Page 17 of Charlie Sunshine
“That boy and his tea.”
She’s not joking. When we moved his stuff the other night, he had a whole bloody box of different teas. One for every mood that a human being could possibly have. I’d put them in my boot next to his box of herbal remedies that he swears by.
Charlie is his mother’s son, with his insistence on everything being natural and organic. I hope he doesn’t start practicing with that herbal shit on me. I’m a plain old paracetamol bloke. Unless my leg falls off, in which case I’ll go to the hospital rather than take oil-of-fucking-depressed-sea-anemone or whatever he’s got in that box.
I busy myself making tea and, when it’s done, set it on the table,gesturing to my mum to join me. There’s the sound of footsteps and my mum’s boyfriend Jim appears. She’s been seeing him for a couple of years and he moved in last month. It still feels strange to see him here in a spot that used to belong to my father, but I’m getting accustomed to it. It helps that the girls adore him, and he’s wonderful to my mum.
My dad died when I was fourteen and the girls were two. It was a huge shock. One day he was here full of life and loudness, with his penchant for proclaiming Russian poetry at the top of his voice, and the next day he was gone. Dead from a brain haemorrhage at the age of forty-two.
There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by since that I haven’t missed him as a parent and a friend, but also as the head of our family. I had to grow up very quickly once he was gone and step up to help my mum. For the first couple of months, she was a wreck, and I honestly think if it hadn’t been for Charlie’s family, we’d have gone under. The teachers at my school were making noises about my clothes being dirty and the lack of parental supervision. But Charlie’s family kept us together. His dad and Aidan did all the cooking, and his mum did our washing and babysat the girls. It was probably a blessing that they divided the labour up that way, because Charlie’s mum could burn water.
It took a while, but steadily and bit by bit, my mum came out of her cocoon of grief and emerged back into the world. Battered and grim for a while but still here for us. However, I learnt a painful lesson in that I had to be responsible for my mum and the girls. It’s what my dad would have wanted. And although I love them and would cheerfully die for them, there have been times that I’ve wanted to murder all of them if only to get a second’s peace in the bathroom.
Jim smiles at me. He’s a thin, quiet man, but he has a surprisingly droll sense of humour and a warmth about him that even I can sense. He’s also calmer than a puddle which has got to come in handy living here. I wish I’d managed it, but we’re all a little temperamental, so tranquillity was impossible.
“Alright, Misha?” he asks.
I nod, smiling. “Fine, thanks. Just mentally preparing myself for the family meeting.”
He shakes his head. “I’d have a scotch, lad. It’ll help.”
“Oh God,” I say faintly.
My mum stirs as Jim puts on his coat. “Are you going out? I thought you were staying for the meeting?”
He makes an apologetic gesture. “Work called. Someone rang in sick, so I’ve got to go in.” Jim works at Heathrow Airport as a customs officer.
“Hope you’re not filling in for a pilot,” I say.
He laughs before turning to my mum. “I’m so sorry. I’d have said no but we’re really short staffed at the moment,” he says earnestly. “Shall we do it another time?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “It’s absolutely fine, love. Probably best if I do this one alone anyway.”
I narrow my eyes.What is going on?
I don’t get the chance to ask as he grabs his keys and leaves, shouting a cheerful goodbye.
“You staying for a while?” my mum asks from the seat at the head of the table. Even after all these years, I feel a tiny pang of surprise. It was my dad’s chair, and I can still see him there, his dark hair wild with him pushing his hand through it and laughing loudly. He was always laughing.
I blink the thought away and focus on her question. “Of course I’m staying. You summoned me, didn’t you?”
She sighs. “That makes you sound like a bloody demon.” She looks me up and down disapprovingly. “At least take your jacket off, Misha. You look like you’re about to approve me for a mortgage.”
“You do actually know what I do, don’t you?” I say, standing up so I can hang my jacket on the back of the chair.
She waves her hand airily. “It’s something to do with money. Anything else is a bit of a mystery. Sounds a bit like a gardening job.”
“I’m a hedge fund manager, not Alan Titchmarsh,” I say snidely.
She laughs, not a bit affected by my scowl. “Aunt Ava still asks if you can go round and trim her bush.”
“Good God,” I say and then falter because there are no words for the image she just conjured in my head.
I spot Peter, the battered old toy dog, sitting on the sideboardamidst a jumbled mass of craft projects that we did as children. His fur is rubbed clean in places through kisses, and the sight of him makes my brain come back into gear.
“Why have we got a family meeting?” I ask, shooting my mum a glance.
“There are two things on the agenda.”
