The Home for Broken Hearts (23 page)

“Better run,” Matt said. “End of the week—the whole place goes crazy! But look, try not to worry, all right—this is just boy stuff, it’ll pass.”

Ellen did not look up at Matt as he left, which meant that she was probably still trying to work out just exactly what he had been thinking when she’d caught him looking at her as if he could see right through her clothes.

“Oi! Charlie!” Sweat trickled down Matt’s back as he jogged to catch up with the boy before he reached the end of the road. “Hold up, mate!”

Charlie stopped and frowned, puzzled, as Matt came to a halt by his side, bending over and resting his hands on his knees as he struggled to reclaim his breath.

“Bloody hell, I need to get back in the gym,” he wheezed,
nodding at the blazing sky. “It’s going to be another hot one, by the looks of things.”

“What are you doing?” Charlie asked flatly.

“Well, we go the same way, more or less,” Matt lied. “Thought I’d walk with you.”

Charlie scrutinized him through his mother’s black lashes and shrugged his assent.

“So,” Matt said as they began to walk slowly in the direction opposite his bus stop. “That was all a bit of a palaver last night, wasn’t it?”

“S’pose.” Charlie sighed wearily.

“You do know your mum was worried sick about you, don’t you, mate? You do realize that all that shouting last night at you and your aunty Hannah was all about how much she loves you, that’s all. And you know you were out of order with all the lying and shit.”

Charlie giggled at the swear word, like a little boy would.

“So why’d you do it? Not tell your mum where you were going.”

“Because I knew she wouldn’t let me go, she never does. She doesn’t like me going places. It’s like if I’m not at school or at home, she freaks out; even when I do phone her and say I’m going to the park or round a mate’s house or whatever, she pretends she’s cool about it, but I know she isn’t. I know she’s sitting at home worrying, waiting for me to come back, and that spoils everything. I can’t have any fun when I know she’s in the house, all anxious. So I thought I wouldn’t tell her—I thought if I didn’t tell her, she wouldn’t worry. I told Aunt Hannah we had to be back by five but she’s always late, that’s just what she’s like—she doesn’t worry about anything, you see. She has a laugh.” Charlie shifted his school bag from one shoulder to the other, slipping his blazer off his shoulders at the same time in one practiced movement.

“Okay, I sort of get why you didn’t tell her,” Matt said. “But
you must have known she wouldn’t be best pleased about you coming home with a great big expensive present.”

“Dad would have let me have it,” Charlie muttered, kicking an empty Coke can with the toe of his shoe.

“Would he?” Matt asked tentatively. He wanted to know about Charlie’s dad, Ellen’s late husband—but he didn’t want to frighten the kid off by asking too many questions. “Big on presents, was he—your dad?”

“He liked to surprise me.” Charlie’s mouth evolved briefly into a smile. “He used to go away a lot, on business trips and stuff, and he’d always bring me something really cool back and not just something you’d get at an airport. Once he brought me back a BMX, and I had an iPod before any of my mates, and the last time, the last thing he brought me was my DS. It never used to matter if it was my birthday or not. Dad never needed a reason to give me a present.”

“He sounds like a pretty generous guy,” Matt observed, privately wondering if the gifts were to make up for a father’s long absences.

“He was,” Charlie affirmed with a nod. “
And
he was funny. He was the funniest man
ever,
he really used to make me and Mum laugh. She used to laugh so hard that tears would come out of her eyes, seriously!” Charlie looked at Matt, determined to make sure that he believed him about his father’s peerless comedy talents.

“I bet,” Matt said, wondering what it would take to make Ellen laugh like that again. “What else do you miss about him?”

