Page 9 of This Thing With Charlie

“I’m not attracted to men,” I tried, cringing as the words left my mouth.

“I’m not attracted to men either,” he said, looking completely serious. “I am attracted to women, and I am attracted to men, and sometimes I am attracted to people who don’t necessarily identify with either of those genders. I don’t fucking care who I fancy, I just—you know—meet people who are lovely, and then my stupid heart decides that I would most probably enjoy kissing them. Sometimes, they even enjoy kissing me back. So, I kissed you because, whatever you think right now, you are lovely—when you’re not being an arse.”

“You said you would forgive me for being an arse.”

“You haven’t grovelled enough yet.”

His voice was a little louder than I would necessarily have preferred, right now, as I turned around and checked on the couple behind us, who were—just as I expected—staring at us.

“Mrs Harris, would you like another pot of tea?” Charlie asked graciously, leaving me to stew in my misery over by the bar-ception-thingy of doom. Because that was what it felt like as he cleared the cups from the table, chatting excitedly with Mrs Harris, offering suggestions for little walks and the best gift shops to browse for their grandchildren’s presents.

He still made me smile, with just the sound of his voice. He made my body warm up just with him being near. It was crazy, I decided. It was some strange hormonal surge brought on by the shock of my divorce. It was my body reacting to the stress of the move. It was the inhumane pressure of having to live up to Mrs Hallet’s expectations and the constant passive-aggressive critique coming out of Mrs Pasankar’s mouth. I told him all of this in a pathetic attempt at apologising for my out-of-order comments and inexcusable behaviour.

Charlie just shook his head and crossed his arms.

“It’s a particularly good curry. I used organic coconut milk and fresh coriander. You will have to try harder than that if you want dinner.”

“You kissed me. You invaded my personal space and did not ask my consent before you made your advances.”

That, at least, made him smile.

“You are so full of shit, Daniel.”

“And I know it,” I said, banging my head on the tabletop. “Can we just not just… forget that yesterday evening ever happened?”

“Yesterday evening? Can’t remember a thing.”

“Charlie…”

“I think it must be sugar-induced amnesia. I seem to remember a giant dessert with chocolate sauce. I remember absolutely nothing after that.”

“Nothing?” I laughed.

“Nothing. Now, do you want your chutney on the side or just a big slob of it on top of your rice?”

“Am I forgiven?”

“Forgiven? For what?” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen and left me alone with a pint of beer sat in front of me, mocking me with bubbles.

So, it was all forgotten. Strangely, it didn’t feel forgotten at all.

We ate, chatting awkwardly about the weather. I finished another pint as Charlie read from the essay he was working on. I said goodnight before ten o’clock, sighing with relief as the door to my room closed behind me.

I sat on my bed for what felt like an eternity before pulling myself together enough to shower the day from my skin.

Then I just sat there, wearing a clean t-shirt and boxers, feeling dirty and abused. I didn’t know why, but his indifference had rubbed me the wrong way. His easy forgiveness, too easy on my stupidity. I didn’t like that he didn’t shout at me. I didn’t like that we didn’t fight. I wanted him to fight me. I wanted him to fight…forme.

I just sat there, and again, wondered how I had become this dumb.

I didn’t even have his number so I could rant at him in badly thought-out texts, and I was not dressed enough to walk back down into the lobby. I didn’t want to get dressed again. Well, I was too chicken to get dressed again despite the need to shout at him because I was picking a fight, wanting someone to shout at me, needing all this anger and sadness to somehow get out in the open. All this stupidity, and all my mistakes. My weakness, my ridiculous demands and all the things that went wrong in my marriage, now infecting my brain with things I could no longer control.

I stood and placed a hard kick against the wall. Then I felt stupid, as it made nothing but a faint dirty footprint on the wall.

I needed to control my anger, and I was definitely no Joe Wicks, as my foot now ached from its non-existent impact with the wall. I was not fit, nor strong. I was weak and pathetic and unlovable and stupid, and I couldn’t even sustain a simple friendship that I had come to treasure. Instead, it had become something I couldn’t handle, and now…?

I deserved every pathetic thought in my head. I deserved none of his kindness nor forgiveness.

So, I sat there in a haze of thoughts, surrounded by crisp pillows and posh-looking throws, wondering how on earth someone like me ended up like this. I’d had a good life. A fantastic education. The best job in the world. A beautiful wife. Twice over.

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