No Matter What // Harry Styles AU -- Dunkirk inspired

Chapter Fourteen

Confused and frustrated, I huff my way around the kitchen, carelessly banging various pots and pans. 

"You alright there," Margaret asks cautiously.

"Yes," I lie, dropping a large roasting pan. "Okay, maybe not."

"Would you care to talk about it?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Margaret has been nothing but lovely, but I'm not sure I can trust her with a complaint against Gran. It's time like this that I miss having siblings to vent to.

"I'll be alright, just a bit frustrated with myself. I'll be fine," I tell her. I realize that Grandfather can probably hear the cacophony of dishes clashing, and I decide to try and calm down. I'm not in the mood for any confrontation, and it certainly wouldn't end well since I'm feeling a bit pluckier than usual. With a deep breath, I pick up the pan and bring it over to the sink to wash. As the cool water runs over my thin hands, I try to quell the sea of irrational anger that's taken over me.

Perhaps I've jumped the gun and assumed Gran meant something she didn't. Maybe she just meant that Harry was a familiar friend, more than just a distant guest. After all, the first time I met him he was visiting the house.

But, what if it really was something else? Gran's words echo in my mind, as I set the pan down and begin working on the potatoes. "It's just Ben's assistant." 

Maybe Harry was right when he alluded to the class structure here. I can't understand it, though. Back home, mother and father used to host weekly dinners with the extra food left over in the store. It used to be my favorite night of the week- there'd be dancing, and singing, laughing and joking, all sorts of merriment. Even when the depression hit, they used to do it as often as they could, making sure to be as polite, kind, and generous as they could to anyone and everyone. Perhaps I'm being silly and overthinking things, but my parents, and I included, would never say that someone is deserving of something special and another not. Before I know it, my annoyance is back and I'm viciously taking my frustrations out on a potato with a peeler like a mad woman.

A little knock raps on the kitchen doorframe, interrupting my stormy thoughts. 

"Excuse me, Miss," I turn around to see Harry leaning against the doorframe with a cheeky grin, "but, I was wondering what that potato has done to offend you?"

The anger I had felt just moments ago dissipates. 

"He was a cheeky little spud. Wouldn't stop chatting up the carrots." I flash Harry a little smile while I place the last potato in the roasting pan and tuck the tray into the warm oven.

"Noted," Harry laughs with a little nod, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. That must be a habit of his.

I wipe my hands on my apron and tuck my hair behind my ears after catching a distorted glimpse of myself in the toaster reflection. 

"Can I help you with something?" I offer, knowing that Gran would not be keen on a guest seeing a messy kitchen. Margaret keeps busy, but eyes us carefully.

"I was just looking for a place to wash up before dinner," Harry explains as he slowly walks towards me.

"Ah, well, that would be in the front of the house," I point through kitchen door down the main hall. I raise my chin a little to meet his confident stare, and add "Although, I would imagine Gran would have told you that already."

"I guess I must have gotten a little turned around then," he replies, his voice deep and rough in the warmest of ways. My heart races as his forest green eyes assess mine.