Page 41 of Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity #2)

“I’ll make you one,” Aidan assures me and puts a cup of tea down on the table. “Come and sit with me, asthore .” He smiles at me as I obey him. “Did I ever tell you about the time your dad and I split up?”

“ What ?” I jerk, startled. “I didn’t know that. When?”

“It was a long time ago. You were small and didn’t know anything about it.”

“What happened?”

He rests his elbows on the table and looks at me. There are crow’s feet around his eyes, and the dark waves of his hair have some grey in them, but his eyes are still that golden green, and I only have to look at him to see the merry man who’d entered our family and made it complete.

“I love you so much,” I say impulsively and his eyes warm even more.

“I love you too, Charlie. It’s been one of the great joys of my life to have had a hand in raising you.” He winks. “Just be thankful, though, that your mam and dad had more of a share.”

“Never mind that. Why did you split up?”

“I didn’t treat him well at first,” he says slowly, the Irish in his accent thick.

“Really?”

“When we met, I was very free and single and firmly convinced that marriage and monogamy were heterosexual propaganda. I didn’t want it, and I definitely didn’t want any ties.

” Aidan laughs. “And then one day I opened the curtain to a cubicle in casualty and there he was.” He shrugs.

“And those ties I hadn’t wanted? Well, he was all of them straight away, but I refused to admit it because he scared the living shit out of me.

He could have done so much better than me.

I knew it, and I was convinced he’d come to his senses very quickly, so I played him up and I insisted that we weren’t in a committed relationship despite knowing damn well that we were.

The short story is I did some shitty things, and he dumped me.

He said that he didn’t want to share me, and when I scoffed, he broke up with me.

Shocked me silly, and I missed him and you so fucking much for those couple of awful weeks we were apart that I knew we were meant to be.

We got back together, and that was it. I got the family I never knew I needed. ”

“I’m so glad you came back,” I say.

“Me too.” He smiles. “The moral of that little story is that we shouldn’t do other people’s thinking for them, Charlie, because it never ends well.

There’s a reason that we’re only given one brain, and it’s because we can barely cope with the one we’ve got.

Don’t presume to know what Misha is thinking.

He’s always been a straightforward lad, so just ask him what you want to know. ”

Before I can reply, the doorbell rings. And rings. And rings.

“Who can that be?” I say, getting up and walking into the hallway. “Has someone passed out against the doorbell again?” I open the door and freeze. “ Misha ,” I exclaim, my heart starting to thump madly.

He’s leaning against the doorjamb wearing his suit trousers and a shirt which is half untucked. His tie is at half-mast and… I lean closer. “Bloody hell, you stink of drink,” I say.

“Why thanksh,” he slurs, smiling. “You say the most… the most lovely thingsh.” He leans towards me, misplaces his balance, and lurches forward violently. I step back, instinctively protecting myself, and he falls flat on his face in the hallway.

“Oh my God, Misha,” I gasp, leaning over him. “Are you alright? ”

He rolls over and looks up at me and Aidan, who has come to stand beside me. My stepfather is trying hard to repress a smile.

I turn back to Misha, who is staring blearily at me. “I can see two… two of you, Charlie,” he mutters. “Fuck, my eyesight is going. They say it happensh when you get old.”

“There are two of us,” I say patiently. “Me and Aidan.”

“Oh, hello, Aidan,” he singsongs.

My stepdad’s mouth twitches. “Evening, Misha. Nice to see you paying us a visit.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say earnestly, bending over Misha. “I’m so fucking sorry. That argument at the wedding was totally my fault. I was just pissed off about having the turn, and then I saw you talking with that bloke, and it got messed up in my head, and …”

Completely ignoring my stuttering apology, he brandishes his phone wildly at me, almost hitting me on the nose. “Never mind that. This song is for you,” he says forcefully. “You asked me to pick a song for you, and this is my song for you now.”

“What?”

He nods, but then closes his eyes in mute protest at the movement. He opens them again. “I’ve come to out-romantic you, you… you motherfucker,” he slurs, fumbling with his phone.

The phone blares, and we all stare at it.

“With ‘Tragedy’ by Steps?” I say doubtfully.

A blush stains his cheeks. “I can’t imagine how that got in there. Who put that in my phone?” he says, trying hard for indignation, but it’s not working, and I repress a smile. He carries on talking. “Anyway, that’s not the song. This is it.”

