The Budding Roses

Liverpool heat

Tuesday 22nd July

Yet again Natasha feels it her duty to torture me. She's an absolute sadist, relishing in my torment. Otherwise why would she inflict upon my already weary life yet another afternoon spent in the company of Harry Styles?

I'd thought she'd grown out of this obsession, especially considering our good fortunes with Michael and David, but oh no, she wants to "keep her options open". Since when has Harry Styles been an option for anything?

The plan was to go to the Rec, again, but since it was raining I was optimistic that the whole event would be cancelled. Oh don't be so naïve Simone, it will take more than a flood to dissuade Natasha, who, like a Jack Russell chasing a helpless bunny in to the dead end of its burrow, remained relentless with determination.

'It's raining, so I don't think we can hang at the Rec today.' Well this was really very observant of Harry. If only Natasha was capable of such insightfulness.

'But we've come all this way, and we're awfully wet, so can't we come in and dry off at least?' As if she was about to give up that easily. 'I'm certain your mum won't mind, she loves me to death, I just know it.'

What was she saying, why would Harry's mother have any opinion of her, and especially one so significant that she was on the cusp of making an amorous declaration? But before Harry could even begin to formulate an answer to such a grand statement, she was inside the house and taking her shoes off.

'Are you going to come in too or would you prefer to stay outside in the rain?' Harry held the door open. It was a tough decision, a bit like asking me if I wanted to step across the threshold and into a vampire's lair. I could either remain outside getting drenched or risk both my sanity and mortality by entering.

I surveyed the hallway. Although his mother's taste in decor was questionable, with regency stripped wallpaper and dado rails, it all seemed harmless enough, nothing to indicate the dangers which lurked within.

'Mum, would it be alright if Natasha and Simone came in for an hour or so, until it stops raining?' An hour or so?

'Hello girls,' Harry's mother appeared in the hallway. My eyes startled; why she looked like any other normal mother wearing jeans, a knitted jumper and stilettos. What had she done so wrong in her life to produce such a creature as Harry? The poor woman. Her longing for daughters was obvious from the way she smiled at us, dreamily.

As I contemplated the misery that must be his Mother's life, Natasha and Harry were off and headed up the stairs. Oh no, they were going into his bedroom. What was I meant to do now? I could either remain in the hallway making embarrassed conversation with this depressed lady or join them in the cave.

Reluctantly embarking on the long climb up the carpeted stairs I squirmed with each step that brought me closer, desperately trying to block out the sound of Natasha's giggles which were escaping like the squeals of a tortured piglet, wrapped within a mist that was seeping from beneath the bottom of the door of the first room on the left.

'So Harry, how's the football season going?' Ugh, why must we always talk about football?

'It ended two months ago,' Harry sniggered as Natasha continued to pucker up her most gormless grin, happily ignorant of her error.

Observing his bedroom, it was clear that Harry had a big interest in the game. There was football patterned bed linen, a football shaped mat and a match time table stuck to the wall, plus that God awful polyester t-shirt that he insists on wearing all the time.

Increasingly jaded of listening to Natasha's attempts at chatting up Harry, a conversation akin to a fondue pot overflowing in a soup of blue cheese, I picked up a magazine which lay discarded on the bed. Ugh, it was about football too. Why can't he just read Sugar like the rest of us?