‘Alright, let us in.’
‘In?’
‘What’s the code? Something related to your fake love life?’
‘We can’t go into the study, there’s a camera.’
‘Didn’t you guys just shag in there?’
Charles shrugs, his post-coital bliss a distant memory. George nods, visibly impressed, then tugs him into the library.
It must be free of recording devices considering this is the room where Elsy and her father curse and break Catriona’s house rules with impunity.
‘Spill your guts.’
George sits on a green velvet chair and crosses his legs – a Milton-like vision Charles turns away from instantly. He walks over to one of the bookshelves, sinking a nail into the raw skin of his thumb.
‘I’m just so tired of… pretending and being on edge, always, because I’m stuck between accepting and refusing my life. It’s like I’m walking a tightrope, constantly losing my balance but without ever falling. It’s draining.’
‘Time to jump and embrace the right side of the force to become Charth Vader.’
‘What good would that do me?’
‘Let’s see… You’re at a party with your best mates, you just got laid, but you’re tearing up in front of a collection of first editions. And it has nothing to do with your passion for boring literature. It’d do you all the good to tell your parents to—’
‘My parents aren’t the problem.’
Charles spins around and George’s brow rises to his hairline.
‘The problem is that I decided, at some stage, that I didn’t want this life. So being miserable as things stand has become my identity. But there’s nothing I want to do instead. No one I’d know how to be. And I’m starting to feel like… I feel like a stubborn kid who’s stated he hated spinach, because an imaginary vegetable was better, and makes himself sick when he eats spinach, instead of admitting that it’s tasty and rich in—’
‘Stop! What’s your non-culinary point?’
‘Mylife isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty close, so why do I fight it?’
‘Pretty close? What number did Milton do on you over breakfast?’
‘It’s not about him.’
‘The hell it’s not!’ George hits the armrests and leaps up. ‘He’s the reason why you haven’t got a clue what to do with yourself! Because he scared you into crushing your dreams before they could even take shape!’
‘This is a dangerous overstatement.’
‘I saw it with my own eyes!’
‘Why are you yelling?’
‘Because I feel like it! That’s what I call a perfect life. When you feel like doing something, you do it.’
‘But let’s not go round in circles, I don’t know what I feel like doing. And it doesn’t matter who’s to blame for that. I can’t keep going this way, sitting on the fence at all times. I’m going mad, I... Yesterday, it was bad. Can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t stand, bad.’
‘What?’ George’s eyes shift from exasperation to extreme concern. ‘How about opening with that?’ He pats Charles’ shoulder, surveying his face in search of lasting effects. ‘What triggered it?’
‘In a nutshell… Do you remember the… rugby guy?’
‘The Pavel fan I told you to befriend?’
Charles cracks a smile despite the minefield he’s broaching. ‘How do you retain so many useless facts and still have room for—’
