Life's Never Simple • SIDEMEN

• EIGHT •

Wednesday, 5th December

• Harry •

At work, I think I'm about the only person who doesn't mind being in the basement, and washing the dough trays.

Others complain about the fact that it's cold, and damp, and quiet down here. But I like it. It means I get a chance to be alone with my thoughts while doing a job that doesn't require that much effort. Or talking to people. My boss knows that I'm not the best at talking to people, so more often than not, she puts me either down here, or in the kitchen to wash up. And I prefer it to waiting on, or working behind the bar really.

I mean, look what happened the last time I was at work. I completely freaked out while working behind the bar because Cal came to the restaurant. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have done that. But still.

I told Mum about me having a panic attack. And how Cal came and helped. She told me not to worry too much about it, and if it keeps happening, and if I felt I needed to, we could look into getting help. That made me feel a little more at ease. Even if I know therapy is expensive. And waiting lists for counselling are at least a year and a half almost everywhere.

I guess I'll just have to try not to get any more panic attacks.

I let a quiet sigh, and look down at my hands. My fingertips wrinkled and pink from being in the hot water for too long. The dough tray that's currently in the sink, I can tell is far from being clean yet. Small clumps of wet flour stick in the corners, nearly impossible to remove. But impossible is my job. So I carry on scrubbing at it with the worn out metal scourer.

Suddenly, I hear the heavy wooden door at the top of the basement steps open.

"Harry!" Lily calls, and I hear the soft tap of her shoes as she makes her way down the steps.

"Sup Lil?" I say back when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, drying my hands on my apron. My fingers feeling cold down to the bone without the hot water.

"Someone's here for you," Lily says breathlessly, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her eyes. She's got it tied back in a messy bun today, something I've never seen before.

"Mum?" I ask, and she shrugs, before heading back up the steps. I follow close behind her, unsure of who it could be. If not my Mum, who else? A sudden surge of warmth hits me as we exit the cool basement, and into the main restaurant itself. It's always boiling here because of the huge, fire driven pizza oven - another reason I prefer it downstairs.

Quickly, I scan the place for someone I might recognise. And then see Cal. Lent casually against the bar, and looking straight at me with a smug grin on his face. Wearing a white T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a green camo jacket. I've seen him wear it before, but it's still unbelievable to me how much he looks like a fuckboy. Hot, I can admit that, but still a fuckboy. The cocky way he holds himself doesn't help.

"What're you doing here?" I ask tiredly as I walk up to him, and his smirk only widens.

"Came to see you, like I promised," he says. I roll my eyes at him.

"I'm working, dickhead. Go home," I say firmly. He pouts theatrically.

"But I came all this way," he says, feigning sadness in his tone. I want to roll my eyes again.

"I know you only live five minutes away. Now, as nice as it is that you came, I need to get back to work," I insist.

"Don't make me beg, Harold," he says teasingly, putting his hands together.