It was a week later and I was sat in Lucy's garden, where she lived with her mum, Janis. Sipping a glass of wine, I tilted my head back to let the warm sun rest against my cheeks.
The sun was just beginning lower in the sky, a red-orange hue taking over the long winding garden. The sweet scent of foxgloves and hydrangeas filled my nose. Lanterns that hung from the fruit trees had just began to light up, the multi coloured glass shining and reflecting agains the ground like church windows, and the low fire pit between the chairs had been lit to take off any chill that the evening may bring with it. I'd always loved coming to Lucy and her mums house, it felt consistently cosy and homely.
Whether it was the chit chatter from the group of ladies in the front room from Janis' book club, or the reggae music that the neighbours played out, or the endless offers of a cup of tea, there was nothing empty or quiet when I came here. It was the perfect end to a busy Saturday, to be here.
Work had been busier than usual and I was feeling suddenly optimistic that I'd made a decent profit for once. I'd sold out of pastries and cakes nearly every day this week, meaning I'd spent every evening busy with baking. In turn I hadn't rolled into work with my usual hangover each morning. I was feeling pretty good for once.
Even Harry had notice the uncharacteristic spring in my step recently, having caught him watching me with a bemused smirk as I chatted away to my customers, or gave a toddler a free cupcake when she'd dropped her ice cream and fallen into a fit of hysterics.
"What?" I had said to him when I spotted him grinning at me.
"Nothing," he'd laughed, shaking his head. "You just seem more like the taking candy from a baby type than handing it out is all."
I rolled my eyes but instead of snapping back, I'd taken a couple of bottles of water from the drinks fridge behind me, handing one over the partition between us to him. He'd hesitated to take it.
"Don't worry, poison isn't part of my plan to off you," I'd laughed. "Come on, take it, it's boiling in here."
Still unsure, Harry had slowly approached me before gingerly taking the water bottle from my hands and mumbling a thanks.
"And I'll have you know, I love kids", I'd said as I took a sip from my water bottle.
"Mhm," he'd hummed dubiously at me over his own bottle as he tipped it back, taking a long sip. He wiped his shiny lips on the back of his hand and I couldn't help but watch. His nails were all painted green this week, apart from his pinky nail which was a warm, buttery yellow shade.
"You're checking me out again."
His low, raspy voice snapped me out of my haze with a jolt.
"You wish, Styles," I'd huffed out a laugh.
"Mhm," he hummed again, but I'd noticed he hadn't turned away yet like he usually did. Normally when he'd caught me staring like that, he'd make a joke then turn away uncomfortably and ignore me for a few hours.
But instead he'd stood there with his water raised half way to his mouth. He wet his lips with his tongue before I watched his eyes slowly slide down me, to my bare shoulders and my white tank top, to the same paint stained denim shorts that I'd worn when he'd first shown up at the market. A smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth as he took in the yellow Buttercups apron that I'd tied around my waist, before they slid achingly slowly down my exposed things until his eyes flicked back up to mine.
"You checking me out now, Styles?" I breathed out. I couldn't hide the waver in my voice despite trying to force out some confidence. I wonder if he could see my heart vibrating beneath my shirt.
He gave me another once over, quickly this time, before lifting his shoulders in a shrug, shooting me a smug smile.
"I mean, you do it to me all the time," he says quietly. "Just thought I'd give it a go."
"And?" I ask, nearly choking on my own spit as he takes a slow step toward me.
"And," he says breathily, reaching a large hand over the partition toward me, his head quirked to one side as his eyes dart all over my face, resting on my mouth momentarily, "You have icing sugar on your nose."
He swiped his thumb down the bridge of my nose before holding the pad up to show me a little spot of white powder.
I feel my face flush before I turn my back to him, ignoring the laugh that he belted out. But instead of snapping back some retort, I caught his gaze over shoulder and let out my own small laugh, shaking my head before getting back to work.
I didn't know what it was this week, but I just hadn't found myself wanting to argue with him so much. Lucy had noticed too.
"It's cute, you guys are obviously getting along better," she said, topping up my glass before she sat down in the deck chair opposite me, taking a sip from her own.
"It's not cute. I'd hardly call it getting along," I shake my head. "He still hates me."
"I don't know, I'm not convinced, Ry. I'm getting serious sexual tension vibes from you guys."
I scoff, appalled. "Definitely not!"
