Art and Soul, page 17
Her cheeks started to tingle. It wouldn’t be long until they burned. She would have to brazen this out. And quickly.
‘Personally, I would have taken another inch off,’ she said, ruffling the hair under her hand and springing to her feet.
To her relief, Charlie yawned. He sniffed and looked about him, as if he had expected to wake up somewhere else.
Capitalising on his drowsiness, she moved on to diverting his attention. ‘Cup of tea? I brought leftovers.’ She pointed at the cake box in front of them.
‘Yes. Please.’
‘Great!’ she said, already on her way out of the room.
The kettle was boiling when Charlie stumbled into the kitchen and leant against the fridge, watching her juggle the tea things. ‘How did the party go?’
‘Fine.’ She retrieved a teabag from the cupboard with her left hand while getting a spoon from the drawer with her right. ‘At least, I think so. You’ll have to ask Phoebe once she’s heard her friends’ morning-after opinions. There weren’t any problems, anyway. I sent Phoebe to bed and locked up. By Monday afternoon all evidence of the party will have gone. And your studio will be ready for use by tomorrow lunchtime.’
‘Good. I think I’m going to be very busy.’
‘Oh? Inspiration been striking in your sleep again?’ She tipped her head in the direction of the living room. ‘I’ve always said how comfy that sofa is. If it had anything to do with it, I should charge you extra.’
Charlie cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, focusing on rearranging the letter magnets on the fridge.
Becky ignored his embarrassment and nudged him aside so she could put the milk back in its place, all while trying not to think about what he and dream-Rachel had been up to this time. Thank God he never wanted to talk about it.
Tea and cake in hand, they returned to the living room, where a card on the mantelpiece reminded Becky she had to ask Charlie a favour. She blew on her tea, waiting until he had enjoyed a bite of cake before she pounced. ‘I know you said you’re going to be busy, but could you take a break for a couple of hours next Friday afternoon? I’d need you to be here for about half two.’
Charlie swallowed and used his fingers to mop up crumbs from his plate. ‘I have to meet Rachel at the gallery that morning. She has some more ideas she wants to talk to me about. But I should be free in the afternoon. What are we doing?’
‘Helping out a friend. Do you own a suit and tie?’
Chapter 28
When Friday arrived, Charlie took a reluctant break from work to visit the Coulson. Rachel was as charming as always, but painting number fifteen was in progress and he was itching to go home and get on with it.
After squeezing in another hour in the studio before lunch, he dressed as directed and went to collect Becky and Dylan. The drive through South Compton was pleasant: there were few cars on the road and the sun was shining after four days of steady rain-soaked greyness.
As he parked the car, his passengers came out onto the doorstep. Taking Dylan from Becky, Charlie took charge of safely stowing him in the car. The child seat was a permanent fixture in the Mercedes now Phoebe had her own wheels. Her red-and-white Mini Cooper, a joint birthday present from Mel and Charlie, was delivered complete with a child seat: one of Charlie’s better ideas given the amount of time Phoebe spent ferrying Becky and Dylan around.
Becky shivered as she got into the car, a warm cocoon sheltering them from the bite of the autumnal air outside. As she rubbed her hands together, Charlie redirected the heated airflow down to her feet.
‘So where are we going?’
‘Barnsby.’ She blew into her hands. ‘Head for the centre.’
Although it was often infuriating, Becky sometimes found Charlie’s reticence a welcome break from having to give, or avoid giving, explanations. As they left Great Compton and headed east on the Barnsby Road, she relaxed into the twenty-minute drive to the nearby county town.
They had negotiated a couple of the trickiest junctions on the route and reached the midway point in their journey before Becky realised she hadn’t applied the imaginary brake once. Charlie steered the car calmly, projecting an aura of assured control. She also noticed his choice of music.
‘I see you’ve made peace with our meddling with your playlists.’ She gestured towards the stereo.
‘There are a few things in The Eighties Mix I could live without.’
