you flower, you feast (harry styles)

chapter 4: evie

dreams - fleetwood mac
brother - needtobreathe
isn't she lovely - stevie wonder
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I still remember the day she was born. I had been 12 years old, and had always wanted a little brother or sister.

My father had passed away when I was five, and mum was beside herself. He was the love of her life, she told me. Nobody could ever live up to dad. They had wanted more children, but mum had a fertility problem. Endometriosis made it incredibly difficult for her to conceive, and her and my father had tried for three consecutive years before giving up, but then came me, a surprise. My mum and dad met when they were children, and they'd always known they would get married, or so they told me when I was a little boy. When mum turned eighteen and my father was twenty, they went ahead and tied the knot. My mum did about a year and a half of university before deciding it wasn't for her, and my father became a firefighter. Mum toyed around with different career paths before she finally landed on something she loved: planning weddings.

It must have been around three o'clock in the morning when the police come pounding at our front door, looking for my mum.

"Are you Mrs. Desmond Styles?" one of the officers asked her. "Yes sir, is there a problem?" she frantically asked, instantly worrying for her husband.

"Miss, I'm so sorry." The second officer stepped forward, taking off his cap.

"No..." she choked back a sob. "No, it's Mrs. It's Mrs. Styles, and Des is okay. He'll be okay, he's got to be, hasn't he?" A frantic, terrified woman who little Harry didn't even recognize began to sob.

Mummy had always been the strongest lady five-year-old Harry had ever known. She didn't let anyone treat her poorly. She knew what she wanted and she worked until she got it. This sobbing woman in front of him was someone he didn't recognize, and it made him feel sick. He immediately ran up the stairs and back to his room, hiding under the covers, telling himself repeatedly that daddy would be home before he had to leave for school.

Desmond Styles never returned home again, as he had been killed in a massive house fire just a mile away from home.

As horrible and painful this experience was, it brought my little family incredibly close. My gran moved in to help mum and I out after the funeral, and mum's only sister, my Auntie Libby came to stay with us for awhile as well.

My father didn't have much family either, other than a half brother he didn't get along with the majority of the time, also known as my Uncle Stanley. My grandmother had left when my dad was a toddler, and he was raised by his father and his witch of a stepmother. My grandfather died the year before my parents married, of pancreatic cancer. As soon as this happened, his step mother wanted nothing to do with him. His brother Stanley was a bit more bearable, and sometimes they did get along. But as soon as his mum was brought up, all the two did was argue.

And so, it was mum, gran, Auntie Libby and I. I had three incredible women to look up to from a young age, who taught me to be stubborn, but respectful, and empathetic, but independent and self-sufficient.

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When I was nearly twelve and my Aunt Libby was soon to be twenty-six, she fell pregnant with her boyfriend's child. The two were living together at the time, in a little flat not far from where we lived. Jacob immediately requested that she have an abortion, and when she refused, he kicked her out. He had been a lowlife from day one, never able to keep a job, disrespectful, and overall unpleasant company.

Despite rebelling against gran, and cutting off mum for a period of time when she nagged her to leave him, they both welcomed her back home with open arms, because family is family, no matter what happens. It wasn't going to be easy fitting five into our little cottage-like bungalow, but we were going to make it happen.

Around this time, mum had begun to date a man she met through a coworker. His name was Paul, and he worked in construction. He was a kind man, but rather boring to be frank. He actually volunteered to turn our one-room second floor into two little bedrooms, to better accommodate our family, and allow mum and Libby to have their own rooms.  It was a relatively quick process, with help from a few of his construction buddies. They even refused payment when mum tried to compensate them for their work. We were left with two little 8x10 foot bedrooms, one for me, and one for Aunt Libby and the baby. Mum was to take my old room, and gran remained in the old guest room.

It was a cool fall evening when Aunt Libby went into labor. We knew she was to have a little girl, but she had yet to reveal a name. Although, she'd asked me for input and told me not to tell anyone. Aunt Libby and I had always been rather close. She'd let me stay up late, snuck me sweets, and taken me fun places since I was a small lad. "I'd like to call her Evie," I confided in her, "But I'm not sure if you like that."

"That's a pretty nickname, Haz." She smiled, ruffling my curls. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

I was allowed to come along to the hospital, as mum wasn't comfortable leaving me home alone yet, and Aunt Libby wanted me to be there. "I know you want a little brother or sister, Harry. You always have. And although it's not quite the same, you two will
be the closest you've got to a sibling. I hope you'll always look out for one another." She had told me the night before. "Of course, Auntie. I love her already." I smiled ear to ear.
Mum had told me to pack a bag with things to do, and snacks. Labor can take a long time, she told me. I made sure to bring The Great Gatsby and The Book Thief, a newly released book that I'd heard great things about, but had been waiting for the right time to begin it. Mum told me a few books may not be enough to keep me occupied, so I had to pack something else as well. I tossed in my journal and variety of pens, a deck of cards, and my mp3 player that Aunt Libby had gotten me for Christmas, with Fleetwood Mac's greatest hits already downloaded.

After a shockingly quick and smooth labor and delivery, on 26th September, 2006, Aunt Libby gave birth to Evangeline Posie Selley. She was a tiny little thing, at only 18.5 inches long and 6 pounds even. she shared the same green eyes that mum, a
Aunt Libby and I did, and her fathers dark hair.

Even at twelve, my heart hurt for little Evie, and the promise that her father had broken on attending her birth. He had sworn up and down that he'd be there, and yet when the time came, he was nowhere to be found.

Aunt Libby's eyes were filled with tears when she looked down at her beautiful little girl. "I'm so sorry your daddy isn't here, little one."

"She'll be okay, love. she's surrounded by all the love she could possible need." Gran comforted her daughter, kissing both her and little Evie on the head.

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Through the years, Evie and I grew closer. We bickered like siblings (or cousins, in our case) do, but we were best friends who always looked out for one another, despite the rather large age gap.

I'll never forget the day I got that call from my mum. That was the only other time I'd heard her cry, So I knew it was serious. My stomach immediately dropped. "Harry, wherever you are, I need you to take a deep breath and sit down." she instructed me.

Confused but terrified, I obliged. "Mum, I love you, but I need you to tell me what's happened, now." I pleaded her. "Is it Auntie?" I frantically asked. Aunt Libby had been struggling with her mental health and after being given a bipolar diagnosis, everything made sense.

Mum let out a small sob. "Harry, darling....it's Evie."

I felt my heart was being slowly cut out of my chest as mum told me that Evie had been missing since after school yesterday. She was supposed to walk with her friend Phoebe, but after the two of them had gotten into a fight, Evie had taken upon herself to walk alone. She was stubborn, just like I had been at her age.

After I hung up, it felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs, and I had no idea what to do. Mum's words echoed through my mind over and over, "The police aren't sure if foul play is suspected yet."

My sister. My Evie who I'd left all alone in England, was now gone, because I hadn't been there to pick her up from school, and it was all my fault.