Through The Dark || Harry Styles

38. HARRY

HARRY

Six Months Later

I'm picking at the skin around my cuticles; anything to keep my head down and focused.

There's a constant chatter that threatens to become too lively for the sombre occasion as we stand around the same room we did this time exactly one year ago.

So much has changed since that day, for me at least, but as I look around Jake's parents living room, everything looks much the same.

I nervously take a sip of my water only to realise the glass is empty. My eyes instinctively dart across the room to where the cause of my anxiety is standing, her arms crossed in front of her so that no one hugs her and I wonder if she noticed my unease.

Although our surroundings are similar, Lucy today is a completely different person from the broken girl she was last time we were here.

She has spent the last half hour since she arrived, respectfully talking to Jake's parents and their friends, none of whom have any idea of the secrets and lies that have unfolded in the past twelve months.

Lucy is far too polite to have divulged Jake's indiscretion and taint anyone else's view of her late husband. And she's too proud to admit it was happening right under her nose.

"I'm surprised she came," my mum whispers, her hand on my shoulder as her eyes follow mine to my English Rose.

"I'm not," I mumble back.

I knew Lucy would be brave enough to show face at Jake's memorial service today; the same way I know Amy isn't.

She catches me staring and my heart leaps when she gives me a small, obligatory smile.

It's like we are strangers, politely passing in the street.

Mum squeezes my shoulder in condolence. Not of Jake anymore, but of his widow.

It feels like so long since I've seen her and the pain of living without her only becomes stronger when we are in the same room; pretending like we don't know everything about each other; acting like we haven't seen each other at our worst and our best. Like we don't know what the other looks like when they first wake up, or shower, or come.

I return her indifferent smile with a nod.

Lucy and I haven't seen each other since the heart-wrenching goodbyes on her kitchen floor and although we sent the odd text message in the beginning, checking up here, making a joke there, except for that - we haven't spoken.

My mum makes a comment about Hugo's new girlfriend but I'm not listening, the pulse that's thrumming in my ears since I woke up, still hasn't eased.

My eyes seek out Lucy every few minutes, despite trying to distract myself.

Is she as nervous as I am?

I wonder if she changed her shirt five times like I did this morning, stressed about which one she would like best. Or if she notices that I left my hair a little messier than usual because she mentioned once that she liked it that way.

I've been waiting six months for this moment, for the universe to bring us back together and for her to realise we are just wasting time being apart. There's a pressure in my chest, the anticipation of our first conversation that is hanging over me and although I want to walk up to her and be done with it, I'm also terrified of messing it up.

Her smile is bright and obvious today and only I can tell it's a little forced as she talks with Hugo and is introduced to the girl by his side.

For something to do, I rattle my empty glass in my fingers that won't stop trembling and place it down on the table as Lucy tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, laughing at whatever Hugo is saying and something inside me aches to touch her, to snake a protective arm around her waist, to press a reassuring kiss to her temple.