#and now I really want to try a Devonshire split

[tacosaysroar]

The best thing about bread week is watching a room full of people soothe their panic about what’s happening inside their proving drawers by stress-drinking tea

[constantviewings]

The TV Show Trials - Inside No. 9

Inside No. 9 is a British black comedy anthology series that first aired in 2014. It is written by Reese Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton. Each 30-minute episode is a self-contained story with new characters and a new setting, and all star both Pemberton and Shearsmith.

12 Days of Christine

When Christine brings Adam home from a costume party, her life begins to unravel. Her happiness slowly turns to sorrow.

It’s only fitting that this episode is the most popular as it is what introduced me to this entire series. This episode is phenomenal and I really enjoyed it, even though I knew the entire plot going into it. Shearsmith and Pemberton where really smart in placing the elements of the conclusion throughout the entire episode for you to piece together at the end.

Rating: 5

The Devil of Christmas

In a film within the episode, The Devonshires arrive at the alpine chalet for a holiday. The caretaker, Klaus, tells them about a local legend of Krampus, the Devil of Christmas. Meanwhile, the film’s director provides audio commentary.

I really like the production of this episode, with it being shot entirely on equipment from the 70s, but I have issues with the ending. The ending, and the twist, feel unceremoniously tacked onto the third act and come out of nowhere, which left me confused and unaware of how to feel.

Rating: 3

Cold Comfort

Andy takes a job at Comfort Support Line’s call center, a helpline for the lonely and desperate. Will he be able to cope with the emotional stress after he becomes the target of a stalker?

The choice of having this all shown through security cameras is fantastic, as you can watch camera-by-camera as a character does something and provides visual interest to otherwise standard framing methods. The story is also pretty good with the twist being satisfying, but it doesn’t make much sense in the context of the characters.

Rating: 3

The Riddle of the Sphinx

Nina breaks into the office of Cambridge Professor Nigel Quires, who publishes cryptic crosswords in the student newspaper as “The Sphynx”. Squires proceeds to teach Nina how to solve cryptic crosswords using the next day’s puzzle.

This is my favourite of the episodes that I watched. I’m a big fan of ‘double twists’ where a character thinks they’ve won, but they’ve actually lost everything and that happens twice in this episode.

Rating: 5

Tom and Gerri

Tom is a frustrated primary school teacher and aspiring author. One night, a homeless man named Migg returns Tom’s lost wallet, and Migg ends up living with Tom, to the frustration of Tom’s girlfriend Gerri. Tom’s life changes dramatically as a result.

This episode doesn’t stand out to me like any of the others, it’s reasonably enjoyable but didn’t leave a lasting impression.

Rating: 2

The Bill

A group of friends go out for tapas at Number Nine after a day of golfing; but tempers escalate quickly when they can’t agrees on how to settle the bill. Who will pay the ultimate price?

I’m going to be completely transparent, the bickering between the four main characters is extremely grading and I was over it ten minutes into the episode; but I’m interpreting that as fantastic writing. I also think they could have been a bit more inventive with the ‘No. 9’ element of this episode by having it take place at table nine instead of the restaurant “Number Nine”. Despite those two less than stellar elements, the final twist almost makes the thirty minutes of grading bickering worth it.

Rating: 3

La Couchette

A group of passengers in carriage nine on a train from France try to get some sleep, but the compartment quickly fills up and the possibility of sleep dwindles away. Then one of the passengers suddenly dies.

Similar to Tom and Gerri, I could take or leave this episode. It’s not that it’s particularly bad, it just isn’t particularly good or memorable. In a hypothetical situation where you can only choose five episodes of Inside No. 9, this one wouldn’t make the cut unfortunately.

Rating: 3

Once Removed

According to the Holes and Rahe Stress Scale, the three most stressful experienced in life are the death of a spouse, divorce and imprisonment. Moving house is only 32nd on the list. But anything could happen in the last ten minutes inside no 9.

I’ll be honest, most of the points for this episodes rating can be chalked up to its unique story structure where it jumps back in ten minute intervals whenever the plot catches up. Other than that, I found this episode quite standard.

Rating: 3

To Have and To Hold

When Adrian’s career as a wedding photographer starts to get in the way of his own marriage, his wife Harriet is determined to find out why.

This episode is somewhat mediocre, until the twist rears its head and then it’s all uphill from there.

Rating: 4

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room

It’s been 30 years since Northern double-act Len and Tommy last appeared on stage together. Then Tommy walked out on Len, and that was curtains for Cheese and Crackers. Until now – and one last gig in front of an invited audience.

This episode hits different, the entire episode (apart from maybe a minute) is just Shearsmith and Pemberton doing old, outdated skit comedy and it’s fantastic.

Rating: 4

Thinking Out Loud

Inside house no. 9, seven extremely disparate characters share their stories with a camera, their fats inevitably, inextricably, and unknowingly set for a head-on collision.

I’ll be completely honest and say that I was let down with this episode. Every time a new character was introduced I was piecing together the ways in which they could be connected to the others, only for them to all be split personalities. While I can’t comment on the accuracy of the portrayal of DID, it still felt stereotypical as a narrative device.

Rating: 3

And the Winner Is…

We join jury no. 9 of a television awards company as they decide on who is going to win the Best Actress award. But only one of the eight actresses can be chosen.

This episode was a little bit, dare I say it, uninspired? While it stars an impressive cast, it doesn’t make up for the lacklustre story. Maybe you need to know more about the industry to get it…

Rating: 2

Zanzibar

Strangely-farcical goings-on are in store for a group of unwitting guests, who have all booked adjoining rooms on the ninth floor of the Zanzibar hotel in London. This episode’s dialogue is written entirely in iambic pentameter.

