by Paige Toon
‘I can make her something if you like. I’ve got pasta,’ I offer.
I’m clearly desperate for company.
Charlie thinks about it for a minute and I’m sure he’s going to say no, so I’m pleased when he nods.
‘That would be cool, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all.’ I go into Hermie and lift up the bench seat. ‘Twirls?’ I proffer up a packet of fusilli.
‘Great.’
‘Pesto?’ I pull out a jar.
‘No, better not. Too much salt.’
‘What shall I put on it, then? I’ve got some broccoli.’
‘Perfect. I can mix in one of her veggie pouches.’
My tummy rumbles as I set about boiling water. I realise I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
‘Did April eat lunch?’ I ask with concern.
‘Yeah, I fed her when we were on the beach.’
‘Oh, good. I’m starving,’ I admit. ‘Think I’m going to do some pasta with pesto for myself. Do you want some?’
‘Sure, why not?’
Smiling, I grab a couple of beers from the fridge and hunt out the bottle opener, cracking them open and passing one to Charlie.
‘Have a seat.’ I nod at the single camping chair and sit down myself in the side door opening, my feet on the grass. ‘I’ve got another camping chair in the boot, but it’s a bit buried.’ I cross my legs as Charlie swings his chair around to face me.
‘Yeah, probably better you don’t go opening the back of this thing again.’ He smirks and puts the bottle to his lips, taking a swig before looking at me levelly with his clear, unusual eyes. ‘So why does your mum annoy the fuck out of you?’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘I might need a few more beers if you really want the answer to that question.’
‘That bad?’
‘She isn’t the most maternal of people.’ I take a sip of my beer and shrug. ‘Obviously, I love her, and we get on well enough. But she was only young when she had me and she hasn’t grown up much since. Dad’s the only real parental figure in my life. He’s awesome.’
I look over my shoulder to see that the water in the saucepan has come to a boil. By the time I’ve added pasta and returned to my perch on the edge of Hermie, April has emerged from the tent.
Charlie bounces her on his knee, making her laugh hysterically.
As dads go, this one’s all right, too, I think with a smile.
Chapter 15
On Sunday it pours down and the winds are so strong that I’m worried that my new tent is going to blow away. In the end, I hunker down and work on my blog, giving up on any plans for another daytrip. Heligan’s gardens may well be lost again by the time I reach them.
I keep finding myself wondering what Charlie and April are up to. He probably feels he’s done his bit for me now – I doubt we’ll be going out again any time soon. The realisation is a bit of a downer, so to cheer myself up, I decide to plan a trip to Ireland the following weekend. Time to pay Dillon a visit.
The rain doesn’t let up on Monday. It’s still very windy and making my way along the cycle path is treacherous. At one point I’m almost blown into the estuary.
‘You all right?’ Charlie asks with alarm when I push Nicki’s bike through the front door, looking like a sodden rat.
‘I think I should’ve walked today,’ I state.
‘I would’ve thought so,’ he replies pointedly.
‘What do you do on days like this?’ I ask, taking off my raincoat. The helmet didn’t exactly keep my hair dry, but I console myself in thinking that the hood of my raincoat would’ve blown off my head in the wind, anyway. ‘How do you work outside?’
‘I have a pop-up gazebo I sometimes use, but, yeah, I tend to give the outdoor stuff a miss when it’s like this. I need to sort out my accounts, anyway.’
I check my appearance in the hall mirror. My dark-brown hair is an interesting mix of wet and dry stripes. ‘This is a good look,’ I murmur.
‘How was the rest of your weekend?’ he asks with a smile as he goes into the kitchen.
‘Fine. A bit boring, actually,’ I say. ‘Hello, April!’ She’s sitting underneath the table, munching on a squeaky toy. I turn back to Charlie. ‘Just did some writing,’ I add.
‘Of your own?’
Squeak, squeak.
‘Yeah. I’m going to Ireland this weekend for my blog.’
‘Who’s this for?’
‘His name’s Dillon. He’s an Irish musician.’
