Page 84 of Charlie Sunshine
I swallow down the confused rage and take the tablets, forcing a smile for him.
I make the smile stay there while we shower together, and he washes my hair tenderly as I lean against him. I want to be Charlie Sunshine for him. I’ve done it for all my other boyfriends, and as I love him so much more than anyone, I need to do it better for him. I want him to have fun with me, not be bogged down by everything. So, I plaster a smile on and hug him as he rinses my hair.
My smile falters slightly when he fastens my epilepsy bracelet over my wrist and lifts my wrist, kissing the veins softly. I want to at once throw myself into his arms and also drag my hand away from his and lock myself in the bedroom until I can get my thoughts clear.
Unfortunately, there’s no chance of doing that as we have to leave for the wedding. This day does not have a good feel to it.
The wedding is beautiful. It’s held in a small South London church, and I watch with tears in my eyes as Misha leads his mum down the aisle towards her new husband. Misha looks wonderful in his morning suit, the striped trousers clinging to the long muscles in his legs and the grey frock coat emphasising the width of his shoulders. But it’s his expression that captures most of my attention. Proud and calm and with a faint echo of piss-taking. It’s in the tilt of his lips and those blue eyes. Like he’s laughing inside at some joke that nobody else can hear. He shoots me a sudden look as they walk past and drops me a wink, and I feel my spirits rise. Maybe I can hear the joke too.
The reception is being held at a small boutique hotel in Kensington, and the food is gorgeous, although I pick at mine. I typically feel low-level nausea after a turn, and today is no exception. My stomach roils, and admitting defeat on the dessert, I put my spoon and fork down. Luckily, Misha is at the family top table and can’t see how little I’ve eaten, so I won’t get a lecture.
I look around the table where I’m seated. It’s filled with three couples who I think are related to Jim, Jackie’s new husband. After introductions were made, they’ve mostly occupied themselves by talking together. I was supposed to be sitting with Aidan, as my dad is at a university function, but Aidan had an emergency come up at workand will be here later. I don’t mind. I can’t find much conversation in me. If I opened my mouth, I’d probably beg to lie down, so it’s best all-round that I don’t.
My attention is raised when one of the women says Misha’s name. I glance up to see two of my tablemates staring at the top table. “That’s Jackie’s son,” one of the women, a redhead, says. “He’s very handsome.”
The other woman shrugs, her dark hair starting to slip out of its updo. “Not surprising. Jackie’s pretty, and have you seen the girls?”
The redhead nods. “Their father must have been something,” she muses. “Judging by the son.” She laughs, a light tinkling sound that irritates me even though laughter usually makes me smile. “Adam’s mesmerised, anyway.”
I frown as I notice Misha is in deep conversation with the man who’s been sitting next to him for the meal. He’s a good-looking man in his mid-twenties with longish dark hair and a light tan. I think he’s some relation of Jim’s. Maybe a nephew. Whoever he is, he’s obviously very interested in what Misha has to say, leaning forward far too close and laughing a lot. I swallow. I know the look on Misha’s face. I’ve seen it many times in our past.
The dark-haired lady’s voice intrudes. “He’s a good speaker anyway. His speech was very funny.”
I smile because it had been a lovely speech. Very typical Misha. He’s entirely at ease about speaking in public, and, while toasting his mum and Jim, he’d been wry, yet still warm and affectionate.
The redhead chuckles. “Made me laugh, that bit about laying down his responsibilities now that Jim has entered the family. I expect it’s a relief for him after looking after his mum and sisters for so long.”
The other woman looks towards the table again. “Well, if Adam has anything to do with it, he won’t be alone tonight.” She shrugs. “Adam’s a good catch for Misha. He’s got a good job in the city. I think he just came back from Barcelona.”
My smile dies as I look up at the table where Misha is laughing at something this “good catch” has said. A waiter delivers two shots to them, and I watch wistfully as they grin and throw them down. He can’t do that with me. I’ll never be able to drink again.
His words from the speech ring in my ears—the ones about laying down responsibilities—and suddenly my dark mood from earlier descends, landing on my shoulders with a heavy weight. What on earth is Misha doing with me? I could possibly be the biggest responsibility he’s ever had, and he’s jumping right in without a second thought.
I look at Adam again. He’s dressed expensively, and he wears the same look of effortless confidence that Misha does. He’s just back from Barcelona. The only place I’ve just got back from is Southwark Public Library.
I realise that I’ve got to my feet when the chair makes a squealing noise, and conversation at the table stops. “Sorry,” I say, running my hand through my hair and feeling strands dislodge from my ponytail. “Just nipping out for a second.” They smile nicely and go back to their conversations, and I scarper.
I’m making my way to the bathrooms off the reception area when I hear Misha call my name. For an instant, I actually consider bolting, but I make myself stand still and wait for him to catch up.
“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 wedon’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.”
