Chasing Charlie (35 page)

ED

From: Ed Minkley

Date: Wednesday, 8 April

To: David Willis

CC: Covington Green

Subject: Water project

Hi David,

Thanks for your email about Covington's project. It's great you're still interested in investing. I've cc'ed him here so you can now talk directly. He could be passing through London shortly, in which case you could potentially meet in person. He could do with finding out what proper beer tastes like.

All best,

Ed

MARA

I could hear them coming up the stairs.

‘It's my turn first!'

‘My turn, my turn!'

‘MUM, it's my turn! Tell Rosie that!'

‘Luke, cut it out, will you? He might not even be around. Now pipe down, we're almost there. Look, there's Aunty Mara now.'

‘Hello, Luke. Hello, Rosie!'

I knelt down to give them a big hug each but Luke powered straight past me into the flat.

‘Sorry about him, he's got some bee in his bonnet about finding George.'

‘That doesn't matter. Now little Rosie-Posie, you can't get away from me.' I reached out and grabbed my niece. She let me hug her squidgyness and she giggled appreciatively. And then she said, ‘Nanty Sam?'

‘Not again. You're going to have to learn to say hello, not just ask for Sam the minute you see me, you know.' I kissed her and she ran off down the hall, calling for George.

The first time she'd said that to me – the day after they'd been lost – it had not only stung, it had worried me. Rosie shouldn't be asking for the very person who would lose her given half a chance. But she'd kept on saying it over and over, as had Luke, every single time I'd seen them.

Kate and I followed Rosie down the hall to the kitchen. Both children were under the table.

‘Why the aunty bit? They never used to call her that – she was always just Sam.'

Kate shrugged. ‘I don't know, maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder?'

‘And I suppose you think that should apply to me too?'

Kate gazed in her peaceful way at me. She didn't have to answer that with words; her position was clear.

‘Well, it feels like emotional blackmail to me.'

‘They're just children, Mara.'

‘I know. It's the most effective sort, coming from them.'

We got lost talking about Dad for a bit after that. The kids were under the table for a while and then they weren't. Then it was much quieter.

‘I might just go and check what those monkeys are up to.'

‘I'll come with you. I don't really want them in my room disturbing George – oh.'

They were in my room, leaning on one side of the bed. They were gazing at George, who was a fluffy circle right in the middle of my pillow. He didn't look like he was about to run off at all.

‘We're being very gentle, Aunty Mara,' Luke said. ‘Just like Aunty Sam taught us.'

‘Nanty Sam,' echoed Rosie.

‘What do you mean, Luke? What did Sam teach you?'

Luke's face was serious. ‘She taught us how to say hello to George. You put your hand out like this and put it on him, very slowly and quietly. Oh, Rosie, it's my turn. It was your turn last time!'

Rosie had stretched out her pudgy arm to put her hand on George too. But Luke wasn't shouting, he was saying it all in a whisper so he didn't disturb George. George was staying perfectly still.

After a bit Luke took his hand away, followed by his little mimic Rosie.

‘I think George misses Aunty Sam too,' he pronounced.

‘Nanty Sam.'

Both children gazed at me solemnly.

‘You've done it, you two. Pass me the box of tissues there, would you, Luke? Thanks.'

Kate was right about the absence thing.

SAM

I was early but Lucy was even earlier than me. She stood in a patch of gorgeous spring sunshine to the left of the heavy door, painted British racing green. So far, so establishment. She looked as beautiful as ever, her hair pulled casually over one shoulder so it fell like a golden river on one side of her beige cashmere poncho. Her legs were perfect sticks inside skinny blue jeans. Her high boots made her look like she meant business. Which she did. She completely agreed with Vic when I called her. Something had to be done about Charlie. So we were taking it to the top. Well, technically to the second in command but he was the one who would want to see us.

‘Hi, Lucy.'

‘Hi, Sam.'

Our eyes skittered over each other's faces. My heart was in my mouth and I could see she was nervous too. Neither of us were in a hurry to get inside.

‘I'm glad we could do this so quickly. I think I'd chicken out if I had time to think about it,' I said.

‘Yes, I think I'd be the same. It's good you called yesterday. Charles comes to this club once a week at the most so if we didn't catch him today it would be another week before he'd be back in town again, maybe more.'

‘And there's no way I could face going to the countryside to speak to them.'

Lucy made a face. ‘The “them” in that sentence would be the problem. It would be a thousand times harder to lay things out to Lydia. She dotes on her boys and she'd be very hard to convince.'

