35. MATT
35
MATT
M usic is blasting from the speakers built into the ceilings. The house is full. A handful of Charlie’s friends, surly teenagers with dubious facial hair and limbs too long for their scrawny bodies, stand awkwardly around the room, mingling with their parents, Charlie’s godparents and our extended family: Nico, Seb, Kate and her brother Jack Lansen and his girlfriend. After I smashed the cake, Gemma, Mark and the twins left so that the staff could clean everything away and set up for the party. Now, Gemma and the twins are back, but not Mark. He, at least, had the decency to stay home.
Alec’s cake is spectacular. Delicious too, but that’s to be expected. Thank goodness he’d made it because what remained of the twins’ cake wasn't salvageable.
Charlie looks miserable, and Lucie is clinging to Aries’ legs like she knows this is their last evening together.
It’s what I would be doing if I could. But here I am, dressed in a fucking tailored suit, drinking champagne with my ex-wife and pretending everything’s all right on Charlie your-son-is-a-wreck’s seventeenth birthday.
“Delicious cake,” Seb mumbles as he stuffs another forkful into his mouth and chews it down. “Bloody good chef you’ve got.”
I nod, but I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck about anything Seb says right now.
“She was home-schooled, you know,” I say, although I don’t know why.
Seb pauses, fork midway between his mouth and the plate. “Who was? What are you talking about?”
“Aries. Her mother educated her. On the road, mostly.”
“No shit. That sounds like a hell of a lot of work.” He stuffs another lump of cake in his mouth and swallows it down. “Maybe you should sack off the business and do it for Lucie.” He chortles like the idea of me giving up my work to dedicate my life to Lucie is ridiculous. I suppose it is, and at the thought, pain pokes the inside of my chest like nails being hammered through my heart. I’ll never be the type of parent that Mrs McClennon was to Aries. But Aries… she could be like that. She’s devoted to my little girl, but leaving me means leaving Lucie too…
Shit . When Aries leaves, the heartbreak is going to resonate through my entire family…
Across the room, Charlie picks crumbs off his plate, popping them into his mouth one by one. He’s chatting to a friend and his mother. Thank God he’s at least engaging with people. That’s got to be a good sign.
I glance back over at the door, where Aries was standing with Lucie only moments ago, but she’s gone. It’s seven thirty. Lucie’s bedtime.
I’m a jangle of nerves. Aries is here, still inside my house, upstairs, putting my daughter to bed. But then she’ll be gone. Whisked away north of the border to live a life without me in it. And I have to stand here and ignore the fact that it feels like my heart is falling out of me in a bloodied mess that no one else can see.
Hugo Charlton is moving across the room, glass of champagne in hand. He stops at Charlie, exchanges a few words, slaps him on the back and hands him the glass. Then he saunters off, looking delighted. What the hell is he looked so chuffed about? A sinking sensation tugs at my gut.
Fuck. Aries has made me paranoid. I know I didn’t see the bruises on Charlie’s torso, but if the twins would do that to Charlie, how can anything they do be well meaning? Did they really bake him a fucking cake out of the goodness of their hearts? I doubt it. But there’s no evidence to the contrary, and my explosion earlier made me look like the bad guy.
I grip the stem of my champagne glass and stride towards Charlie, leaving Seb sucking icing off his fork.
I step right into the middle of Charlie’s conversation, not caring that I’m interrupting. My manners have gone to shit, if I ever had any in the first place. “Give me your glass,” I order, taking Charlie’s before he can object.
The friend and his mother are standing there, staring at me like I’m the jerk who has stood up and blocked the screen in the middle of the cinema.
“What the fuck, Dad?” Charlie hisses. This is as much as I’ve got out of him since I smashed the birthday cake, but I wasn’t expecting more.
“Have mine,” I say, swapping them over. “And don’t drink more than one.”
Then, without a word of apology or explanation, I take the drink and walk out of the room. Seb, still licking icing off his fork, calls after me, but I don’t respond.
I pace down to the kitchen, setting the champagne glass on the granite-topped island. I place my palms flat either side of the glass and stare at it. Bubbles rise, non-stop streams, oblivious patterns. Meaningless.
Maybe I have gone mad. Lost the plot. What the hell am I doing with Charlie’s champagne? What do I think Hugo Charlton did to it? Damn Aries and her panic. It’s infected me. I’m itchy all over with it.
“You all right?”
I turn to find Jack Lansen standing at the bottom of the stairs. Kate’s brother. Nico’s best friend. Handsome fucker. His girlfriend hovers behind him, golden curls free-falling over her shoulders, and for a painful second I’m reminded of Aries.
I was so swept up in my own thoughts that I didn’t know anyone had followed me. Nico and Kate are behind, and the four of them peer at me.
“Charlie told us what happened with the cake the Charlton twins made,” Jack says.
I nod, focusing on the bubbles in the glass. My skin is beginning to heat up, knowing there are multiple pairs of worried eyes on me, wondering if I’m in the middle of some kind of crisis. Maybe I am.
