(No Control | Holding Me Ransom - 35 - Down By The River)

I'm awake at nine the following morning, and distract myself for an hour by catching up on social media, reading mentions and comments. I risk a look at the pictures of Jess in my car from yesterday - there are only two, and they are poor quality. A few people have worked out it is her, but most are still wondering who I'm with, and why. It's tempting to reply None of your fucking business, but I resist.

I'm getting restless by ten o'clock, and call Jess at five past. I've no idea how she will react to me this morning. She was drunk and emotional yesterday. I'm fully prepared for her wrath again now she's slept on it.

"Hello?" she answers. She sounds like death.

"Hi. It's me."

"Hi," she replies, somewhat unenthusiastically. My heart sinks.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Dead."

I can't help chuckling.

"Oh dear."

 "What time is it?" she croaks.

"Just after ten," I reply, looking at the clock even though I know the time. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah."

Oh, fuck. Why am I always doing everything wrong?

"Sorry," I apologise. 

"No it's fine - I shouldn't sleep in too late or I won't be able to get to sleep tonight."

Should I ask if she wants to meet up?

"You said you weren't in work today...?" I begin.

"No, I'd booked the day off."

"Well that's a relief for you." I force a laugh. Why am I being so awkward? I'm embarrassed for myself.

"Yeah, I couldn't work in this state," she moans, and I force another laugh. Does this mean she won't want to see me?

"Have you been up long?" she asks.

"I'm still in bed, but I've been awake about an hour," I reply.

Small talk.

But then, small talk is better than no talk. And she's not screaming at me, which is a bonus. Although that's probably due to her intense hangover. I'd be willing to bet her head is pretty sore. I grin to myself.

"What are you going to do today then?" I ask, eager to keep the conversation going.

"Probably stay in bed and nurse my hangover. What about you?"

"I'll head back to London, then home to my mum's for the week."

Damn, we already covered this yesterday.

My mind races, scrambling for subjects to talk about, so she won't hang up. Of course, it's completely blank.

Think of something to say. Anything!

Silence stretches between us, getting louder with every second that passes.

THINK!

"I thought maybe I might go for a walk along the river before I leave," I blurt. 

Seriously, where the fuck did that come from? I've been thinking no such thing.

"I wondered if you wanted to come with me?" I babble, unable to comprehend what is coming out of my mouth. "It's a beautiful day. And the fresh air might do you good?"

This is met by further silence. I want to facepalm.

"Umm..." she says, uncertainly.

"It's fine if you don't want to," I say quickly. "Don't worry about it."

Why am I such an idiot?!

"No, I do," she replies, and my heart lurches. "But - how would that work? You said yourself the paps might be on the lookout."

She wants to? She's agreeing to this?

"They're more likely to be hanging around the hotels," I reason, keen to entice her since she's showing interest. "But I get it if you don't want to take the risk. I know you don't want the attention."

"Neither do you," she points out.

"No, but... I'd really like to see you," I admit. "I'm past caring what the media says about me. I just don't want them to upset you."

She pauses for a moment and I wait, my heart in my mouth. I can't believe she's even considering this.

"OK," she agrees, finally. "I'll come for a walk with you. But let's make it after lunch. I've got some stuff to sort out first."

"OK," I nod vehemently. "Whatever suits you is fine with me."

We agree a time and a place, and when we ring off I literally leap out of bed. I need to buy a change of clothes from somewhere. I can't turn up to meet her in yesterday's outfit.

I throw on my jeans and shirt, pull my hair back into a knot at the back of my head, brush my teeth and slip a pair of sunglasses on. I haven't a clue where I'm going to find something to wear. I'm just going to have to wing it. As I'm on my way down in the lift I remember passing a Morrisons on my way into Cardiff, and this immediately seems like the safest option. I scurry out to my car, keeping my head down, and make the short journey towards the outskirts of the city. I manage to find a Starbucks literally up the road too, and once I have purchased a plain white tee, a packet of socks, some new boxers and a Lynx deodorant from Morrisons I saunter back to my car, humming Hey There Delilah, and make a quick detour through the drive thru to purchase a mocha latte and a breakfast muffin. I eat these in the car park and then hurry back to the hotel to dive in the shower and attempt to make myself look slightly human before I meet Jess.

Once I'm clean and shaved (the hotel has a pack of disposable razors, not that there is much regrowth if I'm honest) I blast my hair with the hair dryer, scrunching it to make it curl like Lou does. I text Grimmy for something to do, and he wishes me luck. I sit watching the clock until it is time to leave, pop a piece of chewing gum into my mouth, and head down to the lobby to check out. 

