When Harry walks out of the bank he has £7.86 left in his account, which won’t even cover his cab fare to the hospital. Not that the bank manager was in any hurry to let him withdraw it, babbling about interest rates and ISAs for ten minutes before relenting and putting the neat stacks of £50 notes into the fraying backpack Harry handed him. So he has to take it on the tube, which he can’t help but smile at because only he could be carrying around £30,000 and still not have enough money to get a cab.
His phone rings as he’s trudging towards the station, his feet crunching in the snow. It’s Christmas Eve, but despite the festive music spilling out of the shops and the sad little tree in the window of the chemist, you wouldn’t know it. But that’s one of the benefits of living in London, no one gives a shit. Not in Clapham, anyway. If he was back home, every door on his street would have a wreath on it and the neighbours would be coming and going all day, bringing Christmas cards and plates of mince pies. But here it could be any other day and he’s glad because he can’t contend with that as well. With missing the quiet comfort of home while he’s about to deliver a backpack full of cash to a man who hasn’t wished him a happy birthday since he was fifteen. So when Harry takes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, he’s sure that it’s mother, checking to see if he’s landed yet, and his shoulders slump because it’s unforgiveable. He should have called and told her that he wasn’t coming, but he was sure that if she heard his voice, she’d know. Or maybe it’s that he didn’t want to hear her voice in case he told her everything.
Either way, he’s not taking the risk.
He’s about to reject the call when he sees that it’s Charlotte.
‘Mr Styles,’ she sings when he answers. ‘I’m not interrupting, am I?’
(Which is Charlotte for: Don’t tell me otherwise.)
Harry plays along. ‘Of course not, Charlotte.’
‘Good. I was hoping now would be a good time to have that chat about Mr Malik.’
Harry stops walking and closes his eyes.
As always, her timing is impeccable.
‘I’ll send a car.’ She says before he can object. ‘This weather is frightful.’
YOU ARE READING
Keep the Car Running (Zarry AU)
FanfictionBelieve none of what you hear and only half of what you see. That’s what his father always tells him with that smile of his, the one that says, I’ll tell you that much, but the rest will cost you. Harry never knew what he meant, but he gets it now t...
