40. Charlie
40
CHARLIE
We start ambling west along the river.
I’m not sure where we’re even going. Nell doesn’t seem to be either. But it doesn’t matter. We keep passing pubs and bars and all manner of other places we could ‘get a drink’ – but neither of us suggest going in. We just keep on walking and talking.
The sun’s going down now, the sky fading from blue into hazy pink, and it’s a beautiful, warm evening. No clouds – you can even pick out a few stars in the smoggy London sky. As we stride along the river, I find myself hoping that we won’t even go for a drink. At this moment, there’s nothing I would rather be doing than walking along the Thames with Nell.
‘So, have you done all your research for tomorrow?’ I ask her.
She nods. ‘Yeah. I mean, I love Kay DeBlue anyway, so there wasn’t even that much more I had to learn about her.’
‘I forgot you were the world’s biggest comedy nerd.’ I grin and she laughs. ‘That reminds me, actually,’ I add. ‘After you mentioned her in the props cupboard, I checked out some of Mabel Normand’s stuff on YouTube.’
Nell raises her eyebrows, a surprised smile forming on her lips. ‘Seriously? What did you think?’
‘She’s amazing. The one where she’s tied to the train tracks is so funny.’
‘Ah, Barney Oldfield’s Race for a Life!’ she says, eyes twinkling. ‘That one’s 1912, I think. Or maybe 1913.’ She checks herself and frowns. ‘God, I really am the least cool person on earth, aren’t I?’
I laugh. ‘I think you’re extremely cool.’
She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. ‘What about you then?’ she asks. ‘Have you got some good questions lined up for Max tomorrow?’
‘Yep. I am now the world expert on Max Ribiero,’ I tell her. ‘Spent most of the day looking at pictures of him. Which wasn’t exactly brilliant for my self-esteem.’ I wince as the comment comes out of my mouth, hoping it doesn’t sound like I’m fishing. Even though I kind of am, to be honest.
Nell just smiles and says, ‘He’s not really my type. Not into . . . henchness.’
‘Ha. OK.’ Max Ribiero has black hair and is built like a brick shithouse. I have blond hair and am built like a . . . What’s the opposite of a brick shithouse? Whatever. The point is: me and Max Ribiero look about as different as it’s possible to look. So if Max Ribiero isn’t Nell’s type, then . . .
‘What about you?’ she asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you got a type?’
I swallow hard. The fact that we’re even talking about ‘types’ is enough to make me nervous. The honest answer to Nell’s question is, ‘Yeah, you,’ but I can’t exactly say that.
Thankfully, before I can answer, my phone pings in my jeans.
‘Saved by the bell,’ I say, pulling it out of my pocket.
Nell laughs. ‘Have you got, like, an alarm set on your phone for whenever you get asked an awkward question?’
‘Yup. And as usual it’s worked a treat.’ I waggle the phone at her and she laughs again.
I look at the text. It’s from Mum. Nothing particularly important – just some gossip she’s gleaned off Facebook about a kid I used to go to school with.
‘Daphne wondering where you’ve got to?’ Nell murmurs, glancing at my phone. I think I can see a smile flickering on her lips.
‘No, not Daphne.’ I feel a momentary spike of guilt for how quickly I left the bar earlier. How happy I am to be spending this evening with Nell rather than Daphne. But then I remember that Daphne literally introduced me to her colleagues as ‘Nick Francombe’s son’, and the guilt eases up slightly.
I slide the phone back in my pocket. ‘Just a text from my mum, actually. Some vital breaking news that couldn’t wait – apparently Gavin Chung, who I haven’t seen since Year 6, has just been offered a job at Goldman Sachs.’
Nell’s eyes light up. ‘Oh my God, my mum is exactly the same. The random crap she digs up on Facebook, she should honestly be an investigative journalist. MI5 should just tell my mum that everyone on their Most Wanted list went to my primary school – she’d have all their job descriptions and home addresses within minutes.’
I crack up laughing this time. ‘That’s amazing. Hey – you should make a sketch out of that. The Facebook Mums Detective Agency.’
She blinks and then flashes me a surprised smile. ‘Actually – that’s not a bad idea.’
We pass yet another pub but keep on walking. Beside us, the river twinkles orange from the streetlights as we idle nearer its bank.
‘So, are you close with her?’ Nell asks suddenly. ‘Your mum? You mentioned going to see her on Saturday.’
I nod. ‘Yeah. I try to see her once a week, and give her a call every couple of days.’
‘Wow. You put me to shame,’ she says. ‘I’m so crap at staying in touch with my mum when I’m not living at home.’
‘Yeah. I guess I just get worried about her.’
‘Oh.’ Nell’s brow wrinkles as she turns to look at me. ‘How come?’
I shrug. ‘She’s just had her ups and downs, I suppose. With her health. She went through a really bad patch, a kind of breakdown, after my dad left when I was eleven. She’s much better these days, but still, I’ve always felt like I have to . . . look after her. Keep an eye on her, you know?’
