The Beautiful Hummingbird - Part II

The Flask Edit

I glimpse sideways through the pub window.  "It looks busy tonight."  My voice is almost a whisper. 

"Yes, I think there's a quiz night on," he remarks.   

"I didn't realise.  Would you prefer to go somewhere quieter?"

"No, as long as you are happy to sit outside.  What can I get you to drink?"  His voice seems jittery. 

"It's okay, I'll get them as you may be spotted.  What would you like?"

"Thanks.  Shall we share a bottle of white?" He asks hesitantly, reaching for a £20 note from his wallet and handing it to me.

I focus on his outstretched hand.  I have taken enough from him, I am not about to take anything more plus this is not a sit over a bottle kind of meet up.  "Thanks but I've got it.  Perhaps a glass of white each?" 

"Yes, yes of course, happy to have whatever you're having."  He agrees, nervously. 

I venture inside to the warmth of the dark wood panelling, dusty floorboards and roaring open fires.  It takes a while to get served but from my place at the bar I can see Harry through the window.  I gaze at his profile.  He is breathtakingly handsome.  He does not take his eyes away from the door I have just walked through.  Perhaps he thinks I will change my mind and leave.  Who can blame his hesitancy based on my past track record.

Once served and back outside, I settle opposite him.  We both find fascination with the stems of our wine glasses.  The awkward silence kick-starts my anxiety and I move my hands under the table to my lap to scratch at my wrists.  It takes a moment before being able to say any words.

"How are you?"  It seems the most ridiculous question to ask and I mentally scold myself.

"I'm pleased you called to meet," he replies. "More importantly, how are you feeling?

"I'm okay.  Work keeps me busy.  Congratulations on the success of Four, I'm really happy for you," I compliment, sincerely.

"I didn't mean work stuff.  I mean how are you, you know after everything," he stresses.

I can feel the tension between us. "I'm fine, really," I dismiss.

"I've been worried about you."

"You don't need to be."

"Don't need to be?"  He pauses, twisting one of his rings around on his finger.  "We lost our baby Natasha and you nearly died that night and then you left."

"I've behaved appallingly. I had to see you to say I'm so sorry."  It sounds such a weak excuse but when I attempt to say more, Harry continues.   

"I understand why you were hurting, I just wish you hadn't pushed me away.  We should have faced it together.  I wanted to be there with you," his voice cracks but then he composes himself.  "We cannot change what's been but we are here to talk now so let's talk."

"You were hurting too and I was selfish to leave the letter.  I am so sorry, please forgive me," I mumble with guilt.     

The day I scarpered from Eskdale flashes through my mind.  Sitting down to write the cowardly letter seemed right at the time but now, sitting here facing Harry, I cannot fathom how I could have disregarded him so flippantly.  Tears threaten but I will not let them fall.  I will not let him see me cry.  He has suffered enough and does not need me putting further burden onto him. 

"Natasha, look at me."

I pull my sleeves over each wrist and place my elbows on the table.  My fingers manically twist the stem of my wine glass but my stare remains downward.