"What happened to not wanting to be the one to be sent home in a taxi before 10pm?" I giggle as I hold up a very wobbly Lucy, who's hoop earrings have been shoved into her bag and her wedges dangle by the strings from her hand.
"It's 11 o clock, Dummy," she slurs, leaning her entire weight into my side, causing me to totter across a couple of cobbles.
"Jesus Christ, look what you've done to her!" Mitch chastises his fiancé, who is looking a little worse for wear herself as they wait with us out the front of the house.
"It's Riley's fault, she brought the wine!" Sarah points at me accusingly, hiccuping slightly at the end.
"Yes, one bottle," Mitch points out, shaking his head in exasperation. "What about the gin the two of you polished off?"
"And the rum," Lucy admits, causing her and Sarah to glance sideways at one another before bursting into a fit of outrageous giggles. They try to lean toward one another to embrace, but Lucy loses her footing and nearly face plants the cobbled street.
"Woah!" Harry groans, just managing to catch her around the waist in time, pushing her slightly to prop her back up against me and freeing his hands of her. "Did you say she's got a lift coming?"
"Yeah," I say to him, "Her mum, she should be here any minute."
Sarahs party had been somewhat civilised for a short while after Harry and I's trip down memory lane by the bonfire. Sarah had filled up my glass and then Harry had taken me for a lap around the garden introducing me to his friends.
Then Sarah had suggested a drinking game that I don't think any of us had attempted since our early twenties at best, which left most of us tapping out three shots in.
But Sarah and Lucy were on a mission, and once Mitch had discovered the two of them hiding side by side under the dining table, rapping along to every vulgar lyric of WAP with a bottle of Gin, he'd declared it was home time.
Which is where we found ourselves now, the rest of the guests having already left, with Mitch and Sarah on the one side of Lucy, and Harry and I on the other.
"Oh, there she is!" I point to the headlights of the little silver car that is heading towards us. I wave to get the attention of Janis who flashes her lights to us in return, parking up with the engine running just in front of us.
"Oh for god sake, LuLu, what state have you gotten yourself into!" Her mother scolds, leaning across to push the passenger side door open.
"Sorry mum," Lucy apologises in a meek voice, tiredness having caught up with her as I help her to safely situate herself in the seat, leaning across her body to buckle her in.
"You'd better not be sick all over the car," Janis tuts. "Riley, dear," she turns to me, her disapproving motherly scowl turning into a kind smile. "Do you need a lift home?"
"Oh," I say, feeling my cheeks erupt with heat. "Harry's just round the corner from me so he's going to walk me back. But thank you."
Lucy and Sarah suddenly perk up from their near comatose state, exchanging a knowing grin before simultaneously belting out a childish, "Oooooh!"
"Shut the fuck up," I hiss at Lucy, tempted to pinch her bare arm but I remember the company we're in and the fact that I've just told her to 'shut the fuck up' with her mother only a few feet away from me. "Uh, I'm sorry Janis."
"Don't worry about it, Love, if it wasn't you telling her, it'd be me. Come for dinner one night next week?"
"Yeah, that'd be lovely. Thanks. Bye Luce."
But she's already snoring, her head resting on one shoulder. I wrap my arms around myself as we all stand and watch the car rumble off back down the bumpy street before they're out of sight altogether.
"Right, I need to get this one to bed," Mitch says with a very nearly asleep Sarah tucked under his arm. "You guys are welcome to crash here, the double bed is still up in the spare room."
Harry and I exchange an awkward glance full of blushes before Harry is quick to decline his offer.
"It's okay, we'll head off," Harry says, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
They share a half hug due to Sarah's mainly lifeless body being in the way before Mitch pulls me into his side as well.
"Nice to meet you properly Riley. Come hang out soon, yeah?"
"Sure," I say, leaning away to press a quick kiss to Sarah's cheek. "Sleep well, Sarah!"
She mumbles something incoherent which makes us all chuckle before Mitch, with a little struggle, guides her back into the house, clicking the door shut behind him.
An awkward air has settled between Harry and I, but it hadn't been just because of Mitch's suggestion that we share a bed for the evening. No, the comments and assumptions from Harry's groups of friends had begun much earlier in the evening during his round of introductions.
The first time one of his friends, James, had congratulated Harry on finally settling down it had been easy to laugh off, Harry correcting him without hesitation that we were actually just friends.
We'd rolled our eyes and gotten another drink, choosing to share a little bench to sit on, Harry's arm stretched along the back, the sides of our thighs pressed together, when another couple of his friends, Lisa and Charlie, idled up to us.
