Chapter 20
I decide that we both need time to cool off. I have learned from experience that there is no point chasing him down the hallways, trying to talk to him. He is not in the mood to listen, and, to be entirely honest, neither am I. I know he spoke in the heat of the moment, I know he doesn’t really hate me, but they still sting, the things he said.
He needs space and so do I. I stay in my room for a while, licking my wounds, until Richard pops his head around the corner.
“You okay, sis?” he asks, frowning at the sight of me curled up in a soggy ball on the bed. “Charlie asked if he could go over to Rebecca’s, spend the day with the kids. I asked him if it was okay with you, and he said, direct quote, ‘She’s not the boss of me.’ I didn’t want to argue with that one, but thought I’d just check if it was all right with you before I dropped them off...”
I sit up, rub my swollen eyes, and reply: “That’s fine, Richard. Probably a good idea. We... um, we had a fight.”
“Yeah,” he says, sidling farther into the room. He gazes around, at what he probably now thinks of as his daughter’s space, and then focuses on me. “I gathered. These things happen. It’s really weird seeing you in here again. Mum says you’re thinking of sticking around?”
“I am, yes,” I say firmly, “me and Charlie. You’ve dealt with all of this on your own for too long.”
“All of this?” he echoes.
“Yes. Dad’s health, I mean. He’s going in to hospital, isn’t he? Mum will need some help when he comes out. It’s my turn.”
Richard sits down on the small chair by the dressing table, idly picks up a lip gloss, and stares at it as though he’s never seen such a thing in his life before.
“Okay. If that’s what you want. But... look, I don’t want to sound like a prick...”
“Stop talking then,” I snipe childishly. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right. It was a good line. But what I wanted to say was that we’ll be fine, you know. We’ve done okay without you. It was tough for all kinds of reasons, but the sky never fell in. Dad’s op is a big deal, but it’s also routine, and he’s pretty fit otherwise. Mum was planning to hire a nurse for the first few weeks and set up a bedroom downstairs for him, and he should be up and about before long anyway, better than new. She’s got it all under control.”
Of course she has , I think— she always has. Maybe I’ve been deluding myself imagining that she needs me, that I’ll be any help at all. Right now, I feel like neither use nor ornament.
“Right. Okay, thanks. I still think we’ll stay, though. But... again, thanks. And it’s fine for Charlie to come with you.”
Richard nods and makes his farewells, and I decide that I need to be busy.
I do some of the things I have been putting off, such as checking in with the insurance people, who tell me they have agreed to a part payment due to the complexity of the situation. I accept their offer, because I don’t have any energy left to fight about it, and some is better than none. I spend a long time looking at employment websites that cover the local area, and find that I’d have a lot more success if I was searching for a seasonal job in a cafe or a gift shop than I would anything substantial and permanent. The hidden side of the countryside idyll. There are a few possibilities though, including a data-processing role in Penzance, and one at a car-hire company near the airport that needs an admin manager. Neither of these exactly sets my heart on fire, but now I come to think of it, having your heart set on fire actually sounds really uncomfortable and potentially dangerous. I bookmark them, planning to apply for them when I feel less discombobulated by life.
By lunchtime, I see that my mum’s predictions look as though they will be correct, and the sky is darkening with clouds. It is strange, seeing anything but azure blue up there, and it reminds me that life here isn’t all picnics and sea swimming and cricket on the grass.
I check my bank balance, borrow Mum’s ancient but well-cared-for Toyota, and drive to a small retail park that lies off the A roads between us and the nearest town. There I purchase such exciting items as wellington boots, a light rain jacket, and a pink umbrella patterned with frogs. I invest in a new rain jacket for Charlie, as well as some walking boots—if I imagine he is staying, if I plan for it, then it will happen. I simply can’t allow myself to think otherwise. I am sure that he will calm down, that he will start to understand, that we can have a measured and reasoned conversation about it, rather than a screaming match. He is young, and he has been through a lot—but he is still Charlie.
I stay out for the rest of the day, because I am unused to retail therapy and am starting to see its appeal. It is the ultimate distraction from the stuff that really matters. I even call in at a garden center and buy some lupins—maybe Mum will donate a corner of her flower garden to me and I can have my own little flower patch. Maybe I will feel more settled, more solid, once I start to see things bloom around me.
When I get back to Foxgloves, I see that Joy is gone and remember that Luke was planning to visit the area around St. Ives today. I go back inside, put away all my new treasures, and leave the potted flowers outside. The rain has started to trickle down, and they will enjoy a nice drink until I can get them somewhere more permanent.
