#American in line behind me at the sainsburys was like ‘first day huh’

[ephemeral-winter]

Two years ago today I landed in London and began the best year of my life entirely alone and this morning I cried during my flight to Boston because I didn’t want to leave my mommy truly life comes at you fast

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Chapter 9 - Come Sunday

Harry hadn’t told me much about the trip. In fact, pretty much every question I asked him about it was given a wave and ‘don’t worry about it.’ In a way that was nice--that I didn’t have to worry about things or stress about it, but it also left me with a feeling that I was inadvertently taking advantage of him.

Something about the fact that he never once asked me for any money, never let me know how much I should bring for food, activities, or whatever else he planned on doing during our time there, left me feeling rather helpless and just shitty.

I figured that on the plane there--when there were plenty of other people around--wouldn’t be a good time to bring it up. Harry’s manager, Jeff, and Ryan--who’d be our engineer--were the only two people I’d met somehow in passing before. Whether it was at the office or in the studio, I’d been introduced to them and even worked with Ryan once or twice.

But I didn’t know them well--and when the van pulled up to the marvelous and extraordinary white, mid-century modern house on a hill, I knew I’d be getting to know everyone a whole lot better over the next few weeks.  

The first thing I realized when we all showed up to the airport and climbed the stairs to the tiny plane was that I was the only woman. It’s not that I had expected there to be five or ten--I just didn’t expect to be the only one with a uterus. Lucky for me, I wasn’t the only one with hair past my shoulders--I had Harry to thank for that.

But here we were--the sun was shining and there were all sorts of exotic noises that I couldn’t quite place as we climbed out of the van and onto to the pavement of the driveway. Harry had shown me a few photos the night I was packing at my apartment--there were six bedrooms in this house, but he’d rented another down the hill to make sure we had enough room.

He hadn’t really explained much other than the fact that the studio we’d be recording in was down the road a ways towards the center of town. So, with my suitcase in the hands of the driver and my sunglasses back on my face to shield my eyes from the light, I stared up at the big house.

“Nice, huh?” He asked, his hands on his hips as the rest of the gang climbed out behind us.

“It’s beautiful,” I said--my eyes scanning over the balconies that seemed to protrude from the second floor bedrooms.

And that’s when my stomach sank. Where was I supposed to sleep? Sure--Harry and I had physically cemented whatever type of more than friends thing we had going on, but we certainly hadn’t had any sort of legitimate conversation about it. He hadn’t asked, I hadn’t told. I wondered if it would just go on like this for--for one reason or another--we stopped hanging out.

I followed behind Harry and Jeff as we made our way to the door--the big house blocked the view of the ocean, which had still been visible from the driveway.

“So Harry, me, other Jeff, Maggie, Alex, and Tyler are here,” Jeff said, looking down at his phone to confirm. Six people, six bedrooms. “Ryan and Teddy--you’re both down the hill at the other house with Matt when he gets in.”

Harry punched in a code to the keypad on the front door, opening the door to reveal a marble and wood foyer. I stared up at the high ceiling--magnificent and colorful art lined the walls. Harry, with classic Ray-Bans over his eyes and a Hawaiian shirt on, let out a low whistle as he took in the sight.

Something in my stomach knotted itself into a ball.

I felt--out of place. I felt nervous and unsure of my presence as he took a few steps further in, a smile on his face as he turned to look at the group. “I think it’ll do.”

**

My room was at the opposite end of the hallway as Harry’s. It boasted a king-sized bed and tall windows that looked over the backyard--a hint of the ocean was visible from the corner. It was big--big enough that I could have probably fit a home gym and a jacuzzi inside, but both of those things were located downstairs.

I had my own bathroom, which I was thankful for. The last thing I needed through all of this was dealing with the way men exist in bathrooms. They leave things out on the counter and don’t seem to understand where the soap actually goes. I would have rather showered outside than have dealt with that. (The outdoor shower was downstairs, too.)

