by Lily Morton
Charlie Sunshine
A Close Proximity Novel
Lily Morton
Copyright © 2020 by Lily Morton
Book cover design by Natasha Snow Designs
www.natashasnowdesigns.com
Photo: ©Regina Wamba
www.ReginaWamba.com
Professional beta reading by Leslie Copeland, editing by Courtney Bassett
www.lescourtauthorservices.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
References to real people, events, organizations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized editions
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following products mentioned in this work of fiction: McDonalds, Tipp-ex. Tom Ford, Mercedes, Blu Tack, Hugo Boss, Rennie, Kleenex, Vicks VapoRub, Calpol, Hallmark, Ambre Solaire, Tiffanys, Greggs, Clutch Cafe, Grindr, Marmite, PornHub, Sainsburys, Mills and Boon
All songs, song titles and lyrics mentioned in the novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Warning
This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content and adult situations.
Contents
Blurb
Author Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Charlie Sunshine Short Story
Thank You
Contact Lily
Also by Lily Morton
Blurb
Sometimes love is a lot closer to home than you think.
Charlie Burroughs can’t keep a man. All he wants is a good relationship like the ones he sees his friends having, but none of the men he picks ever work out. Despite him trying to be the perfect boyfriend, the men are either threatened by his looks or his epilepsy or a combination of the two. It’s lucky that he has his best friend Misha to turn to. The two of them are closer than peas in a pod and fiercely loyal to each other. He can’t imagine his life without Misha in it.
Misha Lebedinsky is the complete opposite of his best friend. Being the support system for his mum and twin sisters leaves Misha with neither the time nor the inclination for a relationship. Quick and frequent hook-ups are his favourite means of communication and any other pesky emotional needs he has are met by Charlie, who he’s devoted to. He lives a life of happy compartmentalization with no intention of ever changing.
All of this changes when the two best friends move in together. Being in close proximity means that they suddenly start to see each other in a very different light. But Charlie struggles when his drive to be the perfect partner clashes with the fact that he’s in love with a man who knows every little thing about him. And even if he can get past that, can a relationship ever work with a man who’d need a dictionary to tell him what love means?
From bestselling author Lily Morton comes a love story about a sunny librarian who has relationship written all over him and a cynical banker who doesn’t even have it in his blurb.
This is the second book in the Close Proximity series but it can be read as a standalone.
Author Note
I sought a lot of advice on epilepsy before writing this book.
A special mention must go to Epilepsy Action. This is a British charity providing information, advice, and support for people with epilepsy. The people involved with this charity were so kind and answered a huge amount of questions from me. If you need further information on epilepsy, or want to donate to this charity, you can find them here
Also, a huge thank you to Carly Marie who kindly read the book and gave me very valuable feedback.
Any mistakes made are entirely my own.
For my mum. The strongest and loveliest person I know. If I’m half as good a mum to my boys as you are to me, then I’m happy.
“Life is the past, the present and the perhaps.”
Bette Davis
Chapter One
Charlie
I stare over the library counter at the small bespectacled man who is grinning at me, and I sigh. Heavily.
“Mr Flint, we’ve had this conversation before. You cannot keep putting your name and telephone number in the back of the Mills and Boon large-print books.” His grin widens, and I shake my head. “The Mills and Boon publishing house was created to bring affordable romance to women all over the world, but I don’t think they ever imagined it would be in this way.” I attempt to look stern. “If it happens again, I’m going to have to fine you. No more defacing of the library stock.”
He nods at me and winks before taking his library card back and trotting through the library in the direction of the large-print romance section.
Bethany, my senior library assistant, comes to lean against the counter next to me. “He’s like the world’s oldest and smallest sex pest,” she says in a marvelling voice.
I lean my elbows on the counter and stare after him. “He’s not going to take any notice, is he?”
She laughs. “Nope. You’re too nice for your own good, Charlie.”
I stretch and look at my tiny best friend, whose hair is coloured green this week. We’ve known each other since we were lowly library assistants together. “It’s not my fault that you’re fiercer than a tiger.”
She laughs again and nudges me. “You’re far too nice. They sense that you’re a bloody pushover.”
“I am not,” I say indignantly. “Last week I totally told that bloke off for jamming the photocopier and losing his temper about it.”
“And what happened?”
I sink slightly. “I did all his photocopying for him.”
