Finer Things // h.s.

Epilogue 2

Harry Styles

With my left hand, I throw odd pieces of dirty clothing that lay stranded around the living room floor into the wooden woven basket I hold attached to my hip with my right hand; the phone pressed tightly between my ear and my shoulder. My eleven-year-old Vinnie squeals with joy as he runs through the house covered in mud and other earthly products chasing our Labrador, Meatball, who barks in response to Vinnie's loud shouting. The music with a heavy guitar base blares from Lucy's bedroom upstairs, making the ceiling vibrate, and I feel a slight headache coming on.

"You're sure everything is okay, Harry?" Tilly asks me through the phone, her voice the angelic separation that keeps me sane throughout this entire mess. Although her voice is difficult to hear over the airport, I presume she's racing out of, hearing her voice brings me back to earth in the midst of this mess.

"Everything is perfect, just one second, Til..." I drop the laundry basket to the floorboards and pull the phone away from my ear and hold my hands over the speaker to prevent her from hearing me.

"Vinnie, either hop in the shower to wash off or take Meatball outside to play. You're running mud through the entire house!" I whisper shout at him, and he stands there with curls littered in dirt drooping down his dirty face.

"Sorry Dad." He says quickly before running off and I take a deep breath before pressing the phone back to my ear.

"Sorry, just erm, bad reception." I lie. I can't stress Tilly out; this movie is major for her and convincing her to go back to the US let alone getting her on the plane was hard enough. I just know if she discovers we've somehow managed to conjure hell on earth in our household, she'll be back home before I can say 'lights, camera, action'.

Being at home trying to write an album whilst she's filming a movie in America is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Especially when you've got a seventeen-year-old daughter who blares music from her room during all hours of the day and only ever comes out of her room for food, to criticize us about using the air-con because of global warming or to ask to borrow the car to attend a rally or to inform us of a party she's attending with Ollie, her best friend she met on her first day of kindergarten who has essentially become my third child. Oh, and an eleven-year-old son who prides himself on playing with the dog outside in the mud, then dragging it back through the house, eating everything in the pantry, running naked around the living room screaming lyrics to old One Direction songs or kicking a soccer ball through the living room windows and smashing them to pieces. He and Niall get along far too well.

"Okay well if you—" The sound of glass smashing stops her from talking and I very slowly turn around to see Vinnie with his arms above held up above his shoulders and Meatball standing in front of a smashed fruit bowl, apples and oranges rolling across the floor.

Oh, for fuck-

"Harry, what was that?" She asks, the anxiety in her voice sparks up and I stand looking at Vinnie, covered from head to toe in mud, with a shocked look on his face staring between the smashed fruit bowl and my eyes, Meatball sat patiently next to him wagging his tail.

"Oh nothing, just bumped into the dishwasher." I quickly mumble, instantly regretting my decision. I watch as Vinnie crouches down to pick up some of the glass. I make my way over to him and help scoop some of the glass up in my hands.

"The dishwasher... that's very much metal... under the benchtop?" She questions and I look up at Vinnie who presses his lips into a straight line and hurries to clean the glass.

"Ouch!" I look back to his hand and see he's cut open his palm by picking up the glass.

"Tilly, can I call you later?" I say as I pick Vinnie up in one arm and step over the glass, sitting him on the bench.