“There’s probably some left somewhere. If you want to try it,” I say. “I didn’t smash the whole thing. I’m sure what’s left is perfectly edible.”
They’re silent, but I swear I can hear the rustle of their clothing, like they don’t know whether to stay or go.
“You drinking that champagne?” Nico says, stepping around Jack and coming towards me.
“I think it’s poisoned.” My voice is emotionless, like I’m dead inside. I know, without looking over, that the four of them are sharing looks like I’m insane.
I pick the glass up, swill the liquid and take a huge gulp.
Kate gasps.
I rinse my mouth with it, then swallow. Wait for a moment. Tastes fine. A little sweet, perhaps. I drink the rest and set the empty glass down and turn to face them.
“Should we… call an ambulance?” Jack asks, sounding as though he doesn’t know whether to laugh or not.
“No. It’s fine. The champagne is fine.”
“Do you need help?” Nico asks.
Jesus . All these people, watching me, worrying about me, all the fucking time. I go to the cupboard, grab a glass and fill it with water. I take a gulp, rinse and spit in the sink and that’s when I see it: the tiniest little piece of yellow.
I stare at it. Prod it with my finger so it sticks to the tip and bring it closer so I can see it.
A fucking strawberry seed.
I knew it. Rage rises like a beast as I turn back to the others, and I know Nico can see it, because his eyes flare and he sticks an arm out to shield Kate, or stop her approaching me. I’d never hurt Kate, but I must look feral enough that Nico thinks he needs to protect her.
“Strawberries,” I explain. “Those fucking boys put strawberries in Charlie’s drink.”
“Shit,” Nico mutters, but I don’t hang about to hear his thoughts on the matter, and the four of them blur as I push past, making my way up the stairs. They’re swearing and cursing behind me, muttering amongst themselves. Nico calls out to me. “Wait, Matt.”
I spin back to face them all, crowded on the stairs behind me like something from a comedy sketch. “Let me handle this.”
“Don’t lose it. The party—” Jack urges.
“I’ve got this,” I growl, and they must accept it because they don’t immediately follow as I barge back into the drawing room, scanning it quickly for the twins. Neither of them are here, but Charlie’s still talking to his friend and the mother, and this time I grab him by the arm. “With me,” I command, and Charlie barely has a second to excuse himself before I drag him away.
“Dad, what—”
“Where are they?” I whisper. “Ben and Hugo. Where the fuck are they?”
“I don’t know. How would I know?”
They must be here somewhere. I know it. I stride into another room just off the drawing room, where the staff are pouring out champagne, lining glasses on tables, preparing to serve them.
I hear a noise; a loud, malicious sounding chuckle, and I know it’s them. The fuckers. Still dragging Charlie with me, I enter the boot room, where coats hang from the walls, and shoes are lined up neatly beneath. More shoes than we’d ever need.
Standing in the corner of the room are the twins, huddled over, conspiratorial. Hugo has a glass of champagne in each hand, and Ben is holding a punnet of strawberries. He’s running one around the edge of a glass, and in the liquid itself a lone strawberry floats.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice booms in the small room, and next to me, Charlie shudders.
The twins jerk their heads up at the same moment, like a pair of rabbits in the headlights, and a brutal, murderous impulse to run them down in one of my cars blasts through me like a heartbeat.
I storm over and grab the strawberries, the plastic box crunching in my hand. “Get out of my house. Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”
“Mr Hawkston,” Ben begins. “We aren’t doing—”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I know exactly what you’re doing. What you’ve already done.” I’m simmering with anger, struggling to hold it together. Charlie is still standing at the door, trying to make himself smaller. “You’ve hurt my son. Tried to harm him. And I will not allow it. You will never, ever , enter this house again. And if you dare come near him, I will personally make you regret that you were ever born.” My voice is shaking with the effort of holding myself back from beating the two of them to a pulp. “Get your stuff and get out right now.”
There’s a moment of stillness where the twins are still frozen in place, but then it breaks like someone pressed play on a film, and everything moves at double speed. Hugo places the champagne glasses on a side table, and they grab their coats, shuffling into them.
“Charlie, mate,” one of them starts, his voice weak and fearful. “It was all in good fun. We—”
“Don’t fucking talk to him. You’ll leave, now, in silence, or I will drag you both into that party and publicly shame you for what you’ve done. There is nothing you could say that could excuse this. Out. Now.” My empty hand is a solid fist at my side, the other still clenching the strawberries, juice dripping between my knuckles and down my fingers. Charlie’s head is lowered, but his eyes are huge, peering at all of us from beneath his hair.
I focus on trying to control my breathing as the Charlton twins sheepishly leave the room, hunched over and—hopefully—ashamed of themselves.
When they’ve gone, Charlie and I are left alone, and I’m still struggling to hold myself in check. I slam the strawberries down next to the champagne.
“Dad—”
“What?” I snap, all that tightly held anger bursting out. Charlie jerks away, and I’m immediately regretful, covering my eyes with the heels of my hands as I speak, juice and strawberry pulp leaking over my face. “Shit. Sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Charlie. I’m not angry with you. Christ, I’m not angry with—”
“Thank you.”
