Page 73 of From Now On

He hadn’t proposed to Sasha because deep down he knew Pippa was the one.

Has always been the one.

He raises his head. Sees Pippa’s distress.

She sits too. The air around them thick and heavy. The house silent.

They say when you’re dying your life flashes before your eyes. Charlie isn’t dying but he still feels pain. Still sees his memories rush towards him, past him, away from him. He catches one and offers it to Pippa in desperation.

‘Nina asked me about my first kiss.’

‘Did you tell her about the one when you were six or thirteen?’

‘Both.’

‘Did you tell her they were both with me?’

They sit on the sofa, their thighs touching. The same sofa they had watchedPay it Forwardon.

He glances at her, not sure what to say, whether he should say anything at all.

She was his best friend. His first love. His everything.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again but this time he isn’t referring to last night. ‘I treated you so badly.’

He watches the hurt register on her face. ‘It was a long time ago and I forgave you. I understood.’

‘You always were too good for me.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she says quietly. ‘You just always felt you weren’t good enough.’

Charlie leans back and closes his eyes. Is she right? He lets his mind roll back and play out his past. Alcohol has brought it all to the surface; the memories and the emotions he usually keeps buried. The pain. It’s there in black and white and shades of grey and he feels it all again, everything. The fear he had felt while his dad raged drunk. The helplessness because he couldn’t protect his mum. The sense of safety as he’d sought refuge here. The sadness he’d felt as he’d watched his dad pack, leave. The confusion that his love wasn’t enough to make his dad stay, make him sober. The resentment when he had to visit his dad in his new flat rather than spend time with Pippa. With her it was the only time he ever felt safe, happy, himself. Right here, he acknowledges that he still feels safe around her. Himself.

‘You were never the same after that day, Charlie,’ she whispers as she takes his hand again.

It had been a Saturday. He had wanted to take Pippa to Briar’s Hill for a picnic.

‘You must go and see your dad,’ Mum had insisted.

‘Why? He doesn’t care if I’m there; he barely notices.’

‘Because he’s your dad and he left me, not you, and… he’d never hurt you, Charlie.’

Charlie had been in a foul mood when Mum had dropped him off. Infuriated that Dad wanted to watch the match with him, he really hadn’t been interested. He’d sat while Dad fizzed open can after can of Foster’s while Charlie dreamed of Pippa. The smell of her hair. The softness of her lips. She’d been his best friend since they were five and he couldn’t believe that she loved him back. They were only fifteen but he already had their future mapped out, marriage, a family, everything.

All of it.

And he’dneverbe like his father.

Dad’s team had won and he’d roared his delight, climbing onto the glass dining table and beginning a victory dance.

‘Get down, Dad. It’s not safe.’ Charlie had felt like the adult.

Dad had stretched out his hand. ‘Don’t be so fucking boring. Come up.’

‘No. Dad. Please.’ Charlie had seen the strain of the glass, the dip. ‘You’ll hurt yourself. Get down.’

‘You’re such a killjoy, like your mum.’

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