Page 101 of From Now On

Inside he leans against the bar and waves a ten-pound note. The barman with a red mohawk pulls him a pint. He takes one sip, two, three.

There’s a smattering of applause and an announcement from the small stage behind him.

‘Now for all you jazz fans. Put your hands together for Woody.’

A different voice singing.

A man’s voice.

A voice he knows.

If I were to pick a name it would be Woody Shaw.

He doesn’t need to turn but he does anyway, in slow motion. The rest of the world falling away. There are no tables and chairs. No customers. No chatter. There is only himself.

And Bo.

His stepdad.

It’s like looking at him through one of the fun mirrors on the pier.He looks the same but different. Not different because of his now long hair and thick beard, the strange clothes and shabby black Vans on his feet or because he has lost weight, but different because the man he knew – the man hethoughthe knew – would never have abandoned his children.

Charlie staggers backwards, the corner of the bar digging sharply into his spine. His mind hops from theory to theory, trying to process the impossible sight before him. Bo must have hit his head. Have amnesia. But as Bo’s eyes sweep the room and land on his, Charlie knows this not to be true.

Bo stops playing. Ceases to sing. A look of utter horror spreading across his face.

He recognizes Charlie.

There’s a crash as the microphone stand topples to the floor as Bo staggers against it, before he pelts towards the door, the guitar dangling from the strap banging against his hip as he runs away.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Nina

There’s a notepad on the bedside cabinet. She can make out Charlie’s scrawl. Nina angles the paper towards the window and reads by the fading daylight.

Gone for a walk.

She wonders if she should get dressed and go and find him.

She hates to think of him alone.

Chapter Fifty

Charlie

‘Wait!’ Charlie’s feet pound against the pavement. ‘Wait!’

Bo is older. Slower. Encumbered by his guitar but still it’s several minutes before he stops suddenly and turns, holding his instrument like a shield. Exhaustion and shame written all over his face.

‘What. The. Fuck.’ Charlie leans forward, his hands on his knees, panting hard. He is almost incoherent. Breathless, not only because of the run but because he is choking with rage. ‘What theactualfuck?’

Bo is a statue, motionless, speechless, too shocked to find an explanation or too embarrassed to give one, Charlie isn’t sure which.

A couple sharing a bag of chips skirt around them. The man glancing back over his shoulder, perhaps feeling the anger radiating from Charlie. He places a protective hand on his girlfriend’s lower back and hurries her away.

Charlie jerks his head towards the beach and Bo follows him down the steps to the place where they used to build castles together, build memories. But they are not the same people. This is not the same sand.The golden grains that Charlie would dig his toes into have long since been blown away, washed away. Does anything last forever? Charlie thinks the blistering hate he feels in this moment will endure.

They perch on uncomfortable rocks. Bo setting his guitar down with a care that he hasn’t shown his children.

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