Chapter 26
If Charlie likes me less after my ‘no kids’ revelation, then he seems to be over it by the next day.
‘Adam’s coming this way for a pub lunch. Will you join us?’ he asks amiably when I turn up on Saturday morning. ‘We’re only going into Padstow.’
‘I’d love to. Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
I exhale with relief. I couldn’t get to sleep last night because I was mulling over our conversation at Heligan. I don’t know why it got to me – why should I care what he thinks? And why should he care what I want from my life anyway? But I had this horrible feeling that I’d offended him, and, regardless of whether or not it should’ve bothered me, it did. Now I can see that I overreacted.
I go upstairs and crack on with my notes, pausing only when I hear the doorbell ring. It perks me up no end seeing Adam again. He has such a cheerful disposition. He seems happy to see me, too.
Half an hour later, we stroll into Padstow, choosing a different pub from the one we spent most of the evening at last Friday. This venue is further around the corner past the harbour, but it has a beautiful sea view, and we keep getting wafts of sugary cinnamon smells from the donut van just across the road. We got here early enough to snag an outdoor table – a bit of a feat for the last Bank Holiday weekend in August.
‘I’ve been reading your blog,’ Adam says, with a nod across the table at me.
‘Have you?’ I ask, pleased and surprised that he’d bother.
‘Jesus, some of those comments are vicious, aren’t they?’ He looks horrified and I’m instantly tense.
I try very hard not to think about the trolls, so I don’t like reminders.
‘What do you mean?’ Charlie asks, whipping his head around to stare at his brother. They’re sitting side by side on a bench seat.
‘I’m not sure I want to repeat them.’ Adam raises his eyebrows at me.
‘No, don’t.’ I hastily shake my head as Charlie looks between us. I don’t want Adam to say those things out loud. Not here, not now, not ever, actually.
Slag. . .
Those men are pathetic for even looking at you. . .
I inwardly cringe. ‘It’s fine,’ I lie. ‘Water off a duck’s back.’ I wave Adam away. ‘I don’t even read the bad ones.’
But the ones that catch my eye are ingrained in my mind forever.
You give women a bad name. . .
Who the hell do you think you are?
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Adam says. ‘Christ, I was a bit gobsmacked. I expected it to be all hearts and flowers and soppy shit, not like that. People can be mean. And it’s not even just the girls, is it? The guys are venomous, too.’
Stupid bitch. . .
Filthy slut. . . . . .
I’ll give you one that shuts you up. . .
I wish he’d stop talking. I wriggle on my bench seat, uncomfortably. ‘Some people don’t have anything better to do,’ I say with a forced air of nonchalance, looking out to sea at the passing sailboats.
The pitiful comments are the worst.
I feel sorry for you. . .
You’re clearly a very troubled individual. . .
You should get help. . .
I return my gaze to Adam and try to inject more confidence into my voice. ‘At least the blog’s getting attention. People are talking about it. That’s a whole lot better than people not talking about it. . .’
‘Eesh, I don’t know,’ Adam replies, shaking his head.
Charlie is still looking at Adam.
‘What?’ Adam asks him. ‘She doesn’t want me to repeat it.’ He nods at me.
‘I don’t want you to repeat it, either,’ Charlie says in a low voice. ‘I think you should probably stop talking about it.’
‘She says it’s water off a duck’s back!’ Adam exclaims defensively as my face heats up. ‘And there are loads of nice comments, too,’ he adds. ‘Loads of nice comments.’
That, at least, is something. I may have a lot of ‘haters’ – another word I despise – but plenty of people rave about my blog, too.
It’s so empowering. . .
Funny how it’s easier to remember the malicious comments.
Charlie returns his attention to his daughter. She’s making her way through some sandwich fingers he brought with him.
‘Anyway,’ Adam says, still looking at me. ‘I was checking out your website because I wanted to know more about Beau before I saw Michelle, but you haven’t written about him yet, have you?’
‘I haven’t posted anything, no.’ Although I started writing about him a couple of weeks ago. ‘Have you caught up with her?’
