After some of Lucy's positive affirmations and Strong, Independent Boss Bitch pep talks, I somehow pieced together the nerve to head back into the Market to open up my stall for the first customers of the day.
She kept urging me forward with a thumbs up as I shuffled back round to the front of the building, but it did little to comfort me. My stomach was a tangle of knots at the thought of being confronted by Harry again.
But could there be a chance that Lucy was right? What if he didn't loath me like I'd assumed and it really was all in my head. What if that look of absolute repugnance and shock he gave me once he realised that it was in fact me, 'Riley Fucking Smith', had all been conjured up by my chronic insecurities and addiction to self deprecation.
I could only hope.
Maybe he'd allow me to apologise, but the mere thought of acknowledging both all that we'd been through and all that I'd done out loud, was enough to make me want to bolt straight over the railings and sink into the murky green water of the canal outside.
Another part of the problem here was, no one at the market knew about any of my past, Lucy only knew the parts I'd chosen to tell her until about 5 minutes ago.
While I may have wasted my fresh start in terms of friend making, at least non of the others here hated me. Not like most of my old friends from school did, or even my own parents. And certainly not like Harry evidently did.
Summoning as much will power as I could muster, I'd tried to fix my sights firmly onto my own corner. But I couldn't seem to stop myself from glancing over to Harry periodically, checking up on where and what he was doing. His friends that had been helping him this morning appeared to have now left and he was chatting away to a customer, listening intently with a warm, open smile.
As I tried to sneak past unnoticed, I pointedly avoided eye contact with him as he turned to look at me with curiosity. Thankfully I had a small queue of my own patrons waiting for me, so shoved the any idea of talking to him to the back of my thoughts. Or at least tried to.
"Hi, Hello, sorry, have you been waiting long?" I strangle out to the inpatient faces waiting for me.
I feel hot and flustered, repeatedly blowing my fringe from my eyes with a puff of air. I take the orders, and breath a sigh of somewhat relief when I realise I can now hear the whooshing of the steam arm as I foamed milk, now that the music from next door was at a reasonable - and dare I say pleasant - hum.
Unfortunately the ply board wall that had been erected to contain Harry's stall was only waist level on the sides, so as I did my best to busy myself I was constantly aware of his presence moving around to my right. It's like he was emitting some field of energy that I could feel zapping against my skin no matter which way I turned. I couldn't help but catch him from the corner of my eye every other second.
Indulgently, I allowed myself to wonder if he'd been stealing sneaky glances at me the same way that I had been to him. I let my mind drift into insecure places of what he'd thought after seeing me after all these years. From the way his gaze painfully dragged down my body, and then back up with a grimace, I doubt it was anything complimentary.
I felt like a disgusting hungover slug, my dry brunette hair slung into a careless bun, my last clean grey T-shirt hung from me, slightly crumpled having neither the time nor brain power to iron it after slithering from the depths of my duvet this morning. And my sad, faded Buttercups apron, pinching in and thankfully hiding the worst of my paint-stained denim shorts.
And I'm sure he must have noticed the whites of my eyes were burning red, my skin pink and dehydrated from the previous evenings binge drinking. Maybe he could smell the wine leaching from my pores.
Of all the days to be confronted with my once secret-best-friend now person-who-hates-me-most-on-planet-earth, of course I would look and feel like a hideous troll creature. Urgh.
I hadn't managed to really take Harry's appearance in when we'd had our stare-off this morning. In my shocked state all I could focus on were his bright, lily-pad green eyes and the obvious distain that they'd held toward me.
Much to my despair, after the initial morning buzz had petered down, Harry had come over with to return the tray of empty coffee cups. I caught an amused glint in his eye when I noticed him approaching.
"Thanks for the coffee," he said, passing it over the counter to me.
The frown he'd greeted me with earlier had since been wiped from his face, and surprisingly I could detect little to no trace of hatred or desire to disembowel me.
And, Lord, his voice. It was deeper and raspier than I'd remembered, and it made a swell of anxiety well up low in my stomach.
As I stumbled for words I took in a better assessment of him, and what ten years had morphed him into.
When we were 17 he was already incredibly tall but he had always been slight and somewhat lanky. Yet, as he stood in front of me now, his shoulders were strong and broad, his box fresh white T-shirt that read "Islington Records" was tight against his upper arms and chest; I spotted a silver chain hiding below the neckline of his shirt. I tried not to spend too long scanning the black tattoos that scattered down his arms, or the loose, frayed blue jeans that hung from him, clinging to his ankles over a pair of worn black Vans.
His brown hair was shorter than when we were younger, it had once held tighter curls that hung well past his shoulders, but now it was thick and hanging just below his ears, his curls looser and softer. He drew his hand back into it, pushing it up and out of his face, making me swallow the pool of saliva that had been collecting in my parted mouth.
Okay, I'll admit Lucy's observation of him wasn't totally unfounded. Harry Styles, the once gangly and "uncool" music kid at school had grown up to be hot.
For fucks sake.