We took the afternoon to get settled in--the upstairs was quiet as people unpacked, figured out how on earth to flush the ridiculously fancy toilets (which were even less American than the ones in London), and I finally found myself sat on the couch in the living room when Harry appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Y’okay?” He asked, his brow furrowed as he made his way over to join me. I clicked my phone shut--Alex sat on the couch opposite me, his feet up on the glass coffee table that hosted a book about sightseeing in Jamaica.

“Yeah, I’m great,” I nodded, offering a smile as he came to sit. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I mean, the truth was that I was fine. I was just overthinking and getting in my head and I suddenly felt like maybe I wasn’t even good enough to write on this album.

He narrowed his eyes at me, but I cut him off before he could challenge me. “I’m hungry--what’s the deal with food?”

The kitchen, as I’d discovered upon opening every single cabinet and drawer, was empty. Apparently food wasn’t included in what was sure to be the gigantic bill for this place.

“Oh right,” Harry said, plucking at his lower lip as his eyes scanned the kitchen. An empty fruit bowl stood on the counter--not even a banana was present. “Ferdinand said we’d have to get food.”

“Ferdinand?” Alex asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. He looked up from his phone and smiled.

Harry nodded, a smile crossing his face. “He’s the guy in charge of the rental thing,” he motioned around the room to try to explain. “He said there’s a grocery store a few miles down the road.”

Jeffrey appeared in the doorway, he came to sit beside Alex--putting his feet up on the coffee table as well. I guess when you paid as much money as Harry was paying, you could do things like that.

“Should we go?” I asked, looking between Harry and Jeff.

“No, we can have someone do that,” Harry said automatically, looking down at his cellphone in his hands.

“Harry,” I said, tucking my chin down in disappointment. “We can do our own grocery shopping. I can go--I don’t mind.”

“You don’t have to,” Jeffrey said, shaking his head without even looking up.

“I want to,” I said quickly. “I’ll go and get all of the basics. Enough stuff so we can at least have breakfast.”

“There’s a chef that’s through the hotel--he’ll come and prepare meals if we want him to.”

I let out a laugh and leaned my head back against the couch. “Okay--fine, but we can also make food, too.” Maybe that was the difference between me and Harry. Maybe he was used to having people cook his eggs and maybe I was used to scrambling them myself.

“I didn’t bring you here to be my chef,” Harry smirked, his voice low enough as if we were the only two in the room.

“I’m aware,” I nodded. “But I think we should go to the grocery store and see the town.”

Harry seemed to think on this for a second--he rubbed at his eyes and then clapped his hands together. “Alright--let’s go, then.”

**

“Why d’we need that many?” He asked, his hands on the cart that he pushed in front of him. He watched as I set the three cartons of eggs inside, when I stood up, he was staring right at me.

While the others decided they’d rather take a nap or test out the pool, Harry seemed to begrudgingly stand with his hands on the cart.

“If we each eat two eggs that’s a dozen right there,” I shrugged. “At least. So this will last three days if we have eggs for breakfast every day.”

He didn’t respond--he pushed the cart forward and looked down at the list I’d scrawled down quickly before we left. We’d taken the car that apparently came with the house--Harry insisted on driving and we kept the windows down the whole way.

“What about these? Should we get some of these?”

“Mangoes?” I laughed, picking one up to examine it. “Do you like mangoes?”

“I think so,” he nodded, tossing the two he held into the cart.

“Okay--let’s try to stick to the list,” I prompted, walking a few steps forward to the bananas.

The store was small--it was probably half the size of the tiny grocer down the street from my flat, but it seemed to have a good enough variety. The chef, Harry said, would bring food as well. An island-sounding song played over the speakers, only two checkout lanes, one man behind the deli counter.

Harry, as we walked in, had shared that this was his first time grocery shopping for himself in about three years. I found that completely ridiculous, but he’d insisted that he’d tried once or twice in 2013 and he just couldn’t keep a low enough profile. I told him it was probably the hair and the sunglasses and beanie on his head in the middle of the day in a Sainsbury’s downtown.

