31. ARIES
31
ARIES
W e’ve settled into a rhythm of sorts, now we’re all back in the London house. We have slightly less sex because Matt’s still worried about Charlie finding out, given his bedroom is up on the top floor with me and Lucie. Matt won’t come anywhere near my space, and I can tell he’s anxious if I go to his room.
The distance only makes me long for him. Each secret touch at the table or in the hall is charged with electricity that could bring the house down. I know he feels it, because he grabs me when no one’s around and whispers things like, “God, I want to fuck you. Can I?”
Sometimes, I laugh. Other times, if we can steal a moment, we do exactly that. Fuck. Hard and fast. So damn satisfying. In the pantry, a cupboard, the boot room. Reckless, but addictive. And every time we do, I feel my heart opening that little bit more.
I know to the core of my being that Mum’s statement— You don’t like men— doesn’t hold up anymore. Because this man—Matthew Hawkston—I like very, very much. I’m fiercely attached to him in every way; spiritually, emotionally and, of course, physically. I just haven’t managed to admit it yet. I’ve come close, but I haven’t come out and told him I’m falling in love with him. Have fallen, perhaps. Just the thought makes me feel both vulnerable and buoyant, as though I’m floating on a cloud that could vanish at any moment.
Today, Lucie and I are in the park, waiting for Charlie’s tennis camp to finish. Ordinarily, he walks himself home, but this afternoon Lucie wanted to come down here to play, so I figured we might as well pick him up. I’m trying to put the whole affair with Matt out of my mind, but it's not working. October first. That’s the end game, but I really don’t know what the end game means. I push Lucie on the swing, half a mind on how we’ll explain to a four-year-old that I’m… what? Her daddy’s girlfriend?
I’m keeping an eye on the time, so after negotiating Lucie off the swing, we head down to the tennis courts. We’re a little late, and for a moment I wonder if we’ve missed Charlie entirely. Then I catch sight of him off to one side, with two other boys. They’re bigger than Charlie, both in height and breadth; older than him too.
I frown. There’s something about the interaction that doesn’t look altogether friendly. They’re jostling him between them, shoving him from each side. It reminds me of something I can't place, but whatever it is, it makes me feel uncomfortable.
Maybe it’s just banter. Joking around.
“Come on, Lucie, let’s get a bit closer.” She takes my hand and we traipse down the grassy bank to the courts.
Charlie and the boys have their backs to us, but one of the boys turns sideways and I get a glimpse of his profile.
I recognise him instantly from Charlie’s Speech Day. One of the Charlton twins—the sons of the man Charlie’s mum is dating. It takes me a fraction of a second to realise the other boy is the twin.
As I watch the interaction, my mind whirs. Charlie said the kids who beat him up had left school. The knowledge that I withheld the incident from Matt churns malevolently in my mind. I’d managed to convince myself I didn’t need to say anything because it was over, and I’d promised Charlie I wouldn’t. Stupid, maybe. But I did it. Now, seeing the way they’re shoving him, I know it’s not over, and I'm certain that these are the kids who beat Charlie up.
He isn’t fighting back. He’s taking it, his body limp, resigned, his tennis racket dangling from one hand as the two older boys shove him between them.
Anger rises in me, and I find myself letting go of Lucie’s hand, bidding her to stay put, as I rush towards Charlie.
One of the boys shoves him, harder this time, and the other grabs him by the shoulders when he’s doubled over and brings his knee up into his chest.
“Hey,” I yell. “Stop that.”
The boys look at me, and the twins release Charlie, who stands upright, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Is he bleeding?
“Well, look who it is,” one of them says, grinning at me, and my skin crawls at the sleaze in his tone. Why is he speaking to me like that?
Charlie’s staring at me like he wishes the ground would swallow me up.
“Saved by a girl, eh, Charlie?” the other says.
“By a slut, more like,” the first one adds.
Shock bolts through me. What the fuck ? Whatever I was expecting when I raced down here to protect Charlie, it wasn’t a slut-shaming. Something jabs in the back of my mind, like a fragment of memory I can’t hold onto.
Charlie’s fingers clench around his tennis racket.
“Yeah,” the same twin continues, nodding at me. “Saw you with your hand down Mr Hawkston’s trousers in Covent Garden.”
Oh, fuck .
It slots into place. The weight of doom that’s been in my gut since we saw those kids in Covent Garden. The face, the eyes , of that boy in the street…
“You know she’s fucking your dad, right?” He starts to laugh as Charlie’s cheeks blanch and his eyes widen in a question I don’t want to answer.
I glance over my shoulder. Lucie’s tottering down the bank towards me.
Shit .
“Yeah. Hand right down his fucking trousers,” says the other, joining in with a disgusting grin that makes the contents of my stomach curdle, and I press a hand to my belly. Am I going to throw up?
Charlie still isn’t speaking. He’s staring at me, then at the two Charlton boys, like there is no safe place for him.
One of them jolts him, pushing his shoulder and Charlie stumbles a few steps to the side with no resistance, as if their words about me and his dad have leeched all the strength right out of him.
“Touch him again, and I’ll call the police,” I say, stepping right up to them. All three of them are bigger than me, and my heart is racing so fast it might explode.
