Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓ - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓.
3rd August 2016 - 4 months and 23 days before the big day.
The cheque stared up at me from the coffee table. The last thing I would ever receive from my mother, and it wasn't even intended for me.
The funeral had been and gone by the time I was informed of my mother's death. I didn't even know where she was buried, and to be honest, I wasn't sure I ever would. The cheque arrived a week after the initial letter with no accompanying note. Only the name of the recipient was clear; in bold block capitals on the first line.
NOLA STYLES
I'd always known that the moment I'd chosen to keep my baby, my parents would cut me off in every way that they could. I knew that meant I'd forfeited my inheritance, but that had always meant more to them than it had to me. And yet somehow, as I casted my eyes over my daughter's name and the hideously large sum of money, my chest ached.
It wasn't even about the inheritance. I didn't want their money. My parents had always had plenty of money but it had never brought them happiness. They'd never had a happy marriage. Harry also had plenty of money but it was his daughter that triggered his smile every morning. And although I knew that perhaps, in some twisted way, this was my parents showing some sort of remorse for their behaviour regarding my daughter... what about me?
My parents had damaged my relationship with them and my trust in others. I'd been eighteen and exiled from my own parents. Eighteen might have been considered legally an adult, but I didn't have the life experience that came hand in hand with it. My mother was supposed to teach me how to be a mother. She was supposed to share stories of two o'clock in the morning feeds and never-ending nappy changes. My father was supposed to be the doting grandad, wrapped around Nola's little finger. It was never supposed to play out like it did.
To my understanding, from my father's letter, my mother's death had not been untimely. She'd been sick for months. And yet they hadn't told me. I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the fact that even towards the end of her life, she hadn't wanted to make amends with her only child. But instead, left thirty-thousand pounds for her granddaughter.
I would never get the sorry I'd always wanted. The only thing I'd ever wanted.
"I'm assuming she's got a savings account you can dump it in?" Niall's voice drifted in from the kitchen doorway and I blinked as if coming back to present day. Instinctively, my eyes searched the room for Nola and located her, sat in front of the television with her eyes wide and focused on the puppet animals on the screen. All I'd wanted recently was to be near her; to hold her or to have her in my line of vision. Some nights, when sleep evaded me, I brought her into our bed and buried my face in her curls. Harry often stirred, initially confused, and cradled us both against his chest. Only then, I'd sleep.
"Well, of course." I heard Harry reply in a low voice. "But I want Marnie to be the one to decide what happens with this money. That cheque hasn't moved from the coffee table since it arrived a week ago, I'm not even sure she wants Nola to have it. I sure as hell don't."
Harry wasn't in favour of Nola's inheritance. He'd been adamant that she wasn't to have anything to do with my parents, whatever form it came in, and of course I didn't blame him. But somehow, I didn't think he realised that this money was so much more than just a parting gift. This was the only gift Nola was ever going to get from her grandmother.
And yet, even I couldn't bring myself to do anything with it.
"How has she been?" Niall asked, followed by the sound of mugs moving in a cupboard. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop on their conversation but I couldn't help it, my ears burned with curiosity. "Ele told me about last week...when she arrived."
I swallowed harshly and cast my eyes back to the cheque, where it lay untouched and daunting. I'd tried to forget the moment Elenore had arrived, the moment I'd realised my mother had really gone forever and the moment I'd realised that, despite everything, it hurt more than I could have ever imagined.
I'd screamed.
Elenore had clutched me against her so fiercely, her manicured nails had pierced the skin on my forearms. She'd held me as I'd sobbed and my tears had soaked through her jersey t-shirt. I'd cried for what had felt like hours. Harry and Nola had remained upstairs, hiding in one of the bedrooms and I was thankful that my daughter hadn't witnessed me break like that. I didn't want her to know pain like that. When the tears had stopped, Elenore had escorted me to the bathroom and I'd been violently sick until eventually, I'd curled up on the cold tiles of the floor and passed out.
"Well, you know." Harry sighed and my chest tightened. He'd carried me up to bed, and when he'd thought I'd been asleep, I'd heard him sobbing on my best friend. He couldn't bear seeing me upset just as I hadn't been able to bear seeing him so down. "I don't think she was expecting to feel quite as strongly as she does."
The fridge door rattled open and I heard one of them digging around inside it. "It's understandable." Niall said eventually. "I remember that day you flew home from tour after what they did. I'm not sure her mother was deserving of Marnie's grief."
"Exactly." Harry agreed as the kettle boiled; briefly muffling his voice. "I hated her mother - and I still hate her dad - with a passion. I will never forgive them for what they did to her. I know they didn't behave in Nola's best interests either, but she was too young to understand. Marnie understood and Marnie hurt. And for that I can never forgive them. Dead or not." Silence seemed to blanket the kitchen whilst I sat with baited breath, my heart pounding. "We don't need their money. Nola might not be old enough to make a decision about her inheritance, but we will give that little girl the world. And we do not need that money to fulfil that promise."
Harry's words formed a lump in my throat. I wanted to bolt into the kitchen and throw my arms around his neck and never let go. I turned to our daughter, still mesmerised by the television screen, and smiled. We really would give her the world.
And without a moment's hesitation, I grasped the cheque in both hands and tore it in half.
