No Matter What // Harry Styles AU -- Dunkirk inspired

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Absolutely not- no apologies," she counters, setting her glass down. Eliza lowers her chin, staring intently into my eyes as if she's about to tell me an important secret. "Jack always has to be Mr. Big Shot, and it's no way to be a guest or a person." 

I'm a bit taken aback by her support- I had been too busy being jealous and judgmental to really give her a chance.

"Frankly," she continues in a hushed voice, "I was counting down the minutes to dinner so he'd finally have something to stuff into that blabber mouth of his." 

I instantaneously burst out into laughter as Eliza giggles along side of me.

"Are you sure you two are related?" I ask.

"That's what they tell me," she shrugs. "Although to be fair, he isn't always this bad. I think it's something about society life that brings out the worst in him." 

I suppose it hasn't brought out the best in me either. As Eliza begins to pick at the first dish set in front of us, I stare down the long table at Jack. Perhaps in my flustered state I somehow misjudged him?

Of course, as soon as I ask this, Jack catches me staring and gives me the proudest smirk I've ever seen, affirming my initial opinion. Jerk.

"Friends?" I look back to Eliza who smiles so genuinely that I can't help but really like her.

"Friends," I agree, returning her smile.

As the dinner continues, I'm incredibly thankful to have Eliza next to me. Gran and her friends dominate most of the conversation, talking about some new Parisian designer and the best spots in Europe to go on holiday, but all the while through carefully constructed comments that I'm sure have more than one meaning. Eliza and I side eye each other as each passive aggressive comment tactfully hits its victim and giggle together as we distract ourselves by observing the motley crew of guests around the long table.

Everyone's an absolute character- from Mrs. Bentley, who I'm pretty positive is playing footsies with the uncomfortable looking man across the table, to Mr. Foster who sits next to Grandfather at the far end of the table and has the most wiggly set of eyebrows, to even Jack, who looks like quite the buffoon trying to get everyone's attention.

My absolute favorite, though, has to be Mr. Winston, the marvelously distempered man that Uncle Ben pointed out earlier. Older than even Grandfather, the quite senior Mr. Winston appears to be one of the crankiest men I've ever seen. Blatantly ignoring any and all conversation around him, he appears to have absolutely zero interest in being at this dinner, something I quite relate to at this point. Eliza and I just about lost it when somewhere around the third course, he even gave up trying to stay awake, shooting the most perfectly hostile glare at anyone who woke him from his drifting, as if they're somehow the rude ones.

Somewhere into the fourth course, Eliza pokes me in the side with her elbow. "Oh my goodness, I think he's finally done it!"

"Holy mackerel, I think he has!" I gush, somewhat in awe of his accomplishment as Mr. Winston's head falls towards his chest. The image is too much, though, especially as Jack speaks emphatically next to him as if he's the most important man at the table. I can barely stifle my giggles.

"Hazel," Gran asks from the head of the table, "are you quite alright?"

"Oh yes, quite" I reply through a pressed smile, trying with all my might not to laugh in Gran's face. Eliza coughs next to me, obviously trying to do the same.

Gran eyes us carefully, somehow not noticing the sleeping man twelve seats down from her. "You girls are quite silly aren't you," Gran dismisses us, turning back to her friends "I remember when I was a girl..."