Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity Book 2)

by Lily Morton

  “Well, obviously that’s a draw,” he huffs.

  I laugh, but sober quickly at his next question.

  “And Charlie’s coming? I haven’t been to a club with him for years.”

  I run my hands through my hair. “He stopped going because late nights and tiredness are triggers for the seizures.”

  “So, what’s changed?”

  I bite my lip. “He says that he needs to develop a new way of dealing with the epilepsy.” Rupert looks at me enquiringly, and I elaborate. “Before, when he got diagnosed, he threw himself into being the perfect patient. He cut out everything that could possibly impact him, and according to him, he narrowed his life because of that.” I shrug. “Apparently, he’s decided to live his life differently because you never know what’s around the corner.”

  “He’s not going mad with it though, is he?” he asks worriedly.

  I shake my head. “No,” I scoff. “This is Charlie we’re talking about.” I search for the words. “He says he’ll come to the club, but he won’t drink because that’s not good for him. He wants to dance and have a good time, but he’ll only go if he manages to have a nap beforehand.”

  “Well, that sounds reasonable. Why are you looking so constipated about it?”

  I shake my head. “You know me. Thinking about Charlie’s well-being is a constant state of affairs with me. I can’t just turn it off.”

  “And you don’t mind that?”

  I stare at him. “Are we somehow playing Twenty Questions and I wasn’t made aware?” He looks at me expectantly, and I shrug. “Of course I don’t mind. Why the hell would I mind? It’s Charlie.”

  “Handsome Charlie.” When I narrow my eyes, Rupert rushes on. “I hear he’s looking to date again.”

  “Where did you hear that?” I groan. “Bethany?” He nods, and I wave my hand at him. “Come on, then. There’s obviously more. You’re practically bristling with curiosity. Let’s hear the rest of the news alert from the one-woman gossip central of Southwark.”

  He runs one finger along my desk’s edge. “Apparently, you were insistent that you were going to help him find a date and yet somehow you’ve failed to come up with anyone suitable. Even in a city this size and with your contact list.”

  I roll my eyes. “Perhaps you and Bethany would like to set up a podcast and broadcast the depth of your knowledge to the rest of the world. London’s loss is the world’s gain.”

  He laughs. “Come on, why haven’t you found anyone for him? He’s spectacularly good-looking, funny, very clever, and the kindest person I know. This should be a piece of cake, which incidentally he can also make.”

  “It’s not that easy. I have been trying.”

  “Well, what about Paul?”

  I look disdainfully at him. “He has a unibrow.”

  He blinks. “Martin, then. He’s lovely and single.”

  “He’s single because he’s married to his mother, and she repels all newcomers.”

  “Edward Sampson?”

  “Are you serious? He’s boring as hell and so pompous.”

  “Okay,” he says triumphantly. “What about Luke? He’s lovely. Bloody hell, if I were gay, I’d date him.”

  I scoff. “No. He’s got those… those teeth.”

  There’s a long pause as Rupert stares at me and I try not to wriggle. “Hmm, teeth. Tell me, Misha, is having teeth a deal-breaker for Charlie?”

  “Take the piss all you like, but when Luke gets close, it looks like he’s going to eat you.”

  He watches me, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. His expression is placid, and my attention sharpens. It’s never a reassuring sign with Rupert. For all his affability, he’s very astute.

  “Well, how about Misha?” he says.

  “Misha, who? We don’t know any other Mishas, and I’m sure that—” I pause. “Oh, very funny.”

  He leans forward and taps the desk. “Think about it. He likes old reruns of Blackadder, and so does Charlie. He loves Thai food, and so does Charlie. Misha and Charlie love dancing in clubs and going to the cinema. They’re both laidback and funny. In fact, I pretty much think they share one mind between two bodies because they’re so alike.”

  “We are nothing alike. He’s got the shininess of a new two-pound coin. I’m far more cynical.”

  “You’re alike enough to fill in the gaps with each other. The best partnerships are like that.”

  “I don’t think–” I start to say loftily.