‘Yeah, I saw her a couple of days ago. She definitely dumped me for the same guy. Beau Riley.’
‘Are you serious?’ I perk right up. ‘Does she still know him?’
‘No, they lost touch. But she has a friend of a friend who used to hang out with him, so she thinks she should be able to find out where he is. She reckons she’d know if he still lived in Bude, though, so he must’ve moved on.’
I deflate. ‘Damn. I was hoping to catch up with him while I’m here.’
‘How long were you together?’ Adam asks.
‘About six months,’ I reply.
‘After Seth?’ Charlie chips in.
‘Yes.’ I’m surprised he remembers. I thought he was too distracted with April to take in much of what we’ve been talking about.
‘ “The perfect antidote”,’ he adds, repeating what I said last Friday night.
‘Beau was lovely,’ I say nostalgically.
I’d returned to freelance travel writing after abandoning Mum’s Japan cruise. I’d been commissioned to go down to Cornwall and write a piece about the area’s best surf beaches and Beau was one of the surfers I spoke to. I was supposed to be in Cornwall for only a week, but Beau and I hit it off instantly. He had crazy red hair and a face full of freckles, with light-brown eyes. He was a real flirt – as was I – so, when he invited me to a party, it was a no-brainer. We ended up going back to his flatshare afterwards and falling drunkenly into his bed. I’d already prepared myself for it being a one-night-stand, but the next morning he woke me up with kisses and asked me to spend the day with him. We only made it out of the house because we were hungry and all he and his flatmates had to eat was mouldy bread.
He was three years younger than I was – twenty-five to my twenty-eight – but he could’ve been twenty for how sorted he was. He lived with two other uber-relaxed surfers who were also content to do nothing more than surf and party.
I went back and forth between Bude and London for the next six months, but eventually accepted that we were never going to work. Beau was so chilled, and in many ways I loved that – I didn’t expect him to change, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning to – but I didn’t really respect him. Sometimes he came across as just plain lazy, and I guess I like guys with more ambition.
We amicably parted ways. But I’ve always thought of him fondly. He came into my life when I really needed it – a great big plaster for my Seth and Mum wound.
We head back to Charlie’s after lunch, but Adam sticks around, and in the middle of the afternoon I wander downstairs to get a drink. The telly is on in the living room, so I poke my head around the door to see what’s up.
Charlie and Adam are sprawled out on the two sofas watching the Formula 1 qualifying. Charlie cranes his head to look up at me.
‘We’re going to get a takeaway tonight and watch a movie,’ he says. ‘You in?’
‘Sure!’ I love the idea.
‘What do you feel like? Indian? Thai? Chinese?’
‘I don’t mind. Thai?’ It feels appropriate.
He glances at his brother. ‘That okay?’
Adam shrugs. ‘I’m cool with anything.’
Later, Adam heads out to collect the food while Charlie puts April to bed. I’m at a bit of a loose end, so I go and stand in the doorway of the bathroom while April’s in the bath.
‘Can I do anything?’ I ask Charlie. He’s kneeling on the floor beside the bath.
‘You can pass me her towel. It’s the white one hanging behind the door.’
He lifts his daughter out of the bath and I wrap the towel around her. He snuggles her up against him. I lead the way into her bedroom.
‘Babygrow?’ I ask, going to her top drawer.
‘Nappy first,’ he replies with a warm smile. I think he likes me helping, and for some reason I’ve been struck with an unfamiliar compulsion to do just that.
I get a nappy out and open it up, placing it on her change station.
‘Can I do it?’ I ask, as Charlie lays April on top of the nappy. He glances at me with surprise, but steps out of the way.
I’ve watched him change plenty of nappies, but it’s harder than it looks. He chuckles and comes to my aid after two lopsided attempts.
‘She has to go right in the centre, otherwise she’ll leak,’ he explains. He looks around. ‘Where’s her babygrow?’
‘Here.’
Again, an inexplicable urge to help overcomes me. April looks up at me and smiles, chattering away happily as I insert one foot and then the other into her babygrow. Charlie folds his arms and watches, entertained, as I try to button it up.