Nell stares out at the river. ‘I didn’t realise your parents were divorced.’
‘Yup.’
‘That’s shit. I’m sorry.’
I shrug again. ‘No – don’t be. We were better off without him.’
She nods. I feel awkward suddenly. I wasn’t intending to get quite so . . . candid. Especially when it comes to stuff about Nick. But talking to Nell is so easy that things just seem to spill out. It feels like talking to somebody I’ve known for years.
We walk a little further in silence. And then Nell says, ‘I remember you saying something in the props cupboard. About not ever really . . . connecting with your dad?’
‘Mm-hm.’ I pause, wondering if I should say more. Truthfully, I do want to talk about this stuff, but I also don’t want her to run a mile now that we’re finally starting to connect. Or, at least, it feels like we are.
But then, maybe I don’t have to pretend around her.
‘He’s just really different from me,’ I say slowly.
‘Your dad?’
‘Yeah.’ I dig my hands into the pockets of my coat. ‘He . . . It’s funny – we were talking about “Facebook Mums”. I feel like he’s an “Instagram Dad”.’
Nell laughs softly. ‘How do you mean?’
‘After he moved out, he didn’t really make any effort to see me, or check in to see how I was doing. But on the rare occasions we did meet up – usually after months of me trying to arrange it – he’d always take a selfie of us and stick it straight on his Instagram. He still does it, even today. So, if you look him up online, you’d think he was this amazing father – all these photos of him grinning with his son. But, in reality, there’s never been anything there between us – except resentment on my side towards him for leaving us, and leaving me to take care of Mum. I don’t know. It’s weird.’
I feel embarrassed all of a sudden, as if I’m showing too much of myself. But Nell just nods, encouraging me to go on.
‘I’m just nothing like him,’ I say. ‘Or at least, I’ve always tried to be nothing like him. I was never interested in doing TV stuff, or being in the business world, like him. Truthfully, I don’t really know what I’m interested in doing yet. I feel like he’s always been kind of disappointed by that. And I feel bad about disappointing him. But at the same time, I feel angry about feeling bad, because – fuck him. He walked out on us.’
She nods again. ‘That’s totally justified.’
‘Which is why it’s so weird – having barely seen him for years – to now suddenly be in the same building with him every day. Like, do you remember that first week, when Bishi sent us out to get those clips of people singing Lina songs?’
She turns to look at me. ‘Er . . . yeah?’
‘You remember that Ed Sheeran video that everyone was congratulating me about in the edit suite?’
‘Mm-hm . . .’
‘Well, it was nothing to do with me. Nick organised the whole thing without even telling me.’
Nell’s eyes widen. ‘Oh. I thought you hadn’t even bothered to go out and collect any clips – just roped in Ed Sheeran instead. I was actually kind of annoyed with you,’ she adds, a smile creeping onto her lips. ‘I spent ages that day making a total prat of myself going up to random people.’
‘Me too!’ I laugh. ‘I actually worked really hard on that task. That’s what was so annoying. But that’s Nick’s whole thing. He doesn’t really have any awareness of what anyone else wants – he just does whatever he thinks is best. It’s the “Instagram Dad” thing again. He makes these grand gestures to make himself look good, without even considering anyone else.’ I shake my head and break off. ‘Sorry. This is getting way too deep. Not exactly the most fun evening you could be having – wandering through London, listening to me moan on.’
‘To be honest, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing right now.’
She leans into me gently as she says it. Her hand brushes against my palm and, for a second, I feel her fingers weave between mine. An electric kind of excitement fizzes through me. Oh man. Is this actually about to happen?
Instinctively, we both slow to a stop. I look up. Tower Bridge is right there, looming above us, its lights glistening against the darkening sky. Without realising it, we’ve walked a couple of miles.
Nell is looking at me, her brown eyes wide and her cheeks pink from the evening breeze. God, she looks so, so good. She takes a step towards me and reaches for my hand again. My whole body reacts. This is it. But before I can lean down to kiss her, she hesitates.
‘Charlie . . . can I ask you something?’
‘Yeah. Of course,’ I say, feeling a giddy little thrill at her using my first name.
She looks down at the ground for a moment. ‘Is . . . is anything going on between you and Daphne?’
‘Oh. Er . . . no.’
She looks up again, her eyes fixed right on mine. ‘So, nothing’s ever happened between you?’
‘No. No, of course not.’
The lie is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I feel my ears burn as I realise what I’ve just said. But Nell’s smiling at me. She looks so relieved. The chance to take it back – to tell her the truth – dissolves in front of me. But I don’t want this to be how things start between us. With a lie.
I open my mouth to speak, to tell her about that moment in the photo booth. But before I can, she grabs my hand again and lifts her head towards mine.
And then I’m kissing her, one hand in her hair, the other on the small of her back. And everything else – the photo booth, the lie, even Tower Bridge itself – just disappears completely.