Lennon. (Lennon is a girl, yes girls are called Lennon)
Early morning shifts on Monday’s should not exist – I don’t care who you are, if you disagree you are crazy. It’s not that I wanted to stay in bed all day but the shrilling noise of my alarm clock in my ear at quarter past five was enough to make me rethink my life choices. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, grasping the last ounce of rest I could conjure up. The sudden banging on the wall snapped my eyes wide open again. I was staring into complete darkness. I waved my arm around, looking for the alarm clock before I slammed my hand down on the snooze button. Dom, one of my housemates eventually finished denting his bedroom wall and was probably already asleep again – lucky him.
I sat up properly, letting out an exasperated yawn before I dwindled my way across my room to the light switch. The light hit every corner of the room, causing me to squint my eyes from the brightness. I had been meaning to invest in the energy saving light bulbs but my mind was always elsewhere.
The alarm clock sprung to life again, playing its repeated melody for all to hear. This time I lurched towards it and flicked it off completely before it woke Dom up again. He wasn’t a morning person, he wasn’t an afternoon, evening or night-time person for that matter, he was just Dom.
My room was still a complete mess, but I was hardly expecting the fairies to come and clean up after me. Unfortunately in reality mythical creatures are only mythical. I waded through stacks of books and papers as I trailed into the bathroom. Reading and writing are the two things that keep me sane. I could open my own library with the amount of books I owned.
I tightened the towel around my body as I re-entered my room. I cursed several times in the shower when the lack of hot water was apparent. The cold, wet hair stuck to the back of my head and neck sent shivers cascading all over my body. I pulled my work outfit from its crumpled pile on the floor and shimmied into it. My black jeans needed a wash but they would only be coated in my flour again, they could last another day or two. My white t-shirt was the same, it had the odd icing stain but nothing creating a health and safety hazard.
After I finished getting ready I stumbled tiredly down the stairs, trying to avoid waking the rest of the house. Dom could be moody in the morning but he was nothing compared to Emma or Jason, the modern day Ariel and Eric – I had told her she wasn’t in fact a mermaid which led to a three day argument. So from now on, they are a real life fairy tale, apparently.
I scowled when I pulled open the breakfast cupboard and was greeted with an empty box of coco pops. My name was scrawled across the box in permanent marker but obviously that didn’t matter. I didn’t have to second-guess who it was; Jason. It wasn’t that I hated him; I just didn’t like him, one bit. I sighed angrily as I threw the box in the bin and helped myself to his girlfriend’s box of cornflakes. I coated them in cinnamon since we were also all out of sugar. The food bought every week has a very good way of disappearing into the depths of a black hole to never been seen again. I was just thankful no one had drunk any of my orange juice, which was still unopened in the fridge.
The TV flickered with pictures of the latest train crash in Europe. It seemed like nothing in the world was going well at the moment. I gulped down the rest of my juice before placing the dishes in the dishwasher. I sat up on the bar stool I had previously occupied and tied my worn out black converse around my feet. The laces were barely in tact, falling apart in several places but new converses just didn’t look right to me.
Glancing down at my watch I knew I couldn’t waste anymore time before I would end up being late. I yawned again whilst pulling on a coat and grabbing my bag. I frowned at my appearance in the mirror, not because I hated the way I looked but because I had an unruly piece of hair refusing to stay down. It was stuck up, acting like a fin on the very top of my head. I groaned when it bounced up again, I eventually gave up and shoved a hairgrip on it, forcing it down.
The London underground had barely been open an hour and yet the amount of people surrounding the stations was terrifying, terrifying to the inexperienced city goer. Living in London for your whole life you’re accustomed to it before you’re even a teen.
I scanned my oyster card over the machine and dwindled down the escalator, for once no one pushed or shoved passed as I reached the very bottom. I waited patiently for the train. I looked around at the other awaiting passengers. It was the same every morning. The man with his oversized briefcase, several papers spilling out, then the women in her Chanel or Prada suits, the working mum who had numerous tired children hanging onto her limbs and the odd tourist beating rush hour madness. None of those people sparked my creativity – they were all ordinary. I could write about them, but I didn’t want to, they didn’t inspire me.
One of my favourite hobbies was writing. I didn’t write poems, romance stories or even songs. What I really enjoyed doing was watching a nameless stranger. I would study them for a minute or two maximum but I could write about them, their personality and what sort of person they were for hours on end. Although it had been months since I had managed to do anything of the sort. I had to find the right person and they only came along every once in a while. The last person I studied unknowingly was a waitress in a restaurant I ate at in Covent Garden. She was mid thirties, short blonde hair and a stumpy body but she spouted inspiration.
It wasn’t like I could read people but sometimes just looking at someone you could tell they have an intriguing back story – unfortunately I would never find out whether that was true or not, no one saw my work. She looked startled every time the bell on the door went, she flinched when anyone spoke a little too loudly and she wouldn’t make eye contact with a single person. I was so fascinated. Dom got frustrated with my endless staring that night and claimed I was freaking her out in which I responded by kicking him under the table.