On top of all taking place in a single hallway, this episode has another gimmick in that it is all performed in iambic pentameter which adds a unique charm to an otherwise unimpressive story.

Rating: 4

The Harrowing

In this horror comedy with a grim twist, a teenage girl is hired to housesit a gothic mansion, but it appears that there are scary things going on inside no 9.

I’ll give them this much, they tried something different. Did it work out? Not for me. Though Shearsmith singing Lord of the Dance flung me back into catholic school mass…

Rating: 2

Sardines

Rebecca and Jeremy hold their engagement party as Rebecca’s family mansion. The guests play a game of sardines, and as Rebecca’s friends and family are packed into a wardrobe, secrets are gradually revealed, leading to a dark and sinister discovery.

Like the 12 Days of Christine, I cheated slightly with this episode. This was the first episode I ever watched of Inside No. 9 and is the whole reason I am reviewing the show. This was my third time watching the episode, and it’s still just as good as the first two.

Rating: 5

(Bonus Episode) Dead Line

When Arthur finds an old mobile phone in his local graveyard, he makes the mistake of trying to contact the owner. But some mysteries are best left unsolved, and as Halloween draws near Arthur is plunged into a nightmare of his own making.

The plot description above isn’t exactly what the episode entails, because this is the live broadcast Halloween special from 2018 where they faked the whole thing going wrong. While it doesn’t have the same effect watching it on a laptop two years after the fact, if you can put that aside and fully immerse yourself into believing what they want you to, it’s still amazing.

Rating: 5

Did I like it? Most of the episodes, yes.

Will I continue watching? God yes, thank god it’s been renewed for two more seasons…

[fairytalewlw]

Robyn Hood

“I have hatched a plan to finally catch Robyn of Loxley.” The Sheriff grinned slyly at his guards. “We shall stage an archery competition. With a prize. She won’t be able to keep herself away.” His guards looked at each other dubiously. “But, Sir,” one of them spoke up. “Surely she’ll see straight through our plan and not come.”

“You underestimate me.” The Sheriff sneered. “Robyn will enter it somehow. She’s too cocky to not enter.” Still, his guards seemed uncertain. “My men.” He addressed them. “If the competition is not enough to tempt her, I’m sure Maid Marian’s presence will seal the deal.” With that answer, the Sheriff’s guards were content and made no further comment. It was common knowledge that Robyn was head over heels for the maiden.

“Look, Robyn!” Little John called to his friend as he pointed to a tree ahead of them. “There’s a poster! What does it say?” Robyn Hood walked over to read it. ARCHERY COMPETITION THIS WEEKEND HONOURING PRINCE JOHN’S VISIT WINNER RECEIVES A GOLDEN ARROW Sheriff of Nottingham and Maid Marian “Well,” smirked Robyn, jumping back from the poster. “I think we have plan for this weekend.” Little John outright laughed. “You can’t be serious. This is just a plot for the Sheriff to catch you.” “Deadly serious, my friend.” Robyn grinned. “I’d never miss a chance to see Maid Marian.” She reached back for an arrow from her quiver which she proceeded to shoot into the middle of the poster. “Plus, I never miss a shot. ” “You and your crush on Maid Marian.” Little John rolled his eyes. “And you never missing a shot is precisely why you shouldn’t take part. They’ll spot you from a mile away.” “You’re just jealous of our chemistry.” Robyn winked. “They wouldn’t catch me if I were disguised as royalty.” Little John’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” Robyn winked. “I believe I still have some silk dresses somewhere.” “But you haven’t worn those since the first few months after you came out!” Little John couldn’t believe his ears. After coming out as trans, Robyn had dressed as femininely as she could. As time went on, and her self-confidence grew, she began to develop her own style. For that, Little John was grateful. Firstly, because it meant that Robyn was feeling less insecure. Secondly, because it was a lot easier for them to run through the trees in trousers rather than long silk dresses that snagged on branches and brambles. “I know.” Robyn thought back, fondly. “I’m sure I still have my favourite rose silk dress somewhere.” She winked at her friend. She was certain that her plan was fool-proof.

Little John shook his head, smiling at the memory. “That won’t work. It got covered in blood the last time you wore it.” The two of them had been caught trying to hunt deer on the Sheriff’s land. His men had fired arrow after arrow at them as they ran back into the safety of the woods. They’d managed a clean escape without injury until Robyn looked over her shoulder to check the Sheriff’s men weren’t following them. She’d tumbled over a fallen branch, and scraped her knees and elbows on a rock the other side. “True.” Robyn hated how clumsy she could be but it always made for a fond memory. “I’ll have to settle for my lilac one. It’s not quite as glamorous, but it will do.” And with that, Robyn ran off to seek out her old wardrobe. Little John followed behind, shaking his head gently. Robyn was the best friend he had ever had, but she still managed to drive him up the wall daily. Her ego was too big for her own good.

“WILL THE REMAINING ARCHERS PLEASE STEP UP TO TAKE PART.” There had been heats throughout the morning and early afternoon until just two archers remained. One of these was Guy of Gisborne, a man dedicated to the Sheriff. The other was Robyn under the pseudonym, Valerie, Duchess of Devonshire. Little John kept himself hidden in the crowd while watching out for his friend. He really didn’t think this was a good idea but he supported his friend in everything she did, and that included this. “PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR OUR FINALISTS, GUY OF GISBORNE, AND THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.” Robyn waved to the crowd and winked subtly at Maid Marian, who was in attendance. She blushed, knowing full well who was competing.