I forage for food for us all, and join Mum and Dad in watching a documentary about the birds of the Caribbean, each of us sitting with a tray on our lap eating plates of beans on toast. I feel like we are all in a nursing home.
I try not to think about Charlie, and what stage he is at in his come-down. I also resist the urge to call Rob and give him a verbal boot up the arse—it would be satisfying, but also, I know, extremely counterproductive.
It will help nobody if Charlie starts to see me purely as the enemy. I am starting to realize that pieces of our conversation this morning—if it really qualifies as a conversation—had distinct echoes of some of the rows I had with my own parents, and that didn’t exactly end well. It seems unlikely that Charlie will run off with a drummer and get pregnant, but I still know I need to be careful not to push him away. To back him into a corner. Of course, I see all this approximately ten hours after the fact, which is less helpful than having seen it that morning, when I was threatening to keep his passport and essentially hold him hostage. I am determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past, no matter how hard it feels. I don’t want him to go, but I understand that keeping someone against their will can end much worse.
By 8:00 p.m., there is still no sign of him, and the first real slivers of worry start to creep in. I try not to let my parents see it, and instead attempt to contact him on the phone. No answer. I send a quick message, but with the same result. Eventually, I resort to going through Mum’s address book by the phone in the hallway, and find Rebecca’s number.
I go back upstairs as I dial and, when she answers, realize how strange this is.
“Hi, Rebecca,” I say quietly. “It’s Jenny. I know I haven’t spoken to you for almost two decades, but... well, I was wondering if Charlie is still with you?”
She laughs and replies: “Jenny! Indeed, long time, no speak! I’m sorry I haven’t popped over yet—maybe we could go out for a drink sometime?”
“Yes, that would be lovely, thanks... but, Charlie?”
“Well, he was here, hanging out with the beasts—but he left maybe a couple of hours ago? The rain had started, and he borrowed Ethan’s bike. I offered him a lift, but he said no. Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” I reply breezily. “He’s probably just gone off to explore. I’m sure he’ll turn up any minute now.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” she says, but I hear a reflection of my own fear in her voice. Being the parent of a teenager is not for the fainthearted. “Let me know when he lands, all right?”
I assure her I will, and hang up. Two hours. On a bike, in the rain, in a place he still doesn’t really know very well. My brain immediately starts to conjure up a smorgasbord of disaster, and I make myself sit still, take some deep breaths. Going full psycho will not help me or Charlie.
I stand up, go to the window, and pull the curtains to one side. The sky is bruised gray, the rain coming down heavy and thick, and the frantic sway of the oak trees tells me the wind is up as well. I see that Luke is back, put on my new boots and jacket, and rush down the stairs. I can hear my parents in the living room, bickering about who last used the remote controls and where they are now, and make it past them without being spotted.
I let myself out, apologizing to Frank as I shut him in the house, and run over to Joy. I bang on the door, hard, and Luke opens up. He is obviously just in from the rain himself, his hair soaked and the shoulders of his T-shirt drenched. He has a towel around his neck and smiles when he sees me.
“Come in!” he says brightly. “I was just putting the kettle on.”
Betty appears at his ankles, but I am too upset to engage as I step inside.
“Charlie’s been gone for the whole day,” I say, too tense to sit down. “He left Rebecca’s house on a bike about two hours ago, and at most it’s twenty minutes away. And we had a row. And I was angry, and he was angry, and I’ve spent all day doing stupid things and assuming I’d see him later and sort it out... and now I don’t know where he is! Can you help me? I don’t want to upset Mum, or especially Dad...”
He takes hold of my shoulders and gently pushes me down onto the sofa before taking his spot opposite me. “Yes, of course I can help. But you need to calm down a bit first. You might have had a row, but that doesn’t mean anything bad’s happened. What was it about?”
“Um... a lot of things, I think. But on the surface him wanting to go and live with his dad for a year instead of going to uni.”
“He wants to defer and go next year? Or is it a complete change of heart?”
“Next year, he said. But—”
“But you’re freaking out worrying that everything that can possibly go wrong will go wrong, and that his whole life will be ruined? And that maybe, even just a teeny bit, he might end up preferring his dad to you?”
I stare at him with a mix of annoyance and frustration. I want to say rude words to him, but essentially he’s right. The “preferring his dad to you” bit hadn’t even really registered before now, and it is only a tiny bit of it, but it is there.
“All of that, probably. And I didn’t react well—I reacted like my parents, all those years ago. I know how well that ended...”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? He’s probably just sulking somewhere, trying to punish you. Is there anywhere you think he’d go?”
I chew my lip, and give it some thought, and eventually have a small light-bulb moment.