"So this is the lovely lady everyone is talking about!" Charlie grinned at me. "I'm Charlie. I must tell you we're all thrilled that Harry's found someone, thought this one would be a single-Pringle forever!"
That time I noticed Harry's jaw tense slightly before he did his best to brush it off, correcting them that we were just friends.
By the third encounter that someone had mistaken us for a couple Harry noticeably distanced himself for me, abandoning me in the garden with Mitch for entirely too long.
The thing I quickly came to realise about Mitch was that he wasn't much of a talker, which suited me just fine. However I'd also noticed that he was a silent observer, with an intensely stoic stare that could be quite unsettling.
I spent at least five excruciatingly painful minutes picking at my nail varnish, desperately wracking my brain for something to say, feeling the back of my neck sweat with anxiety.
Yet it was Mitch who spoke first, leaning down to speak into my ear.
"What's your experience with pastry?"
Okay. Not what I was expecting.
I'd looked up at him to see that same neutral but slightly hard expression, his mouth set into a firm line.
"Uh - I'm pretty good with pastry. Why?"
Mitch scratched his beard and shuffled a step closer. He looked over both of his shoulders, checking for whom I'm not sure but it caused an irrational paranoia to make me peak around as well.
"It's mine and Sarah's anniversary soon, she isn't much of a cake person, but she fucking loves pastry. Like big time. Think you could help me out?" He whispered, and it took all of my self control not to crack a smile how how intensely serious he was about this.
"Like you want me to make it for you, or want me to teach you?" I'd asked, unfolding my arms to lean back against the low garden wall we were standing in front of, finally starting to relax. I don't think Mitch was as scary as he seemed.
Mitch looked at me with wide eyes, which I think were trying to express some form of panic, but the rest of his face hadn't moved a muscle.
"Shit - should I make it myself? Would that be better?" He'd asked, his voice slightly strained.
I'd let a laugh escape me. He was obviously crazy about Sarah, but perhaps not so good at romantic gestures.
"She'd probably appreciate the effort. I can teach you though, pastry isn't that hard. What sort of thing does she like?"
"Uh, we went to Turkey last year and she really likes these wet pistachio things. Balaclavas?"
"I think you mean Baklava," I giggled, and whilst Mitch's cheeks flush a little he popped a small smile at his mistake.
"That's the one. Think you could teach me how to make it for her?"
"Sure, Mitch."
We exchanged a little platonic smile and I'd started to feel a proud of myself that I was holding conversation with Harry's friend, that so far everyone had been so kind and that just maybe I could see myself spending more time with them.
That was until Mitch leaned over again, his brows furrowed.
"Harry's a good guy Riley. Like a really good guy."
I instantly could recognise the shift in his tone, from slightly monotone but friendly, to serious and defensive.
"I know," I gulped.
"Just don't hurt him, please," Mitch had sighed and I wondered, from that statement, how much he knew. Judging from the pleading look in his eye, at least a little.
I shook my head. "I won't. I promise."
Mitch looked me over and it made me want to shrink down into nothing, to disappear altogether. But just as quickly as the air had grown tighter between us it had expanded once more when Harry and Sarah beckoned us over.
That was hours ago now, and as Harry and I walked quietly side by side down the dark street I couldn't help but let the events of the evening play on my mind.
How it had both been so nice to finally see this side of Harry's life; how he joked and laughed so easily with all of his friends, how they had long standing in-jokes and embarrassing stories to tell. It'd warmed my heart to see just how many people cared for Harry.
But also all of those awkward moments that had resulted in Harry and I avoiding being alone together for the rest of the night, or the warning from Mitch.
I was deep into a pit of worry about what his friends thought of me, when Harry finally spoke for the first time since we'd left Sarah's house.
"I'm sorry about my friends, they're kind of weird sometimes."
He wasn't looking at me, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers whilst he kept his eyes to the ground in front of him.
"Hey," I bump him gently with my elbow to get his attention. "They were all great. Really, you have a good bunch of people."
Harry nods at my words, finding reassurance that I didn't dislike his friends in any way.
"What about you?" He asks after a minute. "Who are your people?"
I laugh to myself; because I already know I'm going to tell him the truth. It has nothing to do with the wine or the shots or the weed we'd shared. It's because I was so tired of lying. In fact, I was exhausted by keeping everything so tightly wound and locked up, and if there was one person that I felt comfortable enough with to show my truths then it was Harry.
"Well, there's Lucy," I begin, Harry already nodding along with interest. "And...that's it really."
"That's it? What about Kyle?"
I snort. "Kyle is...he's fun. Or he used to be, for a while. But it was always fake with him. A means to an end. Does that make me really gross?"
Harry shakes his head immediately. "No. Not at all. I think he's gross, but not you. You must have some other friends, anyone from Uni or your old jobs?"
