The following morning Charley decided to call Ricky and ’fess up, despite her mates’ wiser counsels.
‘What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over,’ was Tara’s opinion.
Angie felt Charley should wait and tell Ricky when he returned. ‘Put yourself in his place. Would you want to know? He’ll only worry it might happen again.’
‘It won’t!’ Charley had retorted. ‘I can promise you that.’ Although even to her ears a promise from Carlo himself would have probably sounded more convincing.
In the end she’d decided to own up, partly because deceiving him, even by omission, made her feel uncomfortable, and partly because, selfishly, she wanted the closure of being forgiven. But mostly, had she been honest enough to admit it to herself, it was because she was craving to hear his voice. So, checking the time difference between the UK and Italy, she called him just after breakfast. He picked up almost immediately.
‘Hi.’
That was all he said. Just one word, and she was overcome by a physical longing to be with him. She could see him in her mind’s eye, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead, his trademark easy smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes, and she could almost smell his cologne, mingling as it always did with the scent of freshly laundered linen from his shirt.
‘Hi,’ she echoed.
‘Is