‘You better not be talking about this,’ she said, swaying along to Duran Duran. ‘Or you can stop the car, and Dylan and I will walk.’
‘No need.’ He smiled. ‘This is one of the better ones. And you’ll be pleased to hear I like nearly all the soundtracks stuff.’ He threw another smile at her, took a left turn, and glanced at her a second time. ‘Becky?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you have glitter on your face?’
‘Oh sugar!’ She pulled down the sun visor to look in the mirror as Dylan chuckled at her non-swearing. ‘I hate greetings cards with glitter on.’ She rubbed her cheek with her coat sleeve. ‘You brush against the stuff once and your face sparkles for a week. It’s worse than sand after the beach.’
‘Nothing’s worse than sand after the beach.’
‘I know, right? And everyone always talks about going to the beach as if it’s the Promised Land. I’d prefer to be by the pool.’
‘Me too.’
They returned their eyes to the road and sat smiling to themselves, bathing in the enjoyable stew of mutual grumpiness which was also a regular feature of their Thursday movie nights. Over a bowl of popcorn they would share their lists of increasingly middle-aged things which ticked them off. Becky had come up with a few things which had made Charlie almost choke with laughter and Charlie’s peeves had a snarly originality which made Becky smile every time she recalled them.
Charlie followed Becky’s directions to the centre of Barnsby and parked next to the post office. In an unspoken division of labour, he went to pay for the parking while Becky scooped Dylan and the nappy bag out of the car.
She had just got Dylan positioned on one hip to counterbalance the weight of the nappy bag, when Charlie stepped in. ‘I’ll take him. You lead the way.’
‘Thanks.’ As she handed Dylan over she looked Charlie up and down. ‘You should have left your glasses on. You might miss something. I’d still have glitter on my face if you could drive without them.’
‘I only need to see you two. Stay close and I’ll be fine.’
Charlie smiled and held her gaze long enough for Becky to feel a flush creeping into her cheeks. She was glad when Dylan started squirming and Charlie had to look away to adjust his grip on the wriggling toddler. Not for the first time, she wondered how a man of so few words could leave her struggling to put her own thoughts together.
She cleared her throat. ‘OK then. It’s not far.’
They walked shoulder to shoulder down Barnsby High Street, Becky attempting to stop herself overthinking Charlie’s last comment by staring at the shop window displays. Christmas had already come to most of them, held in check temporarily by the ghouls of Halloween.
At the end of the street was their destination: the town hall, an unfortunate child of a post-war era when the concrete Mayan temple was the ultimate in architecture. Having arrived early, they killed time in the lobby. Becky put down the bag and took off her coat. Compared to the sunny freshness outdoors, the environment inside was a greenhouse with condensation clinging to every windowpane.
They soon discovered that Dylan found the revolving door enchanting, and Charlie patiently accompanied him round and round the alternative carousel until the toddler slipped out of his coat to make a run for Becky. Dylan flung himself into his mum’s arms and she swung him into the air, kissed him and fussed over his hair. Looking up, she caught Charlie’s eye. ‘We should get going,’ she said. ‘The lift’s down there.’
Dylan bolted through the lift doors, rushing to the back to stare at himself in the mirror. Waiting until the doors were fully open, Charlie and Becky stepped in together.
‘Which floor?’
‘Third,’ she said, sucking in her tummy as he reached across her to jab the button.
The doors closed and the lift rumbled into life.
Nearing the first floor, Becky sneaked a glance at Charlie. He was staring at the floor number display, running a finger around the inside of his collar. He shifted slightly and his arm brushed against hers. The hairs on her arms prickled. They hadn’t been in such a small space together since August at the train station.
Charlie coughed and Becky whipped her gaze down to her shoes in case he should catch her peeking at him.
They reached the second floor.
He coughed again. ‘That dress is nice.’