Little John grimaced. The fewer people that knew who was actually competing, the better. Robyn was going to get herself caught if she wasn’t careful. The first to take his shot was Guy of Gisborne. He breathed in, drawing back his arrow. He breathed out, relaxing his shoulders. He released the arrow and it pierced the centre of the target. The crowd went wild, cheering. In any other competition, the remaining archer would be crestfallen. It was almost impossible to beat a shot like that. To win, the second archer would have to split that arrow down the middle.

But Robyn knew that she could make it with her eyes closed, and a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. She stepped up to make the shot. She breathed in, drawing back her arrow. She breathed out, relaxing her shoulders. She released the arrow. It split Guy of Gisborne’s arrow straight down the middle.

Just as Robyn made eye contact with Maid Marian and turned to celebrate her win with the crowd, she felt someone grab her wrists. They were forced down by her sides and then behind her back where they were cuffed. “I’ve got you now.” Spat the Sheriff. “You’ve been caught, Robyn of Loxley.” He gestured for his men to lock her in the wagon to be taken to jail. “You’ve stolen from us for too long. You’re finally going to pay the price.” Suddenly, the sound of hooves caught everyone’s attention. It was King Richard. The Sheriff, his men, and everyone around bowed to him. “Welcome, Your Highness.” The Sheriff was the first to greet the Monarch. “We were just arresting this woman for theft.” “It’s Your Majesty.” Replied the King, entirely unimpressed. “And you have no authority in locking up this lady for theft. Robyn is a good woman. She has served me well for years.” He looked at her fondly. “I, on the other hand, have authority to lock people up. And I’m here to arrest you for tax evasion and for over-taxing the poorer population.” The Sheriff knew there was no use in arguing his case. It would only make things worse. He dropped to his knees in defeat as he was arrested by the King’s men and whisked away. King Richard remained with one of his men. “It seems we got here in the nick of time.” He winked at Robyn as he removed her handcuffs. “You really can’t resist temptation when it comes to archery, can you?” Robyn grinned back at the King. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She curtseyed to him. “I can resist archery if I so wish.” “I don’t believe that for a moment.” The King chuckled. Robyn, quite out of character, took a great interest in her shoes and spoke shyly to the King. “It’s a Maiden that I cannot resist, Your Majesty.” The King smiled gently. “I see.” He surveyed the crowd. “Is it the Maiden in the silver gown?” Robyn answered without looking up. “Yes, Your Majesty. It’s Maid Marian.” So that Robyn couldn’t hear, the King whispered to his guard. His guard nodded and got off his horse to walk over to Maid Marian.

“Your Majesty,” Robyn asked cautiously. “What are you doing?” “You and your Maiden are coming for supper at the castle. She is being told that you have asked for her specifically.” Robyn’s mouth hung open in shock. “That’s awfully kind of you, Your Majesty. How may I repay you?” The King shook his head kindly. “No need to thank me, Robyn. You have served me well. This is a thank you to you. You kept my people from dying in poverty.” “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Robyn replied graciously. “But I was not the only one. I couldn’t have done it without Little John.” “Then he shall come too.” The King offered. “I shall send some of my men to meet you here this evening. Be here with your Maiden and Little John at sunset.” “I cannot thank you enough.” Said Robyn as the King’s guard returned. “I’ll see you after sunset.” The King bid his goodbye, and he and his guard rode back to the castle. Robyn turned around to see Little John grinning widely, stood beside the most beautiful woman Robyn had ever seen. “Maid Marian.” She greeted her, curtseying just as she did for the King. Marian blushed. “Congratulations on winning the competition.” It was Robyn’s turn to blush, a rare occasion. “It was nothing.” She dismissed with a wave of her hand. A nervous silence waved over the women as they both looked at their feet, unsure of what to say. Little John shook his head. “You two are like a couple of teenage girls. Robyn,” He turned to face his friend. “Maid Marian is over the moon that you want to take her as your date to the castle. Maid Marian,” He turned to face Marian. “Make sure Robyn scrubs up properly. We need to be vaguely presentable as the King’s guests.” He turned on his heel. “I’ll leave you two to get ready but please be here by sunset. I’m certain the King doesn’t appreciate tardiness.” “See you then, Little John.” Robyn grinned, grateful that her friend had the sense to leave them be before seeing the King. She moved to face Marian once again. “So will you help me scrub up?” A smile spread across Maid Marian’s face. “Of course. I’m sure I have something that will do.” “Wonderful.” Replied Robyn as she took Marian’s hand in hers. “Because I only have one dress and the King’s already seen me in it today.” Maid Marian let out a nervous giggle. “We’ll find something. But I prefer your usual clothes.” “You do?” Maid Marian nodded. “You look much more comfortable.” Then she added “And it looks better on you.” Robyn tried to hide the delight on her face. “I shall bear that in mind in the future.”

I’d like to say a huge thank you to @casstastrophy for beta-ing this fic and making sure it was a-okay!! I couldn’t have done this one without you

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘Someday, Someday’ :: Tumblr Edition, #6

To be given the full attention of a teenager is both a gift and a privilege.

But the ability to hold and maintain the full attention of a teenager was a skill I was having trouble mastering.

Whoever decided it was a good idea to have an ensemble rehearsal on Friday afternoons obviously hadn’t spent much time in the real world, with real teenagers. And they certainly hadn’t tried to run a productive rehearsal under such conditions.

“Can we finish early today?” Jo, a sixth-form trumpeter asked as soon as she walked into the room at four o’clock.

