Page 54 of These Old Lies
Andrew’s enthusiasm made him fun to watch football with but annoying when it came to activities Charlie was less keen on.
“A trip to France doesn’t come cheaply…” Charlie let the thought trail off, hoping it was enough to get Andrew to abandon this idea. The last thing Charlie wanted to do was go to France to attend the unveiling of a memorial to the worst days of his life.
“That’s the thing, though,” Andrew insisted. “The Legion is arranging the whole thing. Like those Thomas Cook trips.”
Helpfully, the Queens Park Rangers took that moment to make adangerous attempt at a goal, and cheering the Arsenal defence became more important than conversation. However, after the ball had been sent off to another corner of the pitch, Andrew picked up again. “They want to honour what we did. You should be proud to attend.”
Charlie focused his eyes on the game, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumbs over the matching scars on the insides of his wrists. The right scar was neat and precise, while the left was more jagged. He frowned as he traced the scar. Why had he started with the easier side? Idiot. To be fair, though, he hadn’t really had a detailed plan that day.
The scars served as a reminder of why he had no place in Andrew’s group of veterans. He didn’t deserve to go, to be part of the honouring.
The scuffle for the ball came close to their part of the pitch, and the crowd grew more boisterous. “Remember the officer I was the orderly for?” Andrew shouted over the din.
“Lieutenant Pinsent?” The name was more awkward to say than it should have been.
“Just the man. Anyway, apparently he is attending the memorial unveiling as well. Representing the Cabinet Office.” Andrew’s expression was uncharacteristically blank as he watched the players on the field. “Thought you might be interested. I remember you two always got along.”
Well, that was one way of putting it.
???
Despite the darkness and the many celebratory pints he had enjoyed with Andrew after the match, Charlie was able to easily slip the key into his door’s lock.
He didn’t bother with the lights as he crossed through the shop, knowing the location of the shelves of mufflers and engine cranks well enough to avoid bumping into anything. He probably knew every floorboard and nail in the whole building.
Charlie’s intention had never been to convert the hat shop into an automotive parts store. The loose idea had been to learn the automotive business from his uncle, and then start his own shop, leaving his father to continue with the hats. To everyone’s surprise, when Charlie announced hewas leaving Villiers and Son Fine Hats, his father put the shop up for sale. The suddenness had made Charlie wonder whether his father had kept the shop running for Charlie as much as Charlie had kept it running for his father. It had actually sold for a tidy profit, leaving his parents with a decent sum to live off of.
The only wrinkle was the buyer had an existing storefront and no desire to buy out the lease.
It was Charlie’s sister Mary who put the puzzle pieces together. The whole family had been celebrating Charlie’s engagement to Betty when she asked why Charlie didn’t just take over the lease for the hat shop. He could convert the upstairs and back rooms into a proper home, an elegant solution for all involved, with Charlie carrying on the family tradition.
When they married, Charlie hadn’t expected Betty’s passion for the business. She had an instinctual understanding of how vehicles and machines worked, and her time on the munitions lines during the war didn’t hurt either. Some of Charlie’s happiest memories of their first years of marriage were of teaching Betty to drive.
He pushed open the door to what had once been the workroom he had shared with his father, now a kitchen and sitting room. Betty sometimes tutted about it being too small for a family of four, but Charlie liked the big windows and that they weren’t moving between boxy rooms.
Tonight the room was silent and dark. Betty must have already put the children to bed, saint that she was.
Charlie carefully climbed the winding back stairs. Before he could think better of it, he peeked in through the door at the top of the stairs. There was just enough moonlight through the drapes to see Frank sleeping on his stomach, limbs spread out like a starfish, cover already thrown aside. Ellie was curled up on her side clutching Mr Timmons, her stuffed bear.
“Monsters, the two of them,” Betty whispered from behind him, wrapping her arms around his back and kissing the nape of his neck.
Charlie smiled and turned around in her arms, giving his wife a deep kiss. She had already changed into a nightgown, and he could feel the curve of her breasts pressed against his thin shirt. “Have I mentioned how I’m the luckiest man in London?”
“Not today.” Betty rested her head against his shoulders and they stood in the dark hall, listening to their children breathe, feeling their own chests rise and fall against each other.
After a minute that could have easily been an hour, Betty shifted out of Charlie’s arms and moved towards their bedroom, still holding his hand. “How was Arsenal?”
Once inside the room, Charlie closed the door, stripping off his jacket as he crossed the floor. “The boys squeaked out a win.”
Betty crawled into her side of the bed and began to unpin her hair. “And Andrew?”
“Very excited to tell me about a new point of parliamentary procedure he had come across.” Charlie grunted as he sat down on the bed to pry off his shoes.
“We should have him over for dinner soon,” Betty answered absent-mindedly. “Speaking of which, Kitty wants us over on Saturday. I said I’d make a pie.”
Charlie made a face. He loved that his sister lived close by, but he loved less that it meant equally close proximity to his brother-in-law. Betty whacked him with a pillow. “Tom isn’t that bad!”
“Says a woman who never had to spend a whole dinner listening to how best to gut a duck.”