"Oh come on!" She laughs, leaning forward in her chair. "So you're telling me that you guys were best friends at the height of pubity, all of those crazy hormones flying all over the place, and nothing ever happened?"
"Nothing."
Lucy widened her eyes in disbelief, "So you never even made out? Maybe that's the issue, if you guys had just rocked each other's bones-"
"Lucy!" I laugh and cover my heated cheeks with my forearm, "I'm serious, nothing ever happened. I...I had a boyfriend back then."
"Oh really," her eyes lit up with excitement, waggling her eyebrows at me. "Who was he? Was he cute? I bet Harry was hella jealous."
"Stop that! He didn't like him but Harry was definitely not jealous." My stomach turned at the thought of discussing Jason. I hadn't spoken about him to anyone since the court case years ago, apart from the few references Kyle made about him. It was weird to be discussing both him and Harry so casually.
"Jason - he, uh...He was Kyles best mate," I sigh, trying to pick apart which details I was happy to share with her. "Typical Rugby player, entitled, school bully type."
"Oh," Lucy grimaces. "A real catch then."
I laugh. "Not really. He was a massive prick if I'm honest."
"So why were you with him?"
An inviting breeze blows my hair over my shoulder, and goosebumps raise on my arms, but I'm not sure it was entirely down to the weather.
"His dad and my dad, they did a lot of business together. And I think they just sort of put us together. It was just expected, I guess."
Lucy gives me a solemn look and I wonder if she could see the discomfort written all over my face. It felt so strange to be talking about any of this, truthfully it was the first time any of this had passed my lips in years. And back then it was in a statement to the police.
"Harry doesn't seem like the typical ass-hole jock, how did he fit into everything?" Lucy asks, clearly invested in the story.
"Friends in secret, remember?" And she nods in understanding. "He was so different from Jason and the others. He had really long hair, always had his guitar on his back. Used to wear black all the time," I laugh at the memory, "We only really spoke in Art class at school. And we'd hang out at night sometimes, when I wasn't with Jason."
"Sneaky," Lucy winks but I roll my eyes.
"I swear, Luce, it wasn't like that. It's just, Jason didn't really like me hanging around anyone different. Any guys really. And Jason would have beat the shit out of him if he found out."
"Did he?" Lucy asks, crossing her legs, "Ever find out, I mean?"
I watch her, hand rested on her chin, her wine glass dangling from the other. So relaxed, just listening to her friend. Me. I was always so thankful that Lucy actually liked me. But she didn't know all of my past and I didn't want anything to risk spoiling my only friendship. So selfishly, I lied.
"No," I say quietly, looking at my feet. "He didn't."
Lucy eyes me, and I can tell she doesn't fully believe me, but she's just shrugs it off and takes a sip from her glass.
"So if you guys weren't making out, what were you and Harry doing when you were sneaking about?" She asks.
I cover my face with my hands to try and hide my laughter.
"I don't know Luce! Just hanging out," I say as I lift my shoulders. "Sometimes we did homework, or we'd just drive around together. He used to play me all this music and talk about it for hours, he had this thing about finding the music that 'spoke to me' or some shit."
Lucy beams at me.
"Very cute," she says pointing an accusing finger at me. "Sounds totally platonic. Meeting up in the middle of the night playing you love songs - not romantic at all!"
"He did not play me love songs!" I retort.
Well. Maybe he did sometimes. But most of the greatest songs ever written were about love or broken hearts, it was unavoidable. Right?
"Sure he didn't," Lucy pats me on the shoulder, slightly patronisingly. She looks over my face, her amused smile slowly dropping into a set line. "Sounds like you had the wrong guy to me, though."
I feel my smile abruptly drop at those words, and all at once the conversation didn't feel so comfortable. Lucy squeezed my knee as she noticed the change in my demeanour, and announced she was going to start cooking our dinner. She left me alone in the garden, deep in thought.
***
Luckily Lucy dropped the topic of Harry after that, but I left her house hours later with a full belly and her words still swimming around in my thoughts, simmering and stewing. All the way home on the tube, as I unlocked my front door and shuffled into my hall and kicked off my sandals.
I had the wrong guy.
She said it easily, as if it could have ever even been a possibility. Even if Jason had never been a part of the equation, if he'd never have existed like I'd desperately dreamed of so many times. Harry would never have chosen me either.
