Chapter 9 #2
It does, but it doesn’t. Charles can’t relate. He can’t compare. But he clutches his ankle to refrain from jumping to his feet and hugging Loris, for longer than a few seconds.
Not to comfort him, he obviously doesn’t need to be.
Not to comfort himself either. Consoling hugs always had the opposite effect, confronting him with the pain he was trying to repress.
Charles wants to hold Loris because he feels immensely closer to him than he did a minute ago.
And if the fist squeezing his heart could fragment it, it would also protect and put its pieces back together.
‘Still, it’s harrowing that you had so little time with him…’
‘It’s frustrating. I miss him, or the idea of him, in random moments.
Like yesterday, I had to quick-fix a pipe at the pub and I wondered how he would have done it.
It’s insignificant, but yeah… The small deals are when I miss him the most. For the big deals, I had the great man my mum met when I was eleven.
So I’ve been okay, really, and I swear if I ever need a hug I’ll ask for one.
Please cheer up. I’d like to stay on this topic, it’s gonna help your Loris investigation, but I can’t have you look all sad in the drawing. ’
Charles cracks a smile, but turns away. He can’t relate to that either. He spent fifteen precious years with Fred. He would have many small and big deals to cherish if diving into their past didn’t wreak havoc on Charland.
He chugs what’s left of his beer and redirects his attention to Loris, who’s way easier to put up with than his own reflection. ‘Tell me.’
‘He was from Hampstead.’
‘Your dad?’
‘Born and raised and happy here, until he went to Paris, and fell in love with cheese and with my mum.’
‘That’s why your English is so good!’
‘Yeah. She kept speaking it at home after he passed away.’
‘But hold on… You’re British, then?’
‘Don’t be so disappointed. My dual citizenship protects me from Brexit-related hassles. And I feel extremely French, especially since I’ve moved here. But indeed, my passport reads Loris Joseph Harry Robson.’
‘Do you have family around? Is that why you came here?’
‘My grandparents live in Kent now. I go once a month. They’re not used to seeing me that often, they spoil me like a king. And yeah, my dad is the reason why I’m in Hampstead. He kept a diary when he was a teenager and— That’s the one.’
Charles’ eyes have darted towards the leather notebook above the desk.
‘It piqued my curiosity, made me want to walk in his footsteps, literally. So I… Wait, time out, Charles. Can you try to relax?’
‘Relax?’
‘You seem tense. Like it’s truly registering that you’re posing.’
‘It might be because you’re nearly on my lap.’ Charles stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders and shrugs them. ‘Tense is my middle name, you’ll have to make do with that.’
‘Or not.’ Loris gets up and passes behind the sofa. ‘Can I?’
‘Can you what?’
‘Try to unstiff you?’
‘Sure… What are you, now? A physio?’
‘Yeah.’ Loris slides his hands underneath Charles’ collar and places his thumbs on his cervical spine. ‘I took a basic course when I decided to coach kids. My god, how can you function like this?’
‘I’m used to it, I— Fuuuuuck…’
Loris has just twisted a ropy strand and sent a pang of acute pain all the way to Charles’ toes.
‘It’s worse than I thought. I’d need to hurt you.’
‘Alright…’
‘You want me to?’
‘If you believe it can help.’
‘Okay. Shift to your left.’ Loris hops over the sofa armrest to sit on it. He wedges his knees against Charles’ sides and brushes different points on the nape of his neck. ‘Don’t slouch and breathe deeply.’
Charles feels tighter than ever, so holding his posture shouldn’t be an issue.
However, breathing will require a distraction.
‘So, what does the notebook say? Where did your dad hang out?’
‘My grandad used to take him to the North Haven, back when teenagers were served Guinness and no one cared. Patty’s father ran the place. She was around and already terrifying.’
‘And such intel led you to ask her for a joooohoooly mother of heeeeeeelp.’
‘It led me there to have a Guinness,’ Loris replies, indifferent to Charles’ suffering, which is fair given he agreed to it. ‘They were desperate for staff and I needed a job. I had never worked a bar, but I could tell it wouldn’t take much to make myself indispensable.’
Loris’ confidence never verges on loftiness.
It’s quite refreshing compared to some of Charles’ peers who believe that self-assertion involves belittling others.
He considers pointing it out, but when he parts his lips, it’s a long moan that comes out, and by the time Loris is done with a stubborn knot on his muscle, the thought is gone.
‘What else?’
Loris pushes Charles back into position after he sank between his legs. ‘He ate out a lot. I’ve tried all the places that still exist. I’ve seen all the spots he wrote about. Except one that I can’t find.’
‘How come?’
‘He explained ten times how much he loved it, and he was really clear that he’d propose there, but he just mentioned a tree, a bench and a nice view of a pond. Thanks, Dad, that narrows it down on Hampstead Heath.’
Charles knows most trees, benches and nice views of the park. He could help if Loris’ massage hadn’t turned the world he’s familiar with into a smudged oil painting.
‘Anyway, it’s not like he proposed there in the end. My mum beat him to it during a holiday in Sainte-Maxime. It’s a town on the C?te d’Azur.’
