I hadn't heard from Harry by Thursday, but I sneaked a peek at his Twitter and saw he had been tweeting something about angels earlier in the week, and then had posted a picture of the view from the window of their private jet on the way to Glasgow on Wednesday on instagram. I sent him a text on Thursday night as I was going to bed, asking how the shows had gone, and if he was looking forward to a couple of days off. I didn't get a reply until late Friday morning, that said he was in Holmes Chapel and would be going to his step-brother Mike's birthday party that weekend. I was disappointed I wouldn't be seeing him, but I was glad he was spending time with his family, and hoped he was relaxing properly.

Sarah texted me in an excited frenzy on Sunday because Harry had been pictured outside a pub near Holmes Chapel, and One Direction had tweeted to confirm they would be releasing the names of their album tracks via snapchat later in the evening. I couldn't resist adding their official account, seeing as this would never traced by the media, and when the videos appeared of them holding sheets of paper revealing the new song titles I felt more than just a flutter of excitement. I texted Harry before I could even contemplate playing it cool.

To: Harry: Really excited to hear the album! Good luck for the show tonight, hope it goes well x

From: Harry: Thanks, I can't wait for you to hear Perfect x

To: Harry: You're really proud of that one aren't you! I can't wait either x

I didn't get a reply after that, and couldn't help my feeling of unease. I wanted to see Harry so badly, and hoped that we would be able to have a conversation about us, if the opportunity arose, but I wasn't sure when that would be. I knew he was due back in London on Tuesday and he knew I was free, but he hadn't made any attempt to make an arrangement to see me, and I was getting the vibe that maybe he didn't want to.

I got another message from him late on Monday night.

From: Harry: I think I've broken my foot :(

I rang him immediately, and he picked up after a couple of rings.

"Are you alright?" I gasped before he had time to say anything.

"Yeah, it just hurts," he moaned.

"What have you done?" I asked.

"I dunno," he grumbled. "I was pra... jumping around on stage tonight and I sort of felt something snap. It was agony, but I kept on going and then as soon as we finished they got a doctor to examine me and I've got to go to the hospital to get it x-rayed."

"Bloody hell," I breathed. "What are you going to do about the other shows?"

"I'll be fine," he assured me. "I'll probably just have to wear one of those boot things, like Niall had. I'll know more tomorrow."

"What are your plans over the next few days?" I asked tentatively.

He hesitated. "Not much, really. Got some promo to do. We're in London tomorrow but then I've got a couple of other things on, and then we fly to Dublin on the sixteenth."

"Oh OK," I said quickly, hiding my disappointment. I didn't want to ask if he would be home between the Irish shows. I felt like I was pestering him.

"I gotta go, they want to take me to the clinic now," he sighed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," I laughed, nervously. "Let me know how you get on. I'm around this week, if you're not busy, but it's fine if you are..."

"OK," he said, noncommittally. "Catch up soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, softly, and the line went dead.

I got into bed and stared up at the ceiling, fed up. I wasn't the clingy type, but I felt like something had shifted between us, just when everything had been going well. I couldn't put my finger on it, but Harry had gone from kissing my stomach and giving me intense looks, to backing off entirely. I was mentally kicking myself for not taking the bull by the horns and voicing my feelings in Holmes Chapel, when I had first realised I was feeling differently towards him again. I had the same horrible inkling that I had left it too late and lost him for good.

I must have fallen asleep, because it was daylight when I opened my eyes, and my alarm was going off. I checked my phone and saw I had a text from Harry.

From: Harry: I've broken my accessory navicular. I don't know what that is, either. But it fucking hurts x

I couldn't help giggling, and texted him back straight away.

To: Harry: Oh no! :( Can you walk? x

I had just arrived at work when I got the reply.

From: Harry: Yeah, but I've got a special boot to wear. Only have to wear it for a short time though. I'm dosed up on painkillers to get me through the next few days until Dublin x

I didn't want to remind him that I was free the next few evenings, as I'd already mentioned it and he hadn't pursued it, so I settled instead for sending two kisses back, to which I got no reply.

I spent all day Tuesday feeling miserable and annoyed with myself, and then Wednesday morning I came on my period, which made me feel even worse. I spent the morning glowering at my computer screen and fighting the urge to stuff my face with chocolate. When Sarah suggested getting pizza for lunch I almost jumped out of my seat with excitement, and at one o'clock we scurried down the road to the local Dominos to collect our order. We brought it back to the staff room and sat at a table devouring it like we hadn't eaten properly in a week.