"Oh...uhm, that's fine, you're welcome," I'm stumbling and stuttering, the wobble in my voice making me cringe yet it seems to fuel Harry's amused smirk as he watches me crumble to pieces in front of him.
"Long time no see Buttercup," he grins, eying the large chalkboard sign behind me and then down to my apron. "Do I get royalties or something for that?"
Busted.
If I'd been blushing before then my face was now a scorching hot furnace of embarrassment.
See, the thing is - Buttercup may or may not have been Harry's nickname for me at school. Someone please, please kill me. Feed me to seagulls down the canal. Lucy could fire me up in her Kiln or Gavin could mince me up into one of his greasy burgers, I don't care, I'd take either fate over the look Harry is giving me right now.
"Oh, uhh, sure, I guess," I try to let out an easy laugh in an attempt to appear unfazed. I cross my arms over myself, wishing I could literally fold myself onto a neat little envelope and post myself somewhere far away from here. I clear my throat, "Yeah, it's been a while. How have you been?"
He shrugs.
"Oh you know, spent the last ten years rebuilding my life after being kicked out of school," he says almost nonchalantly, mirroring me crossing his arms and leaning against my counter. Still that same shit eating grin, squinting his eyes at me, "The usual."
He really wasn't taking any prisoners. In fact, judging by his expression from this entire encounter, I think he's enjoying the undeniable misery that's visible on my features.
"Look, Harry, I- "
But he holds up a hand, cutting me off.
"No, wait, Riley," he lets out a low sigh, ruffling his hair again, the smirk slipping down into an uncomfortable frown, "I'm just messing with you. We really don't have to get into it. I just thought, you know, seeing as we're going to be working next to each other now...I mean, we can be civil when we need to be, but maybe it's just best if we stay out of each others way, you know?"
Oh.
Suddenly any hopes of Harry not hating me withered away into nothingness.
That was the politest "leave me the fuck alone" I think I've ever received. That's the thing with Harry, he was always kind to a fault. Even when he hated, he did it with impeccable manners.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I almost can't stand him looking at me, because if I hold eye contact for too long it feels like we're both reliving the same memories in unison. It's like I can see them flashing across his face at the same time they invade my own thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," I say, not sure why my eyes are suddenly stinging and my throat aches.
His mouth pulls into a flat line as he gives me a small nod, patting the top of my counter a couple of times as he backs off.
"Good to see you Buttercup," he mutters, shaking his head to himself.
As he leaves I feel a sob welling up in my chest and I have to turn my back and pretend to busy myself sorting sugar packets, pathetically wracking my brain to remember the deep breathing exercises from those stupid self help audiobooks.
What did I expect really, after what I'd done and all of these years having past; that he'd be happy to see me? I was lucky to get off as lightly as I did, I'm sure had I done to anyone else what I'd done to Harry they'd have thrown the steaming hot coffee in my face and screamed at me that I was a Mega Bitch from Hell who deserved to rot. That's certainly what I felt like when Harry had given me that sad, pitiful look before walking off back to his own stall.
I got Harry kicked out of school for Christ sake. I'd heard from some old friends a few years ago that he also had his place at University revoked, having to reapply again the year after. But I never found out anything more than that.
Knowing that my selfish actions had effected him that way riled up that uncomfortable heavy guilt, that would begin fester in my chest and often would consume me if I allowed it. I had no choice other than to push it away, distract myself if I wanted to get through work.
I spent the rest of the day sulking safely behind my counter, busying myself with customers. In between I forced myself to find things to do; checking my inventory which I usually didn't do until Sundays, polishing the glass shelves, cleaning out the fridges; I must have emptied my bin half a dozen times. Because in any of the brief moments I allowed myself to be still, I couldn't help but watch him.
His stall was a buzz of interest already, the music that had enraged me this morning was now at a socially acceptable volume that seemed to beckon crowds over to him. It really was a great first day for him. And I watched as he chatted, that charming dimpled grin, so confident with everyone he crossed paths with.
I listened to him recommending records to people, excitement evident in his voice when someone requested something a little on the obscure side, leafing between the cardboard covers with deft hands and presenting them with it like an award once it had been found.
He'd always been like that about music. I remember he constantly had headphones in when walking the school halls, handing out flyers to whatever gig he or his friends bands were playing that weekend. I never did go watch him perform.
A couple of the times I'd been observing him he'd caught me, glancing back with a blank expression. I snapped back to what I was doing each time but I could tell I was making him uncomfortable. But it was like he was a fucking magnet, I couldn't resist sneaking a look at him.
Maybe its that he'd changed so much, really growing into himself, all of his movements and mannerisms so easy and confident. He just seemed so grown up, like...such a man now.
Or perhaps it was that I hadn't seen him in so long and my brain couldn't compute that he was actually there, in front of me.
Whatever the cause, I was finding it near impossible to keep my eyes off him, the longer I denied the urge the worse the itch became, practically clawing at my whole body.
When 5pm eventually rolled around I was rushing to close up; exhausted both from
doubling my own work load purely to distract myself, and being on such constant high alert mentally. The anxiety from today alone was enough for me to be ready to dive head first into my bed the moment I got through my front door.