“Um, we’ll see how far we get, I guess,” I answered vaguely, shuffling through the score we were working on.

After the customary fifteen minutes of set up and gossip amongst cries of split reeds and missing drum sticks, the seventeen students I had this afternoon finally settled into their spots. The comforting thing was that these were players who knew their instruments well, and I knew when they put their heads down and worked hard they were bloody good. Some weeks though, they really made me work for the twenty-five pound an hour I was getting paid.

“Circle of fourths,” I instructed quickly, “Come on guys,” I pleaded, tired from a restless night and then full day of my own uni classes.

Begrudgingly, they worked their way through the warm ups, adjusting their instruments where they needed to and eventually filling out a full, satisfying sound that I was happy with. After half an hour we were well and truly into the grove of working together and they were taking my instruction well, they really weren’t a bad group of kids—they just struggled to focus at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Anyone would.

“If I give you a three minute water break do you promise to be back in no less than ten?” I asked after a run through that sounded near perfect.

“Cross our hearts,” A percussionist stood up and literally crossed his index finger over his heart.

I laughed, “Okay then, ten minute break,” I stressed. “And maybe we’ll get out before six.”

There was movement across the room around me, but I trained my eyes down on the score before me, trying to figure out ways to get the result I needed from the musicians I had. They were good players, they just weren’t particularly good at focussing until they absolutely had to. And the problem with teenagers is they wanted to be the best, but they also had a tendency to be lazy. They needed to be pushed into practicing, and pushed into seeing the worth of it as well.

I let out a deep sigh, deciding maybe it was unreasonable to expect more from them today. I lowered myself onto a plastic, classroom chair behind me and pulled my phone out of my pocket. If we did a few more run throughs and I highlighted all the places they needed to work on, maybe by next week there would be progress.

Or maybe not. But by the time they were all seated in front of me I could taste the weekend as well, and I didn’t have the heart to hold them hostage any longer. With a few instructions to keep practicing and a stern word about how waiting for something to become easy breeds laziness and complacency, I finished the rehearsal with a fond, ‘Get lost, band geeks.’

By the time I left the school grounds however, it was starting to get darker, and I pulled the lapels of my jacket further around my body, readjusting my heavy backpack.

The most annoying thing about working the schools that I did was that they were both private ones in North London. We lived on the other side of the park, and because the tube system was flawed in the way it was virtually impossible to go from west to east across the city, I had a nearly eighty minute commute home, even though it probably would have been no less that twenty minutes if there was a direct line.

When I finally did get home, only Max was there.

“Hello,” I greeted breathlessly, pulling out the kitchen chair next to him and lowering my bag onto it, “Been home long?”

Max pulled his eyes away from his laptop screen, “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Have you eaten?”

“I was just going to do eggs on toast, will I make you some too?”

He shook his head, “Rodg and I are going to the pub. Did you want to—

“—No, thanks,” I shook my head quickly, swallowing thickly when I knew I’d failed to be subtle.

I hadn’t left the house for anything other than going to class or a teaching job in weeks. I still couldn't shake the feel of a strangers’ hands all over me. I needed the security of being home; of knowing I could control who was in my space and who I engaged with.

Max didn’t push it, he’d been the one Harry called in the alley-way of the venue.

Max was the one who got a cab home with me when I couldn’t bear the thought of catching a packed train home. He sat outside the bathroom while I had a shower because it was the only way I could trust no one would come in. Much later that night, Max sat up on my bed, his back against the headboard as he silently waited for me to fall asleep. And he was there to wake me up from the dreams I had where I was back at the start of the gig, watching the music yet knowing what was coming later on and having no way to stop it.

Harry wasn’t there in the dreams.

Neither were Rodger or Max half the time. It was just me, a room full of anonymous people and a chillingly recognisable voice.

I’m saving you from another night as a wallflower, sweetheart.

I jumped when Max’s chair scraped against the tiles, the front door slammed half a second later and I cringed again.

“It’s about to start pissing down,” Rodger yelled down the hall, “Ants are going mental all over the steps.”

“Right, well let’s get going straight away then,” I watched Max tap the back pocket of his jeans to check for his wallet, he pushed the home button on his phone to check the time, “We’ll be early but it’s not like us to not be able to kill time at the pub, hey?”

Rodger had an easy smile on his face and he was nodding at Max’s words as he strolled into the kitchen, “Too right you are, Maximillion. Beers. Killing time equals more beers. Hey, Nina,” He bumped my shoulder with his elbow as he distributed his work gear all over the rest of the kitchen table, “You staying in tonight?”

I’m not sure why he asked, but I graced him with a response nonetheless, “Trying to get ahead with my course work.”

“Ha,” Rodger laughed cheerily, “At this rate you must be almost graduated then!”

“Laugh it up, Rodger,” I smiled, “If you come home so drunk you can’t work the front door I’m not coming down to open it for you.”

“Good thing he’s got me then! Right, mate?” Max interjected, puffing out his chest comically and pointing to himself.

Rodger rolled his eyes, “I’m fucking doomed.”

“What!” Max yelped, pulling his umbrella from out of the rack in the corner of the room, “I can work a bloody door.”

“Max, mate,” Rodger slapped a hand over his friend’s shoulder, “You’re a giggly drunk, you’d stand on the front step having a right old laugh about how this tall piece of wood was stopping you from going inside.”

I watched on as Max tried to rebut Rodger’s comment but couldn't because we all knew it was true.

“Whatever,” He finally grumbled, “I’m leaving, you twat.”

