by Lily Morton
“You alright, Charlie?” he asks.
I nod quickly. “I’m fine. Why?”
He frowns. “I don’t know. You got up quickly, and I was concerned.”
I sigh. This is what I’m worried about right here. “Why were you concerned? Because of the epilepsy?”
He looks closely at me. “Of course. You had a turn earlier, and you’re not quite right today.”
“Today? I’m potentially not quite right any day of the week, Misha.”
My voice is too loud, and I flush as I see a few people in the lobby turn round. He must think the same, because he grabs my arm gently and steers me into a small room filled with comfy seating. It’s blessedly empty.
“Okay, what’s the matter?” He folds his arms over his chest. “And I know something is.”
I shrug and lean against a leather sofa. “Nothing’s wrong,” I say soothingly, desperately wanting him to go back to the reception so we don’t say words I already know we’re going to regret. By the irritated look on his face, I think it’s too late.
“Don’t bullshit me, Charlie.”
The words are sharp, and any thought of shutting up leaves me. “I liked your speech.”
He looks flabbergasted. “Erm, thank you.”
I nod. “I liked the talk of abdicating all responsibilities from now on. That was nice.”
He looks as if he’s walking through a field full of unexploded bombs. “And yet I’m sensing that you are somehow pissed off with that, Charlie.”
“Not pissed off,” I deny automatically. He shoots me an unimpressed look, and I raise my hands helplessly. “Just wondering why you can’t see it, that’s all.”
He straightens. “See what?”
“This. You and me,” I say. My lousy mood of earlier has managed to slip its lead, and now I’m full-on cross. “Look very clearly at us, Misha, because I don’t think you’re doing that at the moment.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me, Charlie, because you seem to have such a lot of things to say. Such a lot of suddenly loud things to say.”
I breathe in sharply. “You haven’t given up all your responsibilities.” He stares at me. “I mean, there’s still me.”
“What?”
The words pour out of me. “I’m one of those responsibilities. Probably the biggest one. I mean, just look at me. I’m still having seizures.”
“Turns.”
I laugh. “It doesn’t bloody matter. Call them tumble dryers if you want, Misha. They’re seizures, and I’m at the risk of having them every day for the rest of my life.”
“I know that,” he says softly.
“Do you? Really? It’s a different knowledge from when we were just friends. Then you could walk away when you wanted. You could zip off and fuck your flavour of the evening. Now, you’re stuck with me.”
“Don’t ever say I’m stuck with you again,” he says furiously. “I won’t have you talk about yourself like that.”
“But you are,” I say passionately. “You are stuck with a man who has a lifelong condition that could get worse. And one day if the meds stop working, I could end up having surgery and then what? You know the risks attached to that. We looked at them together.”
“We did, and I seem to recall that the surgery has worked very well for people.”
“It has.” I nod wildly. “But in other people, it’s resulted in some personality changes. Is that what you want, Misha? Do you want to end up with someone different from the original person you took on? Do you want to be looking after me for the rest of your life putting out my tablets every day and fastening my medi bracelet?”
He’s gone very white. “Why would you bother asking?” he says through thin lips. “When you’ve already decided what my feelings are on the matter.”
“You could have someone better, Misha.”
“Who?” The word is an explosion of sound. “Who is better than you?”
“Well, Adam, for a start.”
He looks confused. “Who?”
“Adam, the beautiful man sitting next to you at the table. He’s been practically in your lap over dessert. Surely you remember?”
His expression clears slightly, and he steps closer. “Charlie, are you jealous?”
“Fuck off.” I raise my finger at him, my hand shaking. “Don’t make a joke out of this. The fact is that you can have someone else easily. Someone who won’t have seizures, someone who can have a cocktail or a shot at a wedding reception. Someone like him. He doesn’t have any problems. He’s all shiny hair and an expensive suit.”