As I emptied the remaining cakes back into my pull along cooler, I notice some of the other vendors gathering around Harry's stall.
"How are you finding it?" Martha from the jewellery stall cooed.
"Good first day for you, Lad" Krish from the spice stall patted him on the back.
"Do you want to come for some drinks with a few of us?", Rafferty asked in his deep booming voice, like he did to everyone, every Saturday.
They all buzzed around him, practically dancing with excitement for the new comer.
Just as I thought I'd made it out of there, avoiding their little gathering, Martha turned to me resting her hand gently on my shoulder.
"Riley, Love, come and meet Harry!"
I look beyond her shoulder where he's watching me, that same amused glint back in his eyes.
"Oh don't worry Martha, Riley and I are old friends actually," he says.
Martha glances between the two of us, her brows turning down when my expression must look worryingly solemn compared to Harry's bright grin.
"Oh, really, how do you know each other?" Krish asks excitedly.
"It's an interesting story, isn't it?" Harry says, watching me with dark humour, testing me. "Do you want to tell it, or shall I?"
He wouldn't. Surely he wouldn't hash out our dirty laundry in front of everyone on his first day.
I feel like the room is closing in on me. I grip my trailer in my sweaty palm and take an unsteady step back. I look at all the faces watching me expectantly, waiting for an answer, but all I can do is open and close my mouth like a goldfish. I force another step back, bumping straight into someone this time.
Lucy. Thank fuck.
"Get me out of here" I whisper to her in desperation. Luckily she doesn't even hesitate, the concern in her eyes only lasting a second before that bright beam is back on her face.
"Sorry guys, Riley's got a tube to catch and I'm going to help her with her stuff. We'll catch up tomorrow. I'll bring you that mug, Harry."
And then she's pulling me along, guiding me with a gentle grasp around my elbow. I can feel them all watch me as we rush away, I'm gasping for air that feels like sawdust in my lungs until finally we're out by the canal.
I tilt my head back, the Summer air is still too warm and thick for this time of the evening, hardly allowing me any respite as I wipe my damp forehead.
"I can't do this Lucy" I whimper, tears biting behind my lids. "I can't look at him every day. If anyone else finds out what I did they'll all hate me and it'll be just like it was before and-"
"Riley, listen to me," Lucy sighs, pulling me further down the canal, taking the trailer from me to drag along behind her. "What happened between you two was obviously complicated and fucked up. But he seems like a nice guy, if you just talk to him..."
"I tried!" I croak, "He didn't want to talk about it, said we should just stay away from each other. Fuck, the way he looked at me, I've never felt so pathetic."
"I'm sure it's all in your head, Honey, you think everyone gives you a funny look."
"No this time I mean it, and then Krish and Martha and everyone were there and I'm sure he was about to tell them about what happened between us," I wipe my nose on the back of my hand as a few frustrated tears finally leave me. I can see the tube station just ahead, and I will myself to inch further. Just half an hour on there and then I'd be back at home where I could let my inevitable break down consume me.
"Riley, stop, not everyone is a Dickhead like that, not everyone is out to get you, you're just-"
"No, Lucy!" And I feel what little restraint I had snapping in me, hot tears spilling over in droves, "You don't get it. I fucked him over. It wasn't all in my head, I was a massive bitch that looked him in the eye and I betrayed him. And the worst part was, I never even tried to apologise. I just didn't allow myself to care, I pretended it never happened and never spoke to him again! He hated me for it then and he hates me now, I could see it the moment he looked at me!"
"Riley-"
"No stop it! Stop trying to sooth me! I deserve it, I deserve all of it. There's a reason I have no friends, there's a reason I'm like this!" I'm practically screaming in the street, my whole body trembling with adrenaline.
"Riley, please, just-"
"I deserve his hate, Lucy. I'm pathetic."
I watch for Lucy's reaction now that the blistering sorrow and anxiety is leaving my chest in quick pants, but she isn't looking at me, instead her eyes are focused over my shoulder.
I slowly turn, to be met with Harry watching me, a large box in his hands that he was mid way into loading into the back of a van.
"How long has he been there" I whisper to Lucy.
"The whole time," she gulps.
"Great." I sigh, wiping away the wetness on my cheeks, "I'm sorry, Luce, I'll see you tomorrow."
She calls after me but I ignore it, just taking my trailer and wheeling away, keeping my head down.
I'm painfully aware that Harry's been watching me the whole time with that same pitiful look, and I can't bare it.
I feel all the anxiety, embarrassment and guilt that has been aching away as embers all day now flickering into anger.
"Riley..." I hear him on my way past but I just shake my head.
"Fuck off, Harry."
I know he's not at fault here, if anything he's been kinder than I deserve. But sometimes it just easier to deflect those uncomfortable feelings that grip your insides back onto those around you. I couldn't work next to Harry with this much guilt pent up inside me whilst he loathed me.
But what I could do was take my pain, and turn it into anger. Just like I did at school. To make this whole situation bearable, so that I could walk into work each day, I was going to have to make myself hate Harry Styles.