Becky bit her dry bottom lip, not caring if she drew blood. Her neck itched and her fingers burned and twitched, symptoms not of the plague which was causing everyone so much trouble but of her frustration at her own pathetic feebleness.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for her reply. ‘Fine,’ she muttered, hating having to give in but unable to think of any way she could reasonably evict Ronnie and Charlie when they were offering to help. ‘Fine,’ she said again, ignoring the blatant twinkle of triumph in Charlie’s eyes to channel her last energy reserves into a small show of defiance. ‘But hide my chocolates from Ronnie. I’ll want them when I’m better.’
Chapter 41
Becky swallowed her final two pills of the day as Charlie took Dylan up to the bath. Closing her eyes, she listened as Charlie ran the water and passed Dylan his toys, interacting with the toddler’s babbling. She lowered her glass to the coffee table and relaxed back into her mound of cushions. Perhaps this was what it was like to have someone around all the time to help out.
The box of chocolates had reappeared on the table shortly after Ronnie’s departure. Becky had already managed one, which gave her hope she was on the mend. She popped another into her mouth and sighed. Chocolate should be available on prescription.
She was beginning to get frustrated with the lack of anything half-decent on television when Charlie came back downstairs. He gave her a thumbs up as he dropped onto the sofa. ‘Mission accomplished.’
‘Thank you.’
She tucked her hair behind her ears. The pills were yet to kick in and she felt lucid enough for a proper chat. ‘I expect this is more penance than you were bargaining for when you came here last night.’
‘No more than I deserve.’ He silenced the television and shifted in his seat so he was facing her.
‘Oh I don’t know. I’d have liked you to be here on Monday when Dylan was really ill. He was being particularly poolific. It was beyond disgusting.’ She wrinkled her nose as she remembered and watched him cringe at the thought of the nappies. Time to bring the conversation back to more tasteful matters. ‘Did you like the cake?’
His cringe deepened. ‘Phoebe ate it. She said it was great.’
She gave a quick shrug. She knew enough about Charlie’s capacity for self-flagellation to expect he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to stomach it once he saw the note, although there had been a good while on Sunday night during which she had hoped he would try it and choke. Slowly. ‘I mentioned it to my mum and she had a recipe she thought sounded like what you told me about.’
Charlie nodded. ‘And thank you for not saying anything to Ronnie about last Sunday.’ He picked up the box of chocolates from the table and studied the menu. ‘I’d be missing a limb if you had. Or worse.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. You’re sick. I’m happy to help.’
‘No, not for that. For July. For being a mean pushy woman who hit you and called you names. Why did you agree to work with me if you remembered all that?’
He popped a chocolate in his mouth and chewed it along with her question. ‘Because at that moment, you had a point. And I’m sure you were doing what you had to. It’s not like you could have picked me up off the sofa.’
‘Maybe not. But I think I’d been saving that slap up for a while and you were unlucky enough to have the face that fit. Same goes for some of the stuff I said.’
Charlie lifted the box off his knees to pass it to her. Becky gripped it, but he didn’t let go. He waited until she looked at him to say, ‘Maybe I didn’t do quite enough to earn a slap back in July, but I deserved one last Sunday.’
He let go of the box. Becky picked out a chocolate and crunched its brittle centre. ‘But you were right,’ she said. ‘I mean, how could I not see he was married? Sometimes I wonder whether, on some level, I knew it was all too romantic but I went with it for once. I was just so impressed he saw me.’ She looked at Charlie’s sympathetic frown and shrugged. ‘And if I can be so wilfully blind, how can I tell other people who is or isn’t right for them?’
Charlie pulled off his glasses and tilted them to the light, inspecting the lenses. ‘Until recently, I thought Mel leaving was my fault.’ This was said to the glasses. He folded the legs carefully and placed them on the coffee table. ‘She was so unwell and we’d tried everything …’ He glanced at Becky. ‘But I’ll leave her to tell you about that, if she wants to.’ Sighing, he returned his gaze to the table. ‘Her illness was obviously no one’s fault, but sometimes seeing her down made me feel so hopeless and so useless …’ He shook his head. ‘I guess I pulled away when I should have been within reach. And then the week she left, she tried to talk to me, but I was busy finishing some pieces for a big show I had coming up in London. At least, that was my excuse.’
He let his head fall onto the backrest and directed the rest of his speech to the ceiling. ‘I told her I was too busy, but I could have made time … I think I knew. She wanted to tell me it wasn’t working and I thought if I didn’t give her the chance to tell me, then it wouldn’t happen. So instead of talking to her, I forced her to leave.’ He stopped and rolled his head to look at Becky. ‘Or that’s what I thought. Six years of “if only”: if only I’d spoken to her, if only I’d done this or that. And now Mel says she’d already decided to go, but she wanted to talk to me first. She didn’t want to disappear, but after a week of trying to tell me, she couldn’t wait any longer.’
He raised his head and put a hand on Becky’s foot. He rocked it gently. ‘What I’m trying to say … very inarticulately … is that you can’t put all the blame on yourself. Maybe you did suspect he was married, but he was the one with the wife and kids. It wasn’t your job to assume he was lying. And nothing justifies how he reacted to you at that party and not even attempting to contact you afterwards.’ He raised an accusatory finger. ‘That is unforgiveable.’
He was flushed. She wasn’t surprised: this could well be the most he’d ever spoken without interruption.
‘And finally,’ he said, ‘and I will finish soon, I promise …’
Becky took his hand and gave it a gentle shake.
‘What I said to you on Sunday wasn’t true. You made a mistake in trusting one specific person, sure. But to then say you can’t help other people with their relationships because of that one mistake is daft. Think how many brilliant doctors smoke. You may not always follow your own advice, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any good.’
Becky exhaled slowly. The pills had begun to take effect at the start of Charlie’s speech and she couldn’t swear she’d understood all of it. However, he was trying to make her feel better and apologise, in his own, non-apologetic way. She squeezed his hand again.
‘You’re half asleep. Come on.’ He got up and stretched his arms out towards her.
‘No, no, no!’ she said while doing nothing to fend him off. ‘I can walk if you help me. You’ll put your back out.’