  He blows a raspberry. “Don’t even go there, Misha Lebedinsky.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was in the same room with you the other day, and I saw the way you were looking at Charlie.”

  “Like a great friend,” I say primly.

  “No, like a dog eyeing a steak.”

  I throw my hands up. “I can’t talk to you when you’re chatting shit.”

  “You mean when I’m telling the truth?” He looks at me levelly, unaffected by my slight temper tantrum. I blow out a huge sigh, scrubbing my hands down my face.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. He settles back in his chair. “Okay, I know I’m looking at him like he’s the last twink on the menu, but it’s a momentary madness.” The words pour out of me with a certain wildness. “I’ve never looked at Charlie like this. In all my life he’s been my best friend, and that’s it. Nothing else. What the fuck is the matter with me?”

  “I personally think it started when you had that row over Harry,” he says, folding his hands over his stomach. “Or maybe back when he started going out with Harry.”

  “What?”

  “It threw you completely, Misha. You can deny it all you want, but you were off your game for ages when Harry asked him out. Then you had that huge row with Charlie, and you were desperate to talk to him. It made a tiny part of your brain wake up to what it would be like without him.”

  He looks contemplatively at me, and I flush. This is so personal, and I don’t do this sort of conversation unless Charlie forces me. However, Rupert is talking about Charlie and me like he knows a big secret, and I’m desperate enough to stay silent.

  He nods as if I’ve confirmed something and carries on talking. “I think that everything got pushed to the side with the worry over the increased seizures, but that tiny part of your brain woke up again when he was away for the six weeks. Now, he’s back and looking great, and it’s like you’re almost meeting a stranger.” He holds his hand out like a conjurer. “And ta-da, you’ve realised that you want him.”

  I stare at him. “Is that it?”

  He looks stunned. “Well, it’s quite a lot.”

  “It’s fuck all, actually. I already worked all that out myself.” I lean forward. “I thought you were going to tell me what to do about it.”

  “Well, you’re a big boy, Misha. I sort of presumed you’d know how to proceed with the rest of it on your own.”

  “Proceed?”

  “Yes. Dates and settling down, et cetera.”

  “Dates and settling down, et cetera? Are you fucking mad?”

  Rupert looks slightly worried now. “You’re not going to date Charlie?”

  “No, I’m fucking not. Are you insane?”

  “Why am I insane?” he says crossly. “He loves you. You love him. Get married, adopt babies.” I scrunch my face up in disgust. “Okay, adopt llamas for all I care. Just do whatever comes naturally with him.”

  I glare at him. “No fucking way.”

  He slumps. “What is the matter with you? You’re perfect together, Misha.”

  “We’re perfect together as friends. Friends,” I emphasise. “And that is all that Charlie sees us as.” He opens his mouth to object, and I wag my finger at him. “He sees me as his best friend, and that is it. I would certainly be the first person to know if Charlie’s feelings had changed, and they haven’t. Jesus, if I made a move, I’d fuck everything up between us anyway because I’m not good at relationships.”

  “How do you know?”

  The bal
d question stops me in my tracks. “Well, look at me. I don’t exactly scream consistency.”

  “I am looking, Misha,” he say indignantly. “I just see a man who has hook-ups and has never actually tried to have a relationship.”

  “Well. I’ve already got three of those that don’t exactly run smoothly,” I say sourly.

  “And you’re exceptionally good at them,” he says calmly. “You’re candid, loving, funny, and always there for them. Just because they’re responsibilities you didn’t ask for, it doesn’t mean you aren’t good with them.” He stands up and paces over to the window, leaning against it and looking at me. “Listen, you said at the age of eighteen that you didn’t ever want a relationship and you stuck to that so hard it got enshrined in your mind as something that was an absolute truth. It doesn’t mean it’s right. It just means that you’ve never met anyone who you’ve wanted to try anything else with.”

  I shift in my chair. “I can’t have a relationship with Charlie.”

  “You already do.”

  “Yes, but it’s as friends.”

