Page 75 of The First Time I Saw You
‘Yes,’ he answers, shaking his head as though it’s obvious. Did he always answer things so bluntly? Is it one of the things Olivia loved about him? He turns his head and pours the boiling water into the cups and adds milk. ‘All of my paperwork is in the desk in there, anyway.’
He passes me my coffee and slurps his noisily. ‘What are you up to?’ he nods at my closed laptop.
‘Nothing, just, you know . . .’
‘No, because you haven’t told me.’
I think of the straightforward way he handles things and so jump in.
‘Right, well, the thing is . . . I’ve found out a few things about Samuel.’
I tell him about the accident and about my trip to DC. He blinks at this. Did he even notice my car wasn’t sitting outside our house for a week while it was parked in an airport car park? I continue about my conversation with Bret and how I have been waiting for Samuel to get in touch.
‘Right.’ He drains his cup as though I’ve just commented on the weather. ‘Don’t forget dinner at seven. I’m cooking my favourite.’
‘Um, sounds lovely,’ I say, thrown by his reaction to my story.
‘Why don’t you wear something posh?’
I swallow my coffee so quickly it goes down the wrong way. He frowns, walks over and thwacks me on the back. I hold out a hand to let him know I’m fine, even though I’m coughing my coffee everywhere. The coughing stops and I sneeze twice. I don’t know why that happens, but it always does. ‘Have you got a cold?’ he asks.
‘No, I always sneeze in pairs.’
‘Strange.’
‘I suppose so.’ He turns to walk away.
‘Charlie?’ I call. ‘What should I do? About Samuel?’
‘Find him, I expect.’
And with that he closes the door softly behind him as I begin to smile.
I’m wearing the only ‘posh’ maternity clothing that I have in my wardrobe, which is a black knee-length dress with a sweetheart neckline. The swelling in my feet has gone down and so I slip on a pair of black high heels, which until now have remained in one of the boxes from my London home, and I put on more make-up than I have for weeks. Did I really spend this much time on my make-up every day? I rub my lips together and place the lid back on the lipstick case.
I knock on Charlie’s door, feeling exhilarated from my day’s work and the sense of occasion that a pair of heels and a bit of make-up can bring. He opens the door wearing grey trousers, matching waistcoat and a white shirt.
‘You’re on time!’ he announces by way of greeting. Not the standard ‘you look lovely’, and I can’t help but bite down a smile as I follow his retreating back into the kitchen. His hair is washed, and it bobs up and down on his head as I follow him. The table is set beautifully with a silver candelabrum holding three white candles. Grey napkins are folded beneath heavy cutlery, and crystal glasses catch the light, sending shards of rainbow reflections on to the walls.
‘Do you want a small glass of champagne? It’s not as if you’ve got to drive or anything.’ His words sound neutral but there is colour behind them: a flash of red, a flash of anger. He takes a large sip of his glass and gestures for me to sit down.
‘No, thanks.’
He nods and pours me a glass of sparkling water. I take a sip, picturing Bean wiggling about as the cool bubbles fizz their way through my insides. ‘Thank you.’
He smiles and chats about the fish market in town and then serves me a starter of squid in a chilli and ginger glaze. As we begin to eat, he begins to talk. He tells me about the first time he saw Olivia at school and how when he finally picked up the courage to speak to her, she had scowled at him so viciously that it took him a whole year to find the courage to try again. This time she let him walk her home from school, let him come in and introduced him to her parents, all on the same day. As I asked him why she had scowled at him the first time, he cleared the plates away and refilled his glass, pouring sparkling water into mine. ‘Her great-gran had told her that you would only find a good husband if he was scared of you first.’
I laugh at this. ‘How old were you both then?’
‘She scowled at me when I was thirteen, introduced me to her parents when I was fourteen.’
‘Sounds like her gran had the right idea.’
He serves us goat’s cheese moussaka with fresh garlic bread and a salad filled with herby olives and pickled asparagus. The food is delicious, but listening to Charlie talk about his family is as beautiful as anything he serves. He talks about when Jack was born and how he had his first proper temper tantrum when he couldn’t fit both of his feet inside a vase. He tells me about Jack’s first day at school and his first Christmas play when he had to dance around as a flame. I sip my drink and listen to his stories as he becomes more animated with every glass of champagne.
As we begin to eat chocolate brownies drenched in a chocolate orange sauce, Charlie becomes more subdued. He describes how the last words he and Olivia had said to each other were about not forgetting to get milk from the shop.
‘All the things I could have said to her, and that was it. Don’t forget to get milk on the way home.’
