Keep the Car Running (Zarry AU)

Chapter 26

When Harry hears the knock on the door, his heart stops. He stands up and looks across at it, his fingers curling around his Moleskine. He’s been so careful, not even turning on the light in case anyone is watching and has been wandering around in the near dark of his flat all morning with only the murmur of light falling between the gap in the curtains to guide him. His toes curl in the rug when he hears a second knock as he looks desperately around his flat for something to defend himself with. He’s eyeing a hefty looking hardback of The Hobbit that could probably do some damage if flung when he hears his name and paces over to the door, opening it to find Charlotte arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.

She doesn’t say anything, just gives him a look that tells him to get out of the way, then sweeps into his flat. When he closes the door and turns to face her, she’s standing in the middle of his cluttered living room with her back to him.

‘How long have you been living here?’ she asks, turning smoothly on the ball of her feet to face him.

Harry puts his notebook on the side table by the door. ‘About six months.’

‘What happened to your place in Maida Vale?’

‘I had to let it go.’ He shrugs then looks at his feet as he thinks about his old flat with its stripped floors and the little balcony he drank a cup of tea on every morning.

‘Why?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I have time.’

‘I fancied a change. And you know what they say about the dirty south.’

He winks at her, but Charlotte doesn’t flinch, clasping her hands together and lifting her delicate chin to look around the flat. Even with the light off and the curtains closed he can see what a state it is, the furniture looking even more miserable in the dull, grey light. She must think so, too, because she walks over to the floor lamp by the sofa, heels tapping smoothly on the scuffed floorboards as she does. But when she turns it on, the flat looks even worse in the unnaturally white light, exposing the cracks in the walls and the mousetrap in the corner. He watches as her flicks between each of them, her frown deepening when she looks up at the water stain on the ceiling over the bed.

‘A change?’ she says then nods carefully. ‘I think you’re forgetting something, Mr Styles: I know how much you earn. I’m probably one of the only people who does. And while I’m well aware of your weakness for Lanvin suits, you still earn more than enough to rent that flat in Maida Vale. So why on earth are you living here?’

‘It’s nothing.’ Harry rubs his forehead with his hand.

‘Please don’t confuse my interest with concern, Mr Styles. I haven’t come here to make you a cup of tea and make sure that you’re okay.’ She gestures at his face. ‘I’m here to make sure that I am, that my clients are. So I suggest you tell me what’s going on.’

‘It’s fine. You’re safe. You’re clients are safe.’ Harry starts playing with his bottom lip and she gives him a look that tells him to stop.

‘Who did this to you?’

‘I was mugged.’

‘Why were you at Stamford Bridge?’

He has no idea how she knows that, so he relents with a sigh. ‘It’s Terry.’

Her smile slips for the first time. ‘Your father did this to you?’

‘No. Whoever he owes money to this time did.’

‘I thought you weren’t going to help him any more, Harry?’ She straightens and he’s never seen her so angry, her mouth a hard line as she looks across the flat at him. It’s enough to send a flurry of goose pimples rushing across his arms. ‘You said that you weren’t going to help him after what happened last Christmas.’