“Well, I’m so glad you can gauge that from just his clothes. Such an under-appreciated talent you’ve got. Like water divining, but with Hugo Boss instead.” The words are light, but his voice is full of anger, and when I look closely, I can see the rage in his eyes. He stops and takes a deep breath, and when he speaks next, his words are icy cold, and they make me flinch. “Still, it’s nice that you’ve made up my mind for me, Charlie. Because I’m such a fucking idiot lightweight, I’d better stick to my own kind. God forbid that I should want more. You’ve actually made your real opinion of me very clear. I’m obviously not mentally and emotionally capable of sustaining anything that’s even slightly complicated.” He nods. “Thank you for telling me. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble in the long run.”
His eyes are filled with hurt and anger and loss. I feel it all deep in my stomach. I’ve never seen Misha like this before, and I hate the fact that I’m the cause of it. All my rage suddenly dies away, leaving me tired and drained. I open my mouth to apologise, but before I can, he steps back.
“You should go home,” he says coldly.
“What?” I say, stunned.
“Go home. Get some rest. I’ll tell my mum that you’re not feeling good. They’re leaving in a few minutes anyway.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the room with the sick feeling that I’ve just destroyed something very precious. With no other choice, I turn and leave the hotel.
Chapter Sixteen
Misha
I slump at the bar, looking morosely at the glass of whisky in front of me and flicking a piece of confetti off my sleeve. We saw my mum and Jim off an hour ago, and the bloody stuff is everywhere. There’s a rustle of clothing, and I shake my head as Felix slides in next to me.
“I’m not exactly good company at the moment,” I warn him.
He huffs. “When were you good company? I must have missed that millisecond.”
“Well, I’m in an especially bad mood today.”
He gestures for a drink, and we sit for a few minutes in a comfortable silence watching the dancers bopping about on the dance floor. I look at him affectionately. He’s always been my favourite cousin. He looks so much like his mum. A tumble of dark hair and those vivid hazel eyes. He’s small and fierce and funny, the way he’s always been. But then, with his home life, he’s had reason to be fierce.
The record changes and everyone on the dance floor cheers as “I Will Survive” starts to play. Felix shakes his head. “I cannot understand why a song about hating someone and being glad that they’ve left you is played at every wedding. It’s wildly inappropriate.” He sniffs. “Rather like your mother’s attachment to my ex-boyfriend to the extent that he’s here at her wedding.”
I look over at the big man who is the centre of attention of a laughing group. I’ve been at numerous parties with him, and it’s a very familiar sight. The man oozes charisma. “He makes her laugh.”
“Well, it’s good that he does it for someone.”
“Do you really mind him being around, Felix? I can tell everyone to stop inviting him places.”
He huffs. “No, of course I don’t mind. We’ve been over for a long time. I’ve told you this before.”
“What did he do to you?” I ask curiously. The drink must be loosening my tongue because Felix doesn’t usually divulge much. But I still remember when he came back from the weekend when he’d ended his relationship wit
h Max, and I can clearly recall the air of devastation he’d had.
“He didn’t love me enough,” he says, and there’s a finality to the words that tells me I’ll get no more. “Which is definitely not your problem.”
I blink slowly. “What?’
“Love,” he over-enunciates loudly.
“I’m sitting right next to you, so there’s no need to shout, Felix,” I say crossly. “I haven’t gone deaf.”
“No, just stupid.” When I gape at him, he explains, “I overheard you having a row with Charlie.”
“Overheard, or stayed outside the door so you could listen?” He pastes an innocent look on his face, and I grimace at him. “I’m surprised you didn’t buy popcorn for that epic moment,” I say sourly. “The moment that Charlie dumped me. I know I don’t go in for long relationships.” He coughs, and I amend my statement. “I know I don’t go in for any relationships, but this is ridiculous.”
“Charlie hasn’t left you,” he scoffs, grabbing my glass and taking a swig of my drink.
“You obviously weren’t listening hard enough to what he said.”
He shrugs. “I listened very hard,” he says without a shred of shame. “Enough to know what the problem is.”
