Charles inhales the perfume on Loris’ scarf, floundering for a safe response. A banality, a clever joke or anything that could lessen the intensity of their embrace. But he comes up short, and not a sliver of credibility would make it past the tears thickening in his throat anyway.
He can’t pinpoint when the switch occurred, but Loris’ arms have tightened around him. Initially powered by his gratitude, they’re now sheltering Charles.
‘Loris…’
‘It’s okay, I’ve got you.’
‘No, not now. Not here, that’s not fair. This is your dad’s spot, your moment, it can’t be about—’
‘My dad came here for solutions, and there’s only one I want to find. Except I don’t know what the problem is.’ Loris releases his hold to meet Charles’ watery eyes. ‘Talk to me.’
Charles shivers as dead leaves swirl around their legs. Loris is clearly imagining the worst, which is even less fair.
‘It’s nothing new, it’s… It just hurts today.’
‘What does?’
‘Fred.Thinking about Fred. You know how I… I struggled with my memories, because different versions of him overlapped and it was… It drove me crazy. I thought I was crazy. But it’s over, I’m not confused anymore.’ Charles pours every ounce of light left in him into a quivering smile, because Loris needs to know it’s a good thing. ‘It’s all coming back. I remember who Fred was. I remember our relationship, the plans we made and… everything. Everything I had when I had him. And so, for the first time since he died, I know what I’m missing. For the first time, I know exactly who I lost and… It feels like I’m losing him again, I’m losing him for real, and I’m—’ Charles chokes up but holds his breath until it passes. ‘I’m just—’
‘Don’t do that! Let it out. You can’t keep it bottled-up inside.’
‘If I start, I don’t know when I’ll stop. Last night I couldn’t stop.’
‘Then you don’t stop. I’m here. Doesn’t matter how long it lasts and what it takes out of you, I’m here and… Wait.’
Rain drops are thrumming the ground, so Loris leads him towards the bench, protected by the broad limbs of the tree. Charles couldn’t resist even if he wanted to, close to crumpling. He can’t recall a time when such weakness wasn’t coupled with shame, induced by his inner voices. But they’re staying silent today. They can’t argue he should be tougher. Not when surrendering to his pain, in front of the last person he wanted to show his vulnerability to, is the bravest thing he’s ever done.
Loris sits down first and Charles collapses onto his lap, shaking, sobbing and wrapped in strong blanket arms.
***
Charles takes the glass of water that Loris filled up, drinks a sip to ease his irritated throat and closes his eyes.
‘We’ve got to get you out of these wet clothes,’ Loris says, pressing their foreheads together.
‘The lengths I go to in order to borrow your stuff…’
Loris laughs, soundless, just a breath that tickles Charles’ lips, but his relief is loud. Charles himself wasn’t sure when he would be able to form a full sentence, let alone a joke. But the magic of Loris’ place is already operating.
It’s not the sense of safety Charles finds when he’s here. He never felt unsafe outside, neither on the bench nor on the walk back, racing clouds that presaged a proper thunderstorm. He had shut down, but Loris acted as shield, crutch and compass at once.
The power of the flat is to inject substance into Charles’ thoughts. His mind has more space to grow in this cramped room than it ever had in the mansion he’s supposed to call home.
Loris draws back towards his wardrobe, and Charles makes for the window, nipping at the water. The roof of the North Haven is barely discernible through the torrential downpour. A flash of lightning criss-crosses the sky and, two seconds later, a loud thunderclap shakes the building.
Fred was terrified of thunderstorms. Refusing to admit it, he would take shelter in Charles’ room under far-fetched pretexts. The weather pattern of his nocturnal visits didn’t lie, but Charles never pointed it out. He treasured their conversations about Fred’s latest obsessions. They stayed up so late once, discussing sea turtles, that Charles dozed off in class the next day. Milton chastised him harshly, but it was worth it. That same week, Charles composed a piano lullaby for the turtles. He still remembers the chords.
‘Here.’ Loris hands him a pair of sweatpants and a black jumper. ‘Do you want to eat something?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Help yourself whenever you’re hungry, okay? No need to ask. Or to wake me up if your stomach riots in the middle of the night.’
Charles hugs the jumper. ‘I’d eat your pillowcases before disrupting your sleep again. Especially now, considering everything you’re doing for me.’
‘None of it is a burden.’
‘I know. And it makes a real difference, that I’m convinced of it. I don’t think I was ever a burden to my friends, but I felt like one, so I kept the worst of me to myself. You’re the lucky winner, you get it all. Congratulations. Or sorry.’