“Let’s watch a movie tonight,” he said suddenly, examining a bunch of bananas as I headed for a loaf of bread. The store was decent, but the organization seemed all out of sorts.

“Let’s finish this first,” I laughed, scanning the shelves for a plain loaf of white or wheat.

“I mean it,” he said, coming over with the cart, bananas in tow. “We can find something on netflix. Just you and me though, I’m tired.”

I bit my tongue slightly, feeling the urge to address the fact that us doing anything probably wasn’t a good idea with four other people sleeping nearby and at least four or five others constantly coming in and out of the house.

He wasn’t even looking at me, though. He, too, was scanning for the right loaf of bread. His eyebrows flew up when he found it, he grabbed it and offered me a toothy smile before placing it in the trolley.

“About that, by the way,” I said to his back--he was heading for the dairy section--which, for whatever reason, wasn’t anywhere near the eggs. “I feel like we shouldn’t tell anyone about what happened the other night.”

“You mean the sex?” He said the words loud enough that my eyes went wide. He’d been all excited about the fact that he was able to grocery shop like a ‘normal person,’ but apparently he’d lost all of his ‘normal person’ etiquette.

“Yes, that,” I rolled my eyes, causing him to let out a laugh. He slowed down, letting me catch up so we were side by side. He slung an arm around my shoulders.

“If I recall correctly, you were pretty excited the other night about it.”

“I’m not saying I wasn’t,” I reasoned, “just saying that I don’t think Jeffrey and all of your friends need to know.”

He was quiet, almost as if his mind was somewhere else. He looked around the store, trying to locate something.

“I’m serious!” I said, whacking him in the stomach. He pulled his arm from my shoulders and rubbed at the spot where I’d made contact. “They’re my co-workers and you’re like--my boss--the last thing they need to know is that I’ve slept with the boss.”

A smirk appeared on his face, his eyebrows raised as I stopped walking. “That’s pretty hot,” he said, his voice quieter than it had been.

While I couldn’t necessarily disagree, now was not the time nor the place for Harry to be saying things that made me want to relive the other night on repeat as if I were Bill Murray living a Groundhog Day scenario.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you haven’t gotten laid in years,” I rolled my eyes, walking away from him to head for the cereal section.

“Four nights ago, actually,” he corrected me, his voice louder so I could still hear him.

I turned around, a box of cheerios in my hands, and shot him a dirty look.

**

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that our first night in Jamaica was filled with alcohol. I don’t know where it all came from or how it got here, but when Harry and I returned from the grocery store, Matt had arrived, Ryan and Teddy were in the living room, and there were about 14 bottles of Jamaican Rum on the kitchen counter.

Harry’s eyes lit up, a smile crossing his face as he carried two bags in from the car. “How did we get all of this?”

“Your friend Ferdinand stopped by,” Jeffrey informed, he stood near the dining table, clad in only a bathing suit and a t-shirt. “Said it came with the rental package.”

I was still a few steps behind Harry, the third bag and the car keys in my hand. Despite hearing the conversation, I didn’t actually see what they were talking about until I looked up.

“Holy shit,” I said, placing the receipt on the counter. I didn’t know if Harry wanted it or not--I tried to force my credit card past him and to the cashier when we checked out, but he shot me a look that seemed intimidating as all hell. I figured I could maybe buy dinner if we went out one night or furnish a night of drinking.

Apparently, that wouldn’t be necessary.

And it wasn’t--after the chef, who’s name was Victor, came and made us a steak dinner, bottles were opened, people were in and out of the pool, and Harry was about three drinks deep in the first hour.

I hadn’t really seen him drunk before. He’d seen me shitfaced and puking at Chelsea’s--which was embarrassing enough for me to never want to drink too much in front of him again. Harry, however, had a different idea for the night.