It's another warm day, but I keep the car windows up and the air conditioning on. I don't want to risk the paparazzi catching sight of me. Not that I really care what they print about me any more, but because I don't want them hanging around while I'm trying to sort things out with Jess. It would undoubtedly scare her off. I need the world on my side today. I hum the melody to Walking In The Wind as I make my way along the busy dual carriageway, still stuck for inspiration for the bridge, but unlikely to find it in this busy city.

I pull into a small car park five minutes early and check my reflection in the mirror. At least the spot on my face has reduced somewhat, and looks less noticeable this morning. In the rearview mirror I see a familiar car turning into the entrance. My stomach somersaults sharply, and on a whim I grab a black hair elastic and hastily bunch my hair in a knot at the back. I'm pulling out all the stops. It's my last resort - the special powers of the mun, or whatever she calls it.

I take a deep breath and step out of the car, shutting the door behind me and locking it with the remote as I see Jess's head appear as she emerges from her car. My stomach flips over for the second time, and I walk over to her, my heart pounding in my chest and my palms slick with sweat.

She looks me up and down as I approach, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Instantly I'm worried. Is the label still attached to my tshirt or something? I'm sure I pulled it off.

"What are you smirking at?" I ask, feeling my own mouth beginning to smile at the sight of her.

"I guessed what you would be wearing," she replies. "Down to the boots and the hairstyle."

Well that's a relief, I suppose.

"Am I that predictable?" I grin.

"Looks like it," she teases, tucking her car keys into her back pocket and brushing her hair back over her shoulder.

"You look lovely," I tell her, unable to help myself.

"Thanks," she says, but her face drops slightly and she looks away, and instantly I regret pushing her before we've even properly said hi.

"Sorry," I apologise hastily, as she locks her fingers together and begins twisting them nervously. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's OK, you didn't," she says quickly.

"Fibber," I fire back. "You're twisting your fingers together."

I know her mannerisms, her expressions, her body rhythms. She can't fool me.

She pulls her fingers apart and tucks them into the back pockets of her jeans as we begin to walk across the grass in the direction of the water.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, referring to last night's alcohol and this morning's hangover. Neutral ground - safe conversation.

"Better after a full English," she admits. "I won't be drinking cocktails again in a hurry."

I smirk to myself at this admission that she over-did it last night. She never could hold her drink. She catches me grinning so I change the subject before she can question me.

"Thanks for coming to meet me," I begin.

"It's OK," she shrugs. "It's not like I had anything better to do."

Oh. Well. I guess we're not mincing our words today then. Not the best start.

"Sorry," she says sincerely when I am momentarily stumped. "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to be a bitch."

I consider this for a moment.

"You're still angry, I get it," I try to reassure her.

"Of course I'm still angry," she says, looking at me as though this should be obvious. "I've got months of hurt and confusion to process and evaluate. But I wasn't trying to score points just then. I just meant it isn't a big deal, me coming for a walk with you."

"Isn't it?" I meet her gaze and hold it. "I'd say it's a massive deal. Considering yesterday you told me you didn't want me to contact you again. And considering everything that has happened over the past couple of months between us."

She looks away and sighs. "I don't know, Harry. I haven't had time to process any of this."

I wait while she bites her lip, carefully formulating her response. "Twenty-four hours ago I believed you didn't love me, you'd been unfaithful to me because you'd found someone better, and I would probably never see you again. Twenty-four hours ago I had a boyfriend and a fucking path in front of me that didn't involve you."

Had a boyfriend. HAD. Did she dump him?

My heart begins thumping painfully.

"And now?" I ask, surprised at how calm I sound.

"Now... everything's changed." 

My heart beats even harder. "How so?"

"Well - everything you told me yesterday is different to what I believed," she says.

"And how has that changed everything?" I ask gingerly, and she pulls a face of barely disguised disbelief, like I'm playing games with her or something. "I just want to know what's going on in your head," I add quickly, and her face relaxes again.

"I don't know," she admits, looking away from my face to watch a couple of dogs chasing each other along the path. "I haven't had time to think about any of it. I don't hate you anymore; but then I stopped hating you a while ago."

The idea of her hating me even for a second causes a stab of pain in my chest. I look away from her, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed.

"I'm glad you've told me the truth," she continues. "It's changed everything, but at the same time it's changed nothing. I can finally stop blaming myself for not being enough for you, but it doesn't change the fact that you slept with someone else. I know there were extreme circumstances, but you were still unfaithful. And I've always had a firm stance on that. Cheating is a deal-breaker for me."

