Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓ - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

20th July 2016 - 5 months and 6 days before the big day.
"You've got post, Marnie." Harry called, striding into the lounge with Nola balanced on his hip and a handwritten white envelope in his free hand. I accepted it quickly, just in time for him to prevent our daughter from yanking the delicate silver chain hanging around his neck. They'd been practically inseparable since his return from France and despite having a to take a backseat role on the parenting front, I'd never been happier.
"Given that I'm not expecting anything, I haven't a clue what this is." I grimaced and slid my index finger under the seal to tear it open. I rarely received anything in the post, especially now that most bills were paperless, so unless I'd won the postcode lottery this wouldn't be good.
I pulled the folded paper from inside and tucked the envelope behind it as I cast my eyes over the uncomfortably familiar script. I'd only ever seen the handwriting once a year in my childhood; a scribbled afterthought at the bottom of my birthday cards. But I'd not seen it for years.
"It's my Dad." I said aloud in a cautious voice; not entirely sure if meant for Harry or myself. He ceased peppering Nola's face with kisses and turned to face me in an automatically tense silence. We rarely spoke about my parents, if at all.
The letter was formal, too formal for an exchange between a father and daughter but my eyes glued themselves to the third sentence in and refused to budge. My lips parted and my nostrils flared.
"What is it?" Harry urged; a frantic edge to his voice. "What have they done this time?"
I couldn't blame him for jumping to conclusions. My parents didn't have the best track record when it came to my best interests. In fact, I hadn't seen or spoken them since the day before they'd released mine and Nola's photo to the papers. I hadn't wanted to. Nola had Anne, Des and their respective partners for grandparents - she didn't need Alice and Preston Owens casting a shadow over her life and I was perfectly fine with that.
Nola whined impatiently and Harry shifted her onto his other hip. "Marnie? You're worrying me now. What's happened?"
My eyes remained on sentence three; a formally constructed announcement that had come via the wrong form of communication and nearly three weeks too late. The letter shook violently in my grasp but it took a good few painfully drawn-out minutes before my brain registered that I was shaking.
"Right." Harry said through gritted teeth, before placing our daughter down onto the carpet and approaching me with caution. He curled his fingers around the paper in my tightened grasp and gently pulled it away. My now empty hands stayed poised in front of me; clutching at the air like some sort of Covent Garden living statue.
Silence blanketed us again as Harry skimmed the page and only when his sharp intake of breath echoed in the room did my eyes begin to water. "Oh my god," he said, voice subdued. "Marnie, I'm so sorry."
His left arm curled around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest but my hands remained outstretched and awkward; colliding with his body in a way that meant I was basically jabbing him with my fingernails. I was vaguely awake of Nola waddling around at our feet and the tears that had pooled in my eyes and refused to fall. But everything else blurred into nothing.
"Marnie?" He tried again, this time sounding more choked up. "Marnie, I think you should sit down and finish the letter. Can you hear me?"
He sounded far away, as if muffled by a brick wall, and although my brain wanted to follow his instructions - I just couldn't bring myself to go through with them. Harry's arm dropped from my body and buried itself in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his phone. The tapping of the keypad sounded before he brought the handset up to his ear.
"Ele? Yeah, it's Harry. I need you to get over here. I need your help with Marnie." he glanced frantically in my direction. "Her mum's died."
Hearing the words out loud triggered a sob to rip from my throat but it was like I'd watched the drama unfold from a distance. I felt almost unattached from the emotions I was supposed to be feeling and expressing. How could this possibly have happened? And why did I feel like a part of me had been burnt away?
I wasn't even supposed to like the woman. She certainly had never liked me.
The phone disappeared into Harry's pocket again and suddenly I was guided over to the armchair in the corner of the room. I wanted to tell Harry to get Nola out of here; to take her upstairs and hide her from the upset. But I couldn't find my voice. It was like it had gone into hiding; afraid of what my brain might instruct it to say.
My fingers seemed to instinctively curl into the leather armrest while Harry stood before me looking somewhat helpless and overly concerned. He placed the letter down onto the chair and my eyes flickered over to it; crisp and neatly folded like every other bit of mail I'd ever received.
What sort of father informed their child of their mother's death via letter? ...and three weeks after it happened too?
Anger or even potentially oncoming sobs scorched my chest and throat and my teeth sank into my lower lip. I needed to hold my daughter. I wanted to bury my face in her cinnamon curls and inhale her familiar, comforting scent just as I had from the very beginning. Except, I didn't want her to see me like this. She was far too young to understand and I didn't want her remembering this day - this moment. She didn't have any recollection of Alice and Preston Owens anyway, I refused to allow her to be concerned with this. She was precious and naive and perfect and I wouldn't let them affect her how they had affected me.
The front door burst open; almost snapping at the hinges and Harry turned sharply in its direction. Hushed voices exchanged between himself and our intruder and suddenly Nola was swept up and carried out of the room with urgency.
Lilac sandals padded across the carpet towards me until a head of blonde hair intruded my vision. Elenore climbed up into the armchair and curled her entire body around my own. "Ding dong the wicked witch is dead."
With further confirmation from my best friend, I screamed.