“The caravan!” I say, immediately standing up again. “He’s been cleaning it out, and that’d be the perfect place to sulk... I did it myself many times...”
I jump down all of the steps and run as fast as I can toward the caravan’s hidden spot in the back field. The trees and bushes are thick back here, dripping with accumulated rain, and I stand on tiptoe to try to see through one of the windows. I clamber up the steps and crank the door open. Inside, I see some signs of teenage habitation—a discarded packet of crisps, a half-empty bottle of water, yet more abandoned earphones.
I shout Charlie’s name, even though I can tell the place is empty. A quick check in the tiny bedroom confirms it. By this time, Luke has caught up with me, and I look at him in despair as he comes in from the rain.
“He’s not here!” I semi-wail. “And he’s not answering his phone, and... oh God, what if he’s hurt, Luke? What if something’s happened to him?”
“We’re not there yet,” he replies firmly. “And you mentioned his phone. Can you track it?”
Of course , I think, fumbling my own phone out of the zip-up pocket on the front of my coat. Why didn’t I think of that? Probably because I’m a complete bloody idiot , I decide, as I scoot through the log-ins and security checks and finally reach a screen that shows me a map. Charlie only agreed to sign up to it when he once left his phone in the amusement arcade and I had to buy him a new one. I was furious at the time, told him off for being irresponsible, but now I’m so pleased he was. I stare at the screen, and the little flashing beacon that tells me where the phone is—or, I notice, where its last known location was. What does that mean?
I look it up, and see that it sometimes means the battery is dead. Even better. My son is missing, out in the wilds, with no way of getting help.
“Where does it say he is?” asks Luke, peering in to see. “It looks like it’s somewhere near here...”
He enlarges the map, and I see that he is right. I visualize the real-life version of what I’m looking at, and that’s when I realize that what I’d been feeling up until now was nothing. Now I am experiencing true panic.
“This says it’s by the gate down to the coastal path,” I murmur. “The shortcut that leads down to the cove...” I meet Luke’s eyes, and I can tell from his expression that I don’t need to say anything more. He clearly perfectly recalls what I said about it when we walked there: that it could be dangerous, that there are currents, that in harsh weather the rocks are treacherous. That you shouldn’t ever swim there alone...
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” he says, before I can speak. “Now, we’re going to go back to Joy and get those headlamps of ours, and we’re going to go and check, okay? Charlie isn’t an idiot, you have to remind yourself of that.”
I nod, but I’m not sure I believe him. I mean, look at his genetics. He’s related to me after all.
I follow Luke back to the motorhome while he grabs his coat, the headlamps, and a large handheld flashlight. Betty escapes from the van as he tries to close the door, running ahead of us, her small brown form soon disappearing into the murky evening sky.
“She’ll be fine,” he says as we set off, me worriedly calling Betty’s name. “I’ve walked down to the cove with her every morning—she knows the way, and she might even help us.”
I nod, and we set off toward the path.
I want to run, but Luke lays a calming hand on my arm, shakes his head, and adds: “It won’t do Charlie any good if you get hurt, will it?”
He is right, of course, but it is so hard to slow my pace—especially when we reach the gate and I see an unfamiliar bike propped up against it. Ethan’s bike, I have to presume.
“Charlie!” I yell as loud as I can. “Charlie, where are you?” My words are swept away on the wind, but I continue to shout his name as we start to descend. The steps are slippery with rain, and the only real light is the bobbing glow from our headlamps. There is no beautiful sunset tonight; it is as though the sun has never even graced the sky. The mood of the whole place has been transformed; what once felt dazzling now feels dangerous.
We make slow progress, Luke in front of me, occasionally holding out a steadying hand to help me down. I am frantic with worry, cold with dread—I can hear the waves crashing in against the rocks, see the white spray of the breakers illuminating the darkness. I imagine my boy down there, in trouble, needing me, and I scream his name once more.
We are about halfway down when we hear Betty barking. We don’t see her until we are much closer, and she runs up to woof at us. She circles and heads back down, and Luke speeds up his pace, leaving me behind as he clambers down the steps two at a time. I follow as fast as I can, cursing my own limitations.
“He’s here!” Luke shouts, and I slip and slide the last few steps to find them.
Charlie is sprawled on the ground, one leg splayed out in front of him. His hair is soaking wet, plastered to his pale skin, and his clothes are drenched. Betty is licking his face, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that he is stroking her.
He is stroking the dog. He is moving. He is alive. We crouch down next to him, and Luke shines the flashlight over his body. I grasp Charlie’s face in my hands, kissing his cheeks, pushing his wet curls back, telling him repeatedly that he is okay, that we are here, that everything is going to be all right.