"So what's up with you today?" Sarah asked, as we sat back and groaned sickly.

"Nothing," I muttered. "Time of the month."

"Ah," she nodded wisely. "Nothing to do with a certain Mr Styles and a Victoria's Secret model, then?"

My heart dropped and I felt my blood run cold.

"What?" I said, staring at her in horror. She looked at me nervously.

"Harry Styles and Georgia Fowler. It's all over Twitter. She posted a video of him on snapchat in his dressing gown earlier, playing Scrabble together. Oh my God, you didn't know, did you?" she finished, looking mortified.

"No," I said, stupidly, as the world seemed to slow down. "This is the first I've heard. What.. who.. what...?"

My mouth wouldn't seem to work properly. My heart was pounding and my tongue was bone dry. The pizza I'd just eaten churned sickeningly in my stomach

"Who the fuck is Georgia Fowler?" I managed to say.

"Some... some Victoria's Secret model," Sarah replied, looking ready to cry. "Jess, I'm so sorry, I just assumed you knew and that's why you were pissed off."

"I didn't know," I said, staring past her at the wall. "I didn't know."

Wasn't this exactly what I'd told him to do? To go and find someone and be happy? This was obviously why he'd cooled off over the last few days. He'd finally moved on.

Why oh why had I let him go? Wasn't it just typical that I'd finally begun to accept everything that had happened between us and felt ready to talk things through with him, and I was just a couple of days too late?

Or was I? Had this been going on for weeks; months, even, and I had just been oblivious?

No, I reasoned. I knew Harry, and I understood the way he'd been with me up until very recently. He had apologised over and over, and I had pushed him away while I had got over the Sara Sampaio/Nadine Leopold fiasco. This was my own fault. I had taken the risk of letting him go while I took my time to process everything, and now look what had happened. He had finally listened to me and let himself be happy.

I couldn't be angry with him. I also couldn't pretend it didn't hurt that I had lost him once and for all, but even in my misery I was able to rationalise it all. I had brought this on myself, and I would just have to deal with it.

"Can I see?" I muttered, finally looking back at Sarah who was staring at me with the face of a concerned relative at the side of a sick bed.

"See what?"

"The video of them. The snapchat."

"Umm," Sarah began, looking uncomfortable. "Are you sure that's wise, Jess?"

"I'm fine," I lied, rolling my eyes for good measure. "We're free agents. He's done nothing wrong."

"Try telling your face that," she said, although not unkindly.

She finally relented and found the video on Twitter, and there was no doubt it was Harry sitting there in his dressing down, the top of his medical boot visible at the bottom of the shot, lining up Scrabble tiles on the board while some whiny voice screeched, "Ah fuck, that's where I was gonna go!"

Language, I mentally scolded her, and smirked at the memory of Harry saying this to me after I'd sworn at him in front of Anne. It brought a lump to my throat. I stared at the picture that accompanied the video, of Harry's hand on the Scrabble board, and then watched the second video of what looked like the grounds of a hotel with Harry standing in the distance, still in his dressing gown. It made my stomach churn.

"Jess..?" Sarah began, nervously.

"I'm fine," I said, in a voice that was anything but fine. "Really. He's happy, and that makes me happy. I need to get back to work."

I gathered up my things and scurried out of the kitchen and back to my desk. I gritted my teeth as I opened my laptop, and refused to cry. I had no right being upset that he had moved on. I loved him, and I wanted him to be happy, and if that meant it was without me... well, then I would just have to accept it and move on too.

I opened my emails and began scanning through them, my mind whirring.

Why had this screechy model posted a video of Harry on snapchat? Was he even aware of it? He was such a private person; surely he wouldn't have agreed to it? Even if I'd have wanted to post things like that when we were a couple, I was fairly certain he wouldn't have allowed it. But then again, he hadn't exactly looked under duress in the video. He'd looked cheeky, relaxed and happy. He deserved to be happy.

The lump in my throat was back as I replied to an email about amending details in an existing customer's policy. I quickly swallowed it. I was determined not to let this get the better of me. I would go home tonight and think about everything except Harry and his new girlfriend, and maybe in a couple of days I would even text him, as his friend, and ask how things were.

