‘What were you doing in that dump? Looking for hair-raising inspiration?’
‘Long Elsy story… And the place isn’t that bad.’
As they’re about to pass through a grove of trees, Charles chances a glance over his shoulder. Loris is following them with his eyes, so Charles hastens to scan another pitch on his left, to pretend he’s looking for something.
‘Ten-year-old me will always and forever be traumatised,’ George says, surprisinglyoblivious to his discomfort.
‘Hmm?’
‘By the witch who runs the pub! That day Liv and Fred sent us there.’
‘Sorry?’ Charles slows down, confused enough to forget his urge to flee the park. ‘Liv and Fred sent us to the North Haven? Why?’
‘To create a diversion while they swiped beers from the delivery van, remember? They picked that place so nobody would recognise us.’
‘Makes sense…’
The fog that envelops Charles’ memory thickens as he tries to recall that day. For a second, he grasps a sense of pride. The next second, a pang in his temple, harbinger of a headache, leaves him with nothing.
‘Anyhow,’ George nudges him, ‘is he fun?’
‘Who…?’
‘Rugby chap. Are we making a new friend?’
‘No!’ Charles blinks himself back into the tangible present. ‘I don’t know him. We have divergent opinions on Pavel’s book, that’s all.’
‘Blimey! You found someone who knows your painter!’ George shifts in front of him. ‘Run back there and make an art buddy out of him. I beg of you, ChaVinci!’
‘You’re a moron.’
George snatches Charles’ beanie and takes off like a shot. Charles chases after him, jaded yet amused by his friend’s idiotic laughter. His oldest friend, who would misspell Olwinski.
George doesn’t get fine arts, Gothic literature or philharmonic music. He lets Charles yack about his latest discoveries because his AI brain allows him to develop projects while holding a conversation. But given the choice, George prefers to develop his projects while discussing manga, space conquest and new technologies.
Outside of their support for Tottenham Hotspur Football Club,their taste in Scottish whisky and a handful of friends, Charles and George don’t share much anymore. They’ve also settled in two very different emotional lands. If they met today, they probably wouldn’t bond. But Charles and George met when life’s biggest question was whether they should trust their respective elder siblings, Fred and Liv, regarding the existence of Father Christmas.
The day a school bully jumped George to steal his backpack, Charles rushed headlong. He ended up with a shiner, his arm broken and the bag secured between his shaky legs. Later that afternoon, when he got out of his father’s Bentley with a fresh plaster cast, he found George waiting for him in the driveway, armed with his pirate sword, Captain America shield and homemade Saint Seiya helmet.
‘You saved my life, Chartagnan. I shall now take care of you until I build a spaceship to move to Neptune.’
And George Downes is a man of his word.
FIVE
The football match was a snoozefest and dinner was more bearable than Charles feared. His parents had plenty to disparage after the brunch they went to earlier in the day and didn’t expect him to partake in this conversation. As a result, Charles spent the match and the dinner replaying his encounter with Loris.
At first, he felt sick, analysing his own behaviour in hindsight. Then he found relief in imagining worse scenarios in which he acted like a complete nutcase in the park. Later, he moved on to ideal versions of the exchange. But ultimately, sprawled on his bed,The Mind of Wondersopen on his chest, Charles concludes that he’s devoted too much headspace to a storm in a teacup. Why is he letting a guy he doesn’t have to rub shoulders with give him grief? Loris’ opinion is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter one bit.
Except that it does. It matters so much that Charles hasn’t clicked his pen about anything else since, which is why he leaps up to slip on trainers and a wool overcoat.
He hurtles down the stairs and jumps over the last two steps, as always, put off by the quicksand aspect of the striations on the oak flooring. Next, he usually slaloms between the odd black tiles of the entrance hall, but he fails to avoid one after a jerk of surprise due tohis mother’s presence underneath the arch leading to the lounge.
‘Shit! Sorry! You scared me… Hi.’
‘Where are you going?’ Alice asks, tightening the belt of her silk dressing gown.
‘For a walk…’
