Deep (Zarry AU)

Epilogue

The light striped the floor: red, yellow, white and back to red. I was watching as they kissed; that familiar moment when Harry's hand moved south and Zayn gasped, the unmistakable silhouette of his hair bowing back as he looked at the ceiling for a moment. Then Harry dropping to his knees and Zayn following him with his eyes, cursing under his breath and raking his fingers into Harry's curls. I watched it only now and again these days; once I thought I didn't ship them any more. Once I thought I'd grown out of it. But I still didn't know what to do with that tape. Should the world see it? It would be so easy.

*

"Fifty grand??" I was on the phone to Val. "Where are your family supposed to get that kind of money?"

"Don't know," he sniffed. He sighed. I could hear him rubbing at his face with his hand. He was in work and not supposed to be contacting me. It wouldn't be very professional to be crying in a PR job, I thought to myself, what with everything being about presenting a perfect image.

"I can't believe the NHS won't pay for that drug."

"They are such fuckers," he said, under his breath. "It's not like we don't pay our taxes. And the drug companies... just making money while their patent thing is still in force. In three years' time it will be cheaper; that's what the doctors say. But we don't have that time.  Dad hasn't got that long...."

"Oh, Val. I wish there was something I could do," my voice broke as I said it.

"If only there was a way to get the money..." he sighed, "that didn't involve breaking the law or selling our bodies."

I laughed. Neither of us wanted to say out loud what I knew we were both thinking.

*

It was a week later and I was sitting in my own doctor's surgery. One of the less enjoyable tasks of my post-Uni life: regulation women's check-ups.  As if the test itself wasn't embarrassing enough, they would always ask you if you need any condoms and I'd roll my eyes and say "chance'd be a fine thing." Stop hanging around with gay guys, Chloe would have said.

The appointments always ran late, so you were left sitting in the cold waiting room with only bleary-eyed elderly people, runny-nosed kids and hassled-looking mothers for company. This time my phone had died so, as I chewed my nails and waited for the announcements screen to flash my name, I found my gaze wandering to the table of magazines beside me. Tucked under an old copy of Grazia with Kate Moss on the cover I could see the red banner of a tabloid, and the words "Harry S" running just beneath it, the remaining letters hidden from view. I reached over and pulled the newspaper out, uncovering the full front page. The print was smudged but it was only a few days old. The Sun. I shuddered slightly; I hated reading these kinds of newspapers – nothing but shouty headlines about imminent weather disasters and celebrities cheating on their partners. A small picture in the top right hand corner caught my eye – Harry papped at night in his fedora; a willowy brunette walking just behind him, both with their heads down, in sunglasses. "Harry Styles back with Kendall Jenner?" it said. The printed words seemed to press a weight onto me. I felt impelled to open the paper and find the article, although I hated myself for wanting to do it.

Across the page splashed three large pictures of Harry and Kendall on a sidewalk outside a club in LA. The article itself consisted of about four sentences and told the reader nothing other than the fact that the two had had been seen entering a nightclub together – with about ten other people accompanying them. The article mentioned that fact last. I looked carefully at Harry's face, to see if I could read the slightest emotion on it, but found none. Kendall, equally, looked as though she were on a fashion shoot: cool and immaculate, all tan and legs and hair. I cursed under my breath.

Just as I was about to exhale and close the newspaper I noticed something else. It was a small italicised paragraph, at the end of the article. It read: Do you have a celebrity sighting or story? We pay money for verified pictures. A phone number and e-mail address followed.

I hesitated; looked around to check that no one was watching. Then I tore out that piece of the page and put it in my pocket.

*

Later at home I sat with a cup of tea looking at the small scrap of newspaper, its italic print so faint it was almost unreadable. My recharged phone lay on the table in front of me.

I picked up the phone and texted Val:

Don't worry about your dad. I will sort it.

I sipped the tea slowly, deliberately, until the cup was empty. Then I closed the texting screen, tapped in the number and waited for it to ring.