The closeness and ease we had on the slopes somehow seems far away. As Charlie puts a pan of water on the Aga, we don’t say anything; all I can hear is the ticking sound of the grandfather clock and Ticket breathing heavily under the table. Anxious that this was a bad idea, I give Ticket’s back a reassuring squeeze, wishing Charlie would scrap the tea idea and crack open a bottle of red wine instead.
*
‘I could fit our home into the sitting room alone,’ I say when Charlie gives me a guided tour of the house. Around the fireplace is a fender. The coffee table is covered with hardback gardening, antique and history books. The curtains are deep blue velvet. ‘It’s incredible here.’
‘I know. I take it for granted. It’s also very cold,’ he says, putting some logs on to the fire. Charlie tells me his parents can’t justify, nor afford, heating the whole house.
‘Do you think you’ll live here someday?’
‘Maybe.’ He sits down next to me. ‘One day.’
On the table beside me is a framed photograph of a woman in a mini halter-neck dress, with legs that go on for miles. ‘Anna. My sister,’ Charlie says. ‘She’s in New York at the moment.’
She has bright red hair, creamy skin and large sapphire-blue eyes.
I pick up the next frame. ‘Who’s this?’ She has an arm around Charlie. It’s clearly windy, her long dark hair blowing in her face; hair caught against her lips.
He leaps up to chuck another log on to the fire. ‘Jo. My ex.’
*
After supper Charlie and I watch television. Ticket lies on the sofa in between us, snoring lightly. It wasn’t quite the romantic evening I’d had in mind, especially when Charlie suggests I do something about Ticket’s fish breath.
It’s eleven o’clock when Charlie and I head upstairs. ‘Now hang on, how do I do this?’ he asks, and I sense he’s been dreading it just as much as me. No wonder neither one of us can relax.
‘Well, with Dad, I wrap my legs round his hips and my hands round his neck. It’s like a piggyback but on the front, if you see what I mean.’
‘Right.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie. Lucky I don’t weigh a ton, hey,’ I say, positioning myself at the edge of the sofa.
‘Trust me, this is a piece of cake. I could take Tyson on.’ He flexes his muscles.
When I’m in his arms …
‘Ticket! Down! Off!’
‘He thinks you’re in trouble,’ suggests Charlie.
‘He thinks you’re about to have your wicked way with me. Ticket, off! Sorry,’ I say to Charlie. ‘I doubt you normally have to carry your guests upstairs, do you?’
‘Stop saying sorry,’ he mutters, carrying me into the hall.
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have had that second helping of lasagne.’
‘Stop saying sorry,’ he repeats, as he tackles the stairs.
I press my lips together, trying hard not to smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘One more sorry and I’ll drop you.’
‘You know, this place really should have a lift.’
‘Cass, shut up!’
Ticket barks, certain I’m in trouble now.
Charlie lays me down on his bed before going back downstairs to fetch the wheelchair. When Charlie is out of the room Ticket jumps up and lies down beside me. ‘There’s no need to be jealous, I promise you,’ I whisper.
I look around Charlie’s old bedroom, eyes resting on a black hi-fi system with old-fashioned speakers. His room looks as if it hasn’t been touched since he left college. Just like Jamie, he has a map of the world framed over his desk and a stripy navy duvet. He also has what looks like a set of shark’s teeth encased in a glass frame.
When he returns, he kicks off his shoes and lies down next to me, Ticket reluctantly making room.
‘So …’ I say, knowing I have to ask the question.
‘So,’ he repeats.
‘Where am I sleeping tonight?’
‘In here if you want?’
‘Your room? With you?’
‘No, with George Clooney.’
‘Oh. I’m more of a Johnny Depp kind of girl.’
He smiles. ‘Listen, all I was thinking was, well, the spare room has a few steps to get to the loo.’
‘Right,’ I say, mortified inside. I wish, just wish, I could have a break from this for one night. One night, God. Can’t we make a deal?
‘But in my room the bathroom’s next door so …’ Charlie draws in breath, ‘if you need me in the middle of the night, you don’t have to worry about getting down any steps.’
‘Aren’t there any other bedrooms with bathrooms?’
