Michael

It’s dark, a frigid winter’s evening. James hasn’t come home from work yet and I can’t find Charlotte.

Where is she?

Having a bath maybe?

But the bathroom stands cold and empty.

Reading somewhere?

I try her study, the lounge and the dining room, still with no sign of her.

And then as I stop to flick the curtains closed in the lounge, there she is. Outside on the terrace, without so much as a jacket or a cushion, she hugs her knees as she sits on bare stone paving, staring into the dark.

She must be bloody freezing…

What’s this about?

Don’t rush it…

I make a couple of hot drinks, then venture outside.

She turns as I approach. I offer her a mug. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”

“Course not.” She sniffs. “That’s lovely. Thank you.”

“Hot nutmeg milk and dash of brandy. I thought if you were determined to freeze your butt, you’d better have something inside to help thaw it out.”

She nods then turns to stare into the dark again.

After a minute or so, I say, “Come on, spit it out. Whatever it is.”

“I was thinking about my mother.”

“What about her?”

“I might never find her.”

“Perhaps not, but we'll keep looking.”

She blows on the milk, takes a slow mouthful. “What I'm meaning is, it's about continuity, isn't it. As long as I'm here, there's a bit of her too. And my father. It's not all gone. And if...”

"If what?"

She chokes up. “He’s so unhappy. He’s usually so full of life; so full of… of take-it-in-big-bites… He’s… It’s just not him.”

“He? Who? James? I thought we were talking about you?”

“Yes… No… Yes…”

“Charlotte, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

Looking away, she drinks more of the milk, but moonlight reflects from the tears trailing down her cheeks.

I lay an arm over shoulders, kiss her face. She’s chilled, tasting salty. “You want to find your mother. He wants his daughter back.” I rub at my forehead. “I hate seeing him like this too. I wish there was something I could do to help him, but he’ll get over it.”

at me. “You think

been pleasant for him, but it is a kind of closure.” But doubt crawls through my gut and

“I'm not so sure.”

was a low blow on her part. But I'm not sure what we can do

“There's one thing I can do.” There’s a tremor in her voice. I wait, but she’s stalled and as I look down, a lock

make a

deliberately, she disentangles the knot of hair then folds her hands

to me, Charlotte. What

before I did anything.” She’s gulping, stuttering her words. “I don't want

?

Tread carefully…

would I be

“He wants his daughter.”

can't have her. You can’t give her

could have another

“Charlotte, are you telling me

“Yes,” she whispers.

Ahhh…

I speak slowly, carefully. “… What with your college work and wanting to be an engineer

life to do the things I want. You too, nearly as much. But he... he doesn't have so much time and... And I want him to have the chance to see her grow

quietly, her head low. Her fingers knot

kiss cold fingers then hold them between my warm palms. She gulps and

think I haven’t noticed you trowelling on

you. Fifty-fifty if it was you or him. And

do I

the right thing to

that will stand

… and last…

… and work…

but don't go away. I'm coming back. I just need to think.” I turn, heading for the kitchen, but

something to do. As they growl and judder into powder, I set milk on to

loved him

Is that true?

No…

loved him

but she

asked her, she’d have

gave her

kept

the house

… Helluva wedding present…

I ever repay

?

This would do it…

sure of

?

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