With his third drink in hand, he was sat in front of the fire pit--Jeffrey to his right and Tyler to his left. I edged my way by him, heading for the bathroom inside, when his hand grabbed at my waist.

“Maggie, come sit,” he tried to pull me into him, his hands on the bare skin beneath my shirt as I wiggled away from him. I shot him a look, one that he met with sad eyes, but a smirk on his lips.

“I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back,” I promised, quickly putting distance between us. The help of three cocktails apparently made him forget my entire point of our grocery store conversation: sex and work don’t mix.

I made my escape, into the living room and around the corner from the open sliding doors to find the solace of the bathroom. Harry’s producer, who Jeffrey had dubbed as Other Jeff, had arrived before dinner and that left three people that we were still waiting on.

Ryan had hooked his iPhone up to the speakers in the backyard--which held a gorgeous swimming pool that met the edge of the yard before spilling over onto a rocky decline towards the jungle. I spotted three bottles of rum open outside as I made my way in, and I realized that I was definitely the most sober out of everyone.

We weren’t set to head to the studio until tomorrow afternoon, really just to see the space and get acclimated. Then, apparently, on Thursday, things would really get underway and we’d hit the ground running.

I had no idea what Jeffrey meant when he said that.

I walked back outside to the noise--the heat from the setting sun still on the pavement. I made my way back over to the fire pit, where my seat was still empty. When I sat back down, Tyler leaned over and smiled at me.

“Nice to finally get to spend some time with you--I know we met back in 2014,” he raised his glass as if to cheers in my honor. I reached for my glass, which I’d set on a side table next to my chair and brought it to clink against his. I didn’t remember meeting him, but with my foggy memory and his assured tone, I took his word for it. “Glad we’ve got some feminine influence in the house.”

I let out a short laugh. “In all honesty I was kind of freaked out to be the only girl here,” I admitted, taking a sip from my drink as Jeff Bhasker, formerly Other Jeff, let out a hardy laugh at something Alex said to him and Harry.

He waved me off as if to dismiss my worry. “I was freaked out about the fact that I don’t know any of them. I’d only met Jeff and Alex through FaceTime before today.”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “I thought everyone knew each other except for me,” I told him.

He let out a laugh and shook his head. “I also thought I was going to be the only person who didn’t know everyone, so it’s nice to know you’re in the same boat.”

I brought my glass to my mouth again and swallowed. The drink was fruity, some sort of juice and rum mix that Harry had promised I’d like. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t the best thing I’d ever had, either. I knew he seemed over confident when he dumped in another whole shot of rum as I watched on in horror.

“So how long have you known Harry?” He asked, leaning back in his cushioned patio chair as the song over the speakers changed to a slower tempo.

“For a while, really,” I said, thinking back to the day I met him in 2010. He was tall and lanky and awkward--I was much more interested in Liam back then when I started working with them. Soon enough though my logic kicked in and I realized that there was no way one of them would ever be interested in me when they had half of the world clawing just to get near them. “I started writing for the label right before they were signed, then I just kind of got stuck with them, sort of.”

Tyler laughed, seeing the smile on my face. “Not a bad band to get ‘stuck’ with.”

**

Our tour of the studio the next morning was quick--we stopped for lunch at a small bar in town and a few people were headed to the beach after we finished. Harry, however, wanted to head back to the house and start some writing.

“If you’re not here as a writer, do what you want,” he laughed, waving a hand at Ryan. We were stood in the parking lot, hovering between the three cars we’d taken as everyone decided on their next move.

Harry had given a whole speech at lunch about how he wanted everyone to have fun. We were here to work, first and foremost, but he wanted us all to take the time we needed to enjoy our secluded stint on the island.

“You don’t mind if we go to the beach?” Ryan asked, his hand above his eyes to block the sun.

Harry chewed on a piece of gum and rubbed a hand at his jawline. “No--just don’t die of sun poisoning,” he laughed. “That would really fuck up trying to make an album.”

