Chapter 42 Charlie
CHARLIE
Charlie can’t remember how he got to London. He hadn’t even known he was going there until he’d arrived, the shock of Freya’s announcement rendering him numb.
“Pregnant?” he said, falling back down on the chair in the kitchen, the wind having been well and truly taken out of his sails. There was literally nothing else she could have said that would have stopped him from walking out.
She half smiled. “I was going to tell you over dinner tonight.…”
“But … but how?” Charlie muttered, feeling as if he were talking through a mouthful of cotton wool.
She’d forced a laugh. “Do you really need me to explain it to you?”
“Fuck!” he roars now, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel, as the passenger in the car next to him at the lights turns toward him with a look of concern.
This changes everything. He has to take stock and reevaluate.
It certainly wasn’t the plan—at least not his—but he’s going to have to pull himself together and regroup.
He can’t let this unexpected curveball throw him off course and distract him from what needs to be done.
In fact, seeing this through is even more important now than it was before.
But he’s going to have to stop giving Freya the pills, at least until he knows what danger they pose to their unborn child.
And he’s going to have to tell Tess that Freya’s pregnant.
Because whatever game she’s playing stops, here and now.
She seems to think she can make up her own rules, without fear of consequence, but she needs to know that all bets are now off—the stakes are too high.
He doesn’t know what she was hoping to prove by showing him the photos of Freya, sprawled across the bed, with her eyes closed. It was as if she wanted to goad him, let him know that she had more influence over his wife than he could ever hope to. Perhaps it’s that reality that scares him the most.
He taps his fingers on his phone, not wanting to make a bad situation worse.
Should he leave it to Freya to tell Tess in her own time?
Knowing that could be weeks, months, even, of risk and uncertainty.
He’s seen what Tess is capable of—knows the damage she could do between now and then.
Is he really prepared to give her the chance?
He should have told Freya that he’d bumped into her at the hotel.
Laid his cards on the table and been honest about what had happened, while he had the opportunity.
But what purpose would it have served? She’d lose her shit and end up doing something regrettable.
And he, no doubt, would be left to clear up the mess she left behind—like he always did.
He forces himself to think. Takes himself back to where the cleanup needs to begin, because now that the goalposts have been moved, he needs to approach things from a different angle.
Be more methodical, as his usual scattergun approach isn’t going to cut it anymore.
He has to take back the power he’s allowed other people to lord over him.
He can’t let them call the shots, while he sits dormant, waiting to see where they land.
That’s why he finds himself outside Anita’s flat fifteen minutes later, because he’ll be damned if he’s going to allow his mother-in-law to blackmail him into doing something he’s even less prepared to do now, when there’s so much more to lose.
He parks by the garage block, looking up at the flat on the second floor. The lamp in the front room sends a warm glow up the sickly pink curtains, making it look as if a sweet old lady might live there. Charlie’s lip curls, knowing that nothing could be further from the truth.
He takes the stairs two at a time and bangs a heavy fist on Anita’s blue door. She’s wise to put the chain on, because the way he’s feeling, he might just tear the door off its hinges.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” she says, through the crack.
Charlie puts his foot out, in case she thinks better of letting him in. “You and I need to talk,” he says.
She reluctantly opens the door wide, but her expression can’t disguise the fact that she doesn’t want to.
“The situation’s changed,” he says, following her into the living room, his boots leaving muddy footprints in the moss-colored carpet.
She flinches and blinks one too many times as he goes toward her. “Why? What’s happened?”
“I’ve had enough,” he says, his face just a few inches from hers.
“I’m not going to put up with your bullshit anymore.
So whatever it is you think you’re doing stops right here.
Freya and I are going to be together, no matter what you say or do.
” He needs her to believe it, even though he’s not yet managed to convince himself.
“So you need to get yourself and your idle threats out of my face.”
Anita’s beady eyes dart from side to side, as if assessing her chances of escape. If she wants to jump out of the window, he’d happily let her. He might even give her a helping hand.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” she sneers.
Charlie can’t help but laugh out loud.
“You need to do the right thing,” she goes on. “Otherwise, you’ll leave me with no choice.”
“I will never tell the police what happened that night.” He stops himself from being dragged back there. “So it’s going to be down to you.”
She reaches for her phone on the table and starts jabbing indiscriminately at the screen. “I’ll make the call now,” she says, her voice high-pitched. “If you think I won’t, just watch me.”
He steps away, weighing up whether he can risk calling her bluff. He’d put money on her knowing nothing. He’d bet that this is all a stab in the dark. After all, what has she actually told him that proves she has him dead to rights?
He rakes a hand through his hair, as he flips the idealistic theory on its head. Because what if she knows more than he thinks? What if Freya has told her everything he told her not to? But why would she? he asks himself, the wires in his brain feeling as if they’re short-circuiting.
Either way, if Anita makes the call, it will kick-start a series of events that neither he nor Freya will ever be able to come back from. Their marriage, the baby, the house, the restaurant …
The precarious tower that Charlie has built, seemingly out of wafer-thin card, begins to topple in his mind’s eye. The fragments of a life he thought he was going to have torn to shreds.
It’s all balancing on a precipice that Anita can topple with just one phone call. And having that threat hanging over his head sickens Charlie to the core.
He looks at her, daring her to push the three digits that will change the course of his life.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?” she says, her hand shaking as her fingers hover over the nine.
His jaw spasms as he tries to hold back the tears that are pulling at his throat, hating Anita even more than he already does for asking the question that’s been torturing him for longer than he’d care to remember.
“Freya’s pregnant,” he says.
Anita’s mouth drops open and she sways unsteadily on her feet.
“She can’t be,” she croaks, when she eventually finds her voice.
The veins in Charlie’s neck bulge with indignation and contempt. How can a mother be so cold? How can a grandmother be so indifferent?
“I’ll do anything I have to, to keep my family together,” he warns. “I won’t let you take my child away from me.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Her thin lips pull tight as she grins. “But who’s to say it’s even yours?”