Chapter 16 Charlie
CHARLIE
Charlie puffs out his cheeks as he looks in the bathroom mirror, asking himself for the hundredth time why Freya would lie about not having seen her mother. He swallows away the thought that they’re somehow working together, to set up the narrative, ready for when Marcus Harding’s memory returns.
His shoulders tense just thinking about Anita and her far-reaching capabilities. As if he hasn’t got enough to deal with, she’s stepped in and swung her wrecking ball, as she so often does. But this time, the consequences are further-reaching than even she could possibly imagine.
Opening the medicine cabinet, the Antabuse-tablet box goads him, the warnings on the label the first thing he sees—as if he would ever forget. Vomiting, sweating, chest pains, he knows them all. But it’s the RISK OF DEATH in capital letters that pulls him up every time.
Tipping the tablets out into his hand, he counts them out. There are fewer than there should be and he berates himself for losing track. He needs to be better. There’s too much at stake for him to make a mistake.
He snaps one in half and drops it into a glass of water, watching as the chalky deposit slowly dissolves to leave no trace.
“Here you go,” he says, fixing a smile to his face as he heads into the bedroom and hands Freya the glass. “It’ll help with the headache.”
He watches as she drinks it, only turning the light off and sliding in between the cold sheets when he’s sure she’s finished.
Lying in the dark, he listens to the rise and fall of her breath, waiting. He remembers a time when he never wanted her to go to sleep, for fear that he’d miss her too much, but now he counts down the seconds.
The moonlight finds its way around the sides of the blinds, and the boulder that he’d momentarily forgotten he’d been carrying once again makes its weight felt on his chest. Had it been Freya’s idea for Anita to confront him at the restaurant?
To tell him about Marcus Harding because she was too frightened to?
His rambling thoughts twist and turn as they regurgitate each and every worst-case scenario—of which there are plenty.
Had Freya told Anita who had been driving the car that had flung Marcus Harding twenty feet in the air?
Would Anita really go to the police? Would they interview Frank and Coco, now that new information had come to light?
What if Marcus would soon be able to recall who got out of the car and ran off into the night, leaving him for dead in the middle of the road?
“Stop thinking and rest that brain of yours,” says Freya. He snatches a breath at the thought that she might actually be able to read his mind. It certainly feels that way at times.
“I’m okay,” he says, unconvincingly.
“You need to relax,” she says, as her hand slides across his chest, before moving down to the band of his pants. He instinctively recoils and grabs hold of her wrist, stopping her from going inside.
“Freya…”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” she says, moving herself closer to him. He can feel her naked skin against his and he forces himself to remember how it used to be. How she could turn him on at will, just by looking at him.
She nuzzles him, planting soft kisses on his neck, all the while gently pulling her hand free of his.
He wills himself to respond, remembering the time she came to meet him at the end of a double shift at Indigo.
After a long night, he was sitting at a table in the empty restaurant when she walked in, in a trench coat, and sat down opposite him.
Then, having still not said a single word, she’d taken off her coat to reveal she was wearing nothing underneath.
He lets out the breath he’d been holding in, allowing himself to go along with the memory, and what she’s doing to him now. Daring to believe that if he gives into this feeling, she’ll be reminded of what she stands to lose if she does something stupid.
She sits astride him, and he closes his eyes, hating himself for thinking about anything other than the here and now to get him to where he needs to be. But it’s working—and he lets her take control—doing what she knows he likes until her body shudders and her thighs lock.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers breathlessly into his ear as she lifts herself up and falls onto the bed beside him.
He hopes she’s right, but she shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep.