Page 27 of One More Day
‘Are you sure?’ I ask him, even though I don’t really know how I want him to reply.
He pauses.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he says, rubbing his forehead.
Rusty brightens up.
‘Well now, that’s very generous of you, Charlie. This won’t be forgotten,’ he says.
‘But there’s only one bed …’ I remind them. ‘Actually, never mind. You have it, Charlie. I’m good with the sofa. It’s actually quite comfy and—’
‘No, no, we’ll draw up a set of, well, let’s call them house rules, to avoid any unnecessary clashes,’ says Charlie. ‘Just so we can move around each other easily.’
I still feel like I’m intruding.
I still don’t know if this is a good idea, or what we’re getting ourselves into.
‘And I know I can be a bit messy, so I’ll do my best to keep the place tidy, I promise,’ I say beforehesays it to me. I always talk too much when I’m nervous. ‘Rules are good. We can make up some rules for sure.’
I want to agree wholeheartedly with everything so we can all hurry up and get on with things, just as Charlie suggested. In truth, I don’t know whether to feel terrified or excited about what lies ahead.
‘Now, I don’t intend to be here a lot during the day, if that helps. I want to explore a bit, and then in the evenings …’ I continue.
‘I go to bed very early so I won’t be around most evenings,’ Charlie interjects. ‘I’m a morning person.’
‘Well, you’re the opposite of me, then. Gosh, this could be easier than we thought.’
Charlie smiles, even though I know he doesn’t want to, which I hope is a sign that deep within that sultry, dark exterior there’s a sense of humour somewhere.
I haven’t felt like laughing in a very long time, but sometimes, just sometimes, I do see the lighter side of things. I’m getting better at that, even though I’m not sure I should be yet. I’m forever measuring stupid milestones against my grief as if there’s some timeline on when to laugh again, or to stop crying, or to stop missing someone. But that doesn’t exist, does it?
Rusty claps his hands and rubs them together, clearly delighted that we have come to some sort of a plan for the days ahead.
‘Great,’ he says. ‘And I’ll do my best to find the part for the car before Christmas. Now, that’s that then … right … I need a cigarette. Or a whiskey, or both. I’ll leave you both to it. Er, good luck.’
‘Thanks, Rusty,’ I say to his back as he bolts for the door.
I’m not even sure if this is for the best. I needed to be alone at Christmas. I needed to forget about it all, not be cooped up in this cottage in the middle of nowhere with a stranger, yet for some reason I’d rather do this than head back to Dublin where there’s too much reality to face up to.
‘You can thank Charlie, not me,’ Rusty says with a grin. ‘You’re a good man, Charlie. You’ll be heavily reimbursed, even for future stays if you decide to come back here again. You OK, Rose?’
I pause. Am I?
‘Yes, I’m OK,’ I tell my cousin, whose tired eyes make me yearn to take away all his discomfort and whatever personal hell he is going through right now.
‘You know where I am if either of you need me. I’d better get home. I’m late already.’
He tips his hat and leaves Charlie and me standing in the poky kitchen, neither of us sure what we’ve just bought into.
‘Are you sure about this?’
Charlie doesn’t answer, but gives me a nod and a slight smile.
I think I’ll go and take George for a walk to give us all some space.
Chapter Eight
Charlie