Her laughter would be too loud for a university library, but this is an old public library in Southwark, so no one turns a hair. I cast a quick look around to make sure everything is okay and smile. There might be water stains on the ceiling and a strange smell in the children’s library, but this is my little kingdom, and I love every inch of it passionately. I need to because it’s an old Carnegie building and, along with the gifts of the beautiful exterior and the parquet flooring throughout, comes a list of DIY jobs as long as my arm and a council that seems determined to only spend a tenner on its upkeep.
I think of the teetering pile of paperwork on my desk upstairs and groan. When I became a librarian, I had dizzy visions of inspiring readers and working amongst books all day long, my fingers touching authors’ words and handing them down to generations. I also had a very rosy view of the old Browne book-issue system, picturing myself flicking quickly through the cards and staring over the top of my glasses at people. The reality is that I don’t wear glasses, the library card system was thankfully replaced with an online version, and I spend so long on paperwork that the only reading inspiration I provide is when I recommend a book to someone on the Tube. However, I love the jo
b passionately, and I could never do anything else.
I ease back from my thoughts, and a quick check of the clock tells me that it’s break time. “Sue, you’re up,” I call.
“Ooh thanks, Charlie,” the older lady says. “My feet are bloody killing me.”
“Were you out dancing last night?”
“We certainly were.” She laughs. “The bruises on my feet from my husband will stay with me for the rest of the week. The jive doesn’t make allowances for his size twelves.”
“Was he always a bad dancer?” Bethany asks.
Sue smiles. “Oh yes, but he was gifted with talented moves in other and much better areas. The man’s hips are poetry in motion.”
“I will never look at him the same way again,” I say faintly, and she giggles and moves off towards the back of the library and the door to the staff areas.
I lean more heavily against the counter, enjoying the peace that usually descends at this time of the morning. The first rush is over, and now the library has an air of quiet bustle. We’ll pick up again as it gets closer to lunch and people come in to use the computers. I can feel tiredness tugging at my body, but I refuse to give in and straighten up instead.
“Why didn’t you take the first break?” Bethany asks chidingly.
“Why would I do that?” I pull the stack of books towards me that the little sex pest left behind and grab the Tipp-Ex from the drawer.
“Charlie.” Something in her voice makes me look up. “You look knackered,” she says quietly.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just a few late nights.”
“Oh really? You would need to have lived the life of Mel Gibson to earn the massive circles under those pretty eyes.” I smile but don’t answer, and she sighs. “You’re on break next,” she says firmly. “And you’re going to stay up there. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do in your office. Like sleep on the sofa or pass out on the floor.”
A deep voice comes from the side of us. “That sounds like my day. You didn’t tell me that you’d gone into banking, Charlie.”
I look up and can’t stop the wide grin creeping over my face at the sight of my best and oldest friend. “You’re one letter off.”
He laughs. The happy and unrestrained sound doesn’t fit his appearance. He’s clad in a black pinstriped suit that cost more than I earn in a month. With his tanned face, dark wavy hair, and big white grin, he looks expensive and entirely out of place in here.
He jumps as an old lady pokes him in the back. “You waiting or just taking up space?” she asks querulously.
I bite my lip to hide a smile. “He’s taking up space, Mrs Bishop,” I say in a loud voice as her hearing aid squeals.
“What’s wrong with his face?” she immediately asks in her overloud voice.
“We haven’t got enough time to list that.” I smile at her and gesture at her pile of books. “Those all coming back?”
“They are.” She leans close. “And I have to say there was a name and telephone number in the back of one of the books.”
“Oh, yes?” I say warily.
She nods. “I had such a lovely chat with the bloke.” She pauses. “Although he kept asking to see my zits. I’m not sure what all that was about.” She sniffs disapprovingly. “I’m a little too mature for acne.”
I manage to repress the huge laugh, but Bethany isn’t so lucky, and I nudge her to send her over to log a customer onto a computer.
Mrs Bishop moves away, and I look at Misha. “Lovely as this surprise visit is, haven’t you got millionaires’ accounts to juggle and the world’s financial markets to conquer?”
He shakes his head. “You have a very exotic view of my job.”
“Humour me.”
He shrugs. “Every minute of every day.”
Bethany laughs, and Misha grins at her.
“You moving after work?” she asks me. “Going to your swanky new riverside apartment?”
My friend Jesse moved out of our old flat last month, and I couldn’t afford to stay there on my own. I’d started to put out feelers about getting a new person to share, but Misha promptly asked me to move in with him, saying his old flatmate had moved out and he’d got a spare bedroom.
I sigh. “I am. However, I’m deeply regretting the impulse that made me allow Misha to share it with me.”
Misha shakes his head, and Bethany grins at me. “You management-level people make all the money.”
