Page 17 of Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity #2)

SEVEN

MISHA

I come awake with a start when I hear the click of the door lock and then a soft curse as the door fails to open. Harry.

The room is dimly lit by the lamp on the bedside table, and I cast a quick look at Charlie. He’s sleeping obliviously, his mouth open slightly and his hair everywhere. I grab my trousers and shirt and pull them on before throwing open the door and stepping out quickly.

It forces Harry back, and he staggers slightly.

I make no move to help him. Instead, I fold my arms over my chest and stare at him.

He’s flushed and obviously a little drunk, his clothing disarranged, and when he steps closer, I catch the bitter tang of spunk on his breath.

So the fucker was out scoring while Charlie was ill.

My temper rises. What a total and utter wanker.

“Can I help you?” I say coldly.

He sneers. “How the hell can you possibly help me unless it’s to get the fuck out of my hotel room?”

“Ah, there’s been a slight change of plan.”

“What?” he says warily.

I smile icily. “It’s been decided that Charlie is going to stay in this room on his own and you are going to fuck off.” I pause as if considering my words before nodding. “Yes, that’s about it. We ended with you fucking off and never showing your face around him again.”

Something crosses his face, but it’s gone before I can decipher it. He folds his arms over his chest. “And you’re going to keep me out of the room, are you? I bloody paid for it.”

“Well, maybe you should consider the fact that you’ve had more than enough for your money, mate,” I say silkily.

He laughs and my anger rises another notch. “Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you.”

“What do you mean?”

He makes a sneering noise. “Because I got what you’ve always wanted, Misha.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I got Charlie,” he says as if I’m thick.

“Charlie’s my best mate. I don’t want him.” I’ve said those words so many times over the years, but tonight I have to actively work to put conviction in my voice. It obviously doesn’t work because he leans against the opposite wall, a sneer on his lips.

“Okay, Misha, however you want to play it.”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“Neither am I. I want to go in there and get into bed with Charlie.”

I shake my head. “It’s baffling to me that you actually consider you’re still welcome after your performance tonight.”

For a second shame crosses his face. Then he blanks his expression. “You talk as if you have a say in the matter.”

“For tonight, I have.” I open the door and remove his weekend bag that I stashed there earlier while Charlie was asleep.

It’s half-open, and his stuff is spilling out of it.

I look at Harry and throw it at him. As it hits him, the clothes burst out like they’re a jack-in-the-box cascading to the floor.

“There’s your shit,” I say. “Now, fuck off. What Charlie wants to do tomorrow is up to him, but I’m in charge tonight, and I’m telling you that you’re not getting anywhere near him, so sling your hook and do one.”

He throws me a fulminating glance and bends down to start stuffing the clothes back in his bag. As he stands up, I reach down to pick up a lacy pair of panties which have fallen out of a bundle of clothes. I throw them to him. “You’ve forgotten something, Harry.”

He looks down at them, and a nasty expression crosses his face.

“Oh, they’re not mine,” he says softly. “They’re Charlie’s.

” As the shock hits me, I gape at him, and he smiles.

“Well, well, it seems there are some things that you don’t actually know about your bestest friend.

I wonder why that is, eh, Misha? I wonder why you never knew that Charlie likes wearing pretty lacy knickers.

Maybe he didn’t feel like he could confide in you.

” I flinch, and he laughs before chucking the scrap of fabric back at me.

I catch it reflexively, and my fist closes around the material, the lace rough on my skin.

He laughs again. “This is hilarious. Wait until I tell the lads at work about?—”

He doesn’t get any further because a red mist descends, and I throw myself at him, tackling him and taking him down to the ground. His hold on my T-shirt ensures that I follow and we roll around on the floor for a few seconds grunting and trying to land punches.

There’s the sudden sound of a door opening behind us, and an aggrieved posh voice says very loudly, “Do you know what time it is, you inconsiderate wankers? It’s midnight, and I need to go to sleep.”

“Well, go to fucking bed, then,” Harry mutters as I push his face into the carpet.

The door slams and I redouble my efforts at breaking his face.

“Stop it,” he grunts. “Fuck off, Misha.”

“If you ever threaten to bad-mouth Charlie again, I will rip out your tongue and insert it up your arse,” I say through gritted teeth. “Thereby confirming everyone’s opinion of where you talk from. You leave him alone from now on.”

