Finer Things // h.s.

Epilogue 3

Tilly's POV: Twenty years later, aged 57.

I stare out onto the horizon of the backfields from the deck, leaning over the railing and inhaling the ironically sweet wildflowers that bloom soft petals of all colours that characterise themselves as beds for small bee's and butterflies to rest upon as they sleep during the warm spring night. The sky, scattered with deep pinks and lilac hues, clear of any and all clouds and things that whisper sadness. I entangle the necklace of pearls through my nimble fingers, nails painted pink and blue, gliding them across my skin and stopping on the odd pearl to examine it closely, but ultimately I keep my gaze fixated upon the sky so desperate for my attention. In one hand I guide the necklace and in the other I let myself feel the cold string gently caress my hands. I didn't want to see this day. I never wanted to say goodbye to my husband - to my best friend.

I've only ever known a world with Harry Styles in it, I'm not sure how I'll grow to understand a world without him beside me.

"What a fucking shitshow of a day, hey Tilly Girl?" I don't have to look beside me to acknowledge that the deeply Irish voice that came from the person beside me is Niall. In my peripheral vision, I see his hands leaning over the railing holding a silver flask, unscrewed at the top.

"Sure is." I say in agreeance and hold my hand out, asking for the flask. The cold metal meets my hand and I lift it to meet with my lips, the alcohol going down like water.

"Really? Vodka?" I turn my head to ask him and he shrugs his shoulders. Niall's brown hair has seemingly begun to go grey at the roots and to the sides and I admire the deep lines around his eyes usually crinkled when he smiles but today, I've seen one smile and it was the smile on the priests' face when he greeted us outside of the church prior to knowingly one of the hardest things I'll ever have to do. Smug bastard.

"What's wrong with that?" He asks, poking me in the ribs with his elbow and I smirk.

"We've got better stuff inside." I say, handing Niall back the flask and turning around, putting the pearls around my neck as I walk. I go through the backdoors and make my way past the living room where everyone is sat. Liam, Louis, Gemma, Mitch and Sarah all dressed in soft colours, mostly neutral whites and greys. I couldn't give Harry a funeral where we all rocked up looking like a witch coven, I needed it to feel less like death and more of a celebration for the life he lived. Silence washes over the room the moment I make my way past them and I instantly feel multiple sets of eyes burning back onto me. I open the cabinet above the dishwasher and rummage through bottles with an attempt to find the strongest drink I possibly can. I pull out a 2018 bottle of whisky and close the cabinet behind me as I make my way over to the kitchen bench. I take out a shot glass and place it down on the bench, not once looking up to see everyone, the pearls dangle slightly off my neck, hovering in the air when I pour the dark liquid into the clear glass. I toss the liquid back down my throat and pour another into the glass, downing that just as quick as the first. Pays to have been an actress for nearly forty years.

"So far I've taken a shot for myself and for Harry, which means I now have..." I begin to scan the room and point at each person as I count aloud.

"Six more to go," I mumble, pouring another shot. I raise the shot in the air and wave it around.

"Unless anyone else is interested?" I bring the shot glass to my lips looking at everyone who looks at me back.

"I will." Louis speaks up and makes his way to me and I place the shot glass down onto the bench, filled with dark liquor, and glide it across to him with my index finger. I watch as his worn, tattooed fingers lift the glass to the air and he makes hard eye contact with me as he does.