One of the twins snorts a laugh, then deliberately looks me up and down. “Got to hand it to him though,” he says, tossing a wink over his shoulder at Charlie. “He’s a lucky bastard, your dad. I’d do her.” He turns back to me. “If you’re switching things up for a younger model, I’m game.”
“Does he pay you extra?” says the other.
Heat floods my body, but I try my best to ignore it, looking directly at Charlie when I say, “We’re leaving. Now.”
One of the twins takes a step towards me, and I steel myself, planting my feet on the ground. “Don’t come any closer.” He halts at my words and cocks his head in amusement. “What you’re doing here is not acceptable. Harassing another boy. Leave him alone.”
The twins are smirking, but my speech seems to be the final straw for Charlie. He slams his racket onto the ground and marches up the grassy bank towards Lucie.
The twins’ mocking gaze runs over me. It’s so invasive that each sweep of their eyes is like a grabbing touch I haven’t consented to. I bend to pick up the racket, feeling vulnerable in this position. They’re laughing, muttering words I can’t discern. My body is on fire. I’m angry and humiliated and the pit of doom in my belly is growing ever larger by the second, swelling with the sensation that I’ve fucked up on multiple counts.
“You’re fit as fuck, you know that?” calls one of the twins.
I need to get away . My heart is pounding. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see one of them coming towards me. If he fucking touches me, I’ll scream.
I run to catch up with Charlie, leaving the twins back by the tennis courts. I can still hear them laughing, but I’m focused only on Charlie. He doesn’t acknowledge me, but his scowl is enough to communicate that he’s aware I’m right beside him.
“Are they the boys who beat you up?” Charlie says nothing, so I try again. “Charlie? Was it them?”
He keeps walking, and I hurry my steps to keep up, then suddenly he stops and turns to me. Lucie’s still a few paces away, her little worried face evidence that she knows whatever’s going on isn’t good. I want to pick her up and reassure her, but Charlie feels like the most pressing issue right now.
“Are you?” he spits. His breaths are fast and angry, his entire torso heaving with the force of them. My blood beats a heavy pulse, and for a few seconds, it’s all I’m aware of. That, and Charlie’s ferocious glare bearing down on me. “Are you fucking my dad?” he hisses, just as Lucie reaches us and grabs my hand.
“Can we go home?” she pleads, looking anxiously between me and Charlie.
“Yes, honey,” I tell her, giving her hand a squeeze.
Charlie rolls his eyes, then fixes his gaze back on me. Hard. Angry. “Are you going to answer the question?”
Lucie’s tiny fingers grip tighter to mine at the furious resonance in her brother’s voice.
I take a deep breath. “This is a conversation you should have with your dad—”
“Oh, my God.” His hands come to either side of his face before falling away just as fast. “You are. You’re fucking him,” he cries, then storms off before I can reprimand him for his language.
“Why did Charlie use the f-word?” Lucie whispers, tugging on my hand. I turn to see her big brown eyes peering up at me.
“He had a bad day at tennis camp,” I say, adding yet another lie to the mound I’ve already told.
We turn and follow Charlie as he marches up Kensington High Street like a thundercloud, me and Lucie trailing behind.
Halfway up the street, Charlie stops again, then marches forward, then stops. It’s as if the intensity of whatever thoughts are passing through his mind drive him on, then hold him back, alternately gripping and letting go. Shoppers and pedestrians begin swerving him, casting him confused looks. As if he knows we’ve nearly reached him, he spins round.
“Why?” he yells. “Why did you do it? Is it the money?”
“What? No. Of cour—”
“Do you think he’s going to marry you or something? Because he won’t.”
I haul Lucie into my arms, settling her on my hip because she can’t keep up with Charlie’s pace, and hurry forward until I’m alongside him.
“This is not appropriate,” I whisper-hiss. “Not in front of Lucie. And not in the street.”
“Ha!” Charlie’s voice is loud and brash. “And jerking my dad off in the middle of Covent Garden is appropriate?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck .
People are actively staring now, appalled at the scene. My throat is swelling, and tears well up behind my eyes as Lucie burrows her head into my shoulder. I feel so helpless, so stupid… so completely ashamed that I’m at a loss as to what to do.
“Charlie, please. Let’s get back to the house. We can talk then.”
He laughs, but the sound is bitter. “I actually thought you were nice. Maybe Mrs Minter picked a good nanny this time. But no. Just another gold-digging slut.”
Each word off his tongue is like another strike of the whip, flaying bits of my heart. I don’t even know what to say to defend myself.
“That’s not true,” I reply eventually, restraining the urge to fight back. This isn’t what he thinks it is, and I want to yell that in his face.
I force myself to remember that Charlie’s a boy… One who feels betrayed by his dad. By me. By every adult figure he’s had in his life. This isn’t personal. But his words cut like a blade honed specifically for me.
“I’m sorry.” There’s a tremor in my voice. It’s pathetic, and I hate it, but I can’t hold it steady. “But it’s not like that. You don’t know what’s going on. I like your dad. This isn’t some seedy—”
“Oh, fuck off.” He rolls his eyes hard and tosses his hair off his forehead, scowling at me before continuing his march down the street.
Panic sears through me, but I try not to let it show as Lucie’s arms tighten around my shoulders.
“He said a bad word again,” she says. “He’s just like Daddy.”
And I swear, a piece of my heart actually breaks right off and drops onto the street like a lost button. No matter how hard I look for it, I know I’ll never find it.