‘Really?’ She was wearing a short dress in her favourite bright blue. A swirl of white butterflies floated over its surface, dancing around its pinched waist and up to the high neckline. She looked up and into his eyes. ‘Thanks. I wasn’t sure about it. Ever since having Dylan I’m not sure anything looks good on me any more.’ She gave his jacket cuff a tug. ‘Your outfit’s great. How are you coping with the noose?’
He raised his hand to the tie. ‘I’m getting used to it.’
The doors opened onto the registry office’s characterless waiting area. The one thing in its beige favour was a basket of miscellaneous toys in the corner. Dylan headed straight for the plastic phone, eager to start his important calls.
Becky looked at her watch and waved Charlie over to the seats. He took the chair next to hers and tapped his thumbs together while staring at the sheen of her shoes. ‘Becky, I already have a good idea, but are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?’
‘Sorry for all the mystery, but I was sworn to secrecy.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Charlie, you are here to witness something which doesn’t happen often enough: things turning out well for a good person.’ She grinned as she launched into the whole story, keeping it as brief as possible.
When she had finished, he contemplated her for a few seconds and then said, ‘You’re beyond pleased about this, aren’t you?’
‘I cannot tell you how pleased I am. I deal with so many people I would secretly love to slap; days like today are a relief.’
‘Ah. You don’t slap all your clients, then?’ His lips curled. ‘Does that make me special?’
She blinked but kept her mouth shut. So he did remember! And after his brain had been so thoroughly marinated in whisky too. She dropped her gaze and played for time by fiddling with her watch, hoping they wouldn’t have much longer to wait. While she would have liked to know if he could recall the words which had accompanied the slap, now wasn’t the time to take the top off that can of worms.
Refusing to be goaded, she matched his teasing tone. ‘Too right you are. I’ve said it before, but I should charge you extra.’
Becky was saved from having to get further into what was likely to be an awkward conversation by the arrival of the lift. With a jaunty bing! the doors opened, revealing the bride and groom. Seven months pregnant, Clarice was blooming in every sense. She swelled into her knee-length white gown, proudly presenting her bump under a sweetheart neckline. Towering protectively at her elbow, Steve was all lanky jitters, but beaming nonetheless.
The registrar showed them into the ceremony room, which would have held a congregation of forty. As it was, the two and a half witnesses stayed at the back until they were called to sign the register.
When proceedings were under way, Charlie edged closer to Becky. ‘So she’s managed to keep her pregnancy hidden from everyone back home, they get married, disappear, and then move back to the Comptons when the baby is old enough that few people will bother asking whether it was born in wedlock?’
Becky nodded. Charlie had grasped the basics.
‘And he knows the baby isn’t his, right?’
‘Of course.’
When Clarice had decided to keep the baby, she thought her only option was to end her budding romance with Steve, breaking his heart with little explanation. But Becky suggested she try telling him the truth.
Steve had walked out when Clarice had confessed, saying he needed some time to think. Clarice feared the worst, but after a few days’ absence he turned up on her doorstep with a stack of pregnancy manuals, a large box of chocolates and a ridiculous oversized teddy. Proving himself to be one of the most understanding men since Joseph, he told Clarice he was sure he’d come to love the baby just as much as its mother. This declaration instantly got him onto Becky’s short list of favourite people.
‘But I don’t see why they have to sneak around,’ said Charlie. ‘This is the twenty-first century!’
‘Not in certain circles. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. They have each other. Escaping her family and their vipers’ nest of friends will do her a lot of good and give the baby a great start in life.’
‘But I don’t understand how—’
‘Shhh! This is the best bit.’
As the registrar pronounced Clarice Elizabeth Barry and Steven Daniel Wyatt husband and wife, Becky swallowed a lump in her throat and squeezed Charlie’s hand.
