Page 39 of Charlie Sunshine
“What happened after the fight?” I say in a noncommittal sort of voice.
He shrugs. “I gave him his case.” I raise my eyebrow, and he flushes. “Okay, I threw the case at him. He said something shitty, so I then threwmyselfat him. We rolled around in an aggressive and highly unsexual way, and he got a few punches in. I, of course, got a lot more in.”
I roll my eyes. “What else? I know there’s something else.” He mutters something, and I stare at him. “I’m sorry. I could have sworn that you just said you’d packed Harry in for me, which can’t possibly be true because we’re not fourteen and at the school disco.”
He flushes and shrugs awkwardly before sending me a pleading glance. “Don’t get mad at me,” he says entreatingly. I gesture sternly, and he continues. “I just told him to fuck off and that he couldn’t see you last night.” He grimaces. “And then I sort of told him that as far asI was concerned, he was finished with you.” He takes a breath and blurts, “And then he sort of agreed with me and I told him he could contact you at some point.”
“You told him when he could talk to me?” I say faintly. “It’s like being friends with Nicholas the Great.”
He holds his hand up, and the stern look on his face stops my proposed speech about having the freedom to make my own decisions. “He’s no good for you, Charlie. If you’d heard the way he spoke about you, you’d see that.”
“How did he speak?”
“You don’t need to know. Just be aware that I punched him in the face for it. I’m sorry I went over your head,” he continues, a stubborn expression on his face. “And I’m aware that you might fall out with me and not speak to me again, but it’s worth it to know I told you the truth.”
I consider him for a long second. “It was pointless anyway because I finished it with Harry last night.”
He jerks. “What?”
I shrug. “I’d had enough.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“It wasn’t the right time. It was Jamie’s weekend. I would have told you today.” I pause. “If you hadn’t already organised my relationship for me.”
He considers that and then nods reluctantly. Silence falls and then he stirs. “You deserve so much more than that wankerish behaviour.”
“I do?” I say softly, and he nods again.
“I know that in some crazy part of your brain you think that anyone who takes you and epilepsy on is doing you this huge favour, but you couldn’t be more wrong. You’re a prize, Charlie Burroughs,” he says slightly awkwardly. “You’re clever and funny, loyal, kind, and a brilliant cake maker.”
“Until you added the cake bit you could have been talking about a dog,” I say flippantly to conceal the lump in my throat. The look he gives me shows he’s not fooled for a second. Of course he isn’t.
“You care far more than a normal person does about the public’s reading habits,” he continues. “You get far too involved in a book andcan talk for hours about things I don’t understand at all, but people listen anyway because you’re fascinating. You’re kind to old drag queens and homeless men and deaf ladies because you see past people’s appearances to who they are. Look for someone who’s going to do the same for you next time. Who’ll treasure you for all of those things and not just see your looks, and who won’t try to make you into someone they want instead of who you actually are.”
I stare at him as his words come to a stop. “How am I supposed to be mad at you now?” I sigh. “You did that on purpose.”
He shakes his head, a wry look on his face. “Just listen and obey me. It’s simpler.”
“It’s worrying,” I add. We both smile. I sigh again and put my head on his shoulder. “I think I just need you to find someone like that for me,” I say. “You obviously know me better than I know myself. Maybe you could find me one of these mystical men?”
His whole body stiffens for a second and then relaxes. “You want me to find you a bloke?” he says, and the evenness in his voice startles me, so I raise my head.
“Well, I was joking,” I say slowly. “But maybe it’s not that bad an idea. You’ve always judged my boyfriends and been mainly proved right. Maybe I should put myself in your hands.”
I get the impression of acute and complex thoughts happening in that big and busy brain of his. “Maybe you should,” he finally says.
The silence that springs up between us is broken by the sound of familiar voices from the door. My dad and Aidan barrel towards us, trailed by the person I suddenly realise I want to see most in the world.
“Mum,” I choke out. “What are you doing here?”
When she reaches me, she grabs me, hugging me tightly, her long red hair brushing my face. I inhale the scent of patchouli oil, and something inside me relaxes instantly.
“Misha rang me last night,” she says. Her warm voice is faintly tinged with a Norfolk accent; she’s spent years living there with her husband on his farm. “I caught the first train this morning, and your dad picked me up.”
I look over her shoulder and find Misha watching me anxiously. He’s right to be wary about making decisions on my behalf, but thistime I can’t be angry. He knows me better than anyone in the world, and so he’d understood I needed my mum.Thank you, I mouth.
Relief spreads over his face before he gives me a quick nod and turns to speak to my dad and Aidan.