******

If you rise early enough, it’s possible to get almost the entire way across central London before the proverbial hum of a still morning lifts. You can scurry through the Tube and dodge the early foot traffic, getting yourself anywhere you want to be in less than twenty minutes. It was a whole city of peaceful moments at that time of the day, apart from the two or three faces who were frantically trying to get themselves home after not managing to arrive there the night before. For the most part though, at that time, I existed before everybody else.

Saturday was my favourite day of the week for this very reason; everyone else slept late and I could get to my weekend job in a calm and collected manner.

Saturdays were also my favourite because of all my teaching gigs, I found this one most rewarding. Initially, it was a hard environment to walk into as it was nothing like what my experience of Primary School had been. Devonshire House Preparatory School in North Hampstead was a far cry from Blackpool State School, and I’d been bold enough to assume the worst about the sorts of people that would associate with one of London’s best prep schools.

I was wrong.

Sure, the place smelt like old money and heritage, but kids were kids at the end of the day, regardless of how much money their parents earned. And kids who played instruments were ones I could relate to.

I felt like I had something worthwhile to offer them for the two hours on Saturday mornings I taught five to eleven year-olds to read a completely different language to the one they used in their classroom during the week. I taught them how shapes on a stave could direct a sound coming out of an instrument they controlled.

When I walked out of the gates this Saturday I had a text from Max instructing me to call him once I was finished.

“Max, I didn’t hear you come home last night.”

“Is that an accusation, or an appreciative comment on the fact I didn’t trip over the hallway rug and wake you up this time?” He replied quickly.

“Always appreciative, Max,” I laughed.

I could hear the smile in his next words, “Great! Then you’ll appreciate spending a fun night eating and hanging out with me.”

“I’m sure I will appreciate that, Max. I’m on the way home now, do you want me to pick anything up?”

“So you’re agreeing then?” He let the last word drag out and I caught onto an ulterior motive, or a layer to our conversation that I was missing.

I stopped in my tracks, half way to the Tube station, “Max.”

“Nina, you haven’t done anything social and out of the house in weeks and—

—Oh, what so going to work and uni and the supermarket aren’t out of the house?” I butted in over the top of him.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Max said firmly, “Anyway, no, you can’t bring anything home because I’m not there … We’re spending the afternoon at Harry’s, he just got a new BBQ and is breaking it in.”

I stopped my walking to wait at a set of pedestrian lights, “Harry …” I let the name linger from my lips, assuming who Max was talking about but not wanting to refer to Max’s friend by his full name. The idea of that felt strange.

Max laughed, “Harry Styles?”

“No,” I backtracked, “I knew who you meant—

“—I’m standing in the guy’s kitchen, what other Harry do we know?”

I let out a long sigh, “Max.”

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, Nina. I will physically come and remove you from our house if you refuse.”

"I'll come," I said quietly, immediately regretting it.

"Oh," I could tell Max was stumbling over what his next arguing point was going to be, but now that he didn't need to there was a moment of pause, "Great, Nina. I'll um, I'll text you the address. It's not too tricky to get to. Call me when you're out the front though and I'll come let you in?"

"Sure," I agreed, "What should I bring?"

Max's next words we're repeated slowly and away from his phone, as if he was talking into the room around him, "What should Nina bring?" There was a beat of silence, mumbling in the background and then Max repeated what had been said to him, "Absolutely nothing, just your lovely self."

“Send me the address,” I said abruptly, briskly walking across the street and hoping with each gulping breath I’d conjure some gall. “I’ll see you soon.”

Distractedly, Max hung up the call and it was during the time I waited for his text with Harry’s address that I found myself wandering into a Tescos not far from the Tube station. No sense going and waiting on a platform only to find I’d be headed in the wrong direction.

I found supermarkets soothing, that everything had its place and category, and that everyone inside had a purpose and a sense of accomplishment.

All sense of purpose and accomplishment vanished though, as I stood at Harry’s front gate waiting for Max. I felt the space between my tummy and the top of my rib cage shrivel into something half its size and was suddenly very aware that I hadn’t any clue what I was walking myself into.

I hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since the night we all went to the Regina Spektor gig. My last memory of him is a hushed conversation between Harry and Max outside the cab just before Max jumped in with me and stayed by my side until morning. I had no idea what they’d said, but it was about me, that much I was sure. Harry had kept his head low to Max’s but it was the way his eyes kept darting back to where I was, and that his arms kept gesturing towards me in some way.

Whatever the words, it was clear I’d completely freaked out Harry Styles.

“Nina!” Max gave me a bright smile before bouncing his way straight into my personal space for a hug, “Well behaved maggots today?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, stepping through the heavy timber gate and into the front garden. “Perfect pupils this morning.”

We walked up a few sets of steps and around a bit of a garden before the front door became visible. The house was huge, all white and very English looking. There was a four-door garage to one side and three storeys worth of windows on either side of the dark blue door.

“Ah, shit,” Max cursed once he had led me up the front steps, “Bloody door closed on me, locked us out. Never mind,” He leaned across me and rang the door bell. I kicked my ankles together nervously.

I turned and looked back where we had walked. The road was barely visible through the shrubs and trunks of four large trees. Though I guess that would be the intention. A black Range Rover was parked in front of the garage along with an identical one in white.

It was Rodger who opened the door for us, he leant against the frame and gave Max a look, “Do you see what I mean about doors, Max? Completely useless.”

“Shut up, dickhead.”

Rodger only laughed and got out of Max’s way, “Hey, Nina.”

“Hi.”

His eyes fell to the plastic bag in my hand, I was more concerned about juggling two professional grade instruments on one arm, “You brought something.”