No, that’s not right. . .
I furrow my brow, trying to work out where I went wrong. I seem to be out of poppers to press, but there’s still a floppy bit of material here.
‘You’d better do it.’ I admit defeat.
‘The ones around her nappy still confuse me sometimes,’ he confesses, even though he seems to know exactly what to do.
‘She could do with a mobile over her cot,’ I note as I fold down her cot sheet. Maybe I could get one for her birthday. And then I have a brainwave. ‘Actually, could you turn that sea glass into a mobile?’
He raises his eyebrows, thinking. ‘That’s a really nice idea. I wonder if I could make it work. . .’
‘Bummer, there goes my present idea,’ I joke, looking around her room for more inspiration. What else does she need? I’ll have to put my thinking cap on.
‘Night-night, then,’ I say, leaving them to it as Charlie lays April in her cot.
A cry stops me in my tracks. I turn back and April is holding her arms out to me. Charlie looks from her to me, taken aback.
‘Can I give you a kiss goodnight?’ I ask April, my chest feeling unusually thumpy.
I walk back over to her cot and, as I bend down to kiss her cheek, her arms fold around my neck.
‘Aw, you’re such a sweetheart,’ I murmur. I can’t resist scooping her up for a proper cuddle. ‘Sorry,’ I mouth at Charlie. I know he’s trying to get her to sleep.
He shakes his head with bewilderment as I cradle her in my arms. ‘Can I sing her a song?’ I ask him quietly, but April interjects.
‘Da,’ she says.
‘You want Daddy to sing you a song?’ I ask her.
She stares up at me with her very blue eyes.
‘I think she wants you to,’ Charlie says. ‘I think “da” means “yes”.’
‘Shall I sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” again?’ I don’t take my eyes from hers. This time she nods and it’s such a sweet sight, my heart feels like it’s going to burst.
‘Just put her in her cot when you’re ready. She should settle, but give me a shout if you need me,’ he whispers. I wait until he leaves the room before I start to sing.
I’m feeling oddly emotional as I back out of April’s room. I placed her down in her cot when I came to the ‘lemon drops’ bit and sang the rest of the song with my hand on her chest. She let me walk out of her room without so much as a peep. She’s unbelievably good at her bedtime routine.
‘It’s all down to Kate,’ Charlie responds when I gush about how lovely his daughter is. He’s sitting at the kitchen table.
‘No, I don’t believe it’s that,’ I say decisively. ‘She’s just a really good baby, isn’t she?’
‘She’s pretty incredible, yeah,’ he agrees, distracted by whatever it is he’s doing.
‘What are you up to?’ I ask, moseying over.
He has his toolbox on the table.
‘Just trying to find a drill bit that would work,’ he mumbles, rummaging around.
‘For the sea glass?’
He nods, and then I see it – the small pile of coloured, smooth pieces on the table.
‘Could you dangle some pieces of painted driftwood in amongst it, too?’ I ask him.
He smiles up at me. ‘I had the same thought.’
I grin and sit down. ‘Can I help you?’ As soon as I ask the question, I backtrack. ‘Oh, it’s okay, I’m sure it’s something you want to do for her yourself.’
‘You can help if you want.’ He looks at me for a long moment.
God, his eyes. They really are unusual. I’ve never seen a colour like it.
I’ve had boyfriends in the past who have looked similar to other boyfriends. Jorge had the same caramel-brown eye colour as Felix, and Gabe’s were the same dark shade as Dillon’s. When Liam frowned, sometimes I’d think I was looking straight at David because their expressions were so similar, and, even though Beau and Freddie looked nothing alike, there was something about the way Beau’s eyes creased when he laughed that would bring Freddie to mind.
When I saw Star Wars: The Force Awakens I completely identified with that little-old-lady thing with the big, round glasses who said that she’s lived so long, she sees the same eyes in different people.
I know what she means. I see the same eyes in different boyfriends, too.
But I’ve never seen Charlie in anyone.