‘You know, I've been going over and over all of this. I don't think I noticed it at the time, or at least didn't think very deeply about it, but even all those years ago, Charlie was always so good around Lydia, never pushing things too far. He never swore, never let on what he'd really been up to. And it is still the same now, isn't it? He is still the perfect son around his mother.' I thought back to the weird visit I'd made the previous month, remembering the power Lydia held over him, how much he'd valued her opinion on things, how his behaviour changed when she was in the same room.

‘He's completely still like that. He is such a boy.' Lucy exhaled loudly through her nose.

‘Do you think his relationship with Lydia has influenced his philandering? Could it be he's fundamentally a bit scared of women so he doesn't get too close to them, and treats them as disposable items?'

‘Fuck it, who cares!' Lucy flashed angry eyes at me and then smiled grimly. She wasn't angry with me. ‘I'm sure you could throw Freudian and Jungian and whatever else theories at this and come up with all sorts of reasons to explain why Charlie is the way he is – but at the end of the day what he needs to do is grow up!' She shook her head, as if in disbelief. ‘He's a surgeon, Sam. He's thirty years old. He doesn't need to treat people like this. No matter what in his upbringing might have influenced things, at the end of the day he has choices like all of us. You can choose to treat people kindly, you can choose not to sleep around, you can choose to be honest. Millions of people manage to do that every day of the year!'

I grinned. My instincts about getting Lucy on board for this were bang on.

‘You're right about Lydia though, Sam; he cares what she thinks about him. She's the only person who has any chance of getting through to him.'

‘And his dad is the only person who might actually listen to us,' I added.

‘Exactly. And talking of Daddy . . .' Lucy pulled her phone out and consulted the time. ‘You ready?'

‘No, but let's do it.' I felt sick.

‘We can do this,' Lucy said. She grinned at me once more then turned and pushed the big door inwards.

She led the way up the marble stairs. The walls were white, the stair rail lacquered black. I was surprised to pass several colourful abstract paintings on the walls. My scant knowledge of what gentlemen's clubs looked like was a mash-up between James Bond and Jeeves and Wooster, and I was expecting to see severe white men in dark oils, their portraits surrounded in gilt frames. Showed how little I knew.

At the top of the stairs, we could turn left into the restaurant or right into the lounge. Lucy led us to the right and then paused in the doorway. This was a beautiful room. It was large, with high ceilings and generous Georgian windows, but it felt cosy. Leather armchairs, sofas and little tables were arranged in clusters to fit between one and about ten people. It was lit by lamps, little Arts and Crafts numbers, on the small tables along the walls, standard lamps next to the sofas. There was a pleasant hum of voices. Some men were reading the paper by themselves, some were playing cards and others were chatting in pairs and small groups. A few were studying tablets. It was warm and comfortable, and it felt like it had been this way for a very long time. I could see why Mr Hugh-Barrington loved it. Even I would be happy to curl up in the corner with a magazine.

‘There he is.'

I heard Lucy take a deep breath that I couldn't help but imitate. It felt like I'd held my breath from the door all the way up the stairs. We wended our way to the opposite side of the room. Charles was in a little section that had a couple of high-backed chairs and a sofa. He was alone. He stood up when he saw us coming and smiled broadly, although there was no mistaking the awkwardness in his eyes.

‘Lucy! Sam!' He grasped our shoulders – kiss, kiss. ‘What a pleasure, please have a seat.'

We all sat down, Charles back in his chair while Lucy took the other and I sat on the sofa. Charles motioned to a waiter and ordered us all coffee. While he did that I scrambled around in my head wondering how the hell we would get started with this conversation. I wondered if Lucy felt the same. I hoped she had it all worked out.

‘So . . . here we are.' Charles turned back to us and looked at us both in turn. ‘You're both looking lovely, as usual. Although, Sam, I must say you look a lot better than last month. Got your colour back. I couldn't believe it when you turned up looking like a drowned rat, you poor old thing.'

Lucy stared at me.

Not the best start.

‘Don't ask,' I said to her.

‘Oh. Have I put my foot in it?' Charles looked back and forth between us. ‘This was after you'd broken up, Lucy. Charlie was at home nursing his sore heart. And I found Sam at the pub up the road and brought her home. She wasn't stepping on your territory . . .'

We both looked at Charles.

‘Oh dear.' He looked very uncomfortable.