"No. I don't. Just me and Luce and sometimes her mum. Sad, isn't it?"
Harry takes a moment to speak, sucking in a deep breath. "I mean, it's not. If you're happy with that. Are you happy?"
I blow a raspberry. "That's a loaded question. Sometimes. More so recently."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I nod and throw him a smile that he's already returning. Because he knows exactly what I mean. He's made me happier.
"What about the times you're not happy?" He asks.
"What about them?"
"What do you do? Who do you turn to?"
I let a sigh out, looking up to see a full moon peaking out from dark clouds. The roads are almost empty, only the odd taxi whizzing past, deserted of any other people. We were isolated on these streets, so alone. But to be alone with Harry was to be not alone at all.
And he's looking at me with that same, patient and kind face he did all those years ago. I don't think I've trusted anyone the way I've trusted Harry. So I talk. For the first time ever, I really talk.
"I drink a lot," I admit. "Most nights actually. I struggle to sleep otherwise. I have these awful nightmares, over and over again. Of that night, of Jason. It's happened so much over the years, that sometimes I think I get what really happened and my dreams mixed up."
I notice a flash of concern go across Harry's face at my confession, but it's gone in an instant. I think he knows I don't want his pity, so he saves it. Instead, he scratches his jaw and guides us to cross the street.
"Does it...is it different in your dreams?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes you get to me in time, you stop it from ever happening and you take me home. Sometimes you don't come at all and I'm screaming on that bathroom floor and I wake up shouting. Sometimes...sometimes Jason is on top of me and I look up and everyone is watching. All of my friends from school, my parents, and no one does anything. Doesn't say a word. And I beg for them to help me but they never do."
"Ry..." Harry's words are a whisper. I let him slip his hand into mine, don't fight the way he slots his fingers in between my own. Because I've craved this for years, more so than I'd originally known.
"Fucked up, right?" I laugh, but really it isn't funny at all. Harry doesn't make a sound. "So yeah. I drink, and I cry and feel sorry for myself. That's it."
"Does Lucy know?"
I shake my head. "No one in my life now does. After the court case I just stopped telling people. I just...I couldn't stand the thought of someone else not believing me. It's not worth it."
"Have you ever thought about talking to someone?" He asks carefully. "Like a therapist?"
"I don't know, Harry. I don't see how it would help. What could they tell me that I don't already know?"
Harry scratches his jaw in thought. "It's not really about telling you what you know. It's about organising your thoughts, giving you ways to cope, some perspective and more importantly, an outlet."
"An outlet?"
"Yeah. A release, a sounding board. Someone you can bounce all of your thoughts off and help make sense of everything and validate it."
I consider what he says. I'd never had anything like that before, never had someone to just bounce all of my inner, most deepest and darkest thoughts off of. Could therapy really help? I know Lucy had mentioned she'd had counselling after her Nana died a few years ago and she had expressed that it had really helped her. Yet, I still couldn't help but feel sceptical.
"I don't know, Harry. I'm not sure how I feel about talking about all of that to a stranger."
Harry nods, "I get that. And, you know that you can talk to me any time, right?" He gives me a look, one that conveys nothing but sincerity. "I mean it. I'm one of your people now. Okay?"
I swallow. "Okay."
He gives my hand a squeeze with his, a reminder that we're still tethered to one another, as if I could forget the way his warm hand felt wrapped around my own. I hoped my palms weren't clammy, but they probably were.
Harry gives another nod in satisfaction.
"I'm a top tier listener Ry, but you could do with someone that can give something back to you. And you shouldn't have to go through all of that alone. There's no shame in asking for help."
Maybe he was right. It was daunting, terrifying in fact, the thought of opening myself up for analysis like that. Some of the things that troubled me I had never discussed with another soul - what if they judged me? What if they confirmed that I was as much of an abhorrent person as I told myself I was? Where would I go from there?
But truthfully, I knew that my mental health wasn't getting any better on its own. I could kid myself that the last few weeks of stability would last, but it would only take a bump in the road to send me spiralling downwards again.
Sure, I'd been drinking less and sleeping slightly better, but a couple of weeks break over the span of ten years did not signify wellness or recovery.
"I...I don't know if I'd be able to afford therapy," I mutter. "Lucy said she had to wait a year for her counselling."
"Yeah, therapy on the NHS can take a while. I - I actually have a friend, they'd probably be able to help you out. I could talk to them if you'd like?"
"Like a therapist?" I ask.
"Yeah, they're private but they helped me out in the past and they owe me a favour anyway. I'm sure they could figure something out financially with you?"
I feel my stomach twist with nerves at the thought. Was I ready for this?
