Page 89 of The Rest is History
Charlie
‘What’re you two up to for half term?’ Zara asks, swivelling around in her chair. ‘Apart from the Zooms of doom, I mean.’
I glance at Elodie. Next week is half term, but we haven’t really discussed our plans. All three of us have a few revision sessions via Zoom over the week with our Upper Sixth classes, as A Levels start next month. I have a few ideas, mainly involving luxurious country house hotels with good food, nice walks and a lot of nudity, but I haven’t pitched these to Elodie yet.
‘Not sure,’ I say. ‘Decompressing, hopefully. A bit of nature. You?’
‘Cheeky week in the Canaries with a few mates.’ Zara wriggles in delight. ‘I can’t bloody wait.’
‘Nice,’ Elodie says. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Gran Canaria.’
‘Gorgeous. I could do with some sun, but I’m looking after Olive all next week.’
‘Are you?’ I ask. This is news to me, though I’m not sure why it hasn’t occurred to me that Elodie will be looking after her niece. After all, her sister works full-time and Olive will be off school.
‘Yeah.’ She twists around and shoots me a smile, and my day gets that little bit better. ‘We’ll do some day trips, though.’
We’ve been inseparable these past couple of weeks, and I have no intention of spending half term without some serious Elodie time. ‘Did I mention I’m far better with children who aren’t my pupils?’
Her eyebrows shoot up, hope flickering in her eyes. ‘Seriously? I mean, you were lovely with Olive at my parents’, but I didn’t know if you’d want to spend time with us.’
‘Of course I do. And she’s a cool kid. Quiet and thoughtful and smart—what’s not to like?’ I actually enjoyed spending time with her at the barbecue. She doesn’t shriek or spout crap, and I always appreciate meeting a fellow introvert. ‘And in case my mere presence isn’t enough of a draw, I’m also happy to offer my driving services.’
I mention this because I can’t bear the thought of Elodie having to trek all over the South East of England on the train, and maybe if I tag along I’ll get away with paying a few of the entrance fees for whatever places they’ve got planned.
‘That would be amazing.’ She pushes her chair back and comes over, laying her hands on my shoulders. ‘Are you sure? And your presence isalwaysenough of a draw.’
I cross an arm over my heart so I can lay a palm on top of Elodie’s and caress her fingers. ‘She can obviously chill at ours, too. If it’s nice, she can use the pool. I can heat it up a bit. We could get a couple of floaties, even.’
She’s silent, and I look up at her. She’s staring down at me.
‘You’re a good, good man, Charlie.’
‘Not really.’ I attempt to brush off the compliment. ‘It’s selfish, really. I want to see you. And if you’re a package deal next week, so be it.’ I squeeze her fingers, and we gaze longingly at each other’s mouths.
Zara interrupts our little moment. ‘Honestly, thank you, Elodie, for bringing this incredibly well-hidden part of Charlie to life. It’s like you’ve given him a lobotomy. Who’s up for some lunch?’
We show Olive a spectacular time during half term, and I thoroughly enjoy myself. I persuade Elodie to spend practically every night with me, and we get into the habit of driving back to her sister’s house first thing to grab Olive before Grace runs out to work. Olive turns out to be incredibly self-sufficient—surely the best type of kid there is? She amuses herself for hours in the pool with an ice cream-shaped floatie or at my kitchen table with those intricate adult colouring books.
We balance those quiet times with some full-on day trips, from the delights of the South Downs to the full-on horror of a theme park. Olive is far more fearless than my darling girlfriend, which amuses me no end, and I find myself on ride after ride with her while Elodie watches us from a safe distance on the ground.
But, aside from her unwillingness to step up for scary rides, one thing stands out as I observe Elodie with her niece.
She acts like a mother to Olive.
They’re close in a way that speaks of years of familiarity. We wait in a queue for a 3D ride, and Olive leans against Elodie. Elodie buries her nose in her niece’s hair and wraps her arms around Olive’s narrow shoulders. She holds Olive’s hand and laughs as the kid skips beside her. They call each other goofy nicknames and taste each other’s ice creams. No onlooker would guess they weren’t parent and child.
And it fucking crucifies me. Watching my beautiful girlfriend being so naturally maternal is simultaneously the epitome of all my fantasies and some kind of twisted visitation from the Ghost of Christmas Non-Future. Because I’ll never have that.
I can never give her that.
I push the pain down, deep beneath the surface, and attempt to treat this week as the gift it is, rather than the torture it could be if I let it.
It’s Sunday. After a week of child-minding and Zoom sessions before a knackering day at the palace yesterday, it’s time for Elodie and me to have a quiet, indulgent morning together before we head to my brother’s. He’s ostensibly invited us to a casual barbecue, but really, it’s obligatory attendance, jointly orchestrated and mandated by his wife and ex-wife in order to meet and scrutinise not only my new girlfriend but presumably my behaviour in the presence of said girlfriend.
The horror.