“Oh, and do tell me what that was, Judge Judy.”
“You’d get nowhere with her with that sarcasm, Misha,” he observes. “Charlie’s just worried because he saw you chatting up a good-looking bloke.” I open my mouth to protest, and he points a warning finger at me. “Okay, saw you being chatted up by a good-looking bloke. He was bound to be pissed off. You’ve never displayed any hint of wanting a relationship before, so why would you want one with him?”
“Because he’s him,” I say, mystified.
“But does he know that, or does he think you’re just going with the flow?”
I pause, thinking hard. “I told him I wanted it to be just us,” I say slowly.
“Did you show him that, though?”
I suddenly remember Charlie “giving” me that song this morning, his face warm and his eyes lit up as the tender lyrics played. Then I remember the piss-taking way I’d replied. I groan. “Shit!”
“Exactly,” he says. “You’ve been flippant, haven’t you?”
“How do you know?”
He looks over at where his ex is standing, dark and handsome amongst his group of wedding guests. As usual, Max looks up, as if he’s aware of every step and movement that Felix makes. Felix just shakes his head. “It’s a family trait,” he says.
“I was flippant this morning when he tried to say something loving. It was only supposed to be for a minute, and then I was going to think of something better, but then he had a seizure, and I got occupied in looking after him.” I’m rambling, but he nods as if he understands.
“And that might be another problem, Misha.”
“What?”
“Do you know another word apart from ‘what’?”
“Not at this precise moment.”
He shrugs. “Charlie’s a very proud man. He prides himself on being positive and happy and good to people. That means he doesn’t react well when his body lets him down. I bet that he was uncomfortable with having a seizure in front of you. I’d also lay odds that he took one look at that bloke you were talking to and thought you’d be happier with someone like that. Charlie’s a caretaker by nature. He’s not comfortable when the shoe’s on the other foot.”
“But it’s the same shoe it’s always been.”
“But you’re not the same people now,” he says patiently. “You’re boyfriends now. It’s vastly different.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” I say almost petulantly. “I love him, and he’s mine to look after. Where’s the problem in that, Felix?”
He nudges me. “Have you actually told him that?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. Then I give myself a moment to think about it. Shock blasts through me. “Oh shit,” I mutter. “I thought he knew. He knows me inside out. He should know that I love him.”
“Why should he? He’s not bloody Mystic Molly. Misha, you have to tell people what you’re feeling.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Your communication skills are sadly lacking. Good job you work with hedges, although Monty Don is probably better with people than you.”
I frown at him. “You’re a piss-taking prat,” I say slowly, feeling the alcohol numbing my tongue. “How did you get so wise?”
“Well, it wasn’t from setting a good example,” he says flippantly. “More learning from bad experiences.”
I look behind me and smile. “Speaking of bad experiences, I think your ex might need a hand.” I nudge him. “Don’t look now but Auntie Violet has cornered him.”
He follows my gaze and snorts. Max is standing on the dancefloor looking somewhat worried while my aunt gyrates around him with her arms in the air and her hips swaying madly to Julio Iglesias’s “Moonlight Lady.”
“She loves Julio,” I say meditatively.
Max looks imploringly at Felix, and to my astonishment, Felix immediately stands up. “Where are you going?” I ask. “You’re surely not going to rescue him, are you?”
“No,” he scoffs. He pats my shoulder. “I’m going to ask if the DJ has any more of Julio’s hits.” I shake my head, and he rubs my hair affectionately. “Promise me you won’t drink much more.”
I mouth the word “no” as I watch him go and then turn back determinedly to the young barman. “Another one and keep them coming,” I instruct him. He stares at me assessingly and then slides a shot glass in front of me.
Sometime later, I stir. “I’m not going to put up with this,” I say, slamming my hand down on the counter. “Ugh! What’s that?”
“Someone’s plate from the buffet,” the barman says, offering me a napkin to wipe my hand.
