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

Chapter Twenty-Five

"George!!" I wince as I finish up making Grandfather's bedroom ready for him. Gran's shrill voice pierces through the walls and my ears.

"You don't need to yell, Florence," Grandfather ironically yells, matching her unnecessary volume. "I'm not dead yet!" 

And here we go..

Gran stops right in front of the doorway, but her fierce gaze is targeted down the hall. 

"Don't you joke like that!" she stomps her foot.

"I'll joke however I well please!" he booms incredulously, although from where in the house I haven't figured out yet. 

I simply roll my eyes as Gran bustles angrily down the hall.

Good grief, I huff to myself, blowing a piece of blonde hair out of my face. I'm so close to being done with my Sunday chores- all of the sheets have been washed and replaced, the surfaces dusted and tidied, and his medicine bottles lined up neatly on top of his nightstand so Gran can easily administer them.

I run my fingers over the glass bottles, wondering what exactly each prescription does precisely, still unsure entirely of Grandfather's condition. Mother had mentioned that he had had heart trouble over the summer, but Gran seems to be only worried about a reoccurring bout of pneumonia. 

"Crazy old woman," I jump slightly as Grandfather hobbles into the room, huffing in annoyance. 

He's supposed to take his afternoon rest and tea, but he frets about the room as Gran tries to steer him towards his bed.

"Crazy for ever marrying you, you old loon," Gran mumbles to herself as she finally sets him up in bed. 

A burst of laughter escapes my lips, but I quickly try to cover it up with a fit of coughs. 

"Just a tickle, sorry." I wave off their concerned looks, turning my back so I can fully hide my smile while I grab Grandfather's tea. I get quite the kick out of Gran's ability to hold her own against such a force like Grandfather.

"Here you are, Grandfather," I smile politely as I place down the tiny tea cup by his bedside.

"Thank you," he grumbles, leaning back onto his bed.

"You're very welcome," I quickly reply, before looking up to Gran. "Will you be needing any help before supper is to be started?" I ask her.

"No, no." Her eyes scan the room as she pats down her skirt. "Come to think of it, I'm in much need of a little rest myself," she shoots a glare at Grandfather, who cooly sips his tea, unbothered by her thinly veiled complaint.

"Would it be alright if I stretched my legs a bit outside, then?"

"Oh! Yes, of course, m'dear. It may be a bit chilly out there, though." Gran squints, gaging the foreboding sky outside.

"I'll be sure to stay warm," I promise her.

"Go on right ahead then" Gran shoos me. Just as I'm about to spin out of the doorway, Gran adds, "Just be sure to be back in time for supper."

"Will do," I give her a little salute jokingly, but Gran just stares at me quizzically. I shake off my slight embarrassment, remembering that Gran is not Mother, and that my goofy nature is probably not as appreciated here. Although, I swear I almost see a hint of a smile on Grandfather's face as he sips his tea.

Turning out of the room, I have to mentally stop myself from sprinting out of the house. I've learned that if I move too quickly, I'll cause a ruckus and inevitably remind Gran of some random thought that will have us wrapped in a thirty-minute conversation. Conversely, if I move too slowly, she's bound to remember something that needs tending to, preventing me from leaving at all. As I grab my coat and hat from the closet, a small pang of guilt hits me for feeling the need to strategize with people who are supposed to be my family.