“We certainly do, young lady,” I say pompously. “And, if you apply yourself, you too can reach the dizzy heights of library management and the two-figure pension package.”
Misha laughs. “Why are you here?” I ask him. “We cleared most of my place last night, and I can pick up the last few bits myself after work.”
“I’ll help you with that stuff.” His tone is uncompromising, and I don’t bother arguing. He carries on speaking. “I popped in because you forgot something.”
I frown, trying to think what it is, but my head feels fizzy with tiredness. I shrug and grab the returns trolley, determined to beat this lethargy. “Walk and talk,” I instruct him and ignore his sarcastic salute.
We make our way towards the non-fiction shelves, and I start to group the books together by subject. “What did I forget?” I ask.
He holds out his hand. On his palm is a shiny silver key on my old Union Jack keychain. “Your new house key.”
I grin at him as I pocket the key. “You sure you want me moving in with you into that bastion of tidiness that you call your flat?”
Misha shakes his head disapprovingly. “Only you would make tidiness sound like one of the seven deadly sins. Anyway, it’s a bit late to change my mind now, seeing as you dumped most of your crap in the middle of my lounge last night.”
He holds out his arms for the pile of books. After depositing them, I take a book off the top of the stack and shelve it.
“It’s not crap,” I say automatically. “It’s highly useful stuff.”
“Like the beanbag which has already shed most of its beans in the hallway? I can’t tell you how happy I was with that when I stepped on them barefoot this morning.”
I laugh and shelve some more books. “And you popped in just to give me a key? That’s a bit out of your way.” Misha has a very high-powered banking job in the city, and the library is way out of his normal commuting distance and time. He’s usually at his desk before I’ve even raised my head off my pillow and greeted the day.
He follows me round the stacks as I take books from his arms and shelve them. “You forgot your medi bracelet too,” he says in a foreboding tone.
I look down at my wrist, only now noticing its bareness. “Oops,” I say lightly. “The catch is loose.”
“I know,” he says grimly. “Actually, it’s not so much loose as threadbare.”
“It’s fine.” My tone is dismissive, and thunderclouds instantly gather on his face.
“It isn’t fine,” he says steadily. “It’s very far from fine. With the amount of turns you’ve been having lately, you should be wearing it.”
I wince. He puts the books down and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a leather box the size of an envelope.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says evenly. “If your extrasensory perception isn’t working properly, I’d suggest you open it to find out.”
“So snarky,” I marvel and flick the lid open only to go still. “Misha,” I sigh.
“You can’t wear that old bracelet anymore. You’ve lost it three times this week alone.”
“This looks so fucking expensive though,” I lament, touching the bracelet gently where it lies inside its velvet-lined box. The bracelet is made of woven black cords that feel incredibly strong, and it’s got a laidback hippie feel to it that Misha had known very well I would love.
“Never mind the cost,” he says immediately. “Do you like the colour? I can take it back if you don’t.”
“It’s lovely,” I say
softly. I touch the lone bead on it. It’s made of platinum and carved upon it in beautiful script is the word epileptic and the ‘snake and staff’ medical symbol. “I just wish …”
He pulls me to him in a tight hug. I breathe in his bergamot-scented aftershave and feel some of my tension evaporate.
“I know,” he says fiercely. “Not any more than me, but it is as it is, and it certainly doesn’t help you if you aren’t wearing something that tells people you’re epileptic.”
“I know.” I sigh and pull back. “Okay, put it on me. The world’s most expensive medical-alert bracelet.”
He fastens the cord around me, fussing with its placement on my wrist. I look at his long eyelashes and the tanned angular face that’s so intent on me. To the rest of the world, Misha shows an arrogant self-confidence and a sardonic sense of humour. The people he lets into his inner circle know him for a loyal and brilliant friend, and he’s been wonderful with my epilepsy.
I didn’t grow up with it. I rarely even got a headache until I was twenty-four. Then, three years ago, I took the stairs at my flat too quickly. I missed a step and fell down two flights, and everything changed. I fractured my skull, and although I recovered, I had something new to deal with. Epilepsy.
At first, I struggled with the diagnosis, but then I rallied and applied myself to the condition the way I’ve done with everything in my life. I’m an optimistic person—my glass is always two-thirds full. Misha once described me as relentlessly cheerful. Therefore, I read everything I could about the condition. I cut out drinking and smoking. I started to walk everywhere and stopped swimming, which I’d lost my love affair with when I realised I could actually drown. I’d spent most of my early twenties in clubs, but I stopped going because late nights and little sleep are triggers too.