The cheque stared up at me from the coffee table. The last thing I would ever receive from my mother, and it wasn't even intended for me.
The funeral had been and gone by the time I was informed of my mother's death. I didn't even know where she was buried, and to be honest, I wasn't sure I ever would. The cheque arrived a week after the initial letter with no accompanying note. Only the name of the recipient was clear; in bold block capitals on the first line.
NOLA STYLES
I'd always known that the moment I'd chosen to keep my baby, my parents would cut me off in every way that they could. I knew that meant I'd forfeited my inheritance, but that had always meant more to them than it had to me. And yet somehow, as I casted my eyes over my daughter's name and the hideously large sum of money, my chest ached.
It wasn't even about the inheritance. I didn't want their money. My parents had always had plenty of money but it had never brought them happiness. They'd never had a happy marriage. Harry also had plenty of money but it was his daughter that triggered his smile every morning. And although I knew that perhaps, in some twisted way, this was my parents showing some sort of remorse for their behaviour regarding my daughter... what about me?
My parents had damaged my relationship with them and my trust in others. I'd been eighteen and exiled from my own parents. Eighteen might have been considered legally an adult, but I didn't have the life experience that came hand in hand with it. My mother was supposed to teach me how to be a mother. She was supposed to share stories of two o'clock in the morning feeds and never-ending nappy changes. My father was supposed to be the doting grandad, wrapped around Nola's little finger. It was never supposed to play out like it did.
To my understanding, from my father's letter, my mother's death had not been untimely. She'd been sick for months. And yet they hadn't told me. I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the fact that even towards the end of her life, she hadn't wanted to make amends with her only child. But instead, left thirty-thousand pounds for her granddaughter.
I would never get the sorry I'd always wanted. The only thing I'd ever wanted.
"I'm assuming she's got a savings account you can dump it in?" Niall's voice drifted in from the kitchen doorway and I blinked as if coming back to present day. Instinctively, my eyes searched the room for Nola and located her, sat in front of the television with her eyes wide and focused on the puppet animals on the screen. All I'd wanted recently was to be near her; to hold her or to have her in my line of vision. Some nights, when sleep evaded me, I brought her into our bed and buried my face in her curls. Harry often stirred, initially confused, and cradled us both against his chest. Only then, I'd sleep.
"Well, of course." I heard Harry reply in a low voice. "But I want Marnie to be the one to decide what happens with this money. That cheque hasn't moved from the coffee table since it arrived a week ago, I'm not even sure she wants Nola to have it. I sure as hell don't."
Harry wasn't in favour of Nola's inheritance. He'd been adamant that she wasn't to have anything to do with my parents, whatever form it came in, and of course I didn't blame him. But somehow, I didn't think he realised that this money was so much more than just a parting gift. This was the only gift Nola was ever going to get from her grandmother.
And yet, even I couldn't bring myself to do anything with it.
"How has she been?" Niall asked, followed by the sound of mugs moving in a cupboard. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop on their conversation but I couldn't help it, my ears burned with curiosity. "Ele told me about last week...when she arrived."
I swallowed harshly and cast my eyes back to the cheque, where it lay untouched and daunting. I'd tried to forget the moment Elenore had arrived, the moment I'd realised my mother had really gone forever and the moment I'd realised that, despite everything, it hurt more than I could have ever imagined.
I'd screamed.
Elenore had clutched me against her so fiercely, her manicured nails had pierced the skin on my forearms. She'd held me as I'd sobbed and my tears had soaked through her jersey t-shirt. I'd cried for what had felt like hours. Harry and Nola had remained upstairs, hiding in one of the bedrooms and I was thankful that my daughter hadn't witnessed me break like that. I didn't want her to know pain like that. When the tears had stopped, Elenore had escorted me to the bathroom and I'd been violently sick until eventually, I'd curled up on the cold tiles of the floor and passed out.
"Well, you know." Harry sighed and my chest tightened. He'd carried me up to bed, and when he'd thought I'd been asleep, I'd heard him sobbing on my best friend. He couldn't bear seeing me upset just as I hadn't been able to bear seeing him so down. "I don't think she was expecting to feel quite as strongly as she does."
The fridge door rattled open and I heard one of them digging around inside it. "It's understandable." Niall said eventually. "I remember that day you flew home from tour after what they did. I'm not sure her mother was deserving of Marnie's grief."
"Exactly." Harry agreed as the kettle boiled; briefly muffling his voice. "I hated her mother - and I still hate her dad - with a passion. I will never forgive them for what they did to her. I know they didn't behave in Nola's best interests either, but she was too young to understand. Marnie understood and Marnie hurt. And for that I can never forgive them. Dead or not." Silence seemed to blanket the kitchen whilst I sat with baited breath, my heart pounding. "We don't need their money. Nola might not be old enough to make a decision about her inheritance, but we will give that little girl the world. And we do not need that money to fulfil that promise."
Harry's words formed a lump in my throat. I wanted to bolt into the kitchen and throw my arms around his neck and never let go. I turned to our daughter, still mesmerised by the television screen, and smiled. We really would give her the world.
And without a moment's hesitation, I grasped the cheque in both hands and tore it in half.
End of Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓ Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to Theirs: a short story [harry styles] ✓ book page.