“We’ll see you at dinner, then,” Jeffrey said, giving Ryan and Matt a two finger salute as they moved towards their separate car.

I climbed into the backseat of the Range Rover we’d been using--Harry seemed keen to drive and Jeffrey seemed to automatically get the front seat. I climbed into the back with Alex and Tyler, sandwiched between them in the hot car.

I did that thing I do where I kept my mouth shut the whole car ride home. I listened to Harry talk with Alex about a lyric idea he got the other night, and I listened to Tyler put Harry in his place when he suggested a god-awful title for some concept he already had. He was getting ahead of himself. Luckily, Jeffrey said it so I didn’t have to.

When we got back to the house, Harry made his way for the couch to pick up a guitar that he’d had shipped in from home. Seven of them showed up in big, road cases, and he’d even offered to get mine shipped alongside his own.

“I was hearing it like this,” he said, humming along some nonsense words over three chords as he waited for Alex to take a seat. I dropped my purse on the counter, thankful for the air conditioning in the house.

“You could do it with a C instead of an e-minor there,” Tyler said, watching as Harry’s fingers moved along the frets.

He shook his head. “I don’t like it like that,” he laughed.

“Oh god,” Alex rolled his eyes, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Is this going to be one of those albums? One where we can’t actually tell you what we think?”

I came to join them, slipping my feet out of my sandals before crossing my legs on the couch. “I’ll tell him what I think,” I nodded, letting my eyes move from Alex’s to Harry’s. “And if anyone else doesn’t feel comfortable doing so, they can tell me and I’ll still him.”

This gained a laugh from each of them, Harry rolled his eyes and finally took a seat, his head leaning against the back of the couch. “It’s still my album, y’know.”

“No one said it isn’t,” I laughed.

He shot me a smirk, one that was probably too friendly for working together, but I tried to ignore it as Alex reached for the guitar. “I do like the hook though,” he nodded, humming the melody again over the same three chords. “It’s nice.”

“Anyone got any words?” I asked, looking around at the three of them. Jeffrey--who’d immediately pulled out his laptop upon arrival back to the house--was seated at the counter, aptly minding his own business and steering clear of what he called ‘creative flow.’

Harry, who seemed somewhat surprised when we all waited for him to say something, blew a breath of air out between his lips. “I just know I want it to be about a city.”

“Pick one,” I said, keeping my eyes on him as he thought on it again. Alex had written with Harry plenty in the past--he’d never really worked with me, but I knew they were likely quite comfortable writing together. Tyler, as I’d learned the other night, really only knew Jeff and Ryan. I took the current group dynamic as my license to push Harry in a way that he might not be used to.

I mean, when I thought about it, writing songs with Harry was suddenly weird and new and some sort of uncharted Island territory. We were no longer just two people who occasionally spent four hours locked in a tiny room in downtown London, now we were people who were Sleeping Together and we were actually Friends and we were Hanging Out.

Maybe the license I suddenly felt I held wasn’t exactly real, but I figured I’d push the boundary anyway.

“Don’t pick L.A.” I told him, shaking my head as he looked up to meet me with an amused expression.

“What if I want to pick L.A.?”

“Everyone writes about L.A.” I waved him off.

He laughed a little, looked back down at the guitar, and played the same d-chord he’d started with. He sang, only a few words, but I liked them.

“Tell me something, tell me anything,” his voice was quiet and I wasn’t quite sure if they were actually words he wanted us to hear. That's the thing about writing. For every twelve good songs you put on an album, you write about 20 terrible ones first.

“Something something, I can’t even sing,” he laughed, the words still dancing along with the melody that he’d hummed in the car.

“Words could use a little TLC, but the sound is there,” Alex joked, pulling out his phone to type in the words Harry had sung. “What are you trying to say?”