‘There are, at the other side of the house.’
‘The east wing?’
He hits my arm gently.
Ticket sits up and stares into Charlie’s eyes. Charlie looks at him curiously. ‘What’s up with him?’
‘He’s in a big cold house, Charlie, with a strange man.’
‘I’m not strange.’
‘Plus, Charlie, you insulted him about his breath.’
‘Well, you’ve got to admit it, it is a bit fishy.’ It’s my turn to hit him on the arm. ‘A bit of Colgate could do no harm,’ he suggests.
‘Block your ears, Ticket. Come to Cass.’ Ticket rests his head against my thigh. Next he rolls over, paws upright and I tickle his tummy.
‘Anyway, if you want to sleep in here,’ Charlie continues, watching Ticket and me with bemusement in his eyes, ‘I can camp on the floor.’ It makes me think of Jamie and I watching films well into the night. Jamie is in Madrid now. I miss him.
Ticket stretches out even more, Charlie almost falling off the bed. ‘Think of Ticket as your bodyguard. Any funny business, Ticket will nip me. Anyway, Cass, you don’t need to make this torturous decision yet. What do you want to do now? Are you tired?’
All I want to do is to sink into some warm water. I’m cold and every part of my body aches, especially my shoulders from doing all the transfers. I stretch out my arms and yawn. ‘I’d love a bath.’
‘Cool. I’ll start running it.’
‘What?’
‘A bath.’
Oh God, I must have said it without thinking. ‘Actually, I’m fine.’
‘Are you scared of me seeing you without your clothes on?’
‘Charlie!’
‘Listen, have one if it helps,’ he says tentatively. ‘You must get uncomfortable.’
Next thing I know, Charlie is opening his chest of drawers and chucking me an old T-shirt, saying he doesn’t mind if I get it wet. He heads to the bathroom; I hear water running. When he comes back and sees that I haven’t started to undress he scrunches his eyes in a promise that he won’t peep.
Ticket follows me into the bathroom. It’s an old-fashioned deep bath with silver taps. I see myself stepping into it, lifting my legs to shave, just like I used to. Stepping out and wrapping a warm towel around my body; making a turban for my hair.
Instead I am lifting my bottom from one side to the other to hitch my trousers down. ‘Tug, Ticket,’ I whisper, ‘thank you so much.’ Gently he bites on the end of one of my socks, edging backwards as he gives it a little yank. One sock comes off and Ticket quickly moves to the next one, as if it’s a race to get me into the bath.
Next I test the temperature of the water. One of the patients in hospital had burnt the soles of her feet because she’d forgotten this rule. There are so many rules; it’s like learning to live again.
After transferring myself from my chair to the edge of the bath I hold both sides and lower myself into the scented water. I’d asked for some bubble bath and Charlie had found some in one of the spare rooms. Ticket lies down across the bathmat. I take off my U2 T-shirt; it feels soggy against my skin. Finally I rest my head against the bath, breathe in deeply and allow the tiredness to melt away.
*
Charlie puts his head round the door. Ticket sits up, alert. ‘Everything OK?’
I attempt to cover my body in bubbles. �
��Chat to me,’ I say.
He pulls the loo seat down and takes some tobacco out of his pocket. He rolls a joint. ‘Want one?’
I nod.
He kneels down by the side of the bath. ‘How about you, Ticket? Or are you more of a cigar man? Here.’ Charlie lights the joint and places it between my lips. I inhale. This time we enjoy the silence.
‘So, any more plans to move to London?’ Charlie asks, finally breaking it.
‘I need to find a job first.’
‘Do you know what you want to do?’
‘That’s half the problem. Give me some ideas, Charlie. I have to do something with my life.’ I tell him about my friends, Dom and Guy, both in west London. ‘I’d like to live near them.’ I also tell him what Frankie had said to me about living at home; how I might lose the confidence to ever make the break if I wait too long. She offered to be my Back Up mentor if I return to London. ‘But I can’t afford to move until I’ve found work.’
‘Yeah, but you need to be in London to look for work,’ Charlie says. ‘You need to join some recruitment agencies.’ He pauses. ‘You wouldn’t think about going back to medicine?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It seems a waste, somehow, a shame to let it go. ‘Don’t you miss it, Cass? The adrenalin, the buzz, the people?’
