Chapter Nine Useless Lump
Chapter Nine
Useless Lump
She looks at me in a way I’ve never seen before.
It’s fast. The expression barely registers on her face for a second.
Almost imperceptible, if you weren’t looking for it very carefully.
But I know Annie’s face quite well now. I’ve even seen it blown up on theatre posters and under the harsh lights of a stage.
I know it well, and can easily pick up on any expression, no matter how brief – including this one.
And this is a look of distrust.
It’s a look that says I’m not sure I know who you are. Not really.
She does her best to hide it, because she thinks I’ve probably told her the truth. And she knows I’d never lie to her.
But still . . .
There’s a crumb of doubt there, isn’t there? There has to be.
Because the whole thing sounds so fantastically unlikely, doesn’t it?
How can a human being completely rewrite an event in his life, without even realising he’s done it?
I can scarcely believe it myself.
And so, I can’t really blame Annie for that almost imperceptible look of distrust, because I’m not 100 per cent sure I can trust myself anymore, either.
‘Do you want another cup of tea?’ she says, getting up from her kitchen table. She doesn’t look at me as she says this.
She hasn’t looked at me much since I got here from the ridiculous theatrical event I staged yesterday, and confessed all to her about what was actually happening with me.
It was the most difficult conversation of my life – coming hot on the heels of the second most difficult conversation of my life.
Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to tell your two best friends and your girlfriend that you don’t know your own mind?
That you’ve unwittingly concocted a fiction in your head to help you deal with the fact that you totally fell apart at the moment when you needed to display a little backbone?
That you are, in no uncertain terms, a useless lump?
That first conversation with Jack and Leo was made with my breath still hitching in my lungs, and my face flushed with sweat.
Their anger at me for Dartmoor and the Fellowship was more or less immediately overridden by their concern for my welfare.
I am extremely lucky to have people in my life like that. Stupendously lucky.
I really should try to remember that more.
Because here I am, letting them down at every juncture. Disappointing them at every turn. Making stupid decisions, and lying to them about fundamentally important things.
Jack and Leo were incredulous as I tried to explain what the hell was happening in my stupid brain.
But I think they believed me. They certainly sounded like they did when they got me over to Annie’s place, and told her what had happened across the day, and how the revelation had come to me in the back seat of the limo.
I, being the useless lump I am, just sat there while Jack did most of the talking. I was exhausted, and embarrassed, and didn’t really know what the hell to say.
Let’s just hope that my subconscious doesn’t decide to memory hole the evening as well – and create some sort of alternate reality, where everything is fine, and me and Annie watch a nice movie together with a bottle of wine.
‘Here,’ Annie says, plonking a cup of tea down in front of me, and bringing me back to the present with a jolt. Annie is angry. Of course she is.
Because she remembers me telling her I was totally fine. She remembers how I said that nobody was really hurt. She remembers Charlie King resolutely telling her, with a smile on his face, that the accident wasn’t that big a deal.
And then months later, she learns that somebody died that day. That Charlie King just forgot to mention that the car crash he was in led to the death of an elderly man.
Further, Charlie King also lied about the fact he sat there for what seemed like an eternity, and watched the paramedics trying to save that elderly man. And about how he was such a useless lump by the side of the road, while everybody else busied themselves with the clear-up.
Lies, lies, lies.
All from Charlie King’s mouth.
And what’s this? What’s this crowning turd on top of the shit sandwich?
Why, it’s Charlie King trying to claim he had no idea he was lying!
What kind of insane bullshit is that?!
Not only does Annie find out that I can easily manufacture a convincing lie to cover up a horrible truth, but she also discovers that I can sugar-coat that lie with an even bigger one, by claiming not to realise I’d done any of it!
‘Thanks,’ I say, in response to the cup of tea. I peer down at it. It looks weak. As if it was made in an absent-minded hurry, by someone who’d rather be doing anything else.
She flashes a brief, noncommittal smile at me, and sits back down, picking up her iPhone again and losing herself in TikTok – where the liars can’t do her any real harm.
‘Do you want to talk about it anymore?’ I say in a small voice.
She looks up at me from a video about how to air-fry a bacon sandwich. ‘Um. I’m not sure. We covered it all last night, didn’t we?’
