Page 115 of From Now On

They gaze into each other’s eyes and both lean forward at the same time.

Their lips meet. It isn’t a passionate kiss – there’s time for that later – but there’s a gentleness in its hesitancy. It’s a let’s-take-this-slowly and a I-promise-I-won’t-hurt-you.

An it’ll-be-okay.

Six Months Later

Chapter Fifty-Five

Charlie

Charlie untangles the fairy lights while Nina pulls decorations from a box. It is their first Christmas without their parents which they’ll get through the way they got through celebrating each of their birthdays for the first time without Mum and Bo lighting candles on cakes, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ – together.

‘I made this at preschool.’ She dangles a star made from clay, which is painted, for some reason, purple. She loops it onto the branch of the tree, which is already dropping needles onto the carpet, but it’s worth it for the smell of pine that’s currently overriding the stench of Billie after she went swimming in a pond. ‘And this—’ she holds another ornament up ‘—is unidentifiable. It must be one of Duke’s.’

‘Rude,’ says Duke. ‘I’m a genius. Do you know how I know that?’

‘Because my teacher says so,’ Charlie and Nina chorus together, with an eye roll.

Duke is home for the Christmas holidays, the same but immeasurably different. The first few months of boarding at the music academy could have gone either way. When Charlie had dropped him off in September tears had streaked down Duke’s cheeks as he had begged Charlie to take him home.

‘Give it until the end of term and then if you hate it, you can leave. I promise.’ Charlie had quickly swept his brother into a fierce hug, resting his chin on the top of Duke’s head, holding him tightly until Charlie had stopped crying his own silent tears. He was broken-hearted at the thought of their household of three becoming two but he knew this was the best thing for his brother.

It had been disconcerting at first, Charlie watching the clock, his days no longer measured by the restrictions of the school run but stretching long and lonely until Nina arrived home. He had tried to focus on his novel but in-between writing he had wandered from room to room, remembering the house as it was; Duke sprawled on the bed in his room – for Charlie always thought of it as Duke’s room now – reading a book. Mum and Bo making music in the dining room, and Charlie would ruminate over where Bo might be now, if he was still writing songs, thinking of them. Charlie fritters away hours on YouTube, searching for ‘jazz musicians’, ‘Colesby Bay’, ‘buskers’; he no longer believes that Bo jumped that night on the cliff or perhaps this is what he wants to believe.

Everyone has their own version of the truth, don’t they?

Duke’s calls home have been a highlight for Charlie. He’d stand at the window, mobile clamped to his ear, noticing that each day the leaves were shifting away from green, gliding through a spectrum of yellow, orange and red and as he’d listen to Duke chatter about his new friends, his new teachers, about how everything was bloody brilliant, he knew undoubtedly that although something might seem like the end, often it’s a new beginning. After Nina had snatched the phone from his hands so she could hear Duke’s news,he’d continue to stare outside, into Pippa’s garden, Pippa’s window. The new owners haven’t yet moved in. He wonders if the ache for her in his chest will ever dull.

Charlie wakes early on Christmas morning. After pulling open the curtains, he returns to bed, lies on his side, Billie folding herself into the curve of his knees, and he watches the sky work through its palette of greys. He remembers the Quality Street Christmases of old, him sitting cross-legged on his mum and dad’s bed – this bed – tearing open the presents from his stocking. His dad covering his ears in mock horror as Charlie blew into his first harmonica. Rather than making him sad, the memory makes him smile.

He gets up and pulls on his dressing gown. Bangs on Duke and Nina’s doors.

‘Wake up. Santa’s been.’

He wants to make the most of every second of the day. He regrets not coming home last year. If he had known then it would have been Mum’s last Christmas he would have been here, pulling crackers, wearing the flimsy paper hats that make everyone look silly. But hindsight is a sad and tragic thing and, although Charlie had missed his chance then, he makes up for it now.

Charlie carves his first turkey that is dry and unappealing, while Nina sieves the lumps from the gravy. Duke lays the table. From them all there are intermittent tears over memories of last Christmas and gratitude for this one. Charlie treasures it all; the terrible jokes, the fighting over the crispiest roast potato, accusations over alleged cheating during Monopoly, the heated debate over whetherHome AloneorElfis the best festive film,for he knows now not to let moments slip by unnoticed and unappreciated. Not to take for granted that there will always be another time, another place, because sometimes there just isn’t. But there is the good, the bad, the happiness, the sorrow for this is what being a family is. Drama and accusations. Laughter and support. Too much noise followed by long stretches of silence.

Forgiveness.

Love.

It had snowed overnight and on Boxing Day, rather than languishing on the sofa, they meet Aunt Violet and take Billie for a long tramp over the hills. With gloved hands they scoop up snow and fashion a snow dog, with pebbles for eyes and twigs for whiskers. Billie barks furiously at it and, when it doesn’t reply, she wees on it, turning its white legs to yellow. At home, they invite their neighbour, Mrs Miller, over. Duke snaps chocolate into chunks while Nina heats milk. Charlie pulls fluffy marshmallows into tiny pieces. Once they have warmed their hands they gather in the music room and sing, not carols, but something they write together. The lyrics incorporating all of their hopes and dreams for the next twelve months, Duke with his music, Charlie with his writing. Nina wants to take A level psychology ‘to help people struggling with their feelings understand themselves a little better’ although she still feels the tug of the creative side to her. She’s undecided about her future career but Charlie has reassured her that that’s okay. Unknowingly, today, they have been forming new traditions they will carry out year after year.

It is New Year’s Eve. In retrospect, Christmas was perhaps easier than Charlie had thought, but today is impossibly hard. It’s a day full of memories of lasts.

The last kiss.

The last goodbye.

Nina checks her watch. ‘This was the last time I ever saw them,’ she cries.

Charlie feels a tightness in his chest. It wasn’t the last time he had seen Bo and he feels horrible. He turns away from her tear-stained face, towards the window, and focuses on the hypnotic drip, drip, drip from the icicle clinging to the eaves. Eventually it will melt to nothing and another will form, unaware of the inevitability that it, too, shall perish. Does not knowing something make it all right? Is blissful ignorance the key to happiness? Charlie does not know. Again, he wonders if he should tell Nina and Duke the truth but he is terrified it will break them when they are only just beginning to heal. Tear their family apart when it has finally come together.

He says nothing but he feels no lightness in his silence. Guilt and shame are heavy loads to carry.

The doorbell rings and Nina unfolds herself from the sofa – ‘I’ll get it.’

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