‘I’m George Downes. What about him?’
‘Well, we’ve been hanging out, and somehow, because he knew nothing about me, it helped, and I started questioning something that’s always felt off. But in the end, it was another deadlock, it confused me and resulted in a full-blown panic attack.’
‘Could you please, please, please stop speaking in riddles? Question what?’
Each ‘please’ came with a squeeze, so for the sake of his collarbone, Charles murmurs, ‘The truth about Fred,’ and walks to the velvet chair to sit down.
‘Right… I’ve got enough dirt on you to concede that I’m a bit lost right now. What truth?’
Charles rests his elbows on his knees and presses his chin against his joined fists. ‘Who he really was and what he wanted. If he was at war with my father. The reason why he crashed into that damn tree. If the accident has been polished. If he was… Was he pissed that night?’
‘There’s no way I can know that.’
‘But do you think he had an alcohol problem? In general?’
Part of Charles is hoping for a positive answer, which reawakens his nausea. It’s sick. He’s sick.
‘I saw him drunk on occasions, but we’re about to sip cocktails from teapots, so… Besides, what Ithinkshouldn’t influence your memory. What I know is that Fred was an opinionated nerd. But did that make him problematic by the Ledwells’ standards? No idea. You guys aired your dirty laundry behind closed doors, and if Liv managed to take a peek, she never told me.’
‘What about her, then?’ Charles clasps his pendant, desperate but unable to pinpoint what he’s desperate for. ‘Were they together? Fred and Liv? Even though he paraded around with Heloise?’
‘I believe… But bear in mind that such belief is based on couldn’t-care-less teenage perceptions. I believe Liv hated Heloise’s guts. But I can only speculate about the why, and you don’t need speculation. What’s certain is that Liv lost her best friend that night and withdrew into a silence even our mum couldn’t break. Fred’s passing pulled my two favourite people into a dark place where talking about him only increased the pain. And because Liv had my parents to help her find light elsewhere, I focused on shining some on you.’
‘Why do you sound apologetic?’
‘I’m just explaining why I haven’t got any answers for you.’ George squats in front of Charles to look into his eyes. ‘We talk more since she’s made a fresh start in Manchester, but she’s buried this so deep, I’m not sure it’s a great idea to dig for details. Unless it could make a difference in your—’
‘No! No, don’t risk hurting Liv with my theories. That’s all they are. Crazy conspiracy theories. I’m the one rewriting history with fake narratives to demonise my family. To build new baseless justifications for hating the life they provide me with. That’s what it is and it’s twisted.’
George frowns and grips Charles’ knee. ‘Careful, you’re muddling things up. I can’t imagine how messy it is in Charland, with Fred resurging and other stuff you’re clearly not telling me. But you’re trying to shortcut your way out of it with radical conclusions.’
‘I have to! I have to quit fighting pointless battles before I lose it for good.’
‘And your chosen solution is to accept your parents’ wishes as your definitive command?’
‘Why not? What does it matter that something wasn’t my choice to begin with if it’s right for me?’
George stands and tenses up. ‘I love you, but if you use the bloody Rolex as an example, I’ll blow my main fuse.’
Charles pushes himself back up. He will never manage to argue his point if his friend overlooks him from the top of his contempt for all things Milton-related.
‘I’m talking about my future. I’m pretty damn good at what I do. And I’d be great if I stopped whining about other options I don’t even have. Or if I stopped panicking about my parents’ expectations. They believe in me, what’s wrong with that? And they’re what theyare, but I’m outrageously privileged, and I should contemplate giving that up for… what? The sake of rebelling?’
George mimes a brain explosion, which Charles chooses to ignore because he’s about to muddle up even more.
‘And it’s not just that! I have the greatest bunch of friends, but I’m ruining the fun, feeling like shit and hiding that I feel like shit because I can’t explain why I feel like shit. And I have the most fantastic girl, but I take her for granted instead of—’
‘Hold your horses, Chasanova! The fantastic girl is not yours to accept or refuse or make spinach of!’
‘She could be again. I’ve never fought that battle.’
‘Good grief… Why am I sober for this?’
‘You have a problem with Els, now?’
‘Not at all! I’ve got so very little problem with Elsy that I forbid you to do that! You know what? Hug Milton goodnight if that feels right. Embrace the MBA as a good fit if it helps. Have a blast working for Clifford & Vultures. Do all that, I’ll keep my mouth shut. But don’t you dare use Elsy as a ploy in your existence reassessment. If her failed affairs with wankers are taking a toll, an assertive and crispy Chips may stand a chance. So don’t play games! You hear me?’
‘You’re shouting in my face.’
