Chapter 27 Charlie

27 CHARLIE

NOW

“Charlie, come on ,” Jacob says. But Charlie shakes his head and folds his arms.

They’re at the swimming pool for the boys’ swimming lesson, Ben and Ed already in the water with the coach and the rest of the group. Charlie is a poor swimmer, which is why he’s still taking lessons.

The other parents are staring. Charlie feels like he might cry, so he shuts down, refusing to talk, despite how angry his father is growing. Jacob bends down to him.

“What the hell is going on?” he snaps. “This is your swimming lesson, Charlie. You’re meant to get in the pool.”

Charlie knows that, but he won’t. He starts to head toward the changing room, but Jacob growls at him.

“Sit down,” he says. “Here. Now .”

He points at the seat next to him alongside the pool. Charlie looks up at him, sullen, and acquiesces. He is dressed in a swimming top and shorts, but he sits down as instructed, secretly glad that his father has relented.

“Just tell me the reason you won’t get in,” Jacob says after a few moments. “I have work I need to do and now you’re acting like a bloody toddler. At least do me the courtesy of explaining why.”

Charlie bites his lip. “Mum,” he mumbles after a moment.

“Mum?” Jacob repeats. He scoffs. “You won’t go into the water because of your mother? For God’s sake, Charlie. I’ve emailed the lawyer like you asked. I’ve told you we can push for full custody. What more do you want?”

Even though he can tell his dad is furious, Charlie bites his lip and refuses to answer. And when his dad returns to his emails with a frustrated sigh, Charlie lowers his shoulders and swallows hard. He thinks back to that horrible holiday, over two years ago now, when he first saw something was wrong between his parents.

THEY WERE IN THE SOUTH of France during the Easter break when his mum wept openly one day, outdoors. Charlie was shocked. He’d never seen an adult cry in public like that. They were walking along the beach, past the parasols and the twinkling ocean, and his mum had tears running down her face. He looked to his dad, his mouth open to ask him why Mum was crying, but his dad’s face was like stone. They’d had an argument.

Later that night he’d heard raised voices from his parents’ bedroom in the villa. He’d tiptoed out into the hall and pressed his ear against the door. He could hear his father pleading, asking his mother to come away from the window.

“You don’t want to do this!” he screamed, and Charlie’s heart began to pound because he’d never heard his dad sound so scared. “Think of the boys, Darcy. Come on, now. Take my hand.”

Charlie listened hard for his mother’s response, but there wasn’t one, just a banging noise. The sound of the window shutters against the wall.

“I’m calling the police if you don’t come down,” his dad said.

“Fucking call them, then!” his mother shrieked, and it was so loud and so unlike his mum that he felt tears of shock prick his eyes. He lurched away from the door, suddenly scared. He didn’t feel like a big boy now. Not like a ten-year-old. Something was wrong with his mum, and even though he couldn’t see what was happening, he knew it was very, very bad.

The room had fallen silent.

Gingerly, Charlie moved to press his ear against the wood of the door again, listening. His dad was talking very softly.

“Come on,” he was saying. “You’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful, and we don’t want that.”

“Take it back,” his mum snapped. “Say you didn’t mean it!”

Charlie held his breath, wishing hard for his dad to take whatever it was right back, make his mum stop sounding like that.

“There, now,” his dad was saying. “There we go.” He sounded strained, as though he were lifting something heavy. There was another sound—of the shutters being closed and locked.

His mum began to cry. No, not cry—not like the silent crying on the beach. Now she was wailing like she was heartbroken, like a baby. Charlie started to cry, too, his hand against his mouth, his whole body shaking. He didn’t know what had happened in that room but it was scary. Neither of his parents sounded like themselves.

He’d watched them both very carefully the next day, constantly on the verge of begging them not to do whatever they’d done in that room ever again. His mum wore dark sunglasses all day, even indoors, and didn’t say very much. His dad’s face kept sliding into a frown, and even when Ben and Ed told jokes, it was as if he was faking a smile.

Eighteen months later, their parents sat the boys down one afternoon after school and told them they had news.

“What’s the news?” Ed asked them.

Dad and Mum were pointedly not looking at each other.

“Your mother and I are going to live in different houses,” his dad said. “My new house is going to be just around the corner—”

“A mile away,” his mum interjected.

“Still very close,” his dad said. He paused to arrange a big smile on his face. Charlie watched his mum look up at his dad, her chin tilted. She looked angry, even though she was smiling.

There was a big pause, as though the room were holding its breath. “Why?” Ben asked then.

His dad took a breath and pressed his hands together. “Remember when Leo’s mum and dad separated?” he said. “It’ll be like that. You’ll have bedrooms in both houses. Two Christmases, two sets of holidays.”

“Do you hate Mummy?” Ben said.

“I very much do not hate Mummy,” his dad said. Charlie looked at his mother. Her eyes were on her lap now.

“Why are you going to live somewhere else, then?” Ed asked, and his dad looked flustered again, running his hand through his hair in that way he did when things weren’t going to plan.

“Look, it’s early days,” his dad said. “For now, we’re just trying out this new situation, OK? And we’re going to make it as pleasant as possible for everyone.” He looked over at their mother, finally, as though pleading for her support.

Charlie felt his stomach twist. It wasn’t just that his parents were separating—three of his friends’ parents were separated and it didn’t seem like a bad thing—but more the way his mum looked, ashen and rigid, like she had been blown up and was struggling to hold herself together so she didn’t crumble into pieces.

A SHRIEK FROM THE POOL brings him back to the present with a jolt. He watches his brothers and the instructor as they go through the swimming lesson, his father next to him, typing email after email on his phone. Charlie doesn’t get into the pool. He can’t.

It’s time to leave. He watches Ed and Ben climb out of the pool, snapping their goggles over their heads. His dad gets up from his seat and turns to him.

“We’re going to talk about this,” he says. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”