I shrugged awkwardly, “Yeah.”

“C’mon,” He waved me in.

I followed him dumbly through the house, trying not to look too hard at any one thing, my being here felt like intrusion enough. To the right was a formal looking leather couch suit and a few end tables arranged in a very refined manner. But to the left was a more casual kind of space. Comfy couches, a TV and a bookcases of novels and movies lined the wall that opened out to the backyard. The end of the lounge area led to the entrance to what I assumed was his kitchen.

I saw Max standing on the garden deck, and it seemed that all the other guests were out there with him.

“Put the bag in the kitchen and come out, yeah?” He grinned and nodded in the direction I should go. I couldn’t help but feel a little deserted but moved to do as Rodger suggested.

The kitchen was beautiful, open and airy. My step halted for a second to take it in, it was a far cry from the little kitchen in Rodger, Max and I’s place. It looked like it was from a magazine and I wondered for a second if that’s exactly where Harry had selected it from.

Harry trotted out of the far right corner carrying two handfuls of food items, surprising me, “Oh."

He turned around quickly at the sound and his neutral expression turned upward, “Hello, Nina.”

"Hi, sorry ... I ... I didn't realise you were in here." My words didn't stick together in sentences like I wanted them to, Harry kept a kind smile on his face as he carefully placed three vials of herbs, a jar of minced garlic and two loafs of bread on his kitchen bench.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and then took a few hearty steps toward me, "It's great to see you again, thanks for coming."

I was going to speak, I really was but then I caught on to his intention and before I knew it I was being briefly but tightly held to his chest in a greeting hug, "You've got bags," He continued, creasing his brow slightly when he noticed both the instrument cases I was carrying, the backpack slung over my shoulder and the Tescos supermarket bag,  "Let me show you where you can a put them."

And then I was following Harry through his house, trying to keep up with his explanations for each room or the reasons why he had to have "bloody ghastly" green cushions on his sofa; because his mother had liked the painting on the wall and they were the only thing that tied the piece to the rest of the room.

"Does in here look okay?" Harry was standing in the doorway and I had to brush past him to see inside. We must have been right at the back of the house, I could hear laughter from outside.

It was a small room, lit up completely by the day's sun which came in through a large bay window looking out over a horribly gorgeous garden. The only furniture in the room was a day bed covered in boxes and a bookcase that looked like Harry was using it as more of a filing cabinet, sheets of paper were in stacks and strewn all up and down it. I wondered what all the papers were, but I could tell even from the door that most of them seemed to be receipts and financial documents.

"Here," Harry's voice was gentle and he slipped the fingers of both hands through the handles of both my trumpet and saxophone cases and lifted their weight from me, "I doubt I have to tell you to remember to take them with you."

I caught myself before I said something dumb but then he smiled and I forgot myself for a moment, "That's still the trumpet I learned to play on, the mouthpiece I use now is worth more than the whole instrument. Same with the sax too, although it's the classical mouthpiece that's worth the most, the wider, jazz mouthpiece wasn't too much. And I mean," I paused when I caught Harry's eyes widen, either at my outburst or with interest at the lesson I just gave in mouthpieces. I doubted the latter, "Sorry. Sorry, this is perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Harry laughed, but there was something about it that told me he wasn't laughing at me, “But don't apologise for speaking.”

It was then that I noticed the plastic bag getting twisted between my fingers to within an inch of its life, "This is for you."

Harry looked completely surprised by my thrusting the thing his way, taking it carefully and then opening it to peek inside, "Oh, Nina, you didn't have to—

“—It's lame, sorry. But I just didn't know—

“—No," Harry interrupted bluntly, holding out a palm to silence me, "No, strawberries are great. Thank you. You didn't need to bring anything, but thank you."

I tugged at the straps of my backpack when I had nothing to do with my hands anymore. Harry was just standing in front of me still looking down at my fruit offering, "My mum was the one who would send me over to the other kids' houses with a fruit platter on play dates ... Sort of humiliating at the time." I babbled, "Guess I bring it on myself now though, hey?"

Harry's neck snapped up so he could look at me, eyes wide and head shaking, "Don't be humiliated. You've been so generous, thank you."

I let my bag slip from my shoulders and placed it on the floor painfully gently so as not to make any intrusive thumping noise. My attempt at keeping the room quiet was short lived though when a strong, male voice bellowed Harry's name through the house.

"Mate! I'm coming right back!" Harry shouted back, "Shut up, you needy idiot" He muttered to himself, shaking his head and giving me a smile as he held his arm up to the door like he'd follow me out.

Harry led me all the way outside then, as soon as he was distracted by whoever had needed him I shuffled myself around to stand behind Rodger at the table. There was a vacant seat beside him, but I wasn't sure if it was only empt because someone had just left for a moment.

"Take a seat, Nina," Rodger said, not looking away from the conversation he was in but slightly pulling the chair away from the table for me.

I only sat in my own silence for a few moments before everyone started moving around their spots at the large table on Harry’s deck. He had finished his conversation and then announced he was going inside to get the food. There were a few cheers and a couple of girls got up to go with him to help.

“Shit, sorry,” The chair next to me bumped against the arm of mine, and whoever had moved it burst out a happy apology, “These things aren’t made for sideways movements.”

“That’s fine,” I smiled, not bothered too much.

“I’m Joe,” The guy leaned over a bit and held out a friendly hand, “Are you Nina? I work with Rodger.”

“Yeah, I am,” I shook his hand, “Are you the Joe who doesn’t believe in loose leaf tea?”

