Page 12

12. Charlie :

(The Violet Effect)

I lied to Violet.

I wasn’t the least bit sorry I kissed her.

I’d tried to be. I’d tried really hard. Most of yesterday afternoon, in fact, when I should have been listening to Gordon and the rest of my team. Instead, I was trying to be sorry. But it was nowhere to be found.

Eventually I gave up.

What’s more, it appeared my sorries had vanished along with any feelings of guilt I’d been carrying around – even though I really really did have something to feel guilty about now. But weirdly, this morning was the first time since term started I’d woken up feeling fresh and successfully managed to stretch out of my sleep without the all-consuming, churning sensation which threatened to choke me for the first minute of every day.

I was calling it the Violet Effect.

I slammed my hand down on the alarm, killing it before it fully pierced my brain, but even the shrill beeping couldn’t stop the smile splitting my face in half. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken up before it.

Yeah. I felt good. Better than I had in a long time. My muscles didn’t ache, even though they should after last night’s land training, featuring heavy weights and more burpees than anyone should ever have to do. I’d powered through them with a renewed energy and strength which had me adding another 25kg to the bars.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed, but I’d shrugged off the raised eyebrows enough that no questions were asked, because there was only one answer.

The Violet Effect.

I could no longer deny it.

I liked Violet Brooks.

I liked how tall she was; the perfect height for me to sling my arm around her shoulder and pull her into me, so her temple was ripe for dropping a kiss onto.

I liked the way her hand fitted into mine.

I liked the way the bright blue of her eyes seemed to darken and sparkle at something amusing, or how she always worried the left side of her top lip whenever she was nervous.

The gruff timbre of her giggle, the way she was genuinely interested in what I had to say, her kindness, her sense of humour. The way she kissed me back.

I liked how her lips moved ever so slightly as she followed the lines on the page with her finger, because I could watch the little dent in her top lip purse and fall all day.

But most of all, I liked the way she looked at me whenever she saw me for the first time. It only lasted for a second or two, but in that brief moment where our eyes met, she made me feel as though I could accomplish anything.

She made me feel something I’d never felt before. And it appeared my conscience was okay with that. I just hoped my conscience would also come up with a good way to break the news to Brooks that I no longer wanted to fake date his sister. I wanted to real date her.

Picking up my phone I opened Instagram, going straight to Violet’s page out of habit. There was one new image – of her at the theatre holding a script to cover the lower half of her face so only her eyes peeked out. It was all you could see – those bright blue eyes of hers – but she was nothing short of stunning.

Without giving it a second thought, I typed Y R U so HOT

Throwing off the duvet, I was too busy laughing at picturing her reaction to grumble at the cold blast of air the way I normally did before pulling on my training gear, thick hoodie and beanie. I was still brushing my teeth as I flung open the bedroom door and jogged down the stairs two at a time with more energy and enthusiasm than I’d ever had before six a.m.

Or before nine, if truth be told.

The Violet Effect.

Brooks was standing over the stove stirring a pan with one hand, holding his phone in the other when I walked into the kitchen. If I wasn’t already running on my supercharged energy, seeing him standing there and not Oz would have been enough to wake me up. The three of us were creatures of habit, and Brooks did not make breakfast.

His head snapped up to me, ‘Can you stop writing shit like this on my sister’s Instagram?’

Ignoring him, I rinsed my mouth in the sink and turned to him, ‘What are you doing?’

‘The porridge. Are you supposed to stir it this much?’

‘No,’ I replied, easing the spoon from his hand, ‘where’s Oz?’

‘He’s not up yet.’

‘Seriously?’

Brooks shook his head. ‘Nope. Did something happen last night? I thought Oz was staying at Kate’s, but his car’s outside.’

‘Um …’ I frowned, trying to get my brain to kick into gear. ‘Yeah, he came home when I was making dinner for us, but he went upstairs. I had work to finish, and assumed he was working too. I didn’t see him again. Didn’t hear you either.’

Brooks walked over to the coffee machine and flicked it on. ‘When I got home you were asleep on the sofa, snoring like a little baby. I put a blanket on you.’

I stared down at the porridge as it bubbled and thickened. Last night I’d cleaned the kitchen, left dinner out for the boys and sat down to do some work, but I’d woken at midnight on the sofa with a book in my hand. I must have been more tired than I thought, if Brooks crashing about the kitchen hadn’t woken me up – because he was not quiet, and crashing about was kind of his thing. But when I’d eventually made it to bed, the house had been silent.

I opened up the fridge. It was emptier than it had been when I’d gone upstairs. ‘I left dinner out …’

‘Yeah … I ate it.’ Brooks’ eyes widened sheepishly.

‘I left it for you both.’

‘Yeah … I ate that as well.’