Yes, I thought to myself. That is my new plan.

I kept myself busy for the rest of the day, ploughing through my work, and when five o'clock came I grabbed my coat and bag and dashed out the door, ignoring Gary's shouts. I was half way to the tube station when I heard my phone ringing in my bag. I pulled it out to see Callie's name on the screen.

I was tempted to ignore it, in case she was calling about Harry and the latest beanpole scandal, but changed my mind and answered it.

"Hi," she said, her voice tearful and wobbly. "Can I come over tonight?"

"Course you can!" I said, instantly worried. "What's happened?"

"Things have gone from bad to worse with James," she choked. "I think he's seeing someone else!"

"Oh my God," I breathed, my own problems forgotten. "What makes you think that? Are you sure?"

"I don't want to get into it now," she said, a sob escaping. "I'm still at work. But can I come to yours later when I'm finished?"

"Yeah, yeah, course," I said fervently. "I'll leave the door on the latch. Come whenever you're ready. Love you."

"Love you," she mumbled back, and then I heard a sniff before the phone cut off.

I breathed out dramatically, feeling tearful on Callie's behalf. She almost never got upset about her love life; she was so level-headed she made me look emotionally unstable. Although I probably wasn't far off by anyone's standards, in truth. I was just about to shove my phone away when it lit up again, and my heart lurched when I saw Harry's name on the screen.

I stopped dead in the street and stared at it, my hand beginning to tremble. I had no reason not to answer it. He had done nothing wrong, I reminded myself.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hey," he said, softly. The sound of his voice brought the lump back to my throat.

"Hi," I answered shortly. I refused to cry. I WOULD NOT CRY.

"How are you?" he asked, in that same gentle tone.

Emotionally unstable. On the verge of tears. Heart-broken over you.

"Fine," I answered. "You?"

"You don't sound fine," he said, gently.

"Well, I am," I snapped. "What is it?"

"Um, I was just checking in. Wanted to say hi."

He sounded fed up. I felt a million times worse.

"Well, you've said it," I said bluntly. "Was there anything else?"

There was a short silence.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said forcefully. "I've just had a fucking shit day, that's all, and to top it all off I am on my period. I just want to go home and put my jogging bottoms and a hoodie on, and eat chocolate and ice cream until I'm sick."

There was a soft chuckle. "Sounds like a plan."

"Well, it would be, except my favourite hoodie is in the wash and I haven't got any ice cream," I snapped. "And I am really not in the mood to be doing any washing or traipsing round Tesco, so I suppose I'll just have to go home and have a bath and watch TV instead."

"It's a hard life," he said, and even down the phone I could hear the smirk in his voice. It made my heart ache to think that he would smile at someone else like that now.

"I have to go, I'm just getting on the tube," I said. And I'm about to cry and I don't want you to hear.

"OK, well have a fun evening," he said, sounded a bit defeated. "I'll call you tomorrow, or something."

"Whatever," I muttered, and hung up without waiting for his reply. I continued to fight the tears all the way home, and ran a hot bath as soon as I walked through the door. I stayed in the water for a good hour until my skin turned wrinkly, and then dried myself off and pulled on a pyjama top and jogging bottoms, knowing Callie wouldn't mind if I was in my scruffs.

The pizza I'd eaten for lunch had filled me up, so I grabbed a Twix out of the cupboard, cursing myself for not having bought a Double Decker on my way home to have with a cup of tea, and settled on the sofa. I needed something to pass the time until Callie arrived, so I browsed my DVD collection, finally settling on Titanic. Quite frankly, I needed an excuse to cry. I had a feeling I would need to be strong for Callie when she arrived, so I needed to get my tears out of the way now.

I was literally five minutes into it when the front door buzzer went, and I muttered, "door's on the latch" as I buzzed her in. I went and sat back down on the sofa, just starting to feel cold, when I heard the door to my flat open.

"In the lounge, babe," I called.

"Who are you calling 'babe'?"

I catapulted myself off the sofa in fright, although it was only because the voice I'd heard hadn't been the voice I was expecting to hear. Gazing back at me from the doorway to the lounge, wearing soft grey joggers and a plain black hoodie, and a carrier bag swinging in his left hand, was Harry Styles.

---***--- 

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