Harry sat on that one for a second. He plucked at his lower lip and stared at the red piece of artwork that hung about the electric fireplace. “Confusion. That’s the overall energy, I think.”

He played the chord again, letting it ring through the room this time. “Tell me something, tell me something, you don’t know nothing,” he hummed again through the end of a line, letting the noise fade from his mouth as he looked up to me.

“Words,” he said simply. “Got any?”

I pulled my eyes away from him, unsure if I could really come up with something with his gaze so set on me. “Do you want it to rhyme right there?”

He shrugged his shoulders, still strumming through the progression with his thumb. “Doesn’t have to.”

“Sing it again,” I nodded, waiting for his voice to murmur out the words he’d offered already.

“Tell me something, tell me something, you don’t know nothing,” he sang.

“Just pretend you do,” I said, his eyes still waiting for my contribution. Alex was staring at the floor, tapping his foot to the beat at which Harry played.

“Hm,” Harry smirked, again, the look on his face didn’t feel too appropriate for work. “Not bad.” He took a beat, strummed again, and picked it up. “Just pretend you do, tell me something, tell me something new.”

“Sounds like a verse,” Tyler smiled, a pleased look on his face as Harry stood from the couch and shoved the guitar to Alex.

“We have a verse!” he shouted, his voice filling the room and bouncing off of the walls. “Did you write it down?” He looked to Alex, who still held his phone in his hand.

**

After two hours of a similar nature, Jeff headed down to the other house to greet Andy and Mitch, the two other people who’d be joining us on this wild, completely unorganized adventure. Alex and Tyler decided to meet up with the others at a restaurant downtown for a beer, leaving me to sit awkwardly on the couch while Harry declined the invitation.

They’d asked me to tag along too--and I considered at first, especially when someone mentioned something about ordering fries. Instead, though, I figured it would do me well to take a shower, call my mom, and maybe even nap. Every second since we’d arrived had been busy--even if that was just because there were at least six other people constantly in the room with me.

The door shut behind them, Harry turned to face me, and I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

He raised his eyebrows in return, the dimple on his left cheek coming into view. “Is that an invitation?”

I stood from the couch and let out a dismissive laugh. “It certainly was not.”

He pouted for a second, following behind me as I started to climb the stairs. “I’m glad you’re here, even if you’re not going to save water.”

I rolled my eyes despite the fact that my back was to him. “I think you’ll live.”

“I will.” He said confidently. “I’ve made it six days, after all.”

While I appreciated his sense of humor and the way he so easily spoke about the one time we had sex, I turned to face him at the top of the stairs. I could see a car pass by on the secluded road in front of the house--I wondered if anyone on the planet knew where he was.

“Listen,” I said, hanging my head as he stood two steps beneath me. This brought us to eye-level, though he still had a slight advantage over me. “I don’t want this to be weird, now that that happened. I don’t want that to affect the writing.”

He smiled, a crooked one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maggie, can you just--relax for a second about it?”

“I am relaxed,” I defended, crossing my arms. “I drank rum and I’m on island time and all that.”

He quirked an eyebrow at this, clearly not convinced. “I just don’t want you to freak out about it. I like you. We had sex. You’re writing on my album. It’s not as weird as you think it is.”

“Well it sounds very weird when you say it all together like that,” I informed, stepping back to head down the hall. He followed behind, leaning against the doorframe once I got near my bed.

“When I say it like what?”

“We had sex you’re writing on my album.” I mimicked his accent and his tone and sat on the oversized bed. He let out a sigh, walked a few steps closer to me, and then stopped. “Don’t sigh at me,” I told him.

“I’m sighing about you, I’m not sighing at you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re,” he cut himself off and looked all around the room, anywhere but at me. “Because you’re my best friend but I also want to rip your clothes off half the time.”

You’d think I’d find something about that offensive. Or you’d think I’d tell him we couldn’t have sex again and that we couldn’t be best friends and that none of this should be happening.

Instead, I let him rip my clothes off.