‘The whole thing?’

He shrugged, ‘I was starving, and it was late. I didn’t get in until ten, so I figured it was fair game. Delicious, mate. One of your better ones, for sure.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Is Oz really still in bed?’

Brooks nodded, ‘Yeah.’

I turned the stove off and set the porridge to one side. Something wasn’t right, I couldn’t remember the last time I was up before Oz. ‘Come on, we need to find him.’

Brooks rubbed his hands together with a glee that had no place while it was still dark out. ‘Ooh. House mystery.’

The pair of us walked back up the stairs to the top floor of the house where Oz’s room was situated. I glanced at Brooks; it didn’t look like he had the same ominous feeling I did, but something definitely wasn’t right. Just like I never woke before the alarm and usually needed four to five strong coffees to get me talking, Oz never failed to get up.

He was just one of those inexplicable people who liked mornings.

Number 5 Tolkien Lane seemed to be playing a game of Freaky Friday.

‘You definitely didn’t hear anything last night?’ I whispered, but Brooks shook his head.

‘No, everyone was asleep.’

We stood outside the door. I was just about to press my ear against it when Brooks stopped me.

‘Wait. You don’t think Kate’s in there do you?’ he hissed in my ear, enough that I needed to rub away the ringing it left.

I stepped back just in case. Kate and Oz in his bedroom was not something I could unhear.

Instead, I knocked. Loudly. ‘Oz?’

Nothing.

I tried again. Rap rap rap. Reminiscent of the way our old school housemaster used to.

‘Oz …’

‘I don’t hear anything.’ This time, Brooks pressed his ear to the door. ‘If they’re both in there then they’re both asleep. I’m going in.’

Twisting the handle with surprising delicacy, he eased the door open enough so the pair of us could peer around.

It only took a second for it to hit us.

‘Jesus, it smells like a distillery in here.’ I wafted my hand through the air and opened the door wide.

It was still early enough that the sun hadn’t yet emerged, and we stood in the entranceway waiting for our eyes to adjust to the darkness in Oz’s room, and the lump underneath the navy duvet in the middle of his huge bed. Brooks cracked open the window, and immediately the cold outside air flowed in.

Flicking on the study lamp on Oz’s desk, I turned to spot one arm hanging listlessly down the side of the mattress, though his fingers still gripped the neck of an almost empty whisky bottle.

One that had been full yesterday.

‘Holy shit.’ I picked it up, my socks immediately soaking into a dark, wet patch I hadn’t noticed and breathed a sigh of relief we probably wouldn’t have to make a trip to accident and emergency. ‘Doesn’t look like he’s drunk it all.’

Brooks pulled back the cover to find Oz appropriately snoring like a drunken sailor, and eased out the phone stuck under his cheek.

‘What time is it?’ whispered Brooks, though whispering was pointless. Based on Oz’s current position it would probably be easier to wake the dead.

Flicking my wrist around to check my watch, I replied, ‘Five forty-five.’

‘Shit. We can’t leave him here, but we also don’t have enough time to get him ready for training.’

‘Mate … he’s not going anywhere. Even if he only had half that bottle, he’s still going to be drunk. Do you think he needs to go to hospital?’

Brooks’ eyes flicked to Oz and back to me. ‘What for?’

‘Getting his stomach pumped?’

‘Nah,’ he scoffed, with all the ambivalence of someone weighing in at 100 kilos, and whose food and drink intake had very little effect on his day-to-day. Though I don’t think I’d ever seen Brooks drink quite this much in one go. ‘We have bigger issues, namely what are we going to tell Coach? He’s already worried about Oz given everything happening with Kate – he might drop him from the crew.’

Glancing down at a snoring Oz, I attempted to ease away the tension building in my temples. Brooks was right. In the past few weeks, the tabloid media had discovered Oz and Kate’s relationship, and as Oz was deemed a person of interest – whether he wanted to be or not (he did not ) they’d unwittingly been pulled into the spotlight. While Oz was used to it, Kate wasn’t, and after an incident involving a speedboat and the Cambridge rowing crew training on the Tideway, Oz had been understandably upset.

Actually, upset was an understatement. Apoplectic was more like it. On the warpath was better, and after he’d smashed up most of the lockers in the locker room, Coach had asked if he wanted to step down as president.

I had a feeling Coach wouldn’t be quite so lenient the second time around, and Oz wouldn’t be given the choice. He’d simply be removed.

We needed a plan.

The snap of Brooks’ fingers pulled my attention, ‘What if we all call in sick? A twenty-four-hour stomach bug or something. We can say we’ve all got food poisoning from that pie last night.’

‘From my cooking?’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ he hissed.

I didn’t.

We were still staring at each other when a low rumbling noise sounding more animal than human croaked from the lump on the bed. ‘I can hear you, you know?’