My frustration fizzles out at the sound of Charlie’s soft voice. I lower my hands to find him, in spite of everything, staring at me with a look I haven’t seen for years. It’s how he used to gaze at me, before he hit double-digits, whenever I did something to help him without being asked, like tied his shoelaces or wiped toothpaste off his face; wide-eyed and worshipful, as though he believed I was an omnipotent saviour in his small world.
Back then, I reveled in it that glorious expression, but now it chokes me, and I see in an instant how much my son has needed me to be that man for him, and I haven’t been there.
I want to hug him, but I don’t dare; not covered in the remains of the strawberries. I hold my hands up. “Let me wash up. Wait here.”
Charlie smiles, a cute, hesitant grin, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed to smile, but he really fucking wants to.
I walk to the cloakroom and wash my hands and face, but when I go back into the boot room, Charlie has disappeared, and Seb is standing in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” he asks, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “I saw the twins leaving. Gemma went with them.”
Of course she fucking did. “Good riddance.” I’m still breathing heavily, aware I must look crazed. “They’re never coming back. Not to this house.”
Seb’s gaze lights upon the crushed strawberries, and I can see him putting the pieces together. “Fuck,” he whispers, looking a little shocked, then he shrugs it off and says, “Whatever happened in here, it must have been good because Charlie’s out there looking pleased as punch. Haven’t seen him smiling like that in an age.”
Thank God . “Where’s Aries?” I need to tell her she was right about the twins, about the strawberries.
“She left,” Seb says.
A horrific sensation occurs in my chest, like a vast hand is clutching my heart, squeezing it the way I just crushed those fucking strawberries. “When?”
“A few minutes ago.”
Fuck . If it hadn’t been for the twins and their actions, I might have caught her. Might have seen her, held her, one last time.
My heart is beating way too fast; it can’t be healthy. I shove past Seb and go back into the drawing room, which is thick with people, but none of them are the person I want. The person I need. How far has she gone? Where is she? Can I still catch her?
I dash out into the hall, not giving a shit that the speed of my movement is attracting attention. I open the front door and trot down the steps. It’s still light. The air is cool, only the mildest trace of the summer heat lingers. I can see Gemma and the twins walking down the street, but they don’t notice me and I don’t fucking care about them.
I still can’t see Aries.
There’s a taxi outside the gates, its orange indicator flicking on and off. I run across the lawn towards it. Press the button to release the pedestrian gate. It clicks open as the taxi pulls away.
I wrench the gate’s heavy weight and pass through the gap into the street. Begin to run again. But the taxi is faster than I am, and it takes a turn at the crossroads ahead. I’m sprinting now. Running like a madman through Kensington. The taxi turns again, disappearing from view.
When I reach the corner, it’s long gone. The street is empty. I double over, hands on my thighs. Breathless. And then I throw up, right there on the pavement, until I’m empty too.
Later, when everyone has gone home and Charlie’s in his room, I go up to the fourth floor. Light-headed. Heartbroken. A mess.
Lucie is asleep. Has been for hours. There’s no strip of light from Aries’ room. I push the door open and immediately wonder why I’m here, because the sight of the bare room splits me open: a wound carved right down my torso. I grip the door handle and think about sinking to the floor for a moment, but decide to sit on the bed. If Lucie wakes up, I don’t want her to find me in a crumpled heap on the threshold of Aries’ empty room.
She’s stripped the sheets; the bare duvet is curled up like an over-sized cinnamon roll on the mattress. Her scent lingers in the air. Coconut. Sweet. Like the promise of sun.
On the pillow, there’s a small card with a neat, hand-written note.
Dear Matt,
I knew you’d come up here. I’m sorry.
I wish this could have ended differently.
I love you.
Aries.
I cover my eyes with my hand for a second. My breath shakes and bone-crushing pain shudders in my chest. Fuck . This hurts . It hurts worse than divorce. Pressure shimmers behind my eyes, pulses in my throat.
I scrunch up Aries’ note, feeling the edges of the card biting into my palm, then stuff it deep into my pocket. Behind my ribs, there’s a splintering sensation as if part of me is shattering. I don’t cry. I never fucking cry, but right now I know I could. Unshed tears burn like acid at the back of my eyeballs.
Fuck this shit. I can’t sit in here, wishing she was still here, wondering how the fuck it all went wrong.
I push off the bed and walk out of the room, closing the door behind me. An attempt to shut it all away. To shut her away. A chuckle, entirely devoid of humour, escapes me; as if I could ever shut her away.
You’re in my bloodstream .
I go to my own room, but memories of Aries are even worse here. I see her everywhere, ghosts of her against the cupboards, splayed on the bed, smiling, laughing. Images of red hair strewn across my sheets are superimposed over the emptiness beneath.
I sink to the floor, dropping my head into my hands, bracing to hold back the pain I know is right there, knocking at the edges of my awareness, but I refuse to let it in. This will not be the thing that breaks me.
Not yet…