Charlie narrows his eyes at me before shaking his head and getting the milk out of the fridge.
‘What?’ I sense he was going to say something.
‘Nothing,’ he replies.
‘What?’ I repeat.
‘Do you really— No, forget it.’ He shakes his head again.
‘I’m telling you, Elliot doesn’t get jealous. He trusts me, and he’s right to. I would never cheat – never have, never will.’
His lips tilt up at the corners as he listens to me.
‘Are you done?’ he says when I’ve finished.
Squeak, squeak, squeak.
‘Yeah.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask about Elliot.’
I frown. ‘What were you going to ask, then? Spit it out, Mr Laurence.’
He studies me for a long moment. ‘Do you really buy into all that crap?’
‘All what crap?’
‘Your blog. The pieces-of-your-heart crap.’
I let out a laugh. ‘Crap?’
‘It’s just. . . You don’t really take it seriously, do you?’
‘I think I liked you better when you barely spoke to me.’
Squeak, squeak.
His eyes widen and his lips form a startled ‘O’.
I wave my hands at him. ‘I’m only joking.’
‘When did I barely speak to you?’ He glances at me with his bottle-glass eyes.
‘When I first came here.’
He looks thoughtful.
‘Anyway, to answer your question,’ I say, moving on, ‘no, I don’t take it that seriously. I just thought it would be a fun idea for a book – hunting down all of my exes around the world.’
He nods and I think he’s satisfied, but then his brow furrows again and he cocks his head to one side.
‘What?’
‘It’s just. . . the pieces-of-your-heart stuff. That thing you wrote about wanting to love someone wholeheartedly.’
‘Yes?’
‘You really think you’re going to be able to do that, just because you’ve met up with all of your old boyfriends and demanded that they give you a chunk of your heart back?’
‘Okay, well, for a start,’ I say matter-of-factly, ‘obviously I’m not deluded. I know you can’t ask for something like that back and simply get it.’
‘Exactly, so, by a piece of your heart, you mean they still own a part of you. You still have feelings for them. Not romantic feelings,’ he says quickly when he sees my face, ‘but you haven’t completely – I don’t know – let go of the relationship.’
‘Right. Yes, that’s right.’ By Jove! I think he’s got it! ‘And seeing them again gives me – I hate this word – but in some cases it gives me closure. It allows me to put the past to rest. It sounds wanky when you say it out loud, but I guess my heart does feel a little lighter after each reunion – as if it was weighed down before.’
He nods, accepting my explanation. But then he looks confused. Here we go again. . . ‘But the wanting-to-love-wholeheartedly bit. You don’t really believe that you can love someone any less just because you’ve loved other people before.’ His eyebrows pull together. ‘Do you? I mean, if it’s right, it’s right.’
I’m glad Elliot’s not around to hear this. . .
‘Now I know why no one wants to give me a book deal. The idea sucks,’ I say sardonically.
‘It doesn’t suck. Lots of people will like it.’
‘But you don’t.’
‘Well, erm. . .’ He gives me
a sheepish look. ‘I’m not exactly your target audience, though, am I?’
I flick on the kettle. It boiled ages ago, but we’ve both been talking so much that we haven’t got far with tea making.
Charlie stays where he is, leaning up against the counter with his arms folded. He’s got jeans and socks on today, which shows how much cooler it is.
Squeak, squeak.
‘Did Nicki talk to you about her book ideas?’ I ask cautiously, focusing on the mugs as I fill them up with water.
‘Sometimes.’ He sighs. ‘She used to hate it when I gave her my two cents’ worth,’ he adds in a heavy voice.
‘Really?’ I glance at him to see that he’s staring at the floor. ‘I bet she appreciated your honesty, too, though,’ I say gently, fishing the teabags out.
He blinks rapidly. ‘I hope so.’ He makes a slightly frustrated sound at the back of his throat and unfolds his arms, resting his palms on the worktop behind him. He pushes off from the worktop and falls back against it before looking at me.
‘Sorry if I wasn’t nice enough when you first came here.’
