Page 42

Forty-Two

Friday 10am

Charlie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at Kaylan’s will. On one hand it would solve Tom’s funding problems at a stroke. On the other, how much of the money was stolen? And on yet another hand, wouldn’t it be better to deprive people like Sabrina Sully and Andrew Dwyer and spend the money on art instead? Could they just have the grandmother’s inheritance, if it existed?

“We’ll leave it to the lawyers,” Tom concluded. “But if anyone thinks I’m naming even a broom cupboard after Kaylan Sully, they’ve got another think coming.”

Charlie moved back into the flat, and spent his days sitting with Tom, who had left intensive care for an ordinary ward, disconnected from all his machines, though still subject to being poked and prodded. Tom and Charlie video-called the twins, Ann and Orianna, and Tom left a terse message for his parents saying that he would be returning to the UK soon.

“We would prefer that you didn’t fly for another couple of weeks,” his doctor told him on his discharge from hospital with a paper sack full of medication. “The absolute last thing you need is a blood clot.”

“It’s either sail home on the Queen Mary or stay in New York and do all the things we missed out on,” Tom told Charlie.

A phone call to Mal Kent bought Charlie two weeks unpaid leave, and they set out to see New York City, Tom with a walking stick, and Charlie with the messenger bag full of sketchbooks and pencils. The weather got warmer, and the city busier. Their attempts at tourism were often abandoned for days in Central Park with picnics, reading, sketching and quiet conversation.

Tom was easily tired, so one day Charlie left him in bed and went to try to find the homeless man who had helped him on the day of the drive-by shooting. He wasn’t there, and there was no sign that he ever had been. There were a couple of chips missing from the steps he had hidden behind. The Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner seemed to attract the homeless, the hearers of silent voices and the pushers of trolleys full of plastic bags. Charlie went in and asked if there was a homeless shelter nearby. The staff member shrugged, but his colleague said, yes, there was and gave Charlie an odd look to go with the directions. The shelter was in a run-down building across the street from a high-end bagel shop. Charlie found his way in and wasn’t altogether surprised to see the man with dreadlocks who had told him not to ring the police.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I wanted to thank the guy who helped me when I was shot at,” Charlie said. “But I can’t find him.”

“Moved on.”

“Then I would like to make a donation to your work here,” Charlie said. “Anonymously.”

The man pushed a card across the counter. “Bank account details,” he said.

Charlie got out his wallet. “Five hundred dollars. I’m sorry if I made your job harder that day,” he said, picked up the card, smiled and left.

“Thanks,” the man called after him.

Charlie wanted to remonstrate that not all police officers were the same, but he thought that if you were Black, and homeless, they probably were.

* * *

He was surprised to find Brody Murphy chatting with Tom in the living room when he got back.

“Hey, Charlie,” Brody said, and gave him a hug.

“Have you come to arrest me, or is it Tom this time?” Charlie asked.

“Kaylan’s mother died,” Tom said.

“Poetic justice, I suppose,” Charlie said, but he couldn’t be happy that there had been yet another death. Sabrina and he shared exactly no opinions, but he remembered how she had stuck up for Kaylan when he had first rung her from Wales. “ I love my son, because that’s what mothers do,” she had said. Just another self-deception. When Murphy left, Charlie poured beers for himself and Tom and snuggled up to him on the sofa. The window was open, letting the sounds of the city below into the room, along with the scent of spring grass and outdoor grills.

“I look at your parents, Tom, and I see my own,” he said. “None of them any happier with their sons than Sabrina Sully was happy with Kaylan. And all it does is add to the quantity of the world’s misery and I’ve finished with it. I’m letting it go. My mother has a shitty life. My father is a drunk, and she’s running a business she hates. But it’s her choice, and I’m not taking responsibility for it any longer.” Charlie felt the weight lift from his shoulders as he spoke. “Look at us. Last year I asked you if you were successful and you said yes. But it’s never good enough, is it? You’re not good enough for your folks. I’m not good enough for mine. I’m over being not good enough.”

Tom’s fingers tightened around his. “You’re good enough for me. Better than good enough.”

“You know what, Tom, you’re right. I’m good at what I do, and I don’t care if it’s being a small-town cop. I’m successful dammit. I’m going to be a fantastic husband. I’ve been living one step removed from my own life. I let things happen instead of saying what I want. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you in the Rainbow, but I told myself there was something more important and got drunk instead. That’s how I am. Always thinking there’s something else I ought to be doing, and the only person who sees through it is you.” He started to cry, putting his head on Tom’s chest. He felt Tom stroke his hair.

“I think you’re perfect, Charlie Rees.”