‘Sometimes.’
There’s another long pause. ‘Will you think about it?’
I gather some bubbles into my hand and give him a bubbly beard.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘It’s a maybe, Santa.’
*
I am lying in Charlie Bell’s bed. I’m lying in a man’s bed. I haven’t been in a man’s bed for a long time. Not since Sean. The last bed I shared was with my mother.
Charlie’s dressed in his boxers and a T-shirt. He lays his duvet across the floor and lies down. ‘Oh fuck, the light.’
‘Ticket, up switch,’ I say, pointing my head towards it.
‘Wow. He’s unbelievable,’ Charlie says when the room plunges into darkness.
‘He is clever. Down, settle, good boy.’
‘Are you talking to me now?’ Charlie asks. ‘This is confusing.’
I laugh. ‘How old are you, Charlie?’
‘Why? You shouldn’t ask such personal questions, especially not in the dark,’ he adds. ‘Twenty-eight.’
‘I had you down at about twenty-six.’
‘Thanks. We can stick to your estimate.’
‘Charlie?’ I say, five minutes later.
‘Yes?’
‘You can sleep with me if you want? I mean, in the bed.’
‘I know what you mean.’ I can tell he’s smiling. ‘It’s all right. I’m fine down here.’
I build myself up to say, ‘I’d like you to.’
There’s another long silence. ‘I don’t know how Ticket will feel about it,’ he says quietly.
Ticket shifts in his basket.
‘He trusts you.’
20
I open my eyes and see Charlie, next to me. He must have taken his top off in the night. His shoulders are broad and his chest smooth. One arm is raised above his head. He looks as content as I am. Just as I’m thinking how much I want to kiss him, Ticket jumps up against the side of the bed, before hopping from paw to paw. He attempts to pull my wheelchair towards me but there’s not enough space down the side of the bed.
‘Charlie.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Charlie!’ I shout now and Ticket jumps up again with an anxious whine.
He sits up immediately, sleepy eyes and hair all messy, as if he’s fallen into a bramble bush. ‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘Ticket needs to go out.’
He leaps out of bed, grabs an old dressing gown and puts on some trainers without bothering to tie up the laces.
‘Go,’ I tell him when Ticket looks anxiously from me to Charlie. ‘Good boy, Ticket. Go to Charlie.’
*
Charlie, Ticket and I spend the afternoon in Chipping Campden, a town close to Charlie’s parents’ home. We take Ticket for a walk, followed by browsing in bookshops, pottery and jewellery shops. When I sense Charlie can take no more shopping or cream tea I suggest I treat him to a pint of beer and an early pub supper.
We find a table close to the bar and Charlie shows me the photographs he took on our skiing holiday. I’ve learned that he started taking photographs when he was six. His grandmother gave him an old-fashioned camera for his birthday. When he was at Reading University, he took all the photographs for student union events and magazines. ‘I like this one,’ he says. I’m in my white fur hat, sitting with Frankie, clutching a mug of hot chocolate. I hadn’t even realised he’d taken it. ‘That’s the whole point,’ he claims. ‘To keep quiet and out of the way – but always be there.’
‘Give me some more hot tips.’
‘Hottest tip is this: it’s the rule of thirds.’ He grabs a papery thin white napkin and asks the barman for a pen. Charlie draws a rectangle that he divides into three and sketches a small figure. ‘The focal point of the picture has to be where a line intersects, never in the middle. So if I did a headshot of you, your face should be here.’ He places the pen nib a third of the way down the rectangle.
‘Why?’
‘It frames the picture. Your eye is drawn to the image. It just looks better, trust me.’
‘What else?’
‘When looking at a photo you have to get the background right. If I took a picture of you here –’ he frames my face in his hands – ‘I can see a table right behind you with empty beer bottles and crisp packets. Nice. So if I go to the side of you, suddenly the view’s a whole lot better. More interesting.’ He looks at my profile. It’s unnerving. ‘The light catches your face here too.’
‘Who’s the best person you’ve photographed?’
‘The Queen.’