As Steve stepped forward to kiss Clarice, Charlie glanced at Becky. Without taking her eyes off the bride and groom, she slid her hand over his left knee and closed her fingers around his hand. Although slightly taken aback, Charlie smiled as she squeezed his fingers and moved his hand slightly to be able to return the pressure. His own wedding band caught the light as he relaxed his grip, and he couldn’t help but think about his own wedding day, now a hazy memory. Mel had been so different then, so free of the doubts and fears that would gradually crush her spirit. She had laughed and danced with everyone until the venue manager had turned off the lights and thrown them out. That had only made her laugh more. And now she was getting ready to move on and do it all again with someone else. So maybe, he thought, as he glanced at Becky who was smiling and blinking to keep back tears, it was time to follow her example.
The bride and groom pulled apart. Charlie sighed, squeezed Becky’s hand again and let go.
Chapter 29
Confetti throwing was banned in the vicinity of the joyless council building, so the wedding party skipped off to the park.
Becky and Dylan scattered paper petals over the new Mr and Mrs Wyatt while Charlie took pictures. A passer-by was persuaded to take a few photos of all five of them and then it was time for goodbyes.
While Charlie stepped aside to return a missed call, Becky went to shake Steve’s hand but decided to grab him into a hug instead. Judging she had embarrassed him enough, she moved on to Clarice, who she embraced more carefully while making her swear to send updates and baby photos. She had planned to say more but cut it short before the recurring lump in her throat became too large to swallow.
Having waved the young newly-weds off to their brighter future, Charlie and Becky let Dylan run to the playground, following the toddler as he charged through piles of drying leaves, scattering them in miniature tornadoes of colour.
By the time they reached the slide and swings, the sky had clouded over and the falling sun was playing a teasing game of peek-a-boo. Becky slipped her arm through Charlie’s, hoping to borrow some of his constant warmth. ‘Thanks again for coming today, Charlie.’
‘No problem. It was good.’
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was absorbed in watching Dylan but at least he wasn’t frowning. ‘Do you think you’ll marry again?’
‘I doubt it. I only wanted to do it once.’ He shivered and crossed his arms, pulling Becky closer with the movement. ‘What about you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’ve been to enough weddings. And anyway, if it’s death do us part then it’s because we want to be together, not because we signed a contract and had a big party.’
Charlie’s mouth twitched. ‘Even if the contract was signed in blood and offered you his eternal soul?’
‘Ah, well, that would be different.’ She gave him a playful push and stepped forward to help Dylan up the slide. ‘Maybe, under those circumstances, I would accept the deal. But the blood still seems over the top.’
Dylan flipped onto his belly and whizzed down the slide backwards. Charlie caught him and helped him to his feet.
‘How are things going with Mel?’ she asked, avoiding the ‘d’ word.
‘We’re expecting the decree nisi at the start of November.’
‘That’s quick!’
‘Not really: we’ve got nothing to fight about. Phoebe is eighteen, Mel doesn’t want the house or money, and she’s about to get married.’
‘So you could be divorced by Christmas?’
His lips curled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Looks like it. Isn’t that what everyone asks Santa for?’
The sky clouded over and the light began to fade; they decided to head back to the car. As they walked, taking it in turns to hold Dylan’s hand, Becky tried to come up with a way of banishing some of the gloom which had settled over them. ‘How about we hold an extraordinary session of the smallest movie club in the south-east, tonight? I know you’re busy, but you can choose the film and I have popcorn.’
‘Um, actually, that call I missed when we were inside was from Rachel.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘She needs me at the gallery as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, right. Well that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘I was planning to work, but she said it was important.’
As Charlie negotiated Dylan into his car seat, pulling faces to make the toddler laugh, Becky realised, from the outside, the three of them must look like a family. A happy family. She sighed, the lump in her throat returning; she would miss Charlie and Phoebe next year. So would Dylan. Her son already loved Charlie and Phoebe as much as they loved him. Opening the car door, she tried to focus on Dylan’s cheerful laughter rather than the haunting spectre of life with a large Charlie-shaped hole punched clean through it.