“It’s okay, Mum,” he murmurs, his eyes huge and wet, “I’m okay. Busted my ankle on the way down. I tried to crawl back up, but I didn’t get very far—too wet, and I kept slipping. My phone’s dead. I’m sorry...”
I kiss him some more, see him grimace as Luke examines his injured ankle, and reply: “No need to be sorry, love. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought—”
“Thought I’d gone swimming, on my own, at night, in the place you told me never to do that?”
“Um... yes...”
“No. I came home, saw you all watching telly. Just couldn’t hack it, so I went to the caravan for a bit, and then I just... I just wanted to come and sit down here and watch the waves for a bit, you know? It was daft. I’m sorry. I feel so stupid now.”
“No, no... it’s okay. It’s fine. Accidents happen—it doesn’t make you stupid. Nobody expects them—it’s why they’re called accidents... Don’t worry. We’ll get you home, you’ll be all right...”
I stand up, and Luke joins me.
“He’s right—my medical definition would be busted ankle as well. I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m not sure. Pretty swollen already, and he’s cold and wet and probably in shock. We should get him to hospital. Should I call an ambulance?”
“No,” I say, feeling something approaching calm settle back over me. “They’ll take too long around here, and they’d never get down the steps anyway. Charlie, do you think you can make it back up if we help you?”
“Yeah, I think so...,” he says, and I can tell he’s trying to be brave.
Between us, we manage to get Charlie upright. Luke whips off his own coat and fits it around Charlie’s much slighter form before we tell him to wrap his arms around our shoulders. He can barely put weight on the bad ankle, and it is awkward and difficult, but we manage to pick our way slowly back up the steps. There is some swearing, from all three of us, and a few breathtaking moments when we almost lose our footing, but eventually we make it. We leave the sound of the waves behind us and emerge onto the clearing by the gate.
We are all exhausted by this point, but there is more to come—one look at his leg tells me he definitely needs X-rays. I help Charlie hop toward my mum’s car, and Luke goes to put Betty back in the motorhome. She’s earned an extra-special treat tomorrow , I think.
The keys are where I left them, tucked inside the glovebox—a car thief would have to walk miles in this neighborhood—and I start up the engine. Charlie is in the back seat, covered up in the travel blanket my mum always keeps in the trunk. Bless her organizational skills.
Luke climbs into the passenger seat, and part of me wants to tell him he doesn’t need to come with us, that he should go back to Joy and warm up—but I am glad to have him by my side, and simply smile my thanks. I pause before we set off and send my mum a text: Everything is fine, but Charlie has twisted his ankle. Taking him to the emergency room to get a quick X-ray, be back soon.
I drive off in a flurry of gravel before she can see it, come outside, and get involved. They don’t need to see Charlie like this; they don’t need to know how close this came to being even worse—they don’t need the stress, especially in my dad’s condition.
In the end, the “be back soon” part of that message turned out to be on the optimistic side. The nearest emergency room is miles away anyway, and the sudden bad weather has caused a deluge of accidents. It is hours before Charlie is seen, once the triage nurse has established that he isn’t about to die. Such strange places, hospitals—that weird combination of adrenaline and boredom.
When Charlie is finally wheeled through for his X-ray, I glance over at Luke, see his perfectly bland face, and the way his clenched fists give the lie to his surface calm. I realize that I have been so caught up in the moment, caught up in my own worries, in Charlie’s needs, in the drama, that I have not even considered how this must feel for him. He is a man who has spent more than his fair share of time in a hospital with a child, and this must be brutal for him.
I reach across the chairs, take hold of one of those hands, unclench one of those fists, and look directly at him. His eyes skitter away, like he doesn’t want to face me.
“Luke,” I say insistently, “it’s okay now. Thank you, for everything—but we’re all right for now. Why don’t you go and take a walk, or get a coffee, or even get a taxi back to Foxgloves? I know this must be hard.”
He nods, an abrupt jerking of his chin, and stands up. “Okay. I could do with a breather. I’m not leaving, though—I’ll be around, at the end of the phone. Just call me when you need me. Promise?”
“I promise,” I reply and watch him walk away toward the exit. There are flashing lights outside, and as the automatic doors hiss open, I see an ambulance pull up. Luke is lit up in their flashing strobe, and I see him duck his head and walk quickly past. He doesn’t even have a coat, I realize—Charlie still has it.
Just then my name is called, and I dash over to the nurse who is scanning the busy room looking for me.