He laughed at that, sprawling his hand across his heart, “My reputation precedes me. Yes, I’m Teabag Dependant Joe.”

I shrugged, hoping he didn’t notice my shaking hands picking at the seam of my jeans in my lap, “Loose leaf can be a bit of a faff sometimes.”

It would seem that was all I needed to do to cease standing out like a sore thumb in a social setting. Joe introduced me to the few people was directly talking to, without making a big deal about it, and then I was able to just sit back and pretend to partake. They were mostly people who worked with Rodger and subsequently, Harry. A few musicians and two writers.  

Their conversations were loud, but fond. And eventually, once the food was served and everyone was eating, the conversation opened up to be one that somehow included all fifteen or so people that were eating off Harry’s white china.

From what I could gather today's social festivities were born off the back of the drinks everyone went for last night. I hadn't been all that bothered with whoever Rodger and Max were meeting, but as it turned out there would've been a lot of the same faces as was here. It had been a successful day in the studio yesterday, someone threw out the idea that Harry’s "next million maker" had been born.

One of the girls had scoffed at that, and Harry leant over and punched her in the arm with pink cheeks at the mention of "mum would tell you off for bragging”. I immediately saw the family resemblance.

I wasn't sure how, but the next time I snuck a look at my watch almost an hour had passed since we sat down to eat. It had been an hour of my sitting switching my neck back and forth across the table, smiling politely and pretending to be involved. Harry had cleared the plates and brought out new drinks for everyone at some point, but it wasn't until someone suggested moving the deck chairs over into the sun that everyone started moving.

All those bodies moving around was the perfect opportunity for me to escape for a few minutes.

I ducked my head down and snuck around to the glass sliding doors back into the house. Then, I headed straight for the kitchen.

It was strange, I thought, the way kitchens were somehow universal. Everyone seemed to keep things in roughly the same place; detergent under the sink, plug sitting on the window sill, tea towels in the third draw.  Harry's was perfectly predictable.

The window over the sink looked out into the same part of the garden as the sunroom had, and although I could hear everyone outside I couldn't see them from this angle. I was happier in this moment, where I could hear the loud friendships without having to publicly react. Half the problem with being someone who didn't feel the need to say a lot was the expectation other people put on you to at least appear correctly amused or interested. A feat that was much harder at the moment, when my body was only just allowing me to sleep properly—three weeks after the panic attack Harry saw.

"Nina, what are you doing?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice and turned around to face him with bubbly hands holding a half cleaned plate, "Nothing. I ... I mean, I thought I get a go on this for you."

Harry frowned at me, but somehow he was still smiling, "I know you though that, but I've got a dishwasher. And you're a guest."

I briefly wondered if he had seen me leave the group what must've been almost twenty minutes ago now, "I ..."

"I thought maybe you were looking for the loo," He grinned, taking steps and ending up right next to me, "Was checking to make sure you weren't lost ... Or locked in, the door handle can be tricky."

"Oh, no ... No, I was—”

"Making yourself comfortable in my kitchen," He finished for me, and I startled again when he bent down and I felt is hand on my knee, "Excuse me, just need this draw."

I stepped to the side and watched him pull out a tea towel, "You don't need to dry, they'll air," I said quietly.

Harry laughed, "If you can unnecessarily wash the dishes then I can unnecessarily dry them, thank you very much."

I swallowed and then forced myself to keep going, in a horrifying turn of events Harry stayed quiet as he started drying. I wondered if he wished I would talk, or the air wasn't so pregnant with awkwardness.

I was still sort of reeling from the whole event of being here in Harry’s house. With him cooking for everyone, playing host and looking like he genuinely wanted his back garden full of his friends. It was so surreal to just see him pottering around in jeans, a floppy jumper and sneakers. The whole place was clean and airy, and Harry was some sort of perfect centre piece to it all; happy and rested and kind. I couldn’t help but think how I looked in comparison, what terrible shades of muddy brown my corner of the painting might be.

"Oops, sorry," Harry apologised loudly for the splash of cold water that came up my sleeve, "Your water is so sudsy."

He had pulled the tap around over the smaller side of the sink and had tried to rinse the next plate before he dried it.

When Harry pulled way I turned the tap back on, "We'll just fill this side too and I'll rinse them for you.”

"I've only got one plug," Harry pointed out.

"Well I'm not sure how to help you then," I gave my shoulders what I hoped looked like a playful little shrug and did my best to conjure a light tone, "Even though this is the exact same dilemma my parents work through nightly."  

I wasn't expecting Harry's quick response, "Your parents are together then?"

I paused with my hands in the water, "Yes."

"You're one of the lucky ones then," He said lightly.

The notion hit me hard somewhere in the centre of my chest, because even though Harry had said it causally, there was something about the far off look in his eyes and the way he forced a poised smile told me that it was a hurt he carried with him. I didn't know what to say.

"Were you very young?" I asked carefully, finding that the questions that always flew around my head whenever Harry was the person I was talking to were almost impossible to restrict.

He turned toward me and leant his hip against the side of the kitchen counter, "I guess?" He began, "Yeah, I was young. Young enough not to properly remember before. But I convinced myself that everyone was happier ... When my parents were together and my mum didn't have to work so hard and I actually saw my dad, you know?"

I didn't. So I stayed quiet.

"My loyalty fell with my mum," He coughed awkwardly and for the first time since I'd known him I thought Harry might be avoiding my eye contact, "She's the one who raised me and I suppose ... In a sense I saw it all from her perspective. There's nothing that bothers me more than the that, the thought of my mum struggling. But I also know, as an adult, that they were living an unhappy marriage so it's best they did divorce."