“His smell,” Charlie said, softly. “He had this smell that was just Dad. When he’d get in from work he’d always come and see me, even if it was really late. Give me a kiss, because you know, I was still a little kid then and I liked kisses. And he used to smell of aftershave and the cigarettes that Mummy used to pretend she didn’t know he smoked and just… him. Even if I was properly asleep when he came to kiss me good night, I’d
still know he was there. I’d smell him in my sleep. And I miss his hugs. And playing football with him in the garden on the Sundays when he was home, and taking our bikes down to the park, and last May he had a bit of time off of work so he took me, just me and him on our own, to Center Parc for a long weekend and we did all these things, biking and climbing and swimming, just us. And we had dinner together and we talked and talked and talked, just us two. And he said that he’d always love me, no matter what happened. I should always remember that he loved me more than anything.…”

Charlie trailed off and Matt didn’t attempt to prompt him further, taken back fifteen years by those words. He’d heard that phrase before: “No matter what happens, remember I love you, son.” His dad had said that to him one Saturday over a McDonald’s after he’d taken him to see his favorite soccer team, Manchester United. Matt remembered that he’d blushed and told his dad not to be so worried that someone might overhear. What he hadn’t realized as he sat there on those hard plastic chairs under the strip lighting was that that was the last Saturday, the last day he would ever spend with his dad. By Sunday morning his dad had gone, God knows where, with this woman whom he’d told his mother in a note, written on the back of a takeaway menu for the local Indian, that he “could not live without.” Matt had never seen him again, and from that day on he had always considered his father a liar, and worse, that a father’s love was a pointless, meaningless thing if it meant that you could live without your children. Had Charlie’s dad been preparing his son for some change or upheaval, too? The anniversary of the accident was coming up; Matt wasn’t sure exactly when but he knew it was sometime in July, because Hannah had warned him that it might be a sensitive time. Was it possible that Nick Woods had known exactly what he was doing when he crashed that car? Maybe things had been so bad with his business that he had thought that cashing in his life insurance was the only way to look after
Ellen and Charlie, and he’d taken Charlie away for a final holiday, to give the boy some memories. Then again, he hadn’t exactly thought that through, Matt reflected; causing your own death ruled out any insurance payout, which was why Ellen was in such a financial bind now, and by the sound of him, Nick had been quite a controlling guy—not the sort of person who’d make such a basic mistake.

Besides, suicide didn’t ring true. From what little Matt knew about the man, he didn’t seem the kind of guy to throw it all in, no matter how noble his motivations might have been. Nick had been a huge man, metaphorically if not literally. He’d loomed large in his family’s life. That kind of man wouldn’t ever have given up, he’d have battled on to make sure that his wife and son always saw him that way, as their hero. So, if Charlie’s dad hadn’t been preparing him for his death, what had he been preparing him for?

More likely, Matt thought, dropping a consoling hand on Charlie’s shoulder, he was letting his own past color what Charlie had just told him. It was more likely that Charlie had had the kind of father who’d really loved him, who had searched out time to spend with him, who had simply wanted his son to know exactly how important he was in his father’s life, and for Charlie’s sake, and in some small way his own, Matt really wanted that to be true.

“Mate,” Matt said, “this must be fucking awful for you.”

“It is.” Charlie stifled a sob, half turning away from Matt, coughing up words on each gulp of air. “It is fucking awful because he’s
dead
and he isn’t coming back. I’m not going to get to go biking or swimming or do anything with him or… or smell him or hug him ever again… am I?” The question was so plaintive and desolately hopeful that Matt felt tears sting his eyes. He guided Charlie to a bench in a bus shelter and sat him down, standing in front of him to shield him from the prying eyes of passersby.

“Listen, if you want to cry, mate—you cry. It’s good for a
bloke to cry every now and again. I’ll stand here and make sure no one sees.”

Matt felt a curious feeling in his chest, like a slow tear that ran from his sternum to his gut, as he stood there looking down at Charlie, who buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Matt dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out, along with some change and half a packet of gum, a screwed-up tissue.

“Here.” He tucked it into Charlie’s hand. “You can mop up the snot with that.” Matt wasn’t sure how long he stood there over Charlie as he cried, directing his threatening gaze at anyone who tried to intrude on what little privacy the boy had, but he knew that it was long enough to make him late for work and Charlie late for school. He would be even later to turn up at the office than he’d planned, as he’d have to take Charlie into school now, he couldn’t let him go the rest of the way alone.

After a load of people had congregated at the stop and then lurched away on the next bus, Charlie screwed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and blew his nose on the sodden tissue. He looked up at Matt.

“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” he asked anxiously, the blue of his eyes made all the more intense by his red-rimmed lids.