He shoves me off and we fall apart, staring at each other in a corridor filled with the sounds of our panting breaths.

He looks at the knickers lying on the floor by my hand, and a smirk crosses his face. “Pick them up, Misha. You might be able to keep them. Pity you can’t do the same for Charlie.”

He just has time to look alarmed before I fling myself on him, and the fight starts again.

A few minutes later, he squirms under me as I sit on him. “Okay,” he hisses. “ Jesus Christ , okay, I promise I won’t say a fucking word about Charlie ever again.”

“You’d better not,” I mutter, but I let go of him and sit back.

He pulls himself up and scrambles back until he’s sitting propped up against the opposite wall. We stare at each other.

“Charlie’s too good for you,” I say coldly and clearly.

“I didn’t sign up for all of the epilepsy stuff,” he says defensively. “It’s not just me. Other men would find it hard to deal with too.”

“You have the emotional depth of a spit ball,” I say scornfully.

“Oh, and you’re so perfect, Misha,” he sneers. “You always do the right thing. Everyone loves you at work.”

“It’s not a popularity contest.”

“Says someone who’s already won. According to everyone, you’re handsome and funny.” He looks at me dismissively. “No one seems to see the fucking arrogance.”

“Pot and fucking kettle, mate.”

He shakes his head. “I got him only to find that he was yours all the time and the two of you were both too stupid to realise it.”

“Charlie’s not a prize in the grabber at a fair. Maybe if you hadn’t acted like he was, you’d have stood a better chance.”

Silence descends, and then he sighs and scrapes his hair back. “I should have caught him tonight though.”

Rage sears me at the image of Charlie falling towards him, so vulnerable. All Harry had to do was put out his hands, but he stepped back. I look at him and don’t even bother hiding my disgust.

“Yes, you fucking should have,” I say evenly. “As far as I’m concerned, your relationship with him is done, but I don’t have the final say. It’s up to Charlie.”

He gives a humourless sort of laugh. “Keep saying it, Misha. Maybe you’ll even convince someone.”

“I just have to convince him,” I say silkily. “And that shouldn’t be very hard to do.”

He grimaces and gets to his feet. I rise, and the two of us stare at each other for a long second.

“I’ll see you at work, then,” I say finally. “But it really might be best if you kept out of my way for a bit. ”

He nods and walks away. I stay in the corridor looking down at the tiny scrap of fabric on the floor.

I hesitate for a second and then step over it to get to Charlie’s door.

I get all the way into the hotel room before I swear under my breath and turn back to scoop up the cherry-red lace.

I stand there for a long second looking down at it.

My hand clenches around the knickers, the fabric scratching at my palm.

Sudden hot thoughts run through my head, and I determinedly push them away. That way lies madness.

CHARLIE

I thank the nurse and make my way back to the waiting room.

It’s a trip that I’ve done a fair few times this morning, as I’ve been submitted for a battery of tests.

I’ve gone from nurse to nurse and been poked and prodded and stuck with needles.

Freda, my epilepsy nurse, hadn’t been ecstatic at my missing so many reviews or to hear of the increased frequency of the seizures, but she didn’t scold, saying only that she’d see me at the end of the tests.

It’s weird how threatening that sentence can sound.

So, here I am with another plaster covering a needle mark in my arm, making my way back to the waiting room where Misha sits patiently as he’s done all morning.

I look at his set face and the nerve ticking in his jaw.

Well okay, not patiently, but he’s here, and I feel a rush of gratitude that I have him in my life.

I’d woken this morning feeling groggy and shit, as is usual after a turn.

He’d chivvied me out of bed, bundled me into my clothes, retrieved my bag which he’d packed in the night, and checked us out, all with minimal conversation.

I got the impression that he was working quickly in case I changed my mind about going to the hospital.

I hadn’t though. Last night frightened me.

The turn had got close to five minutes, and that’s dangerous, but it isn’t just that.

I felt fucking worse than ever last night, and somehow by telling Misha the truth I’d opened up my mind enough to realise that I was putting myself in danger and inflicting damage on my body.

All because I’ve been too frightened to hear the truth .

I feel a wave of relief and also resignation. I’m at the point that I’ve feared all these months, and now there’s nothing to be done but wait for the verdict. There’s a sort of freedom from all responsibility in that which is oddly comforting.