The exit to White Chapel station brought you right out onto the street and directly opposite the bakery. It was hardly the glamorous side of London but you take what you can get in this society.
I unlocked the door to the bakery, which was cleverly named ‘Rolling in the Dough’. It was still far too early for customers so I locked the doors again and made my through to the kitchen. Before I did anything else I switched on all the high-powered ovens so they had a chance to warm up.
“Morning Lennon.”
“Morning Floyd,” I responded in a less enthusiastic manner.
“Why do you sound so glum love? Not like waking up early on a Monday?” He pouted at me as a smug grin grew on his face. I stared at him blankly, not amused with him, it was too early for his preppy attitude. “Alright grumpy, go do what you do best.” He spoke as he hit the back of my head with a dirty washcloth.
I stood over the fresh dough, kneading it until my arms were dead. Apparently this is what I did best. Working in a bakery was not my calling in life, in fact I wanted nothing more than to never see a loaf of bread again in my life but I was currently parked at a dead end, still deciding what to do next.
Several tedious hours later and I was still making and baking bread, cakes and anything else you’d find in your ordinary bakery. The front of the shop was now open and customers would come in, in dribs and drabs. Nia was out front, dealing with the arrogant Londoners, the nosey tourists and the other peculiar beings. I didn’t hate social situations but the people around here weren’t polite, you could sprinkle all the sugar you wanted onto their cakes and they’d still be sour.
I wiped the excess flour and icing sugar off my hands as I stud and scrutinized my work. Tiered cakes are the bane of my existence. I hated them with a strong passion; in fact I’d be more than willing to protest against their presence. They required more time and effort than any other cake and they were just overall a pain in the arse. Especially if the client wanted different cake fillings, icing colours and decorations on every different layer. This cake was a ‘Congratulations on your baby girl’ one, personally I found cakes for these occasions cringe worthy. Nothing says congratulations for having sex like flour, eggs, sugar and butter mixed in a bowl and baked for forty five minutes. This client however didn’t want your ordinary girly pink decorations with frills and flowers. No this couple wanted an obscure symbol on the top of the cake, a deep red velvet inside and a scarlet icing to finish it off. It looked like something you’d find at a Goth convention, not a baby shower. Personally I had no clue what the symbol meant but by the looks of it; I didn’t want to.
“Lennon!” Nia called out through the shop. I peered through the open door and looked at her from the distance. I raised my eyebrows at her, willing her to go on expectantly. “Have you finished the cake?” She let out a small squeak as she spoke.
“Just finished, pourquoi?” I replied, questioning her in a weird French fashion. I couldn’t speak French well, I studied it at school but that still didn’t qualify me to put it in the ‘languages I know’ section on Facebook – although this didn’t stop everyone else.
She shifted her eyes awkwardly as she looked over her shoulder. I let out a small ‘oh’ when I realised she meant the client was there, ready and waiting. I nodded slightly and watched her turn back around. I grabbed the specially designed box from the shelf and with a lot of heaving, managed to squeeze it in without ruining the paint job. I heaved once more as I picked it up and slowly waddled towards the front of the bakery
The bakery was hardly busy, only one customer was sat actually in the café area, consuming their food. Other than that there was only Nia, two strangers and I. I placed the cake down on the counter with a loud thud.
Now Nia was normally a flamboyant, over powering, vivacious girl but right now she was stood relatively silent. Her nails seemed like the most interesting thing in the world as she picked at them mindlessly. I squinted my eyes at her questioningly but she was reluctant to meet my gaze. I wasn’t quite sure what was going but the air around us was suffocating.
I looked at the two other people occupying the room. I noticed the other customer was now long gone, scurrying out of the bakery as if her chair was on fire. I flickered my eyes back at the box on the counter and at the two boys in question. I wasn’t one to judge anyone, but they didn’t look like father material, it was sort of the aurora they both gave off. It took me several seconds to register that I had been staring at them, well actually just one in particular. I wasn’t checking out his body, in fact far from it.
I couldn’t help but notice the unusual way his dark brown curls lay across his head. His eyes were green, but not a sparkling emerald colour, they were dark and unsettling. He was dressed in all black. Black jeans, t-shirt and coat. I couldn’t see his shoes but I assumed they were black too. From beneath his shirt I could see ink sprawled out on his skin, I couldn’t make out what his tattoos were but they intrigued me. He intrigued me. He seemed mysterious and I sensed he had one heck of back-story, I was getting giddy inside just thinking about creating my own version of his life inside my mind.
I was pulled away from my observations when he let out a small cough, eyeing me with an intense gaze, I felt like he could see right through me. I felt as if he was reading every thought my mind was processing and that freaked me out.
“Harry Styles?” I questioned in a calm, neutral voice. Nia still look petrified of the two culprits but one thing I knew was; you should never let anyone or anything know you fear them, it makes them stronger and you easier to take out.
The boy with curly hair looked at me inquisitively, his eyes narrowed at my own and his lips formed a tight line. It was only when he stepped towards the counter properly did I realise how tall he was. I wasn’t short, I stood at a firm five foot eight, which was in fact tall compared to most of the female population but he was six foot and over.
