What Charles needs is an unexpected challenge, in a place where his mind isn’t polluted with falsehood. Where his memories of Fred have room to grow and stick.
21:17Deal. Start reading.
Elsy selects a random episode ofThe Walking Dead. ‘Perfect!’
‘That’s your inspiration for our love life?’
‘I want something that matches the state of my uterus. Kate and William versus the walking dead of Hampstead, action!’
Laughing, Charles displays the new photo Loris just sent.
A shot of his hand holdingThe Mind of Wondersin front of the beer taps in the pub. Loris used the drawing tools of his phone to add a pair of heart-shaped tinted glasses across the cover.
Charles saves the photo on his device.
And inside his chest, he saves the vision of Loris reading his favourite book in the North Haven.
EIGHT
Charles is at ease, waiting in front of the green door in broad daylight. Muffled in his parka coat, his beanie pulled down to his reading glasses, he could be anyone. Besides, he’s not carrying alcohol today, as Loris is working afterwards. Charles is showing up empty-handed and light-hearted.
He’s having a great day. He played a bit of piano, reorganised his book shelves and managed to avoid his parents. Later, he will go for an inspired nocturnal saunter on the Heath, with the views of the city all to himself.
When Loris opens the door, wearing a black drawstring shirt and a welcoming smile six times more efficient than the autumnal sun, Charles’ chest fills up with an emotion he can’t name.
It sounds like gulls circling in the sky and smells like sunscreen on the tip of his nose. It tastes like the iced grenadine he can’t finish before Fred drags him away from the restaurant’s terrace. It feels like sand swallowing his feet as they run towards the ocean.
It’s an elating sensation, like a safe risk, and Charles is already so much more clear-minded than usual, and so grateful for it, he pulls Loris against him.
‘Hi.’
‘Hey…’ Loris hugs him back, a hint of surprise in his voice, a touch of honey in his shampoo.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
Charles releases him, instantly embarrassed about his impulse, but Loris shakes his head to signify it doesn’t matter, and hopefully that goes for the hug too.
The flat smells like toast, clean laundry and a home Charles would long to get back to after years of travelling. Loris has pushed the sofa closer to the bed, freeing up a wider space for the easel. The natural light coming through the window now hits the pillows.
For the first time since his request, Charles imagines himself posing. And exposed.
‘Coffee?’
‘Please. Black, no sugar.’ Charles stretches his back to get rid of the uneasiness creeping in and points at the portfolio lying on the desk. ‘Can I?’
‘Sure. But I barely touched it after I took the picture.’
Charles lifts the cardboard flap. With added contrast, the finish of his hair and eyes is truly incredible. But from the bridge of his nose down, his face is still a colourless sketch in the shards of glass.
‘Too psyched about your new idea?’
‘No, but I had to see you again and make sure my memory wasn’t enhancing that abnormal mouth of yours.’
‘What’s wrong with my mouth?’
‘Nothing.’ Loris approaches, holding aKeep Calm and Rugby Onmug. ‘That’s the point. It’s like Pavel painted it with the brushes he used for theKrakowskyline.’
‘I don’t get it.’