“Yeah, a bit,” Matt said. “But you can say it’s hay fever. Hay fever makes you look all puffy and shit, too.”

Charlie nodded and looked at his watch and leaped up. “I’d better get to school, else they’ll be calling Mum and she’ll freak out again.”

“I’ll come with you,” Matt offered. “Tell them it was my fault you were late.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Charlie said.

“I know, mate,” Matt said. “But I want to, okay?”

They stood side by side, swaying in silence as they waited for the next bus. After a while, Charlie asked him a question.

“When was the last time you cried?”

Matt glanced down at the boy. The last time he had cried was when his best mate from childhood, Gaz, had found him having sex with his girlfriend in the back of a night club last year. His friend had punched him in the face and told his sobbing girlfriend—the girl Matt knew Gaz had been planning to propose to that night, because he’d shown Matt the ring and already recruited him as best man—that she was a whore and a slag and he never wanted to see her again. Matt remembered the way she’d looked at him, Angie, tears and snot streaming down her face, blaming him, begging him to sort it out, to tell Gaz that it was all his fault, that he’d started it. But he hadn’t done that.

Gaz had not been able to forgive either him or Angie, and Matt realized that he’d lost one of the few constant things in his life because he had been unable to resist the temptation of having that which was taboo. It didn’t matter that Angie had been flirting with him for months, that whenever Gaz wasn’t around she’d find a reason to touch him, brush against him, make sure that he could see down her top or up her skirt at every available opportunity. It didn’t matter that she’d been playing a game with him. He shouldn’t have gone there. He shouldn’t have crossed the line, and when he’d realized that he’d broken Gaz’s heart and his own, too, he had cried. He’d curled up on the floor and cried his heart out.

“Last time I cried?” Matt glanced skyward. “When Arsenal beat the mighty Man United—but that was ages ago, so I’m over it now.”

Charlie smiled. “You’ve just been lucky is all. You wait, once our defense matures, we’ll be back on top again.”

“Yeah, back on top of the championship,” Matt teased. “That defense has been maturing for about five years now—they’ll all need a bus pass soon if they mature for much longer.”

“Ha, ha.” Charlie punched him lightly on the arm. “At least we don’t cheat.”

“What? It’s a miracle any one of your lot can walk down the street without trying for a penalty, you dirty southern bastards.”

Matt was pleased to hear Charlie chuckle; a good swear word never failed to amuse boys of a certain age.

“Look, I like a kick-about—so you know, if you fancy it, you and me sometime. We can re-create some great matches where my lot’s whooped your lot’s arses from the past, there’s about a million to choose from. That’s if you fancy it.”

“Cool,” Charlie said, looking up at him. “Thanks, Matt, that’d be cool.”

The bus slowed and they got off.

“And I’m here, you know, if you want to talk about bloke stuff. Ask me. I’m a professional.”

Charlie smiled and nodded, slowing as they reached the school gates.

“Before you go in there, promise me something, yeah?” Matt asked. “Be nice to your mum when you get home. Remember that she loves you more than anyone in the world.”

“I know… I will.” Charlie looked concerned. “I get angry with her, I get angry because she’s stuck. She’s broken and stuck and she doesn’t want to get out. I can’t even remember the last time she went out of the house—not for months, though.”

“Well, maybe it’s a bit soon, mate,” Matt said, assuming that Charlie was exaggerating. “Cut her some slack—it’s still not a year since your dad died. Maybe she needs a bit more time.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Charlie was insistent. “She’s stuck and she wants me to be stuck with her and that makes me mad.”

“Well then, it’s up to us to think of some way to unstick her then, isn’t it?” Matt said, although he wasn’t exactly sure what it was that Charlie meant.

“Us? Really?” Charlie asked.

“Sure. It’s official, you are my best mate in London. Besides,
I like a challenge. Although I think your mum is doing pretty well by herself right now, new job, new lodgers—that’s not exactly stuck in the mud, is it? She’s really trying.”

“Maybe.” Charlie looked uncertain.

“Right. So tell me—your teacher a bloke or a bird?”

“A bird.” Charlie laughed.

“Then we’re sorted.” Matt winked at him. “Never been a woman yet I couldn’t charm.”