The pair of us stared down at Oz, still not moving. The snoring was continuing at its steady rate and there was absolutely no indication he was awake, or even semi-conscious.

Brooks leaned into me, ‘You heard that too, right?’

‘Oz?’ I tried, ‘Osbourne, what happened?’

I was beginning to think we had both imagined him speaking when his lips opened a fraction.

‘You’re right. That’s what happened.’

‘What?’ Brooks’ eyes sliced to mine holding just as much confusion, and let out a loud snort. ‘Yeah, he’s definitely still drunk if he thinks you’re right.’

‘Shut up.’ I shoved him, focusing back on the lump. ‘Oz, mate, what happened?’

‘Girls are the worst.’

‘Did something happen with Kate?’

He opened his mouth a little wider – Brooks and I held our breath, waiting to discover the cause of our inebriated housemate and also maybe a little from the smell, because it was very likely we could get drunk off his breath. But then his eyes flew open along with the distinct, and unmistakeable sound of a gag.

‘Move,’ Oz managed to grunt, and sprinted to the bathroom faster than I knew a human could move.

‘Ugh.’ Brooks’ hands flew up to cover his ears from the sound of violent retching, and I caught his chest heaving.

‘Go and get him some water,’ I ordered, before I had two housemates puking on me.

The speed he left rivalled Oz.

‘And message Coach to tell him we’re not coming.’

I slowly made my way to the bathroom while also praying Oz had managed to throw up in the toilet and not all over the floor. Best friend or not, it was far too early to be dealing with his puke. Thankfully, he’d taken that into account.

I found him slumped against the wall, his entire body limp with his cheek pressed into the cold wall tiles. His eyes might have been closed, but his face was so ashen that the pain etched on it couldn’t have only been from his hangover. No matter how head-splitting it was.

He looked like someone had died.

‘Mate, what happened?’

It took him a moment to answer. I realized I hadn’t seen his eyes properly before he ran to the bathroom, because there’s no way I’d have forgotten the state of them. Red, bloodshot, brimming with tears spilling down his cheeks, too fast for him to brush away.

‘Kate and I broke up,’ he choked out.

‘Oh mate …’ I eased down on the floor next to him, leaning against the side of the bath, ‘I’m so sorry. Is this all because of the Boat Race?’

‘Because of my fucking life, and the baggage I come with. She doesn’t want another six years of having to deal with me,’ he snapped out through loud sniffs while clutching his head, ‘instead she decided to rip my fucking heart out.’

I inched closer and put my arm around him. ‘I’m so sorry, Oz.’

His reply was too incoherent to make out. His head dropped down onto my shoulder just as Brooks finally reappeared with a large bottle of water and his eyebrows raised in question.

‘Kate broke up with him.’

‘Oh mate. I’m sorry,’ he replied, putting down the bottle of water and dropping onto the floor next to us. ‘I’ve told Coach by the way, I think he bought it. But we cannot leave this house today.’

I nodded in agreement. Thankfully it was a Tuesday, a light day for classes. I might get a chance to catch up on all the work I’d not been doing.

‘So, what happened with Kate? Breaking up’s a bit extreme.’

Oz gave another big sniff, drawing his hand under his soggy nose. I got up and found a fresh facecloth for him to use instead.

‘Aren’t you going to say I told you so?’

I glanced over to Brooks to see if he knew what Oz was talking about, but he looked as baffled as I felt. ‘What?’

‘You told me love sucks. I should have listened to you, Charlie. Relationships are the worst. How long until this feeling goes away?’ he blurted out, before taking a glug of water so huge that I was expecting him to throw up again.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Brooks’ eyes flare.

I took a deep breath, and made another attempt at rubbing away the impending headache which seemed to have appeared from nowhere, though more likely the whisky fumes emanating from Oz.

For the first time I wished I hadn’t been so vocal about my stance on love, or relationships, or girls period for that matter. Because even though I was staring directly at clear-cut evidence of the adverse effects of love, somehow I couldn’t quite bring myself to agree with him.

That maybe love, or relationships, or girls weren’t quite as awful as I’d once thought.

The Violet Effect.

‘Oz …’ I began, only to be interrupted.

‘Charlie, how long until it feels like my chest isn’t haemorrhaging?’ he snapped, and once more slumped onto my shoulder.

It had been a long time since I’d thought about the day Evie and I had broken up, the first time. My seventeen-year-old self had never known pain like it. The days that followed were like I had to learn everything again from scratch – how to breathe, how to think, how to move hour by hour while my heart slowly bled out. Weeks passed. I trudged through. If Oz and Brooks hadn’t been with me, I would have failed all my end-of-term exams because I simply wouldn’t have turned up. I lost the will to care.

