Chapter 50 Charlotte
Charlotte
On the fifth day, Cole found me on the floor of Dad’s study, sobbing.
He brought me a cup of tea and sat next to me until I’d recovered enough to keep going.
After a week, when the company had come to take away the stair lift, we were ready to strip the wallpaper on the landing.
Cole steamed, and I worked with my scraper, chipping away the most stubborn bits of faded paper to reveal the blank wall underneath.
Sometimes I felt like this house was crying, but today, among the light and clouds of hot steam, it felt like it was breathing. The steamer hissed as Cole ran it up the wall, soaking the paper. He shot me a casual glance. “I had a meeting with a therapist.”
I looked at him in astonishment. “What?”
“It’s online. I have this critical voice in my head sometimes.
It’s my father’s voice. The therapist said I have to imagine it like a parrot, and when it pipes up, I tell it to shut up.
I enjoy that part. Very satisfying.” A faint smile crossed his face.
“I’ll keep going. I have a lot of stuff to unpack about my time in New York. But I want to do it.”
It was unbelievable to think of Cole opening up to anyone, but it could only be a good thing. “I’m glad you’re doing some work on that. Well done.”
He nodded. “I ripped up the contract. When the divorce goes through, you’re entitled to half of everything. It shouldn’t be too long now.”
My paint scraper fell out of my hand. I sucked in a gasp of air. The dank smell of wet wallpaper filled my nose.
“You can’t do that.”
Clouds of steam billowed from the device as he worked. “It’s your legal entitlement as my wife.”
His voice was matter-of-fact, as though we were talking about divvying up loose change he’d found down the sofa and not a multi-billion-pound empire.
“You’re not serious. I don’t want it. I don’t want a penny from you. It’s not been earned. It doesn’t belong to me.”
“Take it up with the lawyers. Give it away if you don’t want it. It’s yours.” He peeled a strip of wallpaper away in one long piece. A satisfied smile lit his lips. “Don’t you just love it when that happens? You got the whole piece in one go?”
I stared at him, dumbstruck. The lawyers could say whatever they wanted. There was no way I’d take that money. I’d point-blank refuse. I couldn’t help my laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“No. I’m your husband. This wasn’t fake for me, Charlotte.
It might have started out that way, but only because I didn’t have the sense to realize or the courage to be truthful about my feelings.
You’ve always been the one for me. I’ve never stopped loving you.
The moment I saw you again, I knew I couldn’t leave this place without you.
I’m trying to be a better man. Not to win you back.
I know you don’t want me. But because it’s the right thing to do, and I don’t want that Wikipedia page to be my legacy.
Take the money. I want you to live a wonderful life, full of love and adventure. ”
“You left me. If it was always me, why didn’t you keep in touch?”
He kept his eyes fixed on the wall. “Because I was young, and I was an idiot. I just have to hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive me, and we can be friends again.”
Friends was safe. Friends was nice. Cole had helped me accomplish the impossible with this house. I couldn’t have done it without him. I wouldn’t have wanted to. A devilish impulse grabbed me and I dipped my brush into a pot of white paint. With a swift flick, I splattered his blue overalls.
His eyes widened and humor danced in his expression. “Really?”
I shrugged. “Yup. Pretty much. It’s about time you got your designer overalls dirty.”
He stared down at the paint mess with laughter in his eyes. A hint of mischief under all that controlled elegance. “You’re in trouble now. You know I’m a terrible loser.”
“I know.” I raised a wry eyebrow. “But I still fancy my chances. You’re done for.”
“Oh, yeah?” He dipped a brush into a pot and retaliated, flicking me with paint.
“Yeah.”
I splattered him again and took off, squealing.
We raced around the house splattering each other, playing like kids until we were breathless from laughing and covered in paint.
I collapsed against a wall, sucking in deep breaths.
The house breathed with me. And the walls rang with laughter, the way they’d done for so many years.
I held my hands up in the hallway. “Enough. We need a truce.”
He wiped paint from his hair and flicked it away. “Fine. We’ll call it even.”
I held out my wet hand. “Friends?”
His eyes locked with mine. He smiled and shook my hand firmly. “Always.”