"I'm not sure, Harry."
"Why not just give it a go. One hour and if you hate it, then...well then you can just tag along to Music Therapy on Wednesdays and throw drums at the wall with Abi," he gives me a little grin, but what he says springs something to mind.
"Oh! Abi!" I say, gripping his forearm with the hand that isn't held in his. His eyes widen at my sudden outburst, obviously confused. "I have something for her," I tell him. "Can I give you it to pass along?"
Harry's grin turns into a soft smile that shines right through his green eyes.
"I could. Or you could give it to her yourself?"
"I - how?"
Harry shrugs. "Come help out again next week? The kids all liked you - Abi especially, and you weren't terrible at it I guess."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" I narrow my eyes at him.
"I'm trying to be cool about this, but I'd really like it if you came back." It's too dark to be sure, but I'm pretty confident that his cheeks are red. He gives my hand another soft squeeze. Something funny and terrifying happens inside my stomach at the same time, something that shouldn't be happening at all.
Calm the fuck down, Riley. He's just holding your hand, it isn't a big deal.
"What about Sarah?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from squeaking. "I thought she helped you on Wednesdays?"
"She's been trying to get out of it for weeks, she's pretty busy but she's too kind to tell me outright. You'd be doing her a favour taking her place," he assures me but I'm not sure if he's saying that just to get me to agree.
Either way, I find myself not hating the idea of tagging along to Harry's group again. I don't hate the idea at all.
And I really would like to see Abi again and give her the sketchbook and pencils I'd dug out for her in person. I wouldn't tell her, but I'd gone out into town and bought her a little case of paints and brushes as well.
"Okay," I tell Harry, feeling my cheeks pinch with the smile I can't stop from forming. "I'll come."
"And you'll let me talk to my friend for you?" He asks, his eyebrows raised in hope.
I huff out a breath, still feeling unsure. But I could try, right?
"And I'll let you talk to your friend."
Harry's smile is something else. Brighter and more beautiful than that silly old moon in the sky could ever be; all of the stars combined are nothing in comparison. A supernova couldn't light up the sky the way Harry's smile did. Because Harry's smile shows not only the joy he feels, but he looks almost as if he's proud of me.
He's not said the words, and I could be making the look in his eyes up, but the thought of him feeling proud of me is enough to having me letting out a twinkling little giggle like a schoolgirl.
I'm staring at him, I know I am because he's staring right back with a look of...what was that? Confusion? Uncertainty? Hesitation?
Whatever it was, our eye contact held for far too long, a silence stretching out around us, I hadn't even realised we'd stopped walking.
When Harry let out a long, drawn out breath I looked around to see we were stood at the end of my street by a red postbox, the moon and a near by street light illuminating us.
Harry sights turned upwards, his eyes searching the expanse of the sky, his hand still holding on to mine. I didn't speak, because I didn't want to put a stop to this moment. If I said one word now, then it would all have to move on and I wasn't ready to let this minute in time go just yet.
I could see my yellow door from here, maybe twenty or thirty steps away and it felt much too close. I was wracking my mind for an excuse to not have to leave just yet, or for a reason convincing enough to invite Harry inside when he spoke.
"Do you want to go somewhere?"
I felt my heart leap and jump and stutter.
"Where?"
Harry shrugged. "Anywhere. No where."
He wasn't looking at me, head still tilted up to the sky, the cool white light from above casting down against his face, causing him to look pale; but not in a sickly way, instead he looked ethereal - angelic even.
I don't know how many times Harry had asked me to go somewhere with him during our time as friends. For a drive. To meet his friends. To the cinema, or to get a drink. I nearly always said no. But I never wanted to say no to going somewhere with him again.
Words he had spoken ten years ago echoed around in my mind.
"If it meant you were happy, then I'd go anywhere with you."
But it was wrong. It was entirely twisted, upside down. Because I'd be happy, completely and utterly content, if I could go anywhere in the world with Harry.
I didn't know what that meant; what the cause and depths of my feelings were, but I didn't want to worry about that now. I just wanted to stand under the moon with him, hold his hand without worrying about why, and go wherever it was that he wanted to take me.
"Sure," I say, and his eyes steer to my own.
I should be scared of all this, should be telling myself that there's no way that Harry doesn't want this night to end either; that maybe he'd just noticed my hesitation to get to my front door and taken pity on me.
But it had been his fingers that had slipped and gripped onto mine. And he hadn't let go since, not for a second.
So I ignore the butterflies swarming my chest, ignore the sound of my own heart thumping in my ears, ignore the voice telling me to stop because whatever feelings I was having would surely only end in pain and misery.
That can all wait.