  “It’s been more than friends for a long while, Misha. The two of you have just never realised it. You’re the reason his relationships never work.”

  “That’s a shitty thing to say,” I say, stung.

  He shrugs. “It’s the truth. He gets what he needs from you. He doesn’t look to other people, and you’re the same.”

  “Then maybe I should back away and let him have a relationship,” I say, irritated by how hard it is to say that. He looks at me, and his smugness annoys me like he’s rubbing a stinging nettle on my chest. I rub that spot. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I don’t think you can do that. You’re already too far down the path to draw back.”

  “Okay, Little Red Riding Hood. You’re wrong, and I’m going to prove it.” I reach for my phone.

  He shifts, some of his confidence dying away. “Wait. What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for Doug’s number.”

  “Doug Henshaw?”

  “Yep. Handsome teacher Doug with his own house, a good job, and all his own teeth.”

  “And you’re totally ringing him for his dentist’s number, aren’t you, Misha?”

  “No,” I say triumphantly. “I’m ringing to see if he still fancies Charlie. He’s always had a massive crush on him.”

  “Oh, my God.” He advances towards me, waving his hands. “Hang up the phone,” he says urgently. “Don’t do this, Misha. Misha, put the phone down and–”

  “Hello, Doug,” I say cheerfully. “It’s Misha Lebedinsky.”

  Rupert grits his teeth and sucks in a breath, obviously struggling for calm as we talk.

  “Anyway, Doug,” I say cheerfully, trying to ignore the upset feeling in my stomach which must be down to something I’ve eaten. “I’m ringing to see if you fancy coming clubbing with us tomorrow night? Who’s us? Oh, me and Rupert and Charlie. You remember Charlie, don’t you?” I pause, listening to him speak and swallowing the lump in my throat. “He’s single at the moment, and I think he’d love to see you.”

  We talk for a few minutes more, and then I click End. “Sorted,” I say grimly to Rupert. “He’s meeting us there. He’s very …” I stop and swallow. “He’s very excited to see Charlie.”

  Rupert shakes his head. “Misha, Misha,” he sighs. “You’re such a ginormous cockwomble.”

  “What? Why? Because I’m being realistic and trying to be his best friend?”

  He holds his hands up. “Because you’ve buried your head in more sand lately than Tiger Woods looking for his ball. Okay.” He smirks. “I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow night. I’ve missed The Jerry Springer Show since they cancelled the programme.”

  “It will go wonderfully,” I say through gritted teeth. “Doug and Charlie will love each other.” He nods cheerfully and wanders out of the room. “You need to think about your own romantic life anyway,” I shout after him, but he just waves and ignores me.

  Charlie

  I lean on the bar while we wait for the barman to serve us. The nightclub’s second floor is walled off with glass, and it’s quieter up here. I glance at Bethany. “Alright? You’re looking very fetching.”

  She’s wearing a ripped black T-shirt, net tutu, and legwarmers. “I’m channelling Madonna,” she says, rattling a multitude of bracelets.

  “That’s a relief,” I say, looking at her crazily pouffed hair. “For a moment, I thought you were channelling Slash after a wild night out.”

  “No, slashing is what I’ll do to your cheeky little shorts if you mock me anymore.”

  My own outfit is a pink sweater, blue and white short-shorts, and neon-yellow fingerless gloves. I’m dressed like George Michael at the height of his “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” days. “You’re a vicious woman,” I say cheerfully. I look down at the heaving dancefloor, feeling the beat of the music in my feet, and sigh contentedly. “God, it’s good to be back.”

  “It’s good to have you back,” she says, snuggling into me.

  I return her hug. “Feels like a good step forward.” She looks at me queryingly, and I elaborate. “I think I was so overwhelmed by the epilepsy when it happened that I let it dictate every aspect of my life. I was so focused on stopping the turns that I stopped living.”

  “And a gay club is the way to start?”

  I shrug. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not going wild. I’ll never drink again, because we’ve learnt that it’s one of my triggers, but the odd late night won’t hurt me as long as I’m sensible. I’ve taken my meds and had a sleep. And I’m with friends, so if the worst happens I’m still safe.”