The two of them were solely responsible for me finishing the last month of the summer term and passing my A-Levels.

They distracted me. They forced me to concentrate on rowing.

The fact I’d medalled in the Under-23s World Championships was all credit to them.

Eventually my heart healed, we rowed more, we recuperated in Greece at Oz’s family home, and once our gap year was over we made our way up the M40 to Oxford. Where Evie also was.

The inevitable happened.

It wasn’t quite so bad the second time around, but it was enough that I knew I never wanted to go through it ever again. I thought I’d never heal.

It took meeting Violet in the pub to realize that I’d healed a long time ago.

‘I don’t know, Oz. I think it’s unique to everyone.’

‘But you never got over Evie,’ he sniffed, pressing his palms so hard into his eyes they turned even redder.

‘I … I did. I have. I just …’

What? What had I just?

I’d been thinking about it over the past few weeks. That panic fight or flight mode I’d fallen into the second I’d heard she’d be joining my class, terrified I’d revert to the teenager wrapped around her finger. But it was nothing more than a knee-jerk response. My body remembering the way it used to react whenever Evie was concerned. When the reality was I couldn’t recall the last time I’d thought about her.

Even having her in class with me had been less anxiety inducing than I’d expected. I still ignored her, but more because she didn’t have much to say rather than using silence as its own response. Plus Gordon talked enough for everyone.

What’s more, I’d realized that the effect she used to have on me had vanished. I didn’t love her, I hadn’t in a long time. But I didn’t hate her.

And that was new.

I didn’t hate her. I didn’t feel anything for her now. I was indifferent.

She no longer had the power to fuck with me.

‘I did get over Evie. I am over her,’ I finally said, quietly. Quieter than I should have given the weight of the statement. ‘But this isn’t the same thing. Kate hasn’t cheated on you, she’s been going through a lot, and things got too much for her, but she hasn’t stopped loving you. You’re older than I was back then. I didn’t know any better.’

Oz lifted his head, pinning me with a look which would have had most people stepping back. It was intense to say the least. ‘What are you saying? You think I can get her back?’

I sighed. ‘I’m saying I was seventeen, and what the fuck did I know? I don’t even know if it was really love. What does love even mean?’

From the way Oz frowned, he didn’t seem all that satisfied with my answer, especially when he turned to Brooks. ‘What do you think?’

Brooks scratched through his thick beard, while he pondered so long, even I was waiting on tenterhooks. ‘I’m no relationship expert but … I think you can do anything you put your mind to. If you want Kate back, you can get her back.’

I rolled my eyes so hard my brain hurt, but it seemed to have done the trick given Oz resumed his position with his head back against the wall and his eyes closed. Brooks followed his lead, and five minutes later none of us had spoken. It was only the sound of a stomach rumbling which brought me back to the present, and realization that none of us had eaten yet.

‘What time is it?’

‘Just gone seven,’ I replied. ‘Oz, how are you feeling?’

‘Like I sank half a bottle of whisky, and there’s a hole in my chest.’

‘Okay, well I think you need to eat something, so I’m going to make eggs for all of us and get you some electrolytes.’ I pushed up off the floor. ‘Brooks?’

‘Yeah. And bacon if there’s any going.’ He rubbed his stomach and grinned. ‘I might have finished the porridge already.’

My head dropped with a shake, though I couldn’t hide the amusement. ‘Fine, can you make sure Oz can stand up? And maybe get him in the shower too.’

‘I’m right here,’ Oz grumbled from where his head was now slumped onto his arms, giving no indication he was capable of moving by himself.

‘It’ll be ready in twenty minutes,’ I waved behind me.

I didn’t rush down the stairs. Oz’s words echoed around as I made my way towards the kitchen, ‘love sucks’ and ‘you never got over Evie’ alternating with each slow step.

Witnessing the pain Oz was going through should have had me reconfirming all my initial instincts. Love did suck. But somewhere in the distance, I could hear Violet’s voice shouting over Oz and everything I’d ever declared about love. Maybe it was all this play rehearsal we’d been doing, or her telling me about the books she loved, or simply her … whatever it was had me reaching for my phone as soon as I stepped back into the kitchen.

I opened the fridge and removed the box of eggs with one hand. With the other my finger pressed down on the name that had recently moved to the top of my contacts list. It rang so long, I thought I was going to have to leave a message.

‘Charlie?’ Violet croaked, right as I realized my mistake. ‘It’s the middle of the night. What’s wrong?’

I bit down my smile, and stopped myself from correcting her that it was seven-fifteen a.m. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. I totally lost track.’

‘Why are you calling me?’

‘I wanted to hear your voice.’

We’d agreed not to leave the house all day, but the soft hum she let out in response had me wondering how I could escape.

The Violet Effect.