She’s right there. We went on until well past midnight, in fact. And we only stopped then because I’d got into a circular pattern of repeating the same apologies and anxieties over and over again.
But I have a small piece of new information I thought I’d share with her this morning. Something I’ve found on Google.
Only, I’m terrified to actually tell her this, because Google is where I was inspired to plan all of the crazy stuff I’ve done recently. I very much doubt she’s going to want to hear that I’ve been on there again – researching more lunacy.
This is different, though.
Because dissociative amnesia is a thing, apparently.
Annie’s eyes go flat when I mention Google. I hoped they would widen again when I told her about the condition I think I’m suffering from, but they don’t.
‘It’s very rare, but it does happen,’ I tell her. ‘People who suffer with trauma sometimes make themselves forget details about what happened to them. That’s what’s going on with me, I think.’
‘Does it also say that they create lies in place of what happened?’ Annie asks – and you can hear the emphasis on the word ‘lies’ as much as I can, I’m sure.
I swallow. ‘That’s not really covered, no.’ I clear my throat. ‘But it would make sense, I think. Seeing what was happening to the old boy in the other car and my . . . my reaction to it. I can imagine my brain would probably want something nicer to remember than that.’
I don’t want my voice to waver as I say this. I don’t want Annie to think I’m playing for sympathy. But I just can’t help it. Now the memory has resurfaced, I’m having a very hard time processing it.
I didn’t sleep any better last night for finally knowing the damned truth. And now I have a waking nightmare to go along with the ones I have when I do get to sleep.
The coldness in Annie’s eyes falters, and her hand reaches out to touch my arm.
I’ve created a horrible conflict for my girlfriend. On the one hand, she can see I am traumatised, but on the other, I lied to her about it. And now I’m claiming I didn’t know I had.
What the hell is she supposed to believe?
Her hand feels warm and lovely on my arm.
Annie looks at me with tears in her eyes. ‘Please call the doctor, Charlie,’ she says.
I pull my arm away.
‘I don’t need to do that. I’m totally . . .’
The look in his eyes. The desperate look in his eyes as he sat there dying, and I did nothing. I did nothing. I just
‘. . . fine.’
What’s a doctor going to do, eh?
Prescribe me a pill? Tell me everything is going to be alright? Dig into my brain and remove the entire memory of the crash, so I don’t have to suffer with it anymore?
I know what happened now. I know what I went through.
I know why I’ve been so out of sorts. I don’t need a doctor to go poking around!
I don’t need to sit there and tell a man in a white coat how much of a useless lump I am, before he hands me over a prescription for happy pills, and sends me on my way.
Annie should know how I feel by now. We’ve had this conversation too many times recently. She put it in a bloody comedy routine, for crying out loud.
I rise from the kitchen table, leaving my tea undrunk.
‘I think I’ll go have a shower, if that’s okay with you,’ I tell Annie, not looking at her as I say it.
I don’t wait for her to reply. I’m too mad to speak to her anymore right now.
Can’t she see how humiliating this is for me?
Weren’t the tears last night enough?
Was the three-hour conversation not enough to convince her?
No. Of course not. Because now she thinks I’m a stone-cold liar who will weave a magnificent tale of bullshit, just to avoid telling her about how pathetic I truly am.
But thanks very much, Annie!
Suggesting I go see a doctor for the thousandth time is sure to make me feel even more pathetic, so mission accomplished there!
I hope this all gives you some lovely new material for the show. Five minutes on how I can straight up lie to your face should get them rolling in the aisles!
I stomp up the stairs, absolutely incensed at her lack of awareness over my situation.
I need her to believe me, not foist me off onto a complete stranger!
I need her to know that I did not lie to her. That I would never lie to her.
That’s just not who Charlie King is!
And I am Charlie King, aren’t I?
Yes.
I am definitely Charlie King.
And Charlie King doesn’t need to see a doctor, because, despite everything that’s happened, he is tota
‘Fancy lunch with a pint?’ Jacks says, in an upbeat tone I am floored by.
‘You want to go out with me?’ I reply, staring at the phone, and completely taken aback.
‘Yeah. Of course we do.’
‘Even after what happened last week?’
‘Yes, Charlie. Even after what happened last week. Leo and I have talked about it, and we . . . we know you meant well. You’re just bloody insane, that’s all.’