The Sky Is Grey, Liam.

Dianna Tomlinson left her seaside home town of Lyme Regis for the bright lights of London when she was six with her mother after the split up, and never looked back. She had it all before she left Lyme; the happy life, the loving brother, the lovely hometown, the amazing best friends. But now she's back: Broken heart, and decided to hole up in her dead granny's bungalow with her dad and brother, Louis Tomlinson. Worse still, her mum wanted her to go back home to London but she refused to do it. So, she decides to start a new beginning in there and recover all the things she had missed when she was away. And one fine day, she met Liam, her old best friend and Harry. The story of three best friends, Liam, Harry and Dianna. They always together whenever they are. But what we had now didn't lasts forever right? The death has changed everything.


4. Dready Zayn.

Dianna’s POV

     ‘Zayn Malik? Dready Zayn?’

     Suddenly I can see him just as he was all those years ago-  his dark hair twisted into giant, matted patchouli-stinking dreadlocks, the sides of his head shaved. And everytime Louis, Zayn, another friend of us and I went to swimming pool together, I haven’t seen Zayn in a pool. He didn’t know how to swim. Until now, I think.

     ‘I knew you’d get there in the end’ he grins, ducking his head shyly.

     ‘But, Zayn, give me a break’, I laugh. ‘You look totally different. God. You used to have all that hair style for a start’

     ‘Ugh that hair’, shudders his grandmother, grimacing at the memory. ‘Quite disgusting’

     Zany rubs the top of his head ruefully. ‘Not so much any more’ I realize that his crops is designed to disguise the beginnings of a receding hairline. But who knew that underneath those revolting dreads, Zayn had been such a looker? In my memory he was a little more than a lanky spliff-rolling hairball who held a massive birthday party night just before I left Lyme for ‘good’.

            ‘Short hair suits you’, I say. He rubs the top of his head again, embarrassed, and feel like myself begin to blush in sympathy, as if I’ve just propositioned him on his grandmother’s driveway, instead of idly commenting on his haircut.

            Next to Zayn, the old lady speaks, ‘Dianna, dear?’

            Zayn and I both turn to look at her.

            ‘I do hope you don’t think I’m rude not to have called round before. Only I’ve had a bit of a chest, you know’. She coughs once, primly, as if to demonstrate.

‘It’s all that swimming, Grandma,’ says Zayn. ‘I told you it might be time to pack it in.’ She pulls away from his crossly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing of the sort. Gets the blood pumping’

‘Till you’re carted off in an ambulance.’

‘That was only once,’ huffs Mrs Malik, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her cardigan. ‘I’m not dead yet, you know’

Zayn’s expression softens, and he reaches out towards her.

‘Hmm,’ Mrs Malik allows him to take her arm again.

Zayn raises his eyes to the sky in a way that only I can see. The whole exchange has an almost scripted feel, as if they have had this exact conversation many times and now it is almost a pleasantry, drained of any actual meaning or expectation that the behavior of either will change.

Mrs Malik fixes her beady eyes on me, her fluffy head cocked birdishly to one side. ‘Now I’m better you’ll come round for tea, won’t you? Or we could even go out for a cup? Safa will be here too this evening’

‘Grandma’ Zayn says warningly, I wonder what objection he can possibly have to us sharing some tea.

‘What?’ she asks.

Oh God, am I going to get co-opted into the neighbourhood as a replacement for my grandmother? Forced into bridge groups and RNLI coffee mornings? The thought makes me shudder. In London, I barely knew my neighbours, except to exchange curt nods and twice-yearly comments about the weather or the shortcomings of the local bin men. But Zayn’s granny looks so pleased with her invitation that I can hardly refuse. I only have to go once, I tell myself.

‘I’d love to,’ I lie. She beams at me happily.

‘Dianna Tomlinson,’ Zayn says, shaking his head, and I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or her. ‘Dianna Tomlinson is back in town.’

‘Dianna, dear, did you bring my pills?,’ his grandmother interrupts.

Zayn confirms that he has brought everything she asked for, and begins to steer her back towards the front door. ‘Come on, Grandma,’ he says. ‘Didn’t you say something about a cup of tea?’

‘Oh, yes, dear, a cup of tea. What a lovely idea. Aren’t you a thoughtful boy?’

‘Bye, Zayn’, I say. I starts to wave. But it feels stupidly childish somehow, so I shove my hands into my jeans pockets again. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

He looks up as he helps his granny up the step into her house. His smile is distracted; his thoughts already inside the house. ‘Good to see you, too, Dianna. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me.’

He shuts the door, but I can still hear their voices; hers high and questioning, his calm. He always was the kind of boy you could rely on, even back when we were at school. The boy who’d stay and relax on the beach while all of his friends were in the water. Exeter; the boy who always manage to keep his smile and who talked down Liam when he’d felt down. It didn’t seem like much, back then, being reliable- it’s not a quality highly rated by teenagers. It’s something you learn to appreciate only when unreliable boy have stamped all over your heart. I hadn’t forgotten Zayn Malik. Of course I hadn’t. I’d tried, of course. As mum told me to do so after we moved in London. I’d tried to forget about Lyme together. But now I’ve come here to forget everything else.

Liam. He was a best friend of mine. In my childhood time. I haven’t meet him in ages. To be honest, he had stole my heart, and till now he still kept it. And he will never return my heart back, I think. I hope he’s doing well. I miss him loads.

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