Remember Me [harry styles] ✓

5 - Teaspoons and tantrums

  "Oh, tell me something I don't already know."  

"Juniper." 

It's the third time Harry has said a variant of my name and yet I'm still stood staring at him from behind the counter. He's looking at me as if I've just disembarked an aircraft sent from some otherworldly planet and I want to scream that he's the one that's changed, not me, but the words stick to the roof of my mouth like a repugnant toffee and my jaw locks itself shut. He takes a step forward and my body acts before my brain can even process what it's planning.

My left hand plunges into the front pocket of my apron, curls around the now sticky tea spoon and launches it at Harry's head. Sport has never been my strong suit, but there's a split second where I think I can actually detect the fear in his eyes and then it bounces off the collar of his black jacket and tumbles down onto the linoleum flooring with an amplified clatter.

The stocky man over his right shoulder jerks forward but Harry raises a hand. It's a simple motion, one that could mean a variety of intentions, but in this instance, it appears to be enough to stop this guy from throwing Harry over his ridiculously broad shoulders and hauling him out of the store.

My hands, now trembling with what I imagine to be a concoction of adrenaline and rage, fly up in front of my face, attempting to mask my horror at what I've just done. I mean, I did just technically assault Harry Styles and I'm not an even remotely violent person. For starters I can't even bring myself to tear the heads off of the king prawns that my parents insist on having on Christmas Day, for fear that I'll become seafood's Undesirable Number One. I'm probably now going to lose my job and get a criminal record and still not get the answers that started all this mess in the first place. Harry's lips part and I brace myself for whatever it is he's going to say - no wonder I stopped speaking to you, you crazy psycho bitch? 

And then the door to the staff room swings open and bounces off the side of the fridge. And all I can think about, is not the fact that my seventeen year old colleague is about to lose her shit, but that I'm going to have to remind her for the umpteenth time to stop throwing the door open like that. 

"What did you drop? It sounded like something ser-" Penny pauses. I'm not even looking at her but I know for fact that she's clocked Harry and is already evolving into one of the many girls I was surrounded by last night. There's a sharp intake of breath from behind me, but rather than warn her not to completely humiliate herself, I remain frozen in place; hands still covering the majority of my face. 

Nobody says anything. Harry's eyes are bouncing between myself and my colleague and his nostrils are flaring so wide that I'm not sure how they haven't detached from his face. I'm completely aware that I'm massively wasting this opportunity. I should be peppering him with questions; interrogating him for the closure I'd supposedly set out to collect last night. But it's like I've developed stage fright and suddenly it seems that my well rehearsed conversation with Harry may actually be a hell of a lot easier to execute in my head.  

Finally, someone speaks. But it's not myself or Harry. It's not even Penny who now sounds as though she's borderline hyperventilating. It's the bearded man and as I get a proper look at his face, I realise he's the bassist from the band last night. 

"Harry?" He sounds about as confused as we all feel, but he's also trying not to laugh. "Are you getting ice-cream or are you just going to stand there all day holding up the queue?" 

Without removing his eyes from my face, Harry blushes and steps aside. "No, sorry. You go ahead." 

The bearded guy steps forward with the stocky one hot on his heels and the pair of them approach the glass counter displaying the gelato basins. They mumble to one another as they peruse the flavours and it's only when they look up, indicating they are ready to be served, that I realise this is when I'm supposed to be doing something.