‘Yes…’
The Ledwells used to spend holidays in Saint-Tropez and often sailed towards Sainte-Maxime on a catamaran. Fred pretended to be a pirate, swinging imaginary sabres and swearing like a trooper. Charles would split his sides laughing.
‘Okay, enough for today. I’m scared your skin is gonna bruise.’
‘Hmm…’
Charles slumps against Loris, who clenches the top of the backrest to keep his balance.
‘You okay?’
‘You’re hired.’
Loris laughs into Charles’ hair. ‘Let’s talk about my salary before you come back to your senses.’
‘I’m always clear-minded when it comes to business.’
Charles stretches his legs out on the sofa. He feels as if he were filled with helium and would levitate without Loris’ thighs around him.
‘Can I go back to drawing?’
‘Yes, do your thing.’ Charles ensconces himself against Loris’ chest. He closes his eyes, only to snap them back open with a brittle laugh. ‘Sorry…’
He leans forwards and allows Loris to stand up.
‘You look high now.’
‘I feel high.’
Charles has never been high, but he imagines weed would plunge him into a similar state of carefree drowsiness.
Loris disappears into the bathroom, and Charles closes his eyes again. The splashes of water coming from the sink remind him of Mediterranean waves hitting his back. They weren’t strong enough to sweep him along, so Fred would push him under.
‘You’re about to fall asleep.’
‘For a minute. Can you work with that?’
‘Yeah. At least you’re relaxed.’
‘Understatement of the year.’
Smiling, Charles huddles against the pillow.
He will need more answers. Some about Loris and his journey, that he will get by investigating. Some about himself, that he won’t ask for and obtain anyway. But there’s no rush. He will spend many more moments with Loris in this flat.
He’s made himself artistically indispensable.
Charles wakes up when Loris slams his pencil case closed.
Sheepish, Charles doesn’t beg to see the drawing, already hidden in the portfolio. He hurries to change back into his clothes, because Loris has to get ready to join his friends.
‘I swear I’ll be better company next time. Saturday? Supposing that you need me to pose again?’
‘I do.’ Loris brings their empty bottles to the kitchenette. ‘But it’s gonna have to wait until next Saturday.’
‘Seriously? You won’t have even half a day off until then? Should I report Patty to labour authorities?’
‘It’s not on her. My ex is coming to London and crashing here for a week. So my free time isn’t gonna be art time.’
‘Your ex will crash here?’
‘Yeah, we’re friends. Charles, I’m sorry, but can you get moving? I’ve got to hop in the shower.’
Charles stores a new series of questions into the Loris drawer of Charland but can’t set aside the muddle of frustration and concern swelling in his chest. He wouldn’t have wasted so long napping if he had known it was his last visit for a while.
He’s adopted the routine of seeing Loris every few days. The nine to come will drag on, filled with soul-sucking moments that might erase his recent certainties. He will be counting minutes, while Loris won’t be working on his drawings and will perhaps forget why Charles is indispensable.
Unless Loris has a brand-new reason to think about him.
Charles buttons his coat, a prick of excitement superseding his bitterness. ‘You never asked for my full name.’
‘I don’t ask personal questions because I can tell they make you uncomfortable. Why? Is it relevant?’
‘My passport reads Charles Henry Thomas Ledwell.’
‘Cool…’
‘You’re not wondering how—’
‘Wait.’ Loris freezes in front of him, his eyes popping – incredibly blue and wonderfully shocked. ‘What?’
His mind isn’t blown yet, it’s still connecting dots, but the sparks preceding the explosion are flying, and it’s more satisfying than Charles daydreamt it would be.
‘See you next Saturday.’
Loris clasps his sleeve to stop him. ‘As in Thomas Ledwell? The only original buyer who never sold his Land? As in… the Ledwells from London and their insane private art collection?’
‘Have a nice evening.’
Laughing, Charles frees himself and walks down the stairs casually, even though he could glide to the bottom, his body helium-fuelled again.
He doesn’t need to look back at Loris. His thunderstruck face is already imprinted behind Charles’ pendant, with everything he’s recorded so far.
A collection of talismans, from which he should manage to draw enough light to fight his gloomy mind until their next meeting.
He’s still on Loris’ street when his phone chimes.
18:39 WITH ONE L Fuck! You live with Sofia!!
Charles replies with a photo that only shows half of the painting, framed and hung under their expert lighting system at home.
He took it late last night, when he was in need of a moment with Sofia to recover from the dinner party. He still wasn’t sure when he would use his trump card but thought a visual proof could come in handy.
18:40 WITH ONE L … … …
18:40 I can’t read morse code.
18:41 WITH ONE L Putain! Tu vis avec Sofia!!
18:41 Oui Monsieur.
Charles shoves his hands into his pockets and gambols towards his house.
His parents are out for their first Christmas function of the year.
When they informed him of their schedule for the day, this programme revolted him.
Sure, lights and decorations are up, carols are playing in shops, Winter Wonderland is open in Hyde Park.
Charles enjoys the holiday season. But hosting an actual Christmas party on the 29th of November should be a criminal offence.
And yet, tonight, he’s grateful for that clock-speeding event. It will allow him to have dinner in their museum room where his father doesn’t authorise any food.
For the upcoming nine days, Charles will be grateful for every clock-speeding event.