Chapter 18 #2
‘Very well.’ George downs a whisky in one, grimaces and grabs the other glass. ‘One follow-up question.’
‘One follow-up… Really? Just one?’
‘I’ve got seventeen, but only one matters. Multiple-choice question. Are you: A, losing your mind over this drunken mistake that you regret big time? B, happy that you tried but unwilling to repeat the experience? C, looking at me but imagining the next time you’ll be naked in his bed?’
‘No! I’m not picturing myself under him when I’m looking at you!’
‘We’re leaning towards option C, though?’
‘Yes…’
‘Wicked!’ George slaps his thighs and stands up to go back to his armchair. ‘Mate, we scored! Blimey, I missed it! Did you see it? Can you turn the sound back on?’
Slack-jawed, Charles points at the full glass of whisky that his friend has abandoned.
‘Oh, that was in case I had to bring you from A to B. I can’t soberly handle your self-flagellation. But all good.’
‘What about your seventeen questions?’
‘I’ve got eighteen now, but I’d rather watch the match. Is it okay? You look disappointed.’
‘I’m not! It’s great, I wasn’t planning on… I didn’t want… I don’t want to discuss it and… Well, yes, actually. That’s it? Sharing this is a huge deal and that’s all you make of it? Seriously? You’re not even curious about…’
George grins proudly, so Charles blinks, struggling to understand what just happened.
When it registers, he rolls his eyes.
He’s so stupid it hurts.
‘So! Now that you’re dying to talk, where shall we start?’
‘Your mind games will cost you. You only get three questions.’
‘Three more than a minute ago. Alright, first, did you choose Loris for his name, because of King Hugo?’
Charles glances at the screen where their goalkeeper is shown yelling orders at the defenders. ‘No… I didn’t choose him. Or any of it. It just happened. He happened, but… as a person. Not as… Not as a—’
‘Not as a massive-pill owner, I hear you.’
Charles shoots him a stern look. George is an idiot. And a genius.
He’s Charles’ idiotic genius.
His reluctance to talk about his personal revolution was about himself and the introspection he would have to launch into – like the conclusion he just worded when he had never consciously conducted the analysis.
Deep down, Charles knew that George wouldn’t raise an eyebrow at the news.
Yet, this umpteenth proof of his friend’s unconditional acceptance hits him right in the part of his heart that was already overflowing with gratitude.
‘Is he the reason why you’re pushing aside your troubling family mess?’
‘Yes, but… not because I’m troubled already. He’s not troubling me anymore. At least, for now.’
‘And you want to surf on your beatific vibe? I approve completely. Surf away! Which leads me to my third question. How long have you been taming that wave? I’m cross-referencing data, and your brain fuckery at Elsy’s party had something to do with what was going on in your pants.
And if I’m right, I’ll be a teeny bit offended that you didn’t— Yeeeeees!
’ George jumps to his feet. ‘I missed it again, but yes, boys! Time out, Chaphrodite! Hold those thoughts that will give me eleven answers at once!’
Charles smiles and shifts to watch the replay of Tottenham’s second goal.
Assuaging his friend’s curiosity will require more talking than he was ready for, but he won’t take George for granted ever again.
George, who’s aware how big a deal this is, but makes it seem so small and simple.
‘Then I came here and… You know everything.’
Charles sinks deeper in the sofa, even though he feels incredibly lighter.
George taps his chin with his forefinger, processing the information he just received. He only interrupted Charles twice. Once to swear when Tottenham conceded a goal, once with a ‘You didn’t…’ when Charles admitted to using a voice note to sever all contact with Loris.
‘Good grief, you had very opaque blinkers on.’
‘I’m fifty percent denial of anything that can throw me off, fifty percent Ledwell born and raised.’
‘Are you?’ George sniggers for a second, then claps his hands as his eyes open wide. ‘Oh dear, your parents. When will you tell them?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Can I be there if I hide in a cupboard? I can’t miss that!
Loris is a male, he’s French and he works in a pub.
I know you didn’t choose him, but it’s wondrous!
The reason why your father will have a stroke is a no-brainer, but your mother?
We should place bets here! My money is on the bartender thing.
Alice would rather you dated a duke than a waitress and—’
‘Stop!’ Charles hits George in the face with his empty bottle. ‘Stop talking!’
‘What? I’m only—’
‘Fucking me up!’
George’s excitement evaporates in an instant. ‘How so?’
‘I’m not telling my parents! I’m not telling anyone!
But certainly not my parents. Because he…
Loris, he’s… He’s not a mean to get back at them for the mess I don’t want to get into.
And I’m not dating him! I don’t know what’s going on, I’m— I can’t name what I feel, I don’t know how he feels.
He might have come back to his senses when I see him again.
I might screw it all up, being me. So perhaps there’ll be nothing to tell.
But I don’t want to go there either, I just want to—’
‘I’m sorry!’ George sits next to Charles and clasps his no-pen-clicking hand. ‘I got carried away! It’s fine. You’re alright. No, you’re more than alright, you’re ecstatic. You sounded so ecstatic when you alluded to what happened this morning. That’s where you should be surfing. Ignore me.’
‘You’re hugging now?’
‘Now, just now, because I’m sorry and also proud. I’m so proud you listened to your paracetamol pill. So surf away, think of Loris with or without clothes, and let me know if I should leave you alone. Mate, this jumper is so soft, where does it come from?’
