“I meant that song,” he says earnestly into my hair. “I know I was pissed, but I still meant it. Every word was us.”
“But how can we be automatically sunshine? Surely that’s not realistic?”
“Oh my God. Charlie Burroughs has missed the point of words. Let me get my phone and record this auspicious moment.” I pinch him. He laughs but then quickly sobers, pushing the hair back from my face. “The song’s not saying that, Charlie. It’s saying that we’ll face hardtimes, but as long as we’re together even in those bad times there will always be warmth and comfort. That’s us in a nutshell.” He shakes his head disapprovingly at me. “Don’t start that crap anyway,” he advises me.
“What crap?” I squint at him.
“The crap where you think you’ve got to be perfect for me.” I bite my lip, and he smiles fiercely. “Iknewit. I knew you were doing that. You’ve done it for every single boyfriend you’ve ever had, and it’s never got you very far.”
“I do try to do it with everyone,” I admit. “But I don’t think I’ve managed to be all sunshine for you and that fucks me up because I want to be the best I can for you, and I haven’t managed it.”
Misha smiles. “And can I just say how fucking happy I am about that?”
I’m shocked. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “I don’t want the face you show to the rest of the world. I want the real Charlie with his very occasional grouchiness. I want the man that no one else sees. That’s my reward in our relationship. The ability to see you unvarnished.”
“Why on earth would you want to see me pissed off? Is there something wrong with you?”
“Because that’s you, and I want all of you. That’s what partners see.” He shrugs again. “And let’s face it, Charlie, compared to most people, you’ve got the temperament of Saint Stephen.”
“Wasn’t he stoned to death?”
“Don’t nitpick.” He pulls me close and kisses my head, and we lie quietly together for a while. Then he stirs. “It’s possible to be in love and not feel trapped, you know.”
I stiffen because this is the heart of my fears, and Misha has unerringly homed in on it. “How?”
“When I think of you, I don’t think of chains. I think of laughter in the dark and the sweet smell of all your bloody candles which means that we’ll never be caught short by a power cut. I think of the man who builds dangerous book towers on his bedside table that threaten life and limb, and who makes my house a real home by making me buy fucking orange sofas. The man who makes me face the prospect thatI’m going to have to continue buying bookshelves until one day either our floors collapse or we give up and buy a new house. I think of being in love with my best friend and staying that way.”
“But you seem to always end up looking after me. And you have enough of that with everyone else. It isn’t fair, Misha.”
He looks at me in disbelief. “Ilikelooking after you. I always have done. Because you’re mine.”
“But I could get worse. I might end up needing surgery. You’ll be responsible for me.”
“That might happen,” he admits. “But we’ll deal with it, the two of us.” He hesitates, obviously looking for inspiration. “If I was close to death, would you leave? Say it’s been nice knowing you and go off to live in one of those little beachside cottages with a thatched roof in Turkey where you’d drink tequila with a scorpion on your hand in a beach bar while the locals cheer you on until you pass out at the bar?”
I blink. “That’s alarmingly detailed.” I pause. “And also heavily lifted fromSkyfall.”
He ignores me. Something he’s good at when I’ve spotted an error.
“The thing is, if that did happen, we’d deal, and do you know why, Charlie? Because you wouldn’t be some random responsibility. Like food that’s gone past its sell-by date. You’d be my Charlie who is funny and the kindest, happiest person I know. Who is clever and cares far too much about the council’s long-range planning strategy for libraries. The Charlie who makes me smile when I think of him and gives me butterflies when I see him. The Charlie who rescues spiders and stray moles in girls’ shoes and makes toast and marmite for me because I love it even though he hates it. Why would I give up that amazing person for some random bloke who might never have a problem but will still never in a million years bemyversion of Charlie Sunshine? And one more thing. You might be my responsibility, but I’m yours too. You know you’re inheriting my mother and sisters, don’t you? That some days you’ll have to work to calm me down and you’ll intervene and employ that legendary ability of yours to make everyone happy?”
“But they come with you. They’re a part of you.”
“And epilepsy comes withyou.It’s just another part of you, likeyour exceptionally long toes, the freckles on your shoulders, and those sexy knickers. I hate that you’ve got it, but at the same time it’s just a tiny part of the awesome whole of you, and I’ll take it happily because if I don’t, I won’t have you, and I’ve come to realise that you’re the best and brightest part of my life.”
I kiss him, wrapping him tightly in my arms. I love him so fiercely at this moment I’d like to absorb him into my blood.
“Always,” I whisper.
“Always,” he echoes.
We snuggle up for a long while, and he’s just starting to relax into sleep when a thought occurs to me, and I repress an evil smile.
“It was lovely that you proposed to me so beautifully though,” I say earnestly into the silence of the room. “It was honestly the most romantic thing that has everhappened to me. I mean, I can hardly believe that I’m actually going to be Mister Charlie Lebedinsky. I can’t wait to sign my new name.” I idly mime scrawling my new signature in the air.
“What?” He pushes up, eyes wide, and splutters, “Iproposedto you? Oh my God, what did I say?”
