But it can’t be him, I tell myself.Don’t go and make a fool of yourself.No, that’s definitely not James, I realise now, because this man has a dog.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHARLIE
‘Can I tell you something, Dad?’ Charlie butts in.
‘What is it, son?’ His dad frowns. They are FaceTiming, one of those duty chats that Charlie has put up with for far too long. As per usual his dad’s been in full flow about his ‘projects’ and ‘people’. All that boring shit.
‘You only ever talk about yourself,’ Charlie blurts out, trying to keep his emotions in check.
His dad’s expression changes. He looks shocked, and it takes him a moment to compose himself. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Dad,’ Charlie says, trying to keep his voice level because he’s dreaded this moment, and has lost so many nights’ sleep over it, ‘we only have these chats so you can brag to me and tell me about all the amazing things you’re doing.’
There’s an awful stony pause that makes Charlie feel quite sick. ‘Only to make conversation,’ Frank says eventually. ‘Only to keep things moving along when we’re talking. You’re not the easiest, y’know, Charlie. To communicate with, I mean. You’re actually bloody difficult.’
‘Am I?’ Charlie asks. ‘It’s not deliberate.’Esther doesn’t find me hard to communicate with,he thinks. They had a long conversation earlier today, about Bob, the dog who’s living with her and her dad at the moment. She put some thoughts into Charlie’s head, and he’s waiting for the right time to bring the subject up with his mum. Not that she’ll be unreasonable – he’s pretty sure about that.
‘Well, it feels that way,’ his dad says curtly.
‘Maybe it’s just the way I am,’ Charlie says, and without warning his voice cracks and tears well up in his eyes.Don’t cry. Don’t show him that you’re remotely emotional about this.He blinks them away quickly, grateful that they aren’t actually face to face.
‘Are you all right?’ His dad frowns.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘So, is that it then? That’s what you wanted to tell me?’
As Charlie lets the moment hang, so many thoughts race through his head. He used to think that nothing ever happened in his life, apart from Young Stargazers and spending hours holed up in his room, looking through his telescope. And Remy would come over and they were so close, like brothers. Charlie was quite happy back then with his uneventful life.
But now there’s loads going on. There’s so much he could tell his dad, who’s now looking impatient as he paces around on his Brooklyn roof. He could tell him about his mum working so hard and getting a book deal with a big publishing company. She’s had her food columns and all her freelance jobs for years, working so hard, even on holiday when she should have been relaxing on the beach. Instead, she was often huddled over her laptop, bashing away at his grandparents’ kitchen table. And now she’s going to create her own cookbook! Charlie could tell his dad that, but he knows his eyes would glaze over.(Funny how you can still detect the glazing thing over a distance of three and a half thousand miles!)
Charlie could also tell him about James, who his mum obviously loves so much and obviously wants to be with. And how he and Esther talked about that today. How they’ve come up with a plan that might or might not work, but it’s worth a try, right? And then there’s Esther, who his dad probablywouldbe interested in because of her profile and Instagram following – even though he reckons influencers are ‘stealing’ all his photography jobs. He’d still be impressed, Charlie reckons.
But actually, that whole Instagram thing is the least interesting part about Esther. She’s funny and scatty and actually incredibly kind and smart,reallysmart. She doesn’t even know it. And there’s no way Charlie could start to explain any of that to his dad, so he doesn’t try.
Another thing he could tell his dad about is James’s work, and how dedicated he is and how it spills over into his home life. That’s why he’s taken in this dog, Bob. All that time, this elderly man had been worried sick about what to do when Bob died. He lived in a flat with a shared garden so he couldn’t go digging a great big hole to bury him out there. He didn’t like the idea of dumping him in the woods somewhere and he didn’t trust those cremation places. He said they were a rip-off and you’d never just get your own dog’s ashes in a little pot.
All that worry over something he never actually had to face. We worry about things so much and they turn out to be nothing, Charlie decides. Like him, worrying about leaving his mum when he goes to university. And then deciding, when he was down in Cornwall with time to really think, that maybe he won’t go to university this year after all. Remy’s life has opened up by him doing exactly what he wanted to do, instead of what wasexpected of him. His parents thought he was mad not to go to uni but all he wanted to do was his music.
Charlie thinks that maybe he’d like to do something else first, and study astrophysics later, when he’s seen a bit more of life. There’s a place on a remote Scottish island that’s offering paid opportunities for young people to work on an archaeological dig. He’d never thought of doing anything like that before. But this island also happens to be the best place in Britain for observing the night sky. Better than Cornwall even. Charlie can feel the pull of it, tugging on his heart.
He’s spinning away from the topic here, of what he really wanted to say to his dad today. His brain is shooting off like a comet.
‘Charlie?’ His dad’s voice snaps him back to the present.
‘Dad,’ he starts, ‘I’ve been thinking about this. I’m sorry but I don’t want to have these calls with you anymore.’
A stunned pause follows. ‘Some mood you’re in today!’ Frank blusters, finally.
‘I’m not in a mood,’ Charlie clarifies, ‘and I don’t mean forever. At least, I don’t think I do. I just mean—’
‘Okay, fine.’ Frank’s expression is neutral now. He’s affecting indifference, Charlie thinks. Perhaps he does care at least a little, or maybe he doesn’t like it that Charlie has taken control. ‘That’s it then. It’s your decision,’ he says gruffly. ‘See you, then, son.’ And the call ends.
Charlie sits for a long time in his room, breathing deeply, trying to steady his thoughts. And gradually, a sense of lightness comes over him. He’s done it. He’s finally said what he wanted to say, and he feels awful but also weirdly proud of himself. He won’t tell his mum tonight because he doesn’t want that to be the focus of their evening. Instead, he goes through and finds her at the kitchen table, working on her laptop.
‘Mum?’ he starts, pulling up the chair next to her.
