‘Naturally… Hey, what’s his team?’
‘He doesn’t like football. But his best friend supports Arsenal.’
George cowers with a horrified squeak. ‘Every part of this statement is problematic!’
‘I know. But he makes up for it.’
Unconvinced, George snuggles back against his arm, and Charles closes his eyes to gather himself during the few minutes he has before his friend reverts to being a live wire.
Charles stays at George’s for the next match, for a dinner cooked by the chef from the flat below and for a couple of hours after Hannah arrives.
It’s riveting to watch George be outsmarted and unable to hide his adoration. Riveting and inspiring. Charles is too sleepy to outline concrete characters, but he decides to hang out with the two of them more often.
On his way back home, he collects Loris’ keys but represses the urge to immediately take shelter in the flat.
The idea of facing his parents and the nasty emotions they will rouse is distressing. But the only way to keep the upper hand over his feelings is to control the circumstances of his return under their roof. It needs to be his choice rather than a dreaded situation postponed until he has no other option.
When he walks into the house, his clothes from last night folded over his arm, the entrance hall makes his hair stand on end. It feels more austere than ever now that the Christmas decorations have been taken down. Now that his memories are becoming pieces of the puzzle.
He plants his feet on the quicksand pattern of the first step. He finally knows where his compulsion to avoid it came from. It was his unconscious refusal of the tale his mother chose to crush him with seven years ago, when she sat down next to him on this very step, one hour after Fred’s accident.
‘Charles.’
Alice’s voice stabs him in the back and pushes him forwards.
‘You can spend time with George any day. When I ask you to— I am talking to you!’
Charles stops moving, staring into Fred’s supportive eyes in the closest photo. He takes a deep breath, hugs his clothes tighter and turns around.
Alice looks abnormally flustered. A reminder of the woman she wasbefore grief added five extra layers of frost around her cold heart.
‘You want to talk? Alright. Let’s talk about Fred’s passport burning in the fireplace.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Either we talk about that night or we don’t talk.’
The emotion rippling on Alice’s face isn’t new. Charles has caught glimpses of it ever since she started observing him from a new angle that he was unwilling to define. And now that it’s on full display, there’s no doubt that it’s fear.
‘What is it going to be?’
She won’t answer, but Charles will hold his ground until it’s clear that he’s not shying away. That she’s the reason why they won’t have this conversation tonight. He’s not ready for it, but he needs her to believe that he is.
‘Good heavens, that woman is daft as a brush. How does Alastair put up with her?’ Milton emerges from the lounge and comes to a stop, his eyes darkening. ‘Why didn’t you make yourself available, Charles? And what is this jacket? Could you refrain from wearing garish colours?’
Charles’ revulsion deadens a decade of self-preservation habits and fuels a dozen of hateful comebacks, but Alice speaks before he does, slipping on an unconcerned mask.
‘Tonight was my mistake, dear. I forgot that Charles had promised to help George with the dubious terms of a business proposal he received. Am I correct, darling?’
Caught unawares, Charles can only nod, clenching his fists underneath the clothes he’s holding.
‘Is George remunerating you for helping him grow wealthy?’
‘He’s a friend. Friends do each other favours. Favours are free.’
‘When they prevail over family obligations, they shouldn’t be,no.’ Milton drops a soft kiss on Alice’s lips. ‘I have to review a case for tomorrow, I will join you upstairs. Charles, I heard from my contacts in Palermo. Enrica Bianchi will give a public address about her father’s collection this week.’
‘Wonderful.’
