Page 51 of Rewrite the Stars
He almost acted out his words, so dramatic and visual. He was definitely born for the stage.
‘But then I think no,’ he announced. ‘I’m allowed to feel miserable when I need to. Society reminds us to be grateful, to be thankful and to be happy but some days you just have to give in and feel shit, and that’s OK too! It’s OK to have a day when you feel sorry for yourself and all your own struggles, because those struggles are real to you, right here, right now, and you have to feel them in order to deal with them.’
I couldn’t have agreed with him more.
‘High five, brother,’ I said to him, and we did a handshake that we’d made up as children, which made both of us smile.
Before I left, I tried to think of how to explain to him how I’ve been feeling but I couldn’t find the words. I knew on paper my worries weren’t even remotely comparable to what many were going through, but the truth was, I was going down and I knew it. The light in my life, no matter how things might look to the outside eye, was slowly being dimmed by a black curtain that was closing in my ever-darkening mind. I knew I’d love to give myself a kick, but I wasn’t so sure my resolution was as simple as that.
‘I do have days when everything feels like doom and gloom,’ I admitted to my brother who looked back at me tentatively after our handshake. ‘I won’t lie to you, I do.’
He nodded in return. If anyone knew how that felt, it was Matthew.
‘Because of what you could have been?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, Matthew,’ I said honestly. ‘I don’t know if I can explain what’s going on in my head but some days I don’t feel like getting out of bed. Just some days.’
‘And that’s fine, Charlotte,’ he said, more concerned this time. ‘But it’s when every day feels like shit that we should be worried. Are you sure it’s just some days? Look, if every day is bad, you maybe need to talk to someone? It’s OK not to be OK. You know that already.’
I shook my head and plastered on my smile again.
There was no way Matthew was going to be left worrying about me on top of everything else he had going on in his life. He had bigger and better things to be focused on, like learning to walk again for a start, not to mention his own history of mental health problems.
‘No, I’m not like that every day at all, I promise,’ I told him, squeezing his hand. I lifted my keys but, before I headed for the car, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘I’m proud of you, you know that, Matthew? I’m so proud of you and everything you stand for. You’re my big brother and I love you. You’re making all of us so proud every day that you struggle and battle to get back on your feet again. And you will. I just know it.’
Matthew looked away, his eyes shining, and in my mind I got a glimpse of him in his navy apron that day three years ago in the corner shop, shying away from my attempt at a hug when I went there to tell him of my news about Tom Farley.
But he didn’t shy away this time. In fact he turned right towards me and extended his arms, inviting me to lean down and embrace him. It took my breath away and made my eyes a bit glassy too.
‘And I love you too, little sister,’ he whispered. ‘Maybe you’ll pick up that guitar of yours soon and show us all what you’re made of.’
I could only nod as I fought back tears of happiness and sadness rolled into one.
‘Just try it, Charlotte,’ he continued. ‘I know your confidence was knocked by that snobby school principal, but you’re way better than that. I know you are.’
I got into the car, put the window down and started up the engine. A blast of country music startled us, making us both laugh at the welcome distraction from the emotions that filled the air around us both.
‘It’s nice to see your taste in music has stayed the same, anyhow,’ he shouted across at me. ‘Start singing again, sister! You don’t know what you’re missing! It’s good for your soul!’
‘I will very soon!’ I call back at him. ‘I’m working on it, I promise.’
Chapter Seventeen
I’m in bed when Sophie calls unexpectedly at the door just after eleven a.m., springing me out of my dream in which I was tutoring children who were speaking a different language and I couldn’t understand a thing they said. Their words were right in my face as they spoke mumbo jumbo and they laughed at me with toothless grins, pointing and mocking, telling me how useless I was and how I’d never be a real teacher.
‘Thank God you’re here!’ I tell Sophie. I realize I’m shaking. ‘Oh Soph, I was stuck in the most horrendous dream! Why are you even here? It’s so good to see you. Come in.’
I say ‘Come in’ but by the time I say it, Sophie is already in the kitchen filling the kettle.
‘Nice pyjamas,’ she says. ‘Do you actually wear those in bed with Jack?’
I glance down at my Disney pyjamas, realizing they are now about nine years old and are as tattered and torn as my mind is at the moment.
‘Sentimental value,’ I say, ‘and no is the answer to your question. Of course I don’t wear these in bed with Jack! I sleep naked!’
‘Eugh,’ says Sophie as she flicks the kettle to boil. ‘Too much information.’
We take a mug of coffee each outside and Sophie lights up a cigarette, much to my bewilderment. She never smokes. It looks funny and doesn’t suit her at all.
