Finer Things // h.s.

Corden

A/N: 4.3k in a month, woah!! Thank you! 

April 19th, 2018

I've been home for just over a month and things have been slightly better. I've moved all my fittings to European designers such as Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Gucci and Burberry. Dad's been sick lately with a fever on and off, but the doctor didn't catch anything, so we put it down to his allergies when seasons change, but it doesn't mean I'm any less worried. Harry called me last night and told me he'd try to come home for Christmas this year, but I told him with the tour, not to worry too much about making it home. I haven't been in touch with Melody, James or particularly anyone from L.A. I made lots of friends over there but with work it's always hard to make a genuine connection with anyone so when I left L.A. – I made sure that L.A. left me.

Dad and I have spent lots of time together recently and it's become one of our favourite pastimes to sit outside on the back porch and look out over the garden reading our books sipping on iced tea while the flowers bloom and a gentle spring breeze dances with the green leaves of the oak trees. At first, Dad was worried about me, but I'm not ready to tell him about the contract just yet so I told him I was 'overwhelmed' with work and needed to take a break and go home for a little while, but I'm positive his suspicion is growing every day.

"Tilly, is everything alright?" Dad asks me, putting his bookmark in and setting it down beside him on his lounge chair as I swing on the porch swing gently.

"Yeah of course, I told you, just stressed." I say back.

"I wasn't going to say anything but I think I need to talk to you about what's going on, otherwise I might-" He begins coughing and places a fist to his mouth to cover his splatters and I rush over to him, kneeling beside him and I place my hand on his back, gently rubbing circles.

"Do you need water, what's wrong?" I ask him, feeling anxiety rise within me. This happens at least three times a day...

"N-no... I'm f-fine, Tilly girl..." He says through coughs and I watch as he sits back in his chair letting out a deep breath.

"Dad this is getting out of hand, let me take you to the doctors." I say and he shakes his head and dismisses me with his hand.

"I'm fine, Matilda, really." He says with a smile and I sit back on my swing, I know he's lying but the more I force him to visit the doctors, the more he grows frustrated and if there is any serious medical conditions, making his blood pressure rise isn't a good idea.

"Let's go for a walk, how about it?" He says as he stands up, stretching his arms out in front of him and I watch as he jogs down the staircase of the porch and onto the grass, keeping a steady pace.

*Play song now: I Like Me Better - Cover by Ysabelle Cuevas*

"Dad!" I call out after him, running to him to keep up with him.

"Where are we going?" I ask him, kicking at a stone as I place my hands in the pockets of my denim overalls.

"None ya." He says with a smirk and I give him a puzzled look.

"What?"

"None ya business." He says, nudging his body into my shoulder gently and I laugh, returning the nudge as we walk through the blooming garden, Mum would be so proud of how far Dad's come with the garden.

The intoxicating smell of the flowers make me feel calm, the gentle spring breeze flowing through the garden as honeybees buzz, collecting pollen. I look up as we walk through the trees, the blue-sky inking through the leaves above our heads, sunlight pouring through each break in the tree branches and I inhale deeply. I skip ahead of Dad, collecting small wildflowers of every colour in my hands and putting them in the chest pocket of my overalls. Dad picks a small daisy from the grass below our bare feet and places it behind my ear as we walk through the trail and out past the fields where cows sit, grazing in the sun. I look around as we walk together playing eye-spy and making jokes. We walk together, the sun browning our skin and I toss my hair over my shoulder, almost forgetting it's blonde. We walk down a trail that leads us to a pond we used to come down to for a picnic every Sunday when Mum was alive, we'd eat cold pancakes with syrup and dip strawberries in whipped cream, drinking Dad's freshly squeezed orange juice. The three of us would read our favourite books out loud to one another and play card games. I follow behind Dad, feeling like a little kid again, and he sits down by the pond on the grass and lays back, resting his hands behind his head. I take a seat on the ground next to him and lay back, looking out over the fluffy white clouds above us.