There is a undertone of finality in her voice that is giving me a nervous tremor in the pit of my stomach. It sounds like she has already made up her mind about us. 

"Do you believe that I would never have gone near anyone else if I hadn't taken that drug?" I ask, my voice shaking. 

I need her to believe that I would never have done that in my right mind. I'm not trying to make excuses, but it is the truth.

"Yeah," she said, resignedly. "But you did take it. So what's to stop you doing that again the next time the urge takes you?"

"I'm never touching anything like that ever again," I state, flatly.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she mutters, looking out across the water.

"I'm not."

I don't mean to snap, but I need this to be clear. She stops in surprise at the bluntness in my tone and looks into my eyes. My stomach flips again.

"One bad experience is enough to put me off for life," I explain. "It wasn't something I did regularly anyway. It's not like I have to make a conscious effort to give it up. I don't want to do it again, so I won't. That goes for any type of recreational drug. It holds no appeal for me."

She nods thoughtfully but says nothing, and we begin to walk slowly again, side by side, in silence.

"Have you missed me?" I ask after a minute.

"Missed you?" she repeats. She's staring at me like I've grown another head. Or like she wants to punch me. I shouldn't have asked that.

"It's OK, I understand you've moved on, you have someone else now." I'm trying to be gracious. I want her to be happy. I don't want her to be miserable because of me, even though I am miserable without her.

"No, I..." She trails off, helplessly. "You don't understand at all."

"Tell me, then," I say earnestly, reaching out and cupping her elbow with my hand. I want her to open up to me. I need to know what's going on inside her head.

"I don't know how," she says, desperately. "I don't know how to put this into words. I've never felt like this before. You weren't just my boyfriend, Harry. You were my best friend. But you didn't trust me enough to confide your fears in me."

I hang my head as her words ring true. 

"You were worried I might take Louis' side over yours, and you went to meet your ex-girlfriend behind my back," she says. "Then you slept with someone else. Since the second I found out about you and the fucking Shetland pony I've missed you, because that was the moment I found out I'd lost you from my life. But what hurt the most is that you'd already been lying to me for weeks before that. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal, and on its own I could have got over it, but the combination of everything is what broke us." 

Hearing her explain it like this really hits home. I should have had more faith in her. I should have let her in and shared my fears instead of bottling them up, all because of my stupid, immature insecurities over Louis.

"And in answer to your question," she continues, "I missed you every single day. I missed your voice, your laugh, your smile, your wink, your mun... I missed your stupid knock-knock jokes, I missed the way you constantly took the piss out of Gemma, I missed the way you pretended to hate it when I called you Squidge."

She pushes her hair out of her eyes as it blows delicately across her face, and I feel a pang of nostalgia at the nickname that I pretended to hate, but secretly love.

"I miss the way you lick your lips and press them together when you're listening to someone talking, I miss the way you ruffle your hair forwards and then flip it back to give it volume, I miss the way you screw your eyes up when you laugh properly." 

Miss. Not missed; miss. She misses me. And she knows my expressions and habits just like I know hers. Oh God, if there is a possibility we can work through this, I will do anything.

"I miss every little thing about you, and I miss the way we used to be, because although we've only actually known each other a few months, I have never felt this way about anyone," she says, with a hint of sadness in her voice. "And that's why this hurts so much. The more you love someone, the more it hurts when they break your heart. I can't risk going through all this again. I've been a mess because of what happened. I've finally realised I need to learn to be happy without you, before I can even consider letting you back in my life again."

There is a bench up ahead, and I steer her towards it, my hand still holding her arm. I'm trying to process everything she is saying, to take in her words, to understand how she is feeling. We sit down next to each other and I ask my next question without looking at her.

"Is that something you are considering?" 

"What, letting you back in my life?" she asks, turning her head to look at me, and I nod, desperate to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear as it blows in the wind again. "I don't know," she confesses, pushing it out of her eyes impatiently. "I don't trust you, and I don't know if I want to try and rebuild it. Part of me misses you so much and just wants things to go back to how they were before, but the rational part of me doesn't want anything to do with you ever again. It's everything, do you understand that? It's not just that you were unfaithful, although that is the main thing. But it's the lies about Nadine, the fact that you didn't open up to me when you were going through a tough time, the lies you told me after you'd cheated, and letting me believe you didn't love me... It's everything together that has done the damage."

Everything is falling into place. It makes perfect sense. 

How did we, or rather I, manage to mess this all up so badly? It's like everything I could have possibly got wrong, I got spectaculary wrong.

