?”

“How long have you had insomnia?” His bluntness, however used to it she’d become, still managed to catch her off guard so early in the morning.

“Dunno. A few years, I guess. Why?”

Harry dwelled on this for a moment, leaning against the balcony railing and crossing his ankles behind him. “Just wondered.”

“I didn’t realize your interest went further than how to be as aggravating as possible.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Fiona stared at his back, bewildered. This somber version of Harry was new to her. But people were always more quiet and deep at this time of night; the brain didn’t work in the same way. Fiona’s thoughts were less angry and more dreamy, which only ever happened when she was alone and staring at the sleeping city, cigarette in hand.

“Don’t you have work in a few hours?”

“Nah, I’m doing dinner service tonight.”

“Then why did you stay over?”

Harry touched his chin to his shoulder, hair falling into his eyes as he looked back at her. “Weird as it is, I actually sleep better on that sofa than I do in my bed at home. Even with you waking me up in the middle of the fucking night.”

Fiona took a drag of her cigarette, watching him through the haze. She realized how little she actually looked at Harry. She was usually too blinded by frustration to notice him, to see the ridiculous ratio of shoulders to hips, the soft curl of his mahogany hair, or the sharp lines of his jaw. “You’re right. That is fucking weird. I took a nap on that thing once, couldn’t stand straight for a week.”

He let out a staccato burst of laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling and dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Is that why you always sit on that ugly green travesty?”

“I’ll have you know that the ‘ugly green travesty’ happens to be my favourite piece of furniture in the entire flat.”

“Predictable,” Harry teased, shaking his head. He’d turned around fully, slouched against the railing with his arms folded over his chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“’S nothing,” Harry muttered, shrugging and looking away.

Fiona sat forward, blowing smoke out the corner of her mouth. “No, tell me.”

There was an obvious tension in him. Harry had never been hesitant to share his thoughts about her, her decisions, her poor choice in romantic partners, her sour attitude. “It’s like…you like things nobody else does, just for that reason. You’ve got fucking Tennyson on your bookshelf, for christ’s sake.”

“You what?”

Harry bolted out of his lounging position, his spine going straight, and he ran a hand through his hair. His suddenly restless hand moved to his chin, then his bottom lip. “Nothing, nevermind.”

“All right, chill out.” Fiona took one last drag, then stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette in the ashtray and got to her feet. “I’m going back to bed. This has been weird. Let’s not make it a habit, yeah?”

Harry still looked shaken up, but he managed a stiff nod. Fiona raised her eyebrows at him before ducking inside. She went straight to her room, where the overhead light was still turned off, the only illumination coming from the fairy lights looped around her black steel bed frame. Fiona thought they looked like something off the Internet, and was vehemently opposed to this, but Allison had given them to her as a housewarming gift and she couldn’t bring herself to take them down. Besides, they made reading before bed a whole lot easier, since she just had to unplug them instead of getting up to turn off the light.

At six, she heard Harry leave. He fumbled around in the foyer, cursing occasionally, and took nearly five minutes just to get out the door. Fiona looked up from her book two minutes in and stared at the door, half in awe and half in irritation. She hadn’t been expecting his departure after their conversation on the balcony, when he said he didn’t have work till the evening. But she was glad he left. Though she’d never admit it, Fiona loved mornings in the flat when it was just her, Niall, and whatever breakfast food they’d decided on that day. The thought of Harry there too — taking over the cooking duties because he was the professional, after all, and talking through the news on the telly — unsettled her. He was already sleeping on their sofa every other night, Fiona didn’t need Harry invading in on any other parts of her life.