Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓ - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

17th April 2016 - 8 months and 9 days before the big day.
"Harry, I need to speak to you about something." I mumbled, striding into the bedroom where Harry stood frozen with an armful of clothes. A large suitcase had taken up residence on our bed, full of neatly folded clothes and over-stuffed toiletry bags. In a matter of days he'd be gone, filming Dunkirk.
"Well, that sounds serious." He smirked before turning and dropping the pile onto the bed. "What's up?"
It had been weeks since Elenore had chosen her wedding dress. Weeks since I'd learnt the fifteen different ways of styling a sheet of fabric. And weeks since Elenore had made me realise I needed to have a serious talk with Harry about our future.
"It's about Nola actually." Harry instantly paled, throwing a glance at the door of our bedroom as if debating whether or not to storm into our daughter's room and wake her up to check for himself.
"What's happened?" He asked slowly, nostrils flaring. "Is she ok?"
I raised my hands quickly. "It's nothing like that, Harry. She's fine."
He visibly exhaled, shoulders easing from their tense position, but a deep groove stayed firmly put between his eyebrows. "What is it then?"
I ventured further into the bedroom and took a seat on the edge of our bed. I didn't like speaking 'serious' with Harry. It reminded me of how things were before that night in the alleyway with Ben. Before we'd finally confessed our true feelings.
"I think we should think about enrolling Nola in nursery." I announced and curled my fingers around the duvet cover.
"It's funny you say that," he said cheerily and began making his way towards me. "Because I've been wanting to speak to you about the same thing."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. That, I had not been expecting.
"You have?" I asked, disbelief evident in my tone. He raised his right hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"Of course!" He chuckled, making it sound as though it was something he thought about regularly. "I've already spoken to an estate agent. He says we could rent this out if we didn't want to sell."
What?
My face slipped into frown at Harry's words. Somehow, I didn't think we were on the same track after all.
"What are you talking about?" I asked quickly, either I had missed something or we were talking about two entirely separate subjects. "What has an estate agent got to do with anything?"
He raised his eyes to my face and squinted as though I'd spoken a language he wasn't familiar with. "Well, obviously we need an estate agent if we're moving to Los Angeles, Marnie."
My jaw dropped and eyes widened. What on earth was he talking about?
"Since when have we been moving to Los Angeles?" My voice shot up a few octaves, leaving Harry looking more surprised than ever. I counted every breath I took as I waited for his response, desperately needing something to focus on before I had a complete and utter breakdown.
"Well, I just assumed..." Harry trailed off and shook his head. "You mean, you don't want to move there?"
"I never said I did!" I almost laughed. "Where on Earth did you get that idea from?"
He stepped backwards, away from me, and ran a hand through his unruly hair. It was shorter now; gone were the flowing locks that had gained much media attention in the last couple of years.
"You like it there and so does Nola. I thought it would be nice to settle down somewhere new. She can start nursery there and we can come back here to visit whenever we like." He made it sound so easy and as though it was everything I'd ever wanted.
"No, no." I shook my head frantically. "You can come back and visit whenever you like. If Nola is enrolled in nursery and then school, we can't just up and leave the country, Harry! There are school holidays for that."
He squinted again. "Ok, so we can come back and visit in the school holidays. What's the problem here, Marnie?"
"Are you for real?" I exclaimed. "You've just decided out of the blue that we are moving to Los Angeles without discussing it with me first. Did you even stop to consider that maybe I want Nola to be schooled in England?"
He sucked in a breath, frustration evident all over his face. "Why are you blowing this completely out of proportion? And what the hell is wrong with enrolling her over there?"
Nola starting nursery was supposed to be a huge milestone in her life. It would be the start of her education. The start of her future. And yet Harry and I were arguing over it.
"You travel a lot and I don't really know anyone in Los Angeles. Don't you see how lonely that would be for me? We would miss you even more than we do now." I sighed, my eyes and throat burning. "And I don't know anything about the education system in America. There are great nurseries and schools right here on our doorstep!"
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it - so this is actually all about you?"
I gasped, horrified at his cruel words. "Excuse me? Says the guy who has just made a huge decision on behalf of the entire household."
I stood up from the bed and crossed my arms over my chest. I hated arguing with him, especially with Nola in the next room.
"You're unbelievable, Marnie." He snapped and turned his attention back to the suitcase; now throwing things into it. "I thought settling down in America would be exciting for us. I thought you liked it there."
"Harry," I said, my voice softer now. "I do like it there. I like a lot of the places that we've been too. That doesn't mean I want to emigrate there."
His cheeks flushed scarlet as he forcefully stuffed a jumper into the case. "Well maybe I don't want to stay in England!"
I recoiled as if his words had struck me in the chest. England was his home. It my own home. It was Nola's home. It was our home.
"Why?" I asked quickly, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. "Why wouldn't you want to stay here?"
His head snapped up to glare at me. "There's nothing for me here. There are no opportunities. Nothing."
My upper teeth sank into my lower lip in an attempt to prevent the tears from falling. How long had he felt like this? Why did he feel like this?
"What are you talking about?" I asked, almost breathlessly. "Your family is here. Your friends! Your whole career started here!"
He shook his head violently. "No."
I waited patiently for a more elaborate explanation but nothing came. Instead, his hands continued to pummel the defenceless clothes into the case; leaving them crinkled and in disarray.
"I really don't understand where this is all coming from." I said timidly, hoping he might look my way. "You've never mentioned this before or given any indication that you've been unhappy."
Silence.
His hands stopped but he stared ahead - at nothing.
"Is this to do with the hiatus?" I tried again. "Are you worried that there's nothing for you without the band? Because that's not even remotely true. You're going to be in a film, Harry! A film!"
His empty gaze snapped round to my face.
"It's ok to be nervous." I said softly. "It's a big change. You've taken a break from something huge. But you don't need to run away from your roots."
His hands clenched into fists and he scowled.
"I'm not nervous." He snapped and I felt my face crumple slightly. "I just don't want to stay in this dump. I want to go to Los Angeles and I want to raise my daughter there."
An icy feeling spread over my chest at his insinuation that he'd do it with without me.
"Just stop." I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "For goodness sake."
He rolled his eyes and turned back to the suitcase before pulling the lid over and zipping it shut.
"I'll sleep in the spare room tonight." He muttered bitterly before wrenching the case off of the bed and onto the floor with a loud thud. I blinked, waiting for a noise to indicate that Nola had woken up. Nothing came.
"Oh, don't be childish." I groaned and stepped towards him. "This is ridiculous, Harry. And so, so random. You're going to be leaving in a few days and I don't want you to go with us on bad terms."
I had hoped this would bring him to his senses; that he might drop this silly tough-guy facade and tell me the truth behind this arbitrary decision.
Instead, he turned to face me; his expression almost mocking.
"And whose fault is that?" He announced and stalked out the room.