‘Look, we haven't come to explain all the sordid details of what's been going on in recent weeks, Charles. We've come to speak to you about your son because we hope that you and Lydia might be able to speak to him yourselves and perhaps help him.'

‘Is he in trouble?'

Lucy glanced at me.

‘He's not
in
trouble, Mr Hugh-Barrington, he
is
trouble,' I said.

Charles sat very still and looked at us again. He didn't say anything for a bit. We looked back at him, one of us in cashmere, one of us in New Look. We both had the same expression on our faces. We'd had enough of the heartbreak and this was serious enough to want to speak to our ex-boyfriend's father about.

‘Go on.'

And so we did. We told him all about his son's deceit – leaving out the sordid bits, as promised. The coffee came and I went on to explain what had happened between us the first time around.

‘. . . and I believe he's also seeing my sister at the moment too,' I concluded.

‘Oh God, really?' Charles's head fell back onto his chair and he let out a long sigh. He was silent for a few moments.

‘We have been starting to wonder if he would ever settle down with someone. He's always been so aloof about his love life. We knew you of course, Sam, and have really enjoyed the time we've spent with you, Lucy.'

‘You must have met some of the others. I get the sense he's discarded more girlfriends along the way than Hansel and Gretel dropped breadcrumbs,' said Lucy tartly.

‘There have been a few over the years but I did get the sense there was a lot he didn't say. I've put it down to a young man sowing his oats and everything. Sorry, bad choice of words. But I never thought he'd be treating women so badly.'

Again he lapsed into silence.

‘Of course Lydia is going to be very sad to hear all this.'

Lucy and I exchanged glances. This is what we were here for.

‘I dread telling her.'

‘But you must!' Lucy said.

Charles looked at her balefully. His reaction to listening to our stories had been to rub his head in consternation and now his hair was sticking up like a white halo around his head.

‘It's very hard for Lydia to hear bad things about either of her sons.'

I bit my tongue and glanced at Lucy. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in an agitated way. It occurred to me that perhaps Lucy didn't feel very generous towards Lydia at all. Perhaps I wasn't the only girlfriend who didn't feel like they made the grade.

Charles continued, ‘It's different for the mother. She takes things personally. Any criticism of her children is like being criticised herself.'

Lucy sighed gustily. Charles glanced at her.

‘But you're right, I must speak to her and I will. I wish I didn't have to know all of this. I was actually having a lovely day until you two came along.' He gave us a weary smile. ‘But you never stop being a parent, no matter how old your children are, and obviously Lydia and I are required to do some parenting. Thank you for speaking to me about him.'

‘Thank you for giving us some of your time, Mr Hugh-Barrington.'

‘Charles, please, Sam.'

‘Charles.'

Lucy stood up. ‘Well, we've caused enough waves for one day. We're going to leave you in peace now, let you have your lunch.'

Charles and I both stood with her and we all exchanged awkward hugs and kisses for one final time.

‘Shall I let you know how we get on?' he said.

We both shook our heads, caught each other doing it and laughed.

‘Don't bother, Charles. Sam and I have heard enough about him, haven't we?'

I nodded.

‘You speak to your son. If it helps him treat the next woman he's involved with with some respect for a change, then great.'

‘He needs a wake-up call,' I said.

‘He needs a boot up the backside,' Lucy added.

And we smiled, and we waved and we got the hell out of there.

Outside Lucy gave me a fierce hug. ‘We've done what we can,' she said. ‘Now I hope we can both walk off into the sunset and leave this behind us.'

‘It's lunchtime, it might be a bit difficult.'

Lucy grinned. ‘You know, your hair looks really good like that.'

I put my hand up and touched it. It felt like it always does – or at least as it always did before I tried grooming myself into someone much slicker.

‘It's just how it looks when I don't do much with it. Frizztastic probably.'

‘It suits you.'

‘Thanks.' I felt a stupid smile on my face.

‘I'm going to head off now.' She gave me another equally hard hug. ‘Look after yourself, won't you? And pick yourself a good one next time.'

‘A single one?'

‘A single one, Sam. There's an idea. See you around.'

And she headed off down the street into her midday sunset. I walked off the other way. In a matter of days we had twice walked off in opposite directions from a fancy doorway. Both times we had been overwhelmed with emotion but this time we also had clarity. As I walked, turning over the intense conversation in that cosy, privileged club, I realised I'd had another one of those little skips further into adulthood, and it wasn't so much about doing something about Charlie that had made me realise this – it was Lucy's hug.