Page 96 of The Rest is History
So I doubled down with Bertie. Made a real effort, for myself and for the kid. Showed him and his mum that he was a real part of our family, even if he wasn’t my brother’s flesh. And I’m thrilled I did, because he’s one of the coolest little guys I’ve had the privilege to meet.
He looks up at me now, his massive brown eyes the main giveaway that he’s not a Fisher by blood. His dad’s Italian—a massive twat who got himself fired from the City for sexual misconduct and harassment at the same time that he was banging his secretary (Emmy). Thankfully, nature seems to be overpowering nurture where Bertie’s concerned because he’s the gentlest little man with an old soul. And my brother’s besotted with him. He was a lockdown baby, so he got a tonne of time at home with both parents before the world started to return to normal.
‘Ice keem?’ he asks me, batting his thick black eyelashes. ‘Ice keem, Charlie?’
‘Honey, we’ll have ice cream later,’ Emmy tells him. ‘We’re just waiting for everyone’s tummies to settle after supper.’
He gives her awhat a crock of shitlook. ‘Want ice keem.’
I tickle him on his tummy, which is pretty distended under his tiny pale blue polo.
‘No room for ice cream in there, buddy.’
I note the Ralph Lauren Polo logo and grin inwardly. Stace definitely bought that for him. It’s not Emmy’s style at all. She’s way too boho to put high-end labels on grimy kids.
I admire the way my brother, sister-in-law and ex-sister-in-law run their crazy family. Stace is happy to take the younger two off Jack and Em’s hands on a regular basis, despite having no blood ties to them. And Stace's two stepsons with Ariel are often here. No one’s territorial. All the kids are made to feel equallywelcome in everyone’s homes. It’s all one massive, crazy, loving mess.
Bertie looks at me in outrage. ‘Dere’s room!’You fucking traitor,his tone says.
‘Talk me through this new car,’ I say, picking up his toy and driving it up over his belly. ‘I bet you don’t know what kind of car this is.’
‘Do so,’ he says. ‘Lamborghini.’
I laugh. Maybe he does have some Italian blood flowing through those veins, after all.
Beside us, Aurelia makes a grab for the car. ‘Da. Da.’ She stretches out her tiny fingers from the safety of Elodie’s lap. Yep, she’s back there again. These two can’t get enough of each other.
For a moment, I allow myself the most fucked-up fantasy.
I’m sitting with my beautiful wife, and we’ve been blessed with two angelic children. We’ve each got one on our lap, and life is perfect.
Except that it can never happen. I’ve made sure to manifest the majority of the sexual fantasies I’ve had about Elodie over the past few weeks, but this fantasy is dangerous.
Because it hurts too fucking much.
Bertie hugs the car to his chest, and I know there’s no point in trying to persuade him to share with his sister. I pick up my napkin and cover my face with it.
‘Aurelia. Peekaboo.’ I pull the napkin down and she shrieks in delight and claps her hands.
‘Da! Da!’
I do it again. More shrieks. More claps. Not sure what I’ve started here, but her reaction is like crack. I’ll do it as many times as she wants me to.
As I pull the napkin off my face for the fourth or fifth time, I catch sight of my girlfriend’s expression. I swear there are heartspumping out of her eyes. She’s staring at me like she wants to jump me right now.
Next to her, Grace leans forward.
‘Oh boy, Charlie. Careful there. You’re making my sister seriously broody.’
‘Grace!’ Elodie says in mock horror. ‘Stop it! You’ll make him run for the hills.’ She turns to me and smiles a smile that tells me she’s not really scared at all. Because she knows how fucking infatuated I am.
My smile is pained. Empty. And I hope she and Grace don’t notice the sudden awkward silence around the table.
I have to do it.
I have to fucking end it.
I’m like a condemned man. Each moment with her feels like torture. Knowing we’re coming to an end means I can’t enjoy the parts where we’re together.