"I can't imagine," I finally managed to say.

Harry made what was meant to be a dismissive face, but he continued to talk regardless, "You go through waves of understanding. Because I remember being a teenager and wondering why they couldn't have tried harder. By that stage they were both happy with other people and I got angry because, I mean, why couldn't they have tried harder to have that together? That's an immature way to view things though."

"It's hopeful, I like that."

“It’s selfish,” He smiled, and it was a true smile—or as true I could measure by my experience with Harry’s smiles—that made him look humble, and well, “Just because they’re the two people that made me, doesn’t mean their lives have to fold to make mine neater. It didn’t alter how much my parents love me, so it shouldn't alter how much I love them.”

“That’s … I’ve never heard it put like that before,” I struggled with the words, completely floored by his sentiment.

“Had a lot of time to mull it over,” He replied, not sounding troubled in the slightest if only for a lingering sense of thoughtfulness that must have stirred up old memories.

It was at the mention of time that I felt a weariness wash over me. And I hated it, that just the simple mention of something that measured the space I occupied made my bones heavy and eyes droop with weariness; I wished that time was something I had a hold on but the truth was that it wasn’t.

It wasn’t an easy thing to explain, but for a regular day everything makes sense because of rest. And it’s only when sleeping at the end of a day, and waking up at the beginning of a new one is taken away from you that you consider it. I was still trying to get a grip of a any kind of sleep pattern since the night a stranger decided they could force themselves into my personal space, and my head.

“Nina.”

I caught myself at Harry’s concerned word, my elbows resting against the sink in a way I couldn't recall moving them myself, “Sorry.”

“Do you need to sit? You look …” His eyes were moving over my face, and he didn’t look able to place just how I looked.

“I’m just tired, sorry. Got carried away in my thoughts.”

“Oh.”

He looked disappointed for a second, or like if he gave one extra second of a meaningful look then maybe he would understand exactly what I meant.

“Probably more exhausted, actually,” I appeased, not sure about why I was talking but again, finding it impossible not to. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

I watched Harry take a quick, deep breath, “Since …”

“Yeah,” I confirmed quietly.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “About that, I … I wanted to call you or … I wanted to make sure that you were alright, but I had no way of contacting you and I wasn’t sure if you’d rather I didn’t serve as a reminder—

“Harry,” He paused instantly when I said his name, “I’m fine, I didn’t expect you to do anything.”

He briefly shut his eyes when I said I was fine, “To be honest I’m still pretty shaken by what I saw, Nina. For how I saw you, I mean … I’ve got friends who get a bit panicky in crowds or don’t like hearing other people scream but I’ve never seen an attack before.”

I winced at the words, “It’s okay, Harry.”

“Does it happen very often?” His question was clear and he spoke without a hint of hesitation behind the words.

I smiled, “You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to go nutty on you here, Harry.”

Harry frowned, “Don’t say it like that, are you okay?”

His question wasn’t meant to be restricted to this moment on this day in my life, it’s border was much broader. Harry Styles was asking about my general state of well being, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready to give him such a huge answer.

But in the smallest sense possible there was a fragile truth, “I’m doing well today.”

Something of the furrowed unease on his face seemed to settle with my honesty, “Why did you come today, I didn’t think it sounded like you would when you were on the phone to Max.”

“He went all sweet on me about how we hadn’t had a laugh together in ages,” I explained, stopping my movements in his sink, lightly twirling the mug I had around in my fingers. “Never hedge your bets against anyone in direct competition with Max’s sweet side.”

Harry barked out a lovely laugh, “I’ll have to remember that.”

I picked up the already clean mug out of the soapy water and rested it on the drainage board next to me, hoping the way I didn’t carry on with a response of my own wouldn’t upset Harry. It didn’t seem to.

All too soon the distraction of the dishes ran out, and I spend a few too many minute watching the dirty water get sucked down the drain.

“Harry!”

“Kitchen,” Harry yelled back to the voice, popping me out of the bubble inside my head. I turned around in time to see his sister turn the corner into view.

“Hi,” She smiled kindly upon seeing me, the sincerity one I recognised from her brother.

“Hello,” I tried to muster a deserving smile in response.

“Gem, this is Nina. Nina, my sister, Gemma … Nina lives with Rodger and Max.”

“Oh! Right, of course, yeah, Harry said,” Gemma shook her head like that was something Harry shouldn’t have had to remind her of. “Sorry, just the girls are leaving now, Harry. Can I borrow your car to take them to Paddington?”

Harry patted his pocket, “Go ahead, the keys are somewhere … Dining table or hall table?”

“Great, thanks, H. Lovely to meet you, Nina.”

“You too!” I called back as she left, my voice a little too loud and a little too high.

Harry turned away then, striding to the fridge and verbally instructing me on where I could find some large plates. I watched silently as he plucked fruits from containers and bags, expertly slicing whatever he thought needed it and simply arranging the rest together in a beautiful explosion of colour.

I wanted to be colourful too.

“Watching you with that knife is terrifying,” I said slowly, mesmerised by the precision and speed at which he was working. It was surprising.

He looked up and the skin around his eyes crinkled brilliantly, “Why’s that? I’m an excellent cook. Chopping is a basic kitchen skill, lesson one even.”

“Eyes down, please,” I asked earnestly, feeling a little buoyant from the laugh my comment got from him.

“Can you carry one for me? I’ll get the other” Harry asked referring to the fruit plates but momentarily distracted by trying to shut the fridge door and hold a few drinks under his arm at the same time.

“Sure.”

“Perfect, thanks, Nina.”