“Well, what’s it doing there and why have they left so much food? It’s not environmentally friendly.” I groan. “This is what Charlie’s done to me. He’s given me a social conscience.”
“Better than the clap,” my new adviser proffers.
“You’re right, my friend,” I say, hearing the slur in my voice. “Totally right.” I slam my drink down and wonder briefly if it contained something to affect my balance because the room is spinning slightly.
“I’m gonna get my man,” I say, pointing at the barman. “He’s not getting away. Every.” I hiccup. “Every breath he takes, I’m going to be there.”
“Okay, Sting, that’s not even remotely worrying,” he offers. “But I think we should order a taxi to take you to your poor boyfriend because you’re currently pointing at a potted plant.”
I wave my hand in a regal fashion. “Order away, barman, while I compose my reconciliation speech.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
Charlie
I wander into the kitchen in my family home, rubbing my eyes.
Aidan looks up from the table where he’s sitting reading the paper. He shoots me a keen gaze. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m so sorry to come here and dump everything on you.”
“You didn’t exactly dump, sweetheart. Just turned up looking heartbroken, said you’d had words with Misha, and then tried to comfort me about the whole situation.”
I wince. “I think I was more tired than I thought.”
He gets up and brushes my hair back so he can look at my face. His eyes are bright and knowing. “Well, you look a lot better now. You looked like shit earlier.”
I think of the man—Adam—at the wedding and wince again. “Great. Just what I wanted to know. I’m pretty sure that Mr Perfect didn’t end up sleeping at his dads’ house dressed in old sweats and a Mutant Ninja T-shirt.”
“That green really sets off your complexion though,” he assures me gravely. He grins as I raise my middle finger at him.
He walks over to the kettle and switches it on. “Charlie, I’m pretty sure that Misha would fancy you if you were coming down with the flu, so get that other bloke out of your
head.” He looks back at me. “It’s no surprise that you were out of sorts. You had a turn this morning in front of someone you’ve entered into a new relationship with, which is bound to be strange for the first few times. Then you tried to run around all afternoon at a wedding being Mr Congeniality.”
“I didn’t have a sash, so it doesn’t count.”
“I’ll make you one,” Aidan assures me and puts a cup of tea down on the table. “Come and sit with me, asthore.” He smiles at me as I obey him. “Did I ever tell you about the time your dad and I split up?”
“What?” I jerk, startled. “I didn’t know that. When?”
“It was a long time ago. You were small and didn’t know anything about it.”
“What happened?”
He rests his elbows on the table and looks at me. There are crow’s feet around his eyes, and the dark waves of his hair have some grey in them, but his eyes are still that golden green, and I only have to look at him to see the merry man who’d entered our family and made it complete.
“I love you so much,” I say impulsively and his eyes warm even more.
“I love you too, Charlie. It’s been one of the great joys of my life to have had a hand in raising you.” He winks. “Just be thankful, though, that your mam and dad had more of a share.”
“Never mind that. Why did you split up?”
“I didn’t treat him well at first,” he says slowly, the Irish in his accent thick.
“Really?”
“When we met, I was very free and single and firmly convinced that marriage and monogamy were heterosexual propaganda. I didn’t want it, and I definitely didn’t want any ties.” Aidan laughs. “And then one day I opened the curtain to a cubicle in casualty and there he was.” He shrugs. “And those ties I hadn’t wanted? Well, he was all of them straight away, but I refused to admit it because he scared the living shit out of me. He could have done so much better than me. I knew it, and I was convinced he’d come to his senses very quickly, so I played him up and I insisted that we weren’t in a committed relationship despite knowing damn well that we were. The short story is I did some shitty things, and he dumped me. He said that he didn’t want to share me, and when I scoffed, he broke up with me. Shocked me silly, and I missed him and you so fucking much for those couple of awful weeks we were apart that I knew we were meant to be. We got back together, and that was it. I got the family I never knew I needed.”