Chapter 21 #2
He stopped making excuses for his mother’s incapability to act like one when he met Elsy’s parents.
For all the personality traits that Catriona shares with Alice, she’s never failed to address and soothe her daughter’s heartaches.
So Charles came to terms with the reality that the woman who had given him life had nothing else to offer.
But acceptance didn’t make it any less hurtful. It never healed the bruises in his mind and the cuts etched deep in his heart.
And at this very moment, they’re throbbing all at once.
***
Charles left his house in a daze, his feet leading him to the North Haven. Fortunately, George replied to his SOS text before he arrived at the pub.
It would have been damaging if Charles had broached his family situation with Loris while in such a state.
He was out of his senses the one time he talked about Fred, and he hated the incoherence of his confessions and how that scared Loris.
Besides, Charles promised to let him rest between his late shift and his rugby day tomorrow, but Loris would have begged him to spend the night upon perceiving his pain.
This certainty has healing powers, and Charles rubs it onto his chest like an ointment.
Unable to back out of a commitment, George added Charles’ name to the guest list of the launch party of a start-up.
The room is filled with tech geniuses, too busy grandstanding to notice Charles’ gloomy mood. He’s leaning on a glass table, twisting an undrinkable luminescent cocktail, trying to find logic in the mosaic of flashing lights on the ceiling.
George only needed a brief summary of what happened with Alice to turn owlish. ‘Let me mingle for half an hour, then you’re in charge of the programme.’
Charles is torn about that. Pizzas and a film sound like heaven, but depriving George of a night out on a Saturday would be a poor way to thank him for his sanity-saving availability.
‘Bad news!’ George appears in front of him. ‘Gracie will sing my praises in her speech, so I’d like to wait for it.’
‘It’s alright. I love watching you preen.’
‘And good news!’
‘Who did you blackmail to get those?’ Charles snatches one of the bottles of Heineken that George just raised. ‘They glared at me as if I had run their dogs over when I tried to order anything that didn’t look like a melted orgy of Pokémon.’
‘Interesting visual… I asked the bartender what they keep in the staffroom. But the clever bastard sensed my desperation. Fifteen quid each. Don’t waste any!’
Charles spat out some of his first mouthful.
‘Damn. Next round is on me.’
‘You’ll get the pizzas.’
‘You don’t want to go out?’
‘Do you want to go out?’
‘Not really.’
‘It’s sorted, then.’ George smiles and knocks their bottles together. ‘I’ve sorted something else while I was handing out business cards. My spare room is yours. I’m giving you the “oldest friend” discount on rent.’
Charles smiles back but looks down.
‘That’s ninety percent. Ninety-five if you agree to reorganise my dressing room the same way you organised your wardrobes. You said they’ll be out of town tomorrow, right? So Hannah will hack the security system, you’ll pack everything you don’t want them to burn in a fit of rage and—’
‘I won’t move in with you, George.’
The idea burrowed its way into Charland when he was in the cab, but he didn’t mull it over. It’s not a healthy solution.
‘Care to elaborate before I lose my cool at your masochistic-self?’
‘I don’t want to escape. I want to tell them when, where and what I’m leaving for, and I want them to let me.’
‘I’ll become a diving Olympic champion before that happens, and you don’t need their permission! Let alone their endorsement!’
‘But I need a clean break. What kind of freedom would that be if I still lived in fear of my father? What’s the plan here?
To hide in your neighbourhood? To avoid places and people I love to make sure he doesn’t find me?
And a few months down the line, you’ll get me a fake passport and— No, we won’t do that either.
’ Charles points a severe finger at George, whose eyes have opened wide in fever pitch.
‘Do you think I could handle the stress of being on the run?’
‘Maybe. New identity, new you.’
‘I’d rather make peace with current-me. And talking about identity, the Ledwell name will always be a shortcut in life, and I deserve to exploit the one useful gift they gave me. But it’d be hypocritical if I broke off all ties with them, I’d be—’
‘Nooo! I was about to applaud this self-serving reasoning, don’t ruin it!’
Charles shrugs. He agrees with Alice on one thing. He can’t let his feelings towards his father change who he is.
‘So what’s your plan, Chiminy Cricket?’
‘I’ll exploit my mother’s fear or… whatever emotion is driving her. Until I figure out when and where and what I’ll leave for.’
‘How long will that prevent you from having to sit across from Milton at dinner?’
‘It won’t. But if I power through one meal a week, he should tolerate my absences considering she’ll justify them.’
‘And by powering through, you mean clutching your cutlery so tight your knuckles snap?’
‘It’ll be fine if I camp out at yours, at Elsy’s or in Loris’ flat. Six carefree nights to recover from one ghastly evening. Good ratio.’
George nods. ‘Mostly at Loris’ place.’
‘No, I can’t smother him.’
‘I meant that he’s got ways to help you recover that none of us can match.’
‘It’s different.’ Charles cracks a smile at his friend’s raised eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘I’m giving you an opportunity to stray away from your home nightmare. Take it.’
‘What do you want me to tell you?’
‘How did the week go? Are you still enjoying the surfing? Is he treating you well?’
‘Yes. He’s understanding and patient, so—’
‘Good grief, don’t play stupid. He’s a gem, that’s wonderful, I’m swooning! Now give me something saucy. Be careful!’ George slaps Charles’ arm, because he just wasted three pounds’ worth of beer snorting at his simulated swooning. ‘I allowed you to be coy last time, but I expect detailed updates.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Because my ultimate goal is universal knowledge. But porn has its limitations.’
‘You watch gay porn?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Well, you might teach me stuff, then.’
‘Let’s find out.’
‘We’re not having this discussion now, George.’
‘No one’s paying attention to us. Which I find a bit offensive.’
‘Not now that I’m sober.’
‘Fine, but you’re buying tequila on the way back!’
‘Alright.’ Charles inhales the chemical waft of his cocktail to rid himself of the naked memories burning the tips of his ears. ‘By the way, why did your escape plan involve Hannah’s hacking skills?’
‘To disable the alarms so we can steal Sofia.’
Charles laughs the concept off, as tempting as it is.
But when George steps aside to shake hands with an acquaintance, Charles greets the picture sketching itself on a new page of his mental notebook. An art heist could be the central plotline that his novel is missing.
And a central plotline might be the ideal distraction from the latest ugly chapter of his personal story.