His comment takes me aback.
‘It’s fine. You were fine. It was just a bit awkward, that was all.’
He nods. ‘It was awkward for me, too.’
‘I know. I mean, I can imagine,’ I say – awkwardly.
‘It’s not awkward now.’ And then he grins, and I really like the way his face lights up. ‘You’re all right. I actually quite enjoy having you around.’
‘Don’t get used to it, I’ll be gone in six weeks.’ I pick up my mug with both hands, the warmth in my palms paling in comparison to the warmth I’m feeling inside.
I walk out of the kitchen, casting him a smile over my shoulder. He’s still blinding me with the force of his grin.
When Charlie puts April down for her morning nap, I switch off my music, not wanting a repeat of Friday.
‘No music today?’ he asks when I come down for lunch. He’s feeding April at the table. I heard him go and get her, but I didn’t hear her crying.
‘No.’ I give him an inquisitive look. I know he can hear my music from the window, but he hasn’t been working outside.
‘I didn’t hear it playing when I came up to get April,’ he explains.
‘Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?’ I check once again.
‘No, I like it,’ he replies. ‘Want to put some on now?’
‘Yeah?’
He nods. ‘Yeah.’
I return a short while later, scrolling through my songs as I walk into the kitchen. ‘What do you feel like?’
‘You choose,’ he says.
I press PLAY and frown at the weather outside the window. It’s tipping it down.
‘I might make a cheese toastie,’ I say. ‘Do you want one?’
‘I’d love one,’ he replies, seeming pleased as he puts another spoonful of something green and disgusting-looking into his daughter’s mouth. He nods at my speaker. ‘What’s this?’
‘ “Hold Tight!” by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich.’
‘Who?’
‘Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich,’ I repeat. ‘Try saying that when you’re drunk.’
April starts to bounce in her highchair, wiggling her bum from side to side.
‘Look at her, she likes it,’ Charlie says with a smile.
‘You should get a radio in here.’
‘I should,’ he agrees. ‘I haven’t really listened to music since Nicki died,’ he adds in a quieter voice.
April is still wiggling in her highchair. She looks so cute, I can’t help but smile, even though she has green gunk all around her mouth.
‘Can you chuck me the baby wipes?’ Charlie asks me.
All too gladly. . . I go and get them from the sofa and pass them to him. A moment later, he lifts his daughter out of her highchair and puts her on the floor. She pushes herself up next to him, her hands on his knees, and bounces along to the music while grinning like a proper nutjob.
‘Downtown’ by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis comes on next. I can’t help but dance along while I’m making our toasties, rapping along to the occasional line.
After a moment, I realise that both Charlie and April are watching me with identical grins on their faces. I laugh at the sight of them – they look so alike – and then the chorus kicks in and I just have to sing.
April holds her hands out to me and lets out a cry, so, on impulse, I go and get her, swinging her into my arms and jigging around the kitchen with her.
Charlie leans back in his chair and chuckles at us.
‘She likes me,’ I say, gleefully, handing his daughter back to him after a bit.
‘She likes everyone,’ he replies fondly, sitting her on his lap.
Now that’s annoying.
‘You don’t have to be a dick about it,’ I joke crossly.
He grins up at me.
‘Can’t you just let me wallow in her obvious adulation for me?’ I continue. ‘Babies don’t usually like me. This is a big thing.’
‘What do you mean, babies don’t usually like you?’ he scoffs.
‘They don’t. I usually make them cry.’
‘What do you do, pinch them?’
I laugh. ‘Nah, I think they can just tell I’m not a baby person.’
He frowns. ‘How are you not a baby person?’
‘Stop distracting me. I need to get on with lunch.’
Duran Duran’s ‘A View to a Kill’ comes on.
‘I haven’t watched a Bond film in ages,’ Charlie says, getting up to join me at the oven while I grill our sandwiches. He’s wearing battered, worn jeans with a rip across one knee, and his T-shirt is dark grey, but I have a feeling it used to be black. It’s frayed around the hem.
