Late afternoon, Ben texts.
I feel awful that you’re angry with me. I didn’t mean to hurt you. B xxx
I shift on the sofa where I’m sprawled in the last of the afternoon sun. Carys has fallen asleep on my chest. I type into my phone around her.
I’m just not sure where we can go from here. Our lives are so different. I can’t compete with Maximus St. Pierre. C xx
There’s no answer for a while. Then:
Max loves drama. We can work things out and find a way, if that’s what you want. It’s what I want. I miss you.
I sigh. Fuck if I don’t miss him too, but feelings get in the way. Should I tell him what’s happening with me? Does he care? He probably cares. He’s a compassionate person.
I miss you too but that doesn’t help anything. I’m in Swansea. Carys is sick. Emily needed help.
Oh no, Charlie. That’s awful. Can I help?
I have to laugh at that, because it’s such a Ben thing to say. Even if he has a gig tonight in… I check. Birmingham. Maximus St. Pierre is still billed with him.
Can you cure the flu?I ask.
I wish. I’m sorry.He sends a crying emoji.
I’ll be here for a few days to help Emily. She’s sick too.
There’s a long stretch where there’s no response from Ben.
Can I see you when I play Cardiff on Saturday night? Please? B xxx
I screw up my face. That’ll be the worst. Or the best. No, no, the worst, I tell myself sternly. That will only torture us both. We need to be mature about this.
We’ll see, I text back.
Ok. Drink orange juice. B xxx
…
The next couple of days pass in fevers and soups. I usually escape for a little bit each day for a walk along the beach in the gusting wind to clear my head. I don’t know if I’ll see Ben. I don’t know what to do. I think I’ve come down with the flu, or my body’s trying to fight it off. I feel wretched.
Then I do a search for the Birmingham show. Some pap has taken a shot of Maximus and Ben together outside of a club where the afterparty was held. Maximus grins like the cat that got the canary, his arm slung around Ben’s shoulder.
Ben looks terrible, unsmiling.
Chapter Forty-Seven
By Friday afternoon, Emily’s joined the realm of the living again. I’ve also had my share of naps when Carys would let me and manage to avoid the virus myself by some miracle, through a lot of handwashing and rest when I could get it.
“Welcome back,” I tell her, serving up soup and sarnies. I’ve already fed Carys, who plays on the floor beside the dining room table where we sit. She runs wooden trains over the meandering tracks throughout the room, back to her usual spark.
“That was awful,” says Emily wryly. “Thanks again for dropping everything to come.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do.”
“I’m just so glad you didn’t catch this like I did, all in.” Emily works on her tea. “Don’t take the flu as a parting gift either.”
I laugh. “I’ll try not to.”
“What did I miss? Other than most of a week?” Emily shakes her head.