He was too kind for me. I'd spent most of our friendship sad and brooding, so much so that it wasn't until months into us driving around together at night that I realised I hardly knew anything about him outside of school or his eclectic music taste.
I was selfish and self absorbed and Harry would never see anything to desire in a girl like that.
During our friendship he'd never had a girlfriend that I'd known of, but maybe he'd just not mentioned one as I obviously didn't have the mind to ask.
Maybe he did in fact have a girlfriend, and maybe she went to watch his band perform at the weekends when I'd always made some excuse as to why I couldn't go. Maybe he'd drop her off home right before he'd turn up those nights on my driveway.
I thought about Sarah from the pub the other weekend, the drummer from his band now in the present. They'd seemed so comfortable and easy around each other; the way Harry had shot her that little wink. The way he'd pulled her into his side for a hug before he'd left to take me home. A hug that he'd never given me.
She seemed kind, in a similar way that Lucy was. Open smile, inviting eyes, soft, caring voice. That's the sort of girl he'd want to spend his time with.
And yet he was stuck with me 5 days a week, still sad and brooding by his side. I wondered if he went home to Sarah and they lay in bed, curled around one another, pitying me together.
Or maybe he never mentioned me at all.
I knew he must have at least complained about me, Sarah said so much. Maybe I was a butt of their jokes. Maybe he tried to rile me up at the market so he had some funny story about the angry girl with the cake stall that he could go home and tell her about.
I sigh to myself as I throw my purse over the banister at the bottom of my stairs and idle through into my kitchen.
I knew I was being preposterous to even consider that I crossed Harry's mind half as much as he did mine. And Sarah seemed too nice to be the type to spend her evenings bitching about some insignificant person in Harry's life.
It was 9pm now, and as much as my body ached from a hard week at work and my mind was fuzzy with the wine I'd drank at Lucy's, I knew I had work to do. I tied my hair up and slipped on an old Buttercups apron from behind the kitchen door.
Opening my fridge, I pulled out packs of butter, grabbing flour and sugar from the cupboard and got to work with my bright yellow food mixer. Whilst I waited for the butter to soften slightly, I flicked through my Spotify trying to decide what music to bake to.
I scrolled through random playlists, realising non of them were taking my fancy. Non of them spoke to me. My thumb hovered over the screen before I typed out an artist and ignored the feeling of wanting to slap myself as I let 'If I Fell' by the Beatles sing out of my speakers.
It wasn't until I was breaking up butter and flower in a bowl, mixing it into the size of breadcrumbs with my fingers, that I'd realised I was singing along.
I let the words fall out of my lips with ease, bopping my hips a little as I recall the words I'd not sang out in years. Words I surely should have forgotten, but couldn't.
"If I trust in you, oh please don't run and hide."
I close my eyes and think back to the last time I'd sung this song, who'd sung it with me, who'd taught it to me. Letting green eyes invade the darkness behind my closed lids, letting myself swim in them.
"If I love you too, oh please don't hurt my pride like her, cause I couldn't stand the pain!"
I let the playlist carry on, joining in with Paul and John as I added yeast to the wet ingredients, tipping everything into the yellow mixer. I mindlessly remember each song, muttering the words under my breath as I slide the croissants I'd made into the oven and set a timer. I dance through into my living room, and as I go to shut my blinds for the evening, I see a familiar white van slow as it passes my house.
It idles in front of my door for a while, it's headlights lighting up the road. The windows are dark, I can't tell who's inside, if he's alone. Maybe Sarah is in there with him. I wonder if he can see me watching him through the window.
He must know that I'm stood just here, because surely he can hear the sound of my heart crashing against my rib cage like a jack hammer.
The faint sound of music is muffled by both his and my windows, so it must be blaring out inside the cab of his van, as it always did when he drove alone. I wondered what he was listening to. Could he be listening to The Beatles too? It had always been one of his favourites.
I look down to my flour covered dress and dust it off quickly, fluffing my hair so it doesn't lay so flatly against my scalp which is prickling with anticipation.
I thought about just slinging my front door open and standing there in the light from my hallway. Thought about him rolling his window down as he turned down his music, that dimple popping as he smirked at me. I could invite him in. We could drink tea on my sofa, and pretend like we didn't hate each other. Pretend we were friends again.
But a beat later the van drives off and I watch until it's out of sight, maybe I even waited for a few minutes after it was long gone, before shutting my blinds, trying to will away the ache of disappointment that had taken up residence in my chest.