‘Dad and I watched Skyfall for the third time the night before I came here,’ I reveal, remembering to check that our food isn’t burning. I peer into the oven. ‘We love a bit of 007. I grew up on Bond. God, I miss television,’ I say out of the blue, straightening up. ‘Especially on days like this.’ I look out of the window.
‘You can watch TV here, any night you like,’ he offers.
I glance at him. ‘I wasn’t trying to invite myself over.’
‘I mean it. I actually miss watching telly with company. The amount of times I used to argue with Nicki about what to watch. . . I used to encourage her to go out sometimes, just so I’d have the remote control to myself. Now I’d give anything to have her back, giving me shit because I refuse to watch The X Factor.’
My heart contracts at his sudden look of devastation, but, before I can say anything, he rearranges his face. ‘You won’t want to watch The X Factor, will you?’
‘No,’ I say, swallowing. ‘It’s not on at the moment, anyway.’
Later that afternoon, he knocks on the office door. ‘When was the last time you saw Octopussy?’ he asks.
‘Ooh.’ I lean back in my seat, thinking. ‘At least seven years, I reckon. Why?’
‘It’s on tonight. I’m making a curry. How about it?’
I smile at him. ‘Yeah?’
‘Go on,’ he says.
I don’t take any more persuading.
Chapter 16
‘We’re not getting out of it,’ Charlie says later that week. It’s Thursday afternoon and he’s just got off the phone to Adam. ‘He wants a night out.’
‘I can’t. I’m in Ireland this weekend, remember?’
‘You’re leaving Saturday morning, though, right?’
I nod.
‘He’s talking about tomorrow night. Mum can’t babysit on Saturdays – it’s the busiest day at the campsite. She’s coming here at six. Up for it?’
‘God, yes. Wow,’ I muse. ‘An actual night out with proper drinking and everything. Are you sure you guys don’t mind me gatecrashing?’
‘Of course not. Just watch out for my brother. He’ll probably make a move on you before the evening’s out.’
‘He’ll get a slap a
round the face if he does,’ I say indignantly.
‘I would give anything to see that. Anything.’
Pat arrives half an hour earlier than promised on Friday night.
‘Well now, that’s a jolly sight,’ she says warmly, coming into the kitchen.
I’m sitting at the table with April, feeding her chicken and veg. She can use a spoon, but it takes her forever to eat and Charlie wanted her sorted quickly. I took his place when he went to let his mother in.
Pat comes over to give her granddaughter a kiss on the top of her head and then puts her hand on my shoulder in greeting. April has been bopping along to the music blaring out of Charlie’s new radio. I’ve plugged in my iPod because we couldn’t find anything we wanted to listen to.
‘Is this Johnny Cash?’ Pat asks, raising her eyebrows when ‘One Piece at a Time’ comes on.
‘Yep,’ I reply, spooning finely chopped chicken into April’s willing mouth. I’ve obviously developed an immunity to the mush, because it no longer makes me want to throw up. Small steps.
‘Oh, I do like this one.’ Pat sits in the empty chair beside me.
‘I don’t think I’ve heard it before,’ Charlie comments.
‘Listen,’ I prompt him. ‘He’s building a Cadillac, nicking all the parts from the garage where he works. Check out the description of the car he ends up with.’
Charlie leans against the wall and smiles down at me as he focuses on the lyrics.
‘That’s brilliant,’ he says eventually.
‘Isn’t it?’ I return his smile.
April makes a swipe for the spoon.
‘Oops, sorry, I’m getting distracted.’ I feed her another mouthful and glance at Pat to see she’s wearing a slightly perplexed expression on her face as she looks between her son and me.
Charlie nods at my seat. ‘Swap?’
‘Sure. I’ll go and get ready.’ I walked here this morning and brought my going-out stuff with me.
‘You go, too, love,’ Pat cuts in before he can sit down. ‘I’ll feed April.’
‘Okay, cool, I’ll just jump in the shower.’
‘Yes, you’ve got sawdust in your hair,’ she notes shrewdly.
