Wrestling out of his coat, he sprints towards his bedroom to shed the red polo shirt and jump into the shower.
TWELVE
16:02 WITH ONE LAre you home?
17:35 WITH ONE LSeriously I’m worried, you had what looked like a panic attack
17:35 WITH ONE LLet me know that you’re okay
19:11 WITH ONE LDon’t make me google search your house!
19:28I’m home, I got dragged into a family party!
09:43 WITH ONE LCan you come to the pub today? So we can talk about what happened and make sure we’re good
Charles pushes aside his phone and untouched breakfast, crosses his arms on the kitchen table and buries his face into the crook of his elbow.
He’s craving chewing gum. His upset stomach wouldn’t appreciate it, but he always craves gum when he’s hungover. Something to chew on until the motion of his jaws unblocks the jammed cogs of his brain.
‘You overindulged in champagne.’
Charles sits bolt upright and starts chewing on his saliva as his fatherwalks to the worktop, a copy of theFinancial Timeswedged under his arm.
‘Slightly… Did I embarrass you last night?’
‘You would already know if you had.’ Milton pours himself a coffee. ‘You were particularly good at humouring the Griffiths.’
‘The trick is to let them lecture you on a subject they’re aware you master.’
‘Demeaning.’
Charles contracts his fingers around his empty mug. ‘No. I see it as a role play they’re too stupid or self-absorbed to interpret as such.’
‘And which am I, in your opinion? Stupid or self-absorbed?’
‘Sorry?’
Milton sits down in front of him, unwilling to repeat his question, which increases the tossing in Charles’ stomach.
‘Neither. Why?’
‘You believe I can’t interpret your role play as such.’
‘What role play?’
Dom Pérignon begins rehearsing a drum solo in Charles’ skull. When was the last time he and Elsy had to fake their relationship in the presence of Milton? Did they let their guard down?
‘Your appreciative act upon being congratulated for your admittance in business school, when it is painfully obvious that those accolades make you want to run away.’
‘Oh, that… Yes.’
That, Charles can explain. Thanks to Gareth, he came up with an excuse to justify his itch to be catapulted into a remote cave, in case someone noticed it.
‘The praise bothers me because anyone with half a brain can get in, it’s not that big an achievement. And you treating it as one, as if… there were a risk I wouldn’t do it, that’s demeaning tome.’
‘There was a risk you wouldn’t do it.’
‘Alright…’