"I understand," I confirm.

This has been one horrendous chain of events, from start to finish. I am slowly starting to realise I have been way too immature to have been in a serious relationship like this. The more I think about it, the more I understand the whole thing was doomed from the start. I have never had a long term girlfriend before, not since I was in my early teens; not since I was an adult. And a lot of what Jess said about me on the phone the day she found out about Sara was true. I've been spoiled by the industry, and while I have remained grounded, I have to be honest with myself and admit that of course I have changed. Everyone changes between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, and it just so happens that I was a world-famous star with success and money almost from the word go. As a band we were managed by adults who made our decisions for us, told us what to say, what to do, where to go and how to act. So much responsibility was placed upon our shoulders when we became teen pop idols, but at the same time so much was taken away. I'm only just beginning to realise the extent of the effect this has had on all of us.

I've always been the cheeky one, who gets away with murder by flashing a smile, who charms the ladies with his dimples... that's not me being cocky, it's the persona I created and lived. But things are different now. I need to grow up, and focus on the things that matter in life. I need to take responsibility for my fuck ups. I need to win Jess back.

"Where do we go from here?" I ask.

"I don't know," she replies. "I can't even begin to make any sorts of decisions until I've thought it all through. Like I said, I need to learn to be happy without you. And now everything is out in the open and we have no more secrets, I think I can finally heal. Maybe you can, too."

That finality and resolution is back in her voice. My heart is slowly breaking as I understand what she is saying.

"What do you want from me, Harry?" she asks suddenly. "I know you said you didn't come here to ask me to take you back. So what do you want?"

"I want you," I tell her, truthfully. "I don't feel I have the right even to ask you to take me back, because of how much I've hurt you. I don't want you to feel pressured, or compromised, or backed into a corner. I'm also terrified of asking because I know the answer right now is no, and I don't think I can deal with that."

"But is that ultimately what you want?" she probes. "You want us to get back together?"

I'm terrified, laying myself open like this when I know she doesn't want me back.

"Yeah," I admit grudgingly. "I know I don't deserve you, and I know I have a lot of ground to make up."

"No," she says firmly. "You're coming at this from the wrong angle. This isn't about you having to make things up to me, or you not deserving me. I've hurt you in the past, too, by not trusting you when I should have. We're both equals, and any type of relationship would never work unless we treat each other as such. I'm not going to make you jump through hoops to win me back; I'm not like that. I have a lot of stuff to come to terms with, and until I do, there's no point in us even trying to be friends."

Now I'm really confused. She's saying I'm coming at it from the wrong angle, implying there is a right angle, which surely means it's something to be considered? But then she's saying there's no point even trying to be friends... 

"I just want to prove to you that I will never let you down again," I mutter, kicking the gravel and trying not to sound like a petulant child.

"I get that, Harry," she assures me, gently. "But remember what I said yesterday about you always charging in head first, trying to run my life for me. You're supposed to be listening to me. Well I'm asking you to back off and give me some breathing space. You turned up and landed this on me, and you seem to be expecting me to make some sort of decision about us, or at least give you hope that we might get back together one day. Well I can't do that. I don't know how I'm going to feel in ten minutes, ten hours, ten days, ten years. I need time."

She's still giving me mixed signals. I don't get it.

"I'll wait," I tell her. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

"No," she says, sadly, and my heart sinks. "I'm telling you not to. I'm not going to make you hang around and waste your life waiting for something that might never happen."

NO. I can't deal with this. I can't deal with her sending me away like this.

"What are you saying?" I ask, fearfully.

"I'm letting you go," she replies, softly. "I'm telling you to go and have fun and live your life and be happy. Let me deal with this without you hovering over me. We're over, OK? Accept that and leave me be."

We're over. 

I feel sick. My vision is blurred, but it's not due to tears. It's because I can't fucking see clearly thanks to these two words that I hoped I would never hear from her lips.

"But you said you might consider us again, one day," I plead.

"But I might not," she whispers, her voice wavering, and I get up and walk a few steps away from her, needing to be on my own suddenly, but also needing her to put her arms around me and tells me she loves me and she wants me back.

But that's not going to happen.

I feel her warmth as she appears at my side, and I resist the urge to put my arm around her shoulders and draw her to me. I have to be completely honest with her, as she has been with me. It's the only way forward. I see that now.

"I hear you," I say. "I understand you need space. I understand what has broken our relationship, and I understand it can't be fixed right now. But you have to understand I can't help hoping it will be fixed eventually."