‘The Queen!’ I repeat, sounding like my father. I really need to leave home.
‘My best friend, Rich, his parents run a sheepskin shop in Somerset and she visited. Some people have a way with the camera, they know exactly what to do when they’re in front of it.’
‘She’s had lots of practice.’
‘Yeah, but even so, I don’t know, she just radiates. She has a wonderful smile. I think she’s beautiful.’
*
It’s Sunday. Charlie and I slept in the same bed last night too. Nothing happened. I felt close to him, but he didn’t try to kiss me. Confused and wishing he’d stop behaving like such a gentleman, I didn’t sleep well. Maybe this attraction is all in my head?
After a lazy breakfast, Charlie and I go for a walk around the grounds of his parents’ house. He tells me a little more about his work. He works for a web design and marketing company. He’s part of a team of eight ‘computer geeks’ as he calls them, and they work in a studio in London, Farringdon. He’s officially the creative manager. ‘Sounds much grander than it is,’ he says modestly. ‘All I do is design websites and blogs. We do a lot of online marketing too. Everything’s changing so fast with social media stuff and businesses have to keep up.’ Charlie leads me down a path, past a derelict tennis court that looks as if it hasn’t been played on since men had wooden rackets and women wore long dresses. He opens a gate into a grassy field. ‘Don’t touch, Ticket!’ I shout when I see Charlie running on ahead to stop Ticket chasing the sheep. I grab my tin of treats and rattle it urgently, and Ticket bounds towards his liver bites instead.
On our way back to the house we look for Ticket’s ball in the garden shed. Ticket sniffs under a tractor.
‘Is that your dad’s motorbike?’ I ask.
Charlie nods.
‘Let’s have a go.’
‘What? Now?’
‘No, next Christmas. How fast can this baby go?’
‘Cass, it’s a dodgy old bike. Dad hasn’t driven it for years, and I don’t much fancy spending the rest of my Sunday in A&E.’
‘Oh God,’ I groan. ‘I’m so bored.’
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‘Thanks.’
‘Not of you, silly, this.’ I gesture to my wheelchair. ‘Going skiing was great, so good it’s like I need another adrenalin shot, you know. Ticket runs towards me with the ball in his mouth. Charlie grabs it from him, throwing it across the lawn, before saying, ‘Shut your eyes, Cass.’
‘Why?’
‘Shut them.’
I feel one hand under my knees; the other around my back. ‘Put your arm around me.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Hold on tight. OK, Cass, here’s for some explosive fun! Keep your hair on.’ He makes the sound of a motorbike and then runs as fast as he can, jolting me in his arms, jogging up and down the lawn.
I burst out laughing. ‘Go, Charlie! Faster!’
‘And they’re coming to the penultimate jump.’
‘Thought we were on a motorbike?’
‘It’s magic. You’re on a horse now. Are they going to make it? It’s head to head with Aldiniti!’
Ticket barks.
‘And they’re coming to the last fence. It’s nose to nose. Cassandra Brooks looks like she is going to take the gold for her country … they’re over the final hedge …’
‘Go!’ I squeal, opening my eyes.
But he then decides to put his foot into a rabbit hole and falls forward, both of us crashing down on to the grass. Ticket jumps on to us, covering me with licks. ‘Cass! Are you all right?’
I lie flat on my back, spreading my arms. ‘No, it hurts.’
Charlie sits up. ‘Oh God, I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry.’
‘I think it’s really serious.’ I close my eyes and shudder with pain.
‘Where does it hurt?’
‘Everywhere.’
‘Where? Here?’ He presses my ribs.
‘Ouch, definitely there.’ Ticket’s nose rubs against my stomach.
I yelp. ‘Especially there,’ I say when Charlie touches my back. ‘Excruciating.’
‘Brooks?’
I sit up and laugh, wiping the grass off my hands.
Charlie pulls out a couple of blades from my tousled hair. ‘You nearly had me there.’
‘I’ve had such a great time,’ I tell him quietly, returning his gaze. ‘I don’t want to go home.’
‘We don’t need to get the Sunday blues yet.’ He looks at his watch. It’s close to midday. ‘We have a couple more hours to play at least.’
By My Side Page 11
