Page 5 of Charlie Sunshine
“I don’t,” I state. “Seizures happen. A lot of people with epilepsy still have them even once their AEDs are sorted.” I’m relieved that I deliver these facts in my usual optimistic tone. He still looks as if he might argue, so I say, “Drop it,” quietly.
And even though he does it reluctantly, he still does as I ask. I knew he would. I was banking on it.
It doesn’t seem possible, but my old flat looks even more seedy when there’s nothing in it. I gather my stuff into a pile and we take turns carting it down to the car. Misha attempts to take some of it off me on the stairs but subsides when I shoot him a quelling glance. It takes half an hour, but finally, we’re done, and we stand in the living room.
I sigh. “Jesse, Eli, and I had such good times here.”
He looks around disapprovingly at the peeling paper and stained carpet. “I’m surprised none of them included you getting an emergency tetanus.”
I repress a smile at the sight of him in this scruffy room in his Hugo Boss suit. He looks like a peacock that’s been stuffed in a budgie cage. “Don’t be snobby,” I scold. “We can’t all live in a posh flat by the Thames with wall-to-wall shagpile and twinks.”
“Shagpile?Have I somehow transformed into a gay version of Hugh Hefner?”
“I’m sure you’ve got a velvet smoking jacket hidden somewhere in your flat,” I muse. “I bet you wear it at night and plot world domination while you’re stroking a pussy.”
“I have never stroked a pussy in my life, and I don’t intend to start anytime soon.” I laugh, and he shakes his head. “I could never plan world domination in here anyway. I’d be too afraid of the roofcollapsing on me.” He edges closer to one of the walls. “What the hell isthat?”he says, pointing at a large, strangely shaped stain.
I sigh happily. “I used to think it looked exactly like Mr Daydream from the Mr Men books.”
He stares at me in abject disapproval. “I cannot understand you sounding so nostalgic about this dump.” He examines the wall and the stain more closely. “It looks more like Mr Rising Damp and ooh look, over there is his friend Mr Subsidence.” He eyes me beadily. “And you paid rent for this place, the three of you? Or am I imagining that and the landlord actually paid you to live here?”
I snort. “We were very happy here.”
Misha smiles. “We did have some good times, didn’t we? Do you remember when you lost that bet and had to run down the corridors in your underwear singing Barry Manilow’s ‘I Can’t Smile Without You’?”
I shake my head. “How embarrassing.”
He smirks. “Not for you. You knew all the words. And you threw in all those lovely high kicks and jazz hands for free.” I scowl at him, and he flings his arm over my shoulder and drags me closer. “You feeling melancholy?”
I shrug. “A bit. It feels like the end of an era.”
“It is, sweets. You and Jesse and Eli moved in here straight from university.” He pauses. “And proceeded to recreate being teenagers for another six years after that.”
“Better than recreating the fall of the Roman Empire like you bankers do in the West End on a Friday night.”
Misha laughs. “Point taken.” He kisses the top of my head briskly. “You ready?”
I look around the flat one last time, taking it all in so I can remember it. We did have good times, and now Jesse and Eli are settled with their men, and they’re happy. And me? I swallow. My life seems to be getting more complicated rather than less. I realise that I’m running my fingers over the epileptic bracelet and that he’s watching me with a concerned look on his face. I immediately plaster a smile on my own.
“Ready? Let’s go and get moved into that Shad Thames shithole.”
He shakes his head and lets me tug him out of the flat.
TWO
CHARLIE - A FEW DAYS LATER
When I wake up, it takes me a few minutes to work out where I am. I’m used to yellowing paper that’s had to be stuck back up with Blu Tack, a curtain that doesn’t quite fit the window, and a lovely view of the bins.
Now I’m looking at exposed brick walls, and wooden floors and beams that are a thick honey-gold colour. It’s fairly bare at the moment, with just my bed, a wardrobe, and a comfy leather chair in it, but I know once I’ve put my bedlinen on the bed and hung my pictures up, it’ll look amazing.
I climb out and immediately stumble over one of the many boxes that are littering the room. Misha had asked last night whether they were part of some new design trend. I’d replied that I hoped I didn’t catch his old-aged pensioner vibe by osmosis, because it would be very inconvenient for my lifestyle.
I look at the old navy corduroy beanbag in the corner of the room and my lip twitches. It had made an appearance on my first night here when he marched in and threw it in the corner, saying that doss hole wasn’t quite the vibe he was going for with the flat.
I sigh with happiness at the warmth in the room and queue up my Christmas playlist. It’s not my Saturday for working, so I’ve got the whole day off to get everything unpacked and feeling homey. But first—tea and tablets.
I grab my medication and swallow it with a big gulp of water. I was horrified when I’d learned that I’d have to take medication for the rest of my life. My mum’s a total hippie and has always relied on natural remedies for everything, and that’s the way I was brought up. It took a long time to get my medication sorted. So many different types of pills and so many different doses. It was a bit like being experimented on. And each tablet seemed to give me different side effects. Hello to migraines, vomiting, constipation, and my personal favourite, impotence. Luckily, none of them stayed around, but it was a bloody awful time.