“How do you know my name?” He asked in a low growl, he was speaking as if I wasn’t supposed to know or shouldn’t know. His eyes were still fixed on me, watching and waiting for a reaction.
“It’s on the cake instructions. You’re here to pick it up with… Louis Tomlinson?” I read over the paper attached to the box, before looking at the other man who stood silently. He was as well dressed in all black, his hair wasn’t curly or dark brown, it was shabby and a light brown colour. His eyes were less threatening but they weren’t inviting either.
“How do you know who’s who?” He questioned as he leant on the counter. Even as he hunched his body over, he still stood several inches taller than me. His face was only a foot away from mine, any closer and I would have been able to feel his breath on mine. I stood my ground however, not willing to show how intimating he really was.
“Lucky guess,” I replied. It was sort of true, it had been a lucky guess, I’d never seen, met or heard of these two before. But the way he looked the name just fit, it had the right sense to it. I couldn’t guess peoples names of the bat but give me a selection to choose from and ninety nine per cent of the time I would get it right. There was more than just a simple guess to it, I had to study the person first and then make my decision. My brain worked in an unusual way, but not everyone can be the same.
He didn’t look satisfied with my answer. He continued to stare me down waiting for me to surrender under his gaze. I had to admit my palms became slightly sweat covered and my heart was beater faster than normal but I wasn’t going to run away much like he probably expected. Luckily the cake had already been paid for by the actual client, according to the instructions his name was ‘Paul’, that was all it said but it had specific instructions to be picked up by someone else. The names were scrawled underneath in a different colour pen indicating it was a last minute decision.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t lie to me.” His voice was low, dark and husky, as he pressed even further onto the counter. My breath hitched in my throat momentarily, his persona was beginning to feel more and more dangerous. Floyd was in the office at the back but there was a call button underneath the counter in case of emergencies – I wasn’t afraid to use it, but I would only use it when necessary.
“I wasn’t lying. Lucky guess, like I said.” I replied, in my once again neutral manner. His eyebrows rose as he turned to look at the boy. He as well was looking at me in a questioning style. Nia stepped towards me and grabbed my wrist tight in her hand, her eyes met mine with a pleading way. “Cake’s in there. Good day.” I spoke before he said anything else. I pushed the box towards him and waited for him to accept it.
Instead of just walking out like I had much hoped, he stayed and opened the box, observing my work carefully. His eyes narrowed a few times and he pressed his fingers into the front of it much to my distaste. I wanted them out as soon as possible, I could tell Nia didn’t like their presence and I wasn’t fond of it either. The sooner they were gone the better.
“You made this?” He asked instead of proceeding to leave the shop. I nodded back slowly, suspicious of his interrogation. He nodded in satisfaction, shut the box up, picked it up and left with his friend in tow. The bell on the door sounded and the door slammed shut. Suddenly we were enveloped in an eerie silence again. I couldn’t put my finger on what I would call that encounter but it was strange, unusual and perplexing.
Nia let out a deep breath from next to me, I carefully turned to look at her and titled my head slightly. “I swear you could hear my heart beating from the other side of the city.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“They’re not good people.”
“Okay…” I trailed off, opting for her to go on.
“I don’t know a lot. I shouldn’t know anything. I just know they are the sort of people you want to avoid at all costs.”
“Why?”
“Lennon, don’t. Just don’t ask about them, don’t get involved with them. Just don’t anything. Forget they were ever here.” She replied, getting flustered as she fanned her face. I scrunched my eyebrows together, curious as to what she was getting at but I could tell she wouldn’t say anything more. “I saw you looking at him. You can’t get involved with them.”
“I’m not going to get involved with anyone.”
“I saw you, we all saw you looking at him. To me you were studying him but to them you were staring. Don’t use him in your work, please, for your own good.”
“Nia, what does it matter if I write about him? He won’t know. He’s gone, we’ll probably never see him again.”
Nia was one of the only people who knew about how I wrote, Dominic being the other. I was reluctant to tell anyone else because that meant explaining my thought process to them, which often confused people and it, was a private hobby of mine, I didn’t want to broadcast it to everyone.
“Please tell me you won’t. I know you’ve been looking for inspiration but anyone but him, anyone but Harry Styles.” The way his name rolled of her tongue sent shivers up and down my spine. It had a certain ring to it. It didn’t seem like a dark name, but somehow it suited his character to a T.
“Okay, okay. I won’t.” I sighed as I made my way back to the kitchen. I flicked all the ovens off and continued to ice the remaining cupcakes, which were ready for the morning rush tomorrow.
As I closed the shop door behind me I couldn’t get that one thing off of my mind. Why shouldn’t I know about him? What was so bad about him? Why should I forget him?
I had made it all the way back to my house situated in Bethnal Green when I realised I had spent the past twenty minutes with my mind only fixated on one thing. I was confounded yet feeling peculiarly inspired. But there was one thing I was certain of; I couldn’t forget Harry Styles.