Page 27 of Charlie Sunshine
He shrugs and clicks the indicator to turn left. “Yes, but I had your super-duper happy playlist to keep me company.”
I stretch and yawn widely. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m so tired.”
He shoots me a look before focusing back on the road. “Maybe this weekend is a bad idea. It’s going to be wall-to-wall drinking and…”
I know what he was about to say. There’s only one thing that Misha hesitates over, and that’s giving me his opinion on my current boyfriend, Harry. After we had words over Harry and didn’t speak for a week, Misha’s been religious about remaining neutral. I think back to that period of silence and wince. It was horrible.
It’s not like me to cut anyone off, let alone my best friend. I was brought up in a household that stressed communication and I knew at the time that Misha was right. I just couldn’t bring myself to admit it.
Something about Misha’s flippancy at the time caught me on edge. He’d seemed so gloriously removed from it all. Happy in his single state with no cares or concerns to interfere. Just endless hook-ups with beautiful men. After I’d shouted at him, he’d been so nonplussed thathe lost his temper too. The result was the two of us licking our wounds and not talking for a week, while Harry wandered around with a huge smile on his face. There is nobody that Harry dislikes more than Misha.
Misha and I had given in at the same time, and I’d been so frantic with relief to have him back that even Harry’s ensuing two-week sulk hadn’t impacted me. If there was one fallout from the row, it was Misha’s new reluctance to criticise. It’s almost as if he’s frightened to poke the sleeping bear.
“I know you were going to say something about Harry,” I say in a singsong voice.
“Oh no,” he says quickly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You’d certainly dream of it. You just wouldn’t do it.”
I look around with pleasure as we drive along the seafront. Big Georgian houses, painted white and cream with the odd rebel blue, line the road overlooking the turquoise-painted railings that guard the entrance to the beach. The grey mass of the Atlantic Ocean is topped with white horses that hurl themselves onto the pale dun of the shingle beach.
It’s a dreary day, but my spirits still lift at the sight of the sea, and I wind my window down so I can inhale the scent of the salty air.
“Why don’t you just lean out of the window with your tongue out?” Misha questions.
I laugh as we draw up outside the hotel. This proves to be a cream-painted four-storey Georgian building.
“It’ll be fine,” I say. He looks at me queryingly, and I elaborate. “The weekend.”
I’d have been better off saving the convincing for myself. A half hour later, I stand at the window of my hotel room looking down at the view of the water and the pier. Night is drawing in, and the lights of the pier glow in the dim light. The distant sound of music can be heard even through the window.
I turn back to the room and sigh at the sight of the big bed. It’s made up with expensive linens and looks lush and inviting. Just right for a dirty weekend. However, the only thing I want to do is crawl under that heavy crinkly duvet, rest my head on the squishy pillows, and sleep for a week. I think about what Harry’s reaction might be if Itell him that and sigh. It wouldn’t be complimentary. He’s expecting this weekend to be a complete sex fest to make up for the fact that I haven’t wanted sex for weeks. He actually told me that, and I’d laughed at him even while knowing he wasn’t joking.
I sigh. Great. Sex is now an obligation to be filed alongside paying the utility bills and getting my arse crack waxed. It never used to be like this. I love sex. I have since I lost my virginity at fifteen to my boyfriend at the time. I love it gentle and soft and wild and raunchy. I love it in all its forms and nothing makes me wilder. But for the last month, I’d rather have had a cup of tea and an early night. The thought of someone on top of me moaning and groaning just makes me feel weary.
Especially Harry. I’ve come to realise that we have nothing in common at all. He likes expensive restaurants and seeing and being seen. I prefer not having to dress up all the time, and I’d be happy in McDonalds if it was with the right person. Harry isnotthat person. The only reason we’ve lasted these last few months is because I’ve been too knackered to have the row that will break us up.
The door opens, and Harry appears. He’s still dressed in his suit, and with his blond hair ruffled by the breeze, he looks as gorgeous as ever. His eyes immediately search the room, and when they land on me, he looks fed up.
“What on earth do you look like, Charlie?” he says disapprovingly.
“Sorry?” I ask, startled.
He looks me up and down. “You look awful.”
“I’m just tired,” I say coolly. “It happens to a lot of people.”
He shakes his head and dumps his bag on the bed. “How on earth can you be tired? You’re a librarian, not a heart surgeon. What could possibly make you tired? Overdue books?”
“Maybe it’s the worry of what danger befalls people who are criminally patronising,” I offer.
His brow furrows. “Sorry,” he says, crossing the room and drawing me into a hug. I stay stiff, and he kisses my hair. “It’s been a rough week for me, and I was looking forward to seeing you, but you look terrible.”
There’s a faint accusatory tone in his voice. As if it’s totally my fault that I look bad and have managed to spoil his day.
I push back. “Would it be helpful if I try and do better?” I say, unable to conceal the flippancy. “Maybe if I look better, then your day will improve.”
Incredibly, he nods. “You’re such a gorgeous man, Charlie. You need to take better care of your looks. It’s worth the effort.”