“Automatically Sunshine” by the Supremes starts to play.

“What is…?” I start to say.

“Shush! Listen to the lyrics. They say everything about us.”

So we stand in the hall over the prostrate figure of Misha and listen to the song that he’s given me, and it’s the most surreal moment of my life.

Aidan looks like he wants to laugh. He’s also holding his phone in a manner that strongly suggests he’s videoing this.

I shake my head reprovingly and then swallow hard as I listen to the sweetest lyrics I’ve ever heard.

Jesus, is this the way Misha really feels about me ?

Misha lies back on the floor, apparently dead to the world, but when the song finishes he opens one eye. “Told you I could be the most fucking romantic man on the whole fucking planet.”

“Yes, you did warn me,” I say faintly.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes again. “Think your neighbour might be a bit pissed off though.”

“Why?”

“Thought he was you. I got halfway through my grand speech, and he asked me to leave.”

“You had a speech? Why aren’t I hearing it?”

“Because I’m very sleepy now.”

Aidan claps. “And that’s our cue. Come on, Misha. Up you get.”

He leans down and grabs Misha’s hand, hauling him up. Misha wavers, and we instantly slot our shoulders under his arms, and half carry, half drag him into the lounge.

“On the sofa,” Aidan gasps.

After lowering Misha onto the huge leather sectional, I race to the cupboard to grab a spare pillow and the old eiderdown that used to be my poorly blanket when I was a kid.

My mum made it, and it’s covered in bluebells and smells of lavender.

It makes me happy to think that I’m keeping Misha warm with it.

We cover him up, and then Aidan ruffles his hair affectionately. “Misha, sweetie. I adore you always and think of you as another son. But if you throw up on my new sofa, that adoration is going to take a very painful turn. Do you understand?”

Misha pats his cheek. “Love you, Daddy Aidan.”

“And my work is done.” Aidan straightens up. “You going to be okay with him on your own?” he asks me.

“Of course I will.”

“Okay.” He grabs his suit jacket. “I’m off to the reception. Sam’s waiting, and weddings always make him feel romantic, if you know what I mean.” He winks at me.

I gag. “Far too much information.”

He laughs and bids me goodnight, and within seconds I hear the front door slam.

I bend over Misha. His hair is a wavy mess, his mouth is open, and he smells like a whisky distillery, but at this moment he’s impossibly dear to me.

“You’re a bit of a twat at times, but I really, really love you,” I say fiercely, kissing him on the cheek. My answer is a soft snore.

I put the wastepaper basket next to him within easy retching distance along with some paracetamol and a glass of water, and then settle back on the other side of the sofa.

I bunch the cushions behind my head and pull a couple of woollen throws over me from the back of the sofa.

Switching the television on low, I settle in for a long night.

I come awake, slowly aware of someone stroking my hair.

I open my eyes blearily and look up at Misha, who is bending over me.

His shirt is gone as are his socks and shoes.

All he’s wearing are his suit trousers, and they hang low on his narrow hips giving me a glimpse of sharp hipbones and the start of his V line.

He’s golden all over in the low lamplight.

“Are you alright?” I ask, coming up on my elbows and staring at him.

“I feel like shit,” he mutters. “But hopefully the tablets will kick in before my brain explodes.” He hesitates and then gestures at my nest of throws. “Can I get in there, then?” he says abruptly.

I startle. “Of course you can.”

I raise the covers and edge up on the cushions. Thankfully there’s plenty of room, and it’s insanely comfortable. He settles next to me. His body is warm against mine, and for a few awkward minutes, we lie in silence.

Eventually, I stir. “I’m so sorry, Misha,” I say in a low voice.

“What for?” His voice is even and expressionless, and I wince.

“For making you feel like shit and less. I’ve never in my life thought that about you. I think you’re the best person I’ve ever met. You’re wonderful, and I hate the idea that I made you feel bad because I was tired and grumpy. It was such a shitty thing to do.”

He looks hard at me. “But I don’t know where it came from. It felt like you were picking a fight with me and using a bloke who wasn’t even a blip on my radar to do it. Why, Charlie?”

I hesitate. This is my time to be positive and upbeat, but I think I’ve blotted my copybook so many times today that he definitely wouldn’t believe it.

“I was thrown out by having a turn in front of you,” I whisper. “I was embarrassed.”

“What?” His exclamation is loud, and he immediately rubs his forehead in a pained fashion.