Golden Luckenbooth

Fifty-Nine

The scent of wood smoke mingles with the salty tang of the approaching twilight. I stretch luxuriously on the couch, picturing a slow descent into the evening with Harry. Sunset melting into the horizon, a non-alcoholic drink, and...well, the possibilities are delightfully fuzzy.

But a certain someone apparently has different plans.

As I'm lounging on the couch, preparing to haul myself to a standing position by widening my stance and heaving my bulging body out of the cushion by sheer will, Harry thumps down the stairs, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

"Going somewhere?" I ask casually, teasing. There's probably a load of smelly workout gear stuffed in there that he needs to run through the washer before he heads back to the manor tomorrow.

His eyes won't meet mine, and the way he runs his hand around the back of his neck tips me off to his feelings of guilt, and I ungracefully rise from the couch, holding onto the armrest to gain some momentum as I heave myself to stand.

Crouching down to scratch behind Shortbread's ears, Harry still doesn't look my way. Softer than usual and with just a little quiver in it, his voice drifts to my ears. "Uh, didn't I, um, mention the change of plans earlier?" I watch him bite his lip as my heart sinks to my stomach. Or maybe lower.

He knows damn well he'd not told me anything about a change of plans. "Mention what?" Careful not to stand defensively, I refuse to cross my arms or clasp my hands nervously, but I don't know what to do with them. Finally, I settle them on my belly, rubbing as though I'm calming the bairn when really I'm self-soothing. This is off. He is off. There is nothing normal about him leaving.

"I, uh, need to get back early tonight. You know? I can't believe I didn't tell you before, but...I'm so sorry I didn't say, uh, but Jeffrey, um, is making some plans for, uh, you know, for merchandise and stuff, and, uh, I really need to be there. I didn't tell you?" This last question is thrown over his shoulder as he moves towards the kitchen door.

The sweat in my system chooses this moment to flood every imaginable body part. Clearly, he's not telling the full truth. What's going on?

"Harry?" I ask gently, not wanting to be confrontational or naggy, but...dammit. He hadn't said a word, and his demeanour is not his usual happy-go-lucky manner.

"Hmmm?" He pauses with his hand on the door.

"Does this have anything to do with our conversation about the tour? Cause it's okay if you're upset about it. That was a difficult conversation, and I hope we see each others' points of view now."

"Yeah, yeah. Of course, Anna. You made some excellent points. It's just that, uh..."

Dejected at the weirdness emanating from him in waves like a bad odour, pushing everyone away, I debate whether to say anything more. Maybe he just needs some alone time to lick his wounds?

"Of course, Harry. If you need to be there early to work with Jeffrey, you should go and get some sleep tonight. After all, I'll see you tomorrow night when you get home." Swiftly, although not exactly fleet-footed, I move to his side, rising on my tiptoes to kiss him, my lips brushing his cheek when he turns away at the last minute.

What the fuck?

"Oops, sorry," he mutters distractedly, giving me a perfunctory kiss on the lips before he opens the door. Within minutes, he disappears, leaving me standing in the kitchen doorway waving as he drives away, ignoring me.

Bewildered at his behaviour, I feel my forehead crease, and I rub at the lines in an attempt to call forth an explanation that might make sense for these circumstances. We'd been doing well, hadn't we? Weren't we maturely handling our disagreement about the tour? I hadn't made any demands that he stay with me or skip the tour. On the contrary, I had encouraged him to go, just without me.