She sighs and rests her head against my bicep. "I do understand. That's why I'm walking away from you. I can't stand by and watch you wait for something that might never happen. I can't do that to you because I love you too much to hurt you like that."

My resolve breaks at the feel of her cheek against my skin, and I put my arm round her. She feels so perfect in my embrace. 

"You're in America for the next few weeks anyway," she points out. "It's not like we would even see each other."

"I'm home for a week now," I remind her. "And then I'm back at the end of September for the final part of the tour."

I don't know why I'm arguing the toss. I'm not going to change her mind.

"Whatever happens, I still want to be friends, eventually," I insist. "I'm not trying to push you into that decision either, I'm just letting you know how I feel."

"Thank you for being honest," she says simply. "I feel like this is maybe where we went wrong every time."

She's got that right, at least.

We make our way back along the grass in the direction of the car park. There isn't really anything left to say, apart from small talk. I'm already worrying how we part - do I hug her, kiss her, ask to see her again? I'm still confused about what this even is.

"Have you got any plans while you're at home this week?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"Probably catch up with my old friends, eat too much of my mum's cooking, take the piss out of Gemma," I reply, absently.

"Is she in Holmes Chapel this week too?"

Her question reminds me that Gemma was going to try and meet up with her. I wonder if Gemma ever really pushed it.

"She'll be staying for a few days," I reply. "She mentioned she was hoping to meet up with you in London one weekend."

"Yeah, it's been tricky with one thing and another," she answers vaguely. "And I won't deny it's still a bit raw."

"Yeah," I acknowledge.

Silence descends again, and I shove my hands in my pockets as we cross the grass to the entrance to the car park. We pause at Jess's car, which is nearer to the path than mine.

"I should get going," she says awkwardly, pulling at her fingers again.

"Future friends, maybe, one day?" I ask hopefully, and she smiles at me.

"Future friends, maybe, one day," she says with a nod. "But I meant what I said about giving me space. Let me work my feelings out myself."

"Deal," I concede, and because I don't want to push her any further than this loose, half-promise, I hold my hand out to her, offering to shake on it.

She looks down at it, and then up at me, and then without warning she steps up to me and puts her arms around me. My arms are around her shoulders in flash, squeezing her so tightly because I wish more than anything I didn't have to let her go, and that she would just agree to letting me back in her life.

But for the first time in my life, or at least the last five years, I must take responsibility myself. I ruined a good thing, and I have to accept I may never get it back.

I release her quickly, not wanting to make her feel awkward or seem clingy, even though she is my life raft and I will undoubtedly drown without her. This is what happens when you wear your heart on your sleeve, I guess. You open yourself up to heartbreak. I just have to hope that all the amazing memories we shared are what will bring her back to me eventually, when her heart is healed. They're too good to let go. It's true that you only appreciate what you have once it is lost. But we had some good times, didn't we?

"So, I guess this is goodbye," she says, sadly.

This is so bittersweet. Goodbyes are bittersweet. But somehow I know this is not the end.

I'll see your face again, I think to myself, and boom, there it is - the lyrics I have been looking for, that I thought could never be found in hard and unforgiving city, that are suddenly dancing in my head along with the melody of Walking In The Wind.

We had some good times, didn't we? We wore our hearts out on our sleeves. Goodbyes are bittersweet, but it's not the end. I'll see your face again.

Fuck. I need to remember that.

"Remember what?" she asks, and I realise I have spoken out loud. Did I sing the lyrics, too? I think she would have reacted more excitedly if I had.

"Nothing. Take care, Jess."

"You too," she smiles, softly.

I smile back and turn away from her with purpose, walking over to my car and sliding into the driver's seat. I start the engine, connect my phone to the bluetooth and dial my own number as I pull out of the space, eager to record them on my own voicemail before I forget them. I catch her eye as I turn the car around and drive past her to the exit and I can't help smiling at her again, because she is so beautiful, because she is my muse, because I have finally realised the mistakes I've made and what I must do to put them right, and because of this overwhelming gut feeling that these lyrics that have just come to me are true - it is not the end, and I will see her face again. And one day, when the album is finished and Walking In The Wind is part of it, I will call her up and thank her for being the inspiration behind the bridge that none of us could write, and maybe, just maybe, it could bring her back to me.

---***---

It's been far too long since I updated (or even wrote any part of) this book! 

The last few lines where Harry finds the lyrics he has been looking for has been in my head pretty much since the first time I heard Walking In The Wind, and when I put the hint into Jess's POV I looked forward to writing Harry's side so much! I hope you enjoyed it xxx