“He’s fine,” she says, taking one look at my face and obviously realizing I need the reassurance. “It’s just a sprain. He’s just getting it bandaged and taking some painkillers. It should heal up quickly enough—rest for a while, ice if needed, and keep it raised if possible. As soon as he can put pressure on it more easily, though, get him up and active. Okay?”
I nod and follow her through to a cubicle. Charlie is lying on the bed, his now-dressed foot propped up on a pillow. He still looks exhausted, but his color is back, and he manages a smile when he sees me.
“Sorry, Mum!” he says as I perch on the edge of the bed next to him. “I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble! I was just... I was angry, and I needed some time on my own.”
“Believe me, love, I understand. I did as well—I just went shopping and spent a load of money instead of spraining my ankle, though. Maybe they’re both self-destructive in their own way. And I’m sorry about our argument. I hate it when we argue, Charlie.”
“Me too,” he says, sounding relieved—I have said the first sorry about the row, which in teenage world means that he is now allowed to give a little as well. “It always feels like the world isn’t quite spinning right when we fall out, doesn’t it? I’m sorry I was such a prick about it all, but you did ambush me.”
“I know,” I say, nodding decisively, “and I’ve also had a whole day to think about it. I did ambush you, and I did make decisions on your behalf, and I should have talked to you first. I know exactly how it feels to be on the receiving end of that. But I also made that decision because I think it’s the best one for you. I’ve been making decisions without talking to you for a long time, and I hope I’ve not made any huge mistakes so far. I just want to—”
“Protect me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah. That. And kill you sometimes, obviously.”
“Fair enough. But look, Mum—I don’t want to fight again, but I do want you to listen to me. I’m really not a kid anymore. And yes, before you say anything—I know the events of the last few hours don’t exactly win me any maturity prizes, but, as you said yourself, accidents happen. I haven’t decided to defer uni on a whim. I’ve thought about it a lot.”
I bite my tongue and resist all my urges to interrupt him. He is asking to be treated like an adult, and accusing him of behaving like a child will not help.
“Have you?” I reply quietly. “I had no idea.”
“I was going to talk to you about it earlier, but life kind of got complicated, didn’t it? I was considering it already, and the road trip just kind of made my mind up... I don’t want to go to uni just yet. I want to see more of the world, and more of my dad, and more of... you know, stuff!”
I am taken aback that I had no idea he had been considering deferring—but I know I shouldn’t be. Teenagers are made up of 90 percent secrets. We are close, but I have never told him everything about me—so why should I expect the same in return?
“Okay. I’m just worried about it, that’s all. Worried that maybe you’ll get distracted. That you’ll forget all your plans. That—”
“That I’ll turn into my dad?” He laughs when he sees the shocked expression on my face, and adds: “What? How thick do you think I am? Did you assume I thought Dad was this perfect role model? I’m not blind, Mum. I know who raised me. I know who was always there for me, who did all the hard stuff. You’ve never said it, but I’m capable of figuring things out on my own—I know he left us in the lurch, and I know he’s far from perfect. But I also know that I want to do this—I want to travel, I want to see more of the world, and yes, I want to get to know my dad better. I’m not going to suddenly drop out and join a commune and spend the rest of my life smoking dope in the foothills of the Himalayas or anything. I’ve worked hard in my exams, and I want to go to uni, want to have a career, all of that—just not right now. You have to trust me, and trust yourself—you didn’t raise an idiot!”
I feel humbled, and touched, and surprised, and in awe of this amazing human being. But I also still feel troubled—unconvinced. Scared, I suppose, to let him go.
“Okay, thank you for that,” I reply, holding his hand. “And I understand, I really do. And we can definitely talk about it more—”
“Mum,” he says, squeezing my fingers. “I know a bit about what happened, between you and your parents—Ethan and Shannon are proper gossips. But do you remember what it felt like, back then, when you were this age and they were trying to control you, when they thought they knew what was best for you?”
“Yes, and I hated it, Charlie... but in some ways they were right! They just wanted to protect me from making a terrible mistake!”
“That terrible mistake being, eventually, me?”
“No—you know that, love! You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I can’t even imagine a life without you in it. But it wasn’t easy, Charlie—and I so want your life to be easy!”
“But, Mum,” he says, grinning, “where’s the fun in that? Anyway... I’m pretty sure they could use this bed for someone else. Let’s go home.”
“Home?” I repeat as I help him up. “Which one? An empty space in Norfolk, Foxgloves, Joy, the caravan...? I’m not quite sure where home even is anymore.”
“Don’t be dense, Mum,” he says as he leans on my shoulder and hops. “Surely you’ve figured it out by now? Home is wherever you’re happy.”