‘Loris’ wardrobe.’
‘Naturally… Hey, what’s his team?’
‘He doesn’t like football. But his best friend supports Arsenal.’
George cowers with a horrified squeak. ‘Every part of this statement is problematic!’
‘I know. But he makes up for it.’
Unconvinced, George snuggles back against his arm, and Charles closes his eyes to gather himself during the few minutes he has before his friend reverts to being a live wire.
Charles stays at George’s for the next match, for a dinner cooked by the chef from the flat below and for a couple of hours after Hannah arrives.
It’s riveting to watch George be outsmarted and unable to hide his adoration. Riveting and inspiring. Charles is too sleepy to outline concrete characters, but he decides to hang out with the two of them more often.
On his way back home, he collects Loris’ keys but represses the urge to immediately take shelter in the flat.
The idea of facing his parents and the nasty emotions they will rouse is distressing.
But the only way to keep the upper hand over his feelings is to control the circumstances of his return under their roof.
It needs to be his choice rather than a dreaded situation postponed until he has no other option.
When he walks into the house, his clothes from last night folded over his arm, the entrance hall makes his hair stand on end. It feels more austere than ever now that the Christmas decorations have been taken down. Now that his memories are becoming pieces of the puzzle.
He plants his feet on the quicksand pattern of the first step. He finally knows where his compulsion to avoid it came from. It was his unconscious refusal of the tale his mother chose to crush him with seven years ago, when she sat down next to him on this very step, one hour after Fred’s accident.
‘Charles.’
Alice’s voice stabs him in the back and pushes him forwards.
‘You can spend time with George any day. When I ask you to— I am talking to you!’
Charles stops moving, staring into Fred’s supportive eyes in the closest photo. He takes a deep breath, hugs his clothes tighter and turns around.
Alice looks abnormally flustered. A reminder of the woman she was before grief added five extra layers of frost around her cold heart.
‘You want to talk? Alright. Let’s talk about Fred’s passport burning in the fireplace.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Either we talk about that night or we don’t talk.’
The emotion rippling on Alice’s face isn’t new. Charles has caught glimpses of it ever since she started observing him from a new angle that he was unwilling to define. And now that it’s on full display, there’s no doubt that it’s fear.
‘What is it going to be?’
She won’t answer, but Charles will hold his ground until it’s clear that he’s not shying away. That she’s the reason why they won’t have this conversation tonight. He’s not ready for it, but he needs her to believe that he is.
‘Good heavens, that woman is daft as a brush. How does Alastair put up with her?’ Milton emerges from the lounge and comes to a stop, his eyes darkening. ‘Why didn’t you make yourself available, Charles? And what is this jacket? Could you refrain from wearing garish colours?’
Charles’ revulsion deadens a decade of self-preservation habits and fuels a dozen of hateful comebacks, but Alice speaks before he does, slipping on an unconcerned mask.
‘Tonight was my mistake, dear. I forgot that Charles had promised to help George with the dubious terms of a business proposal he received. Am I correct, darling?’
Caught unawares, Charles can only nod, clenching his fists underneath the clothes he’s holding.
‘Is George remunerating you for helping him grow wealthy?’
‘He’s a friend. Friends do each other favours. Favours are free.’
‘When they prevail over family obligations, they shouldn’t be, no.
’ Milton drops a soft kiss on Alice’s lips.
‘I have to review a case for tomorrow, I will join you upstairs. Charles, I heard from my contacts in Palermo. Enrica Bianchi will give a public address about her father’s collection this week. ’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Do not stay up late, make your first day back at the office count.’
His fingers bloodless, Charles climbs the rest of the staircase, where Fred’s puppet smiles seem tinged with concern. He hurtles down the hallway, takes refuge in the museum room and leans against the door to slide the zip of Loris’ jacket up and down, six times.
He’s terrified by the hatred pumping his blood erratically, but it’s his to master and grow braver from.
He’s no longer scared of hurting his mother, no longer scared of his father’s laser eyes.
He’s still afraid to reckon with the role they played in Fred’s death, but he will get there, by means of confrontations that lower their hold.
He regulates his breathing, gazing at Sofia. She remains flawless, indifferent to the rotten foundations of Her adoptive home.
‘I don’t want your sister to move in anymore. You and I, we had no choice, but She deserves better.’
Charles’ heart shrinks, but he inhales it back full. He deserves better too. He’s been accepting better lately.
He grabs his phone. He hasn’t checked his notifications since he texted Loris when he was in the cab.
22:03 I picked up your keys. Thank you.
22:04 I hope you survived your day despite the twat who disrupted your night and I hope your grandparents are spoiling you.
22:12 WITH ONE L They are but here’s my grandad’s idea of a ‘necessary’ present
22:12 WITH ONE L Enjoy a recent stupid pic of me
The third message is a full-length photo of a sceptical Loris pulling the bottom corners of the England football shirt he’s sporting.
22:16 I’ll frame it and hang it near Sofia.
Charles zooms in on the twinkle in Loris’ eyes and on the vein of his neck – near the spot he claimed ownership of in the morning.
He brushes the screen and sets his mind free to wander.
Sofia has kept watch over him during countless evenings of reminiscence. The core of tonight’s is a first, but Pavel Olwinski would unquestionably support him.