Page 2 of From Now On

He thinks of the threads that tie him to this house through his tangled past and his complicated present and, for a single blissful moment, he imagines cutting himself free. Floating between his family and her. Which way would the wind blow him?

There are many different kinds of love and if he has to choose one…

Hehasto choose one.

Today.

Now.

Six Months Before

Chapter One

Charlie

Charlie is a terrible son.

This thought runs through his head as he knocks on the front door as though he is a stranger, as though this hadn’t once been his home. It’s been so long since he was last here, he can’t quite remember if he still has a front door key or where it might be. Not hanging from his key ring where he might see it every day, where it might remind him of this house.

Of everything.

Reassuring himself that there is good in the world – his world – he glances at Sasha as she stamps her feet against the cold beside him, her breath billowing a white cloud in the freezing air. The sight of her still makes his heart flutter, which isn’t a very macho thing to say, but then Charlie isn’t what you’d describe as an alpha male. Sasha flashes him a smile – the smile that made Charlie fall for her – and again he thinks how lucky he is that he’s finally found happiness. Finally ceased endlessly questioning whether he deserves it.

The front door creaks open and there she is, his mother, looking the same and yet somehow different. Her long brown hair now streaked with more grey than when he last saw her.How long has it been since he last visited? Easter, he thinks. He bought tubs of sweets for his younger siblings, which they loved.

Mum’s eyes crinkle around the corners with delight as she gestures them into the warm hallway. It still has a shabby brown carpet although years of thundering footsteps have trodden down the pile which is interwoven with white animal hair.

On cue, a dog – the same dog he can smell despite the vanilla air freshener lingering in the air – hurtles towards Charlie. He sets down his case and crouches, opening his arms, and she flings herself at him, paws scrambling for traction as she attempts to fit her too-large body onto his lap, her rough tongue covering his face with love and licks. Some of the tension he’s been carrying begins to dissipate as he scratches her behind her ears, her eyes closed in rapture. She’s a mongrel, part poodle they had ascertained from her curly coat when she became part of the family several years ago. Nowadays she’d be given some fancy name, some sort of ‘doodle’ or ‘poo’ he supposes.

‘This is Billie,’ Charlie says to Sasha as he wipes the drool from his cheek with his sleeve. ‘And this is my mum, Ronnie.’ He stands. ‘Mum, this is Sasha. My…’ he trails off. Girlfriend seems too small a word, but he can’t say fiancée. Not yet. In his pocket he fiddles with the ring box, small and hard. He’s been carrying it around for weeks, but it never seems like the right time. Tonight, New Year’s Eve, is perfect, but they are in wholly the wrong place. This tiny Derbyshire village isn’t where he wants to form new memories, good or bad. Besides, he hasn’t yet shared the shame of his past with her and this he must do before asking her to spend the rest of her life with him.

Mum squeezes past Charlie and reaches for Sasha, sweeping her into an enthusiastic greeting,not the obligatory peck on both cheeks that is the way in his London life but a genuine I’m-delighted-to-meet-you hug.

‘Charlie hasn’t brought a girl home before.’ His mum grins.

Irritation shivers down Charlie’s spine. He has taken plenty of girls – well, three if you’re counting – home but this… this isn’t his home. That is apparent from the way he stands awkwardly in the cramped space, still wearing his coat, still wearing his shoes. He is thirty-three but here he reverts to being a child, awaiting instructions.

‘Charlie!’ His stepdad sticks his head around the door from the lounge, his booming voice filling the silence. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, lad.’

They traipse a crocodile line into the living room. ‘Hello, Bo.’ Charlie and his stepdad fold themselves into a bumbling one-armed hug. Bo has raised Charlie since he was a teenager; a difficult age for most, an impossible one for Charlie. They draw apart and Bo gently pats the bristles that spike Charlie’s chin.

‘You need a shave, lad.’ A smile passes between them, and, Charlie thinks, a shared memory. Charlie at fifteen carefully lathering shaving foam onto his skin for the first time under Bo’s watchful eye, the scratch of the razor as it sliced at the hairs that had begun sprouting above Charlie’s upper lip.

‘Oh, I quite like a beard.’ Sasha bestows a beaming smile as she shrugs off her faux-fur coat, teetering on her heels on the parquet floor. ‘You have such a cosy home, Ronnie.’ Sasha is never tongue-tied, searching for conversation. She has an easy way with people.

‘Take a pew.’ Bo settles himself on the black leather couch, which is criss-crossed with duct tape covering the places Billie has broken the ageing material with her claws or teeth.

Sasha sits, crossing one denim-clad leg over the other.

‘Tell me about yourself, Sasha,’ Mum asks. ‘Where are you from?’

‘London. I’ve never lived anywhere else.’

‘It’s funny but I never think of people being born there, more moving for work. Do your family still live there?’

‘There’s just my parents, but yes.’

‘No siblings?’

---