  “Of course you are. Misha would never let anything happen to you. Where is he, anyway?”

  I shake my head. “He’s behaving very oddly tonight.”

  A funny expression crosses her face. “What do you mean?” she says in a far too innocent voice.

  “Well, he’s avoided finding me any dates, and then bang, he came home last night and told me he’d arranged a date for me tonight. He rambled on about it for a while and made no sense at all. Kept talking about the bloke’s teeth, for Christ’s sake.” Bethany giggles and I have to ask, “Do you know something I don’t know, Bethany?”

  “Nothing,” she says, turning to the barman with what looks like relief. I narrow my eyes at her, but she ignores me. “So, where is Misha?” she asks.

  “Gone to meet Doug at the door, apparently.”

  “You don’t seem very excited.”

  We look down at the crowded dance floor where people are jumping around energetically. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” I say reluctantly.

  “What do you mean?” she asks as she hands me my water.

  “I just…” I hesitate, and she gives me a look of concern. “I just have these feelings,” I confide. “I’m not sure where they came from, but they’re terrible, and I shouldn’t have them for this person.”

  “Oh,” she says. She’s wearing that suspiciously innocent expression again, but before I can ask her about it, she speaks over me. “Oh, feelings. Inappropriate feelings. Oh, who can they be for, Charlie?”

  “Did you do a spot of pre-club drinking tonight?”

  “No.” She shoves me. “Shut up.”

  “Then why are you talking like an actress in a bad play?”

  “I’m not. So, who are these inappropriate feelings for?”

  “You’re doing it again,” I accuse, but I desperately need to talk about it, so I take a breath and blurt, “It’s Misha.”

  She gives a strangled whimper.

  “Oh God,” I say anxiously. “I know it’s dreadful. He’s so oblivious to it, and it’s awful. One day I suddenly looked up and realised how gorgeous he is, and now I can’t stop. I’m sneaking looks at him all the time. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

  “Oh my God,” she says loudly.

  “I know,” I break in. “I know I sh
ould be fucking ashamed of myself.”

  I should definitely be ashamed of myself for the fact that I wanked over thoughts of him the other night, but I’ll keep that choice detail to myself. I’d been sitting next to him, absorbing the heat of his body, intensely aware of the hardness of his muscles, and I got so worked up I had to leap from the couch and race to my bedroom. I didn’t even make it to the bed, just locked the bedroom door behind me and took my dick out. I shot so quickly I’m sure I broke a world record.

  “It’ll pass,” I say firmly. “It’s got to pass because Misha is the most important person in the world to me. I can’t ruin our friendship.”

  “No. I mean, oh God, he’s coming,” she squeals.

  I look up and see Misha, Rupert, and the man I dimly remember from a party who’s called Doug. He’s tall and dark-haired, but that’s all I’ve got because my attention is once again totally on Misha.

  He made no attempt to conform to dress code tonight and is instead dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt. The bouncer had queried it when we first arrived, and Misha told him that he was Marty McFly and demanded the man let him in. He reluctantly obliged, although he was muttering about gilets and skateboards while he did so.

  I catalogue the length of Misha’s legs, those broad shoulders, and the strong line of his jaw. His hair is longer than usual and showing that tendency to curl slightly.

  “Oh shit,” I say despairingly. “I’m fucked.”

  “No, you’re not, Charlie,” Bethany hisses. “You must listen to me. I need to tell you something—”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupt. “You’re right. I’ll focus on Doug. It’s probably because I’m single. Once I’m seeing someone again, all these inconvenient feelings will vanish, and Misha and I can go back to normal.”

  “Oh my God, you should never pursue a career as a life coach.”

  “And Doug is lovely,” I say slightly desperately. “He’s a teacher, and he’s kind, and he has all his own teeth.”

  “What is it with you people and your obsession with fucking teeth?” she mutters.

  I ignore her and turn to the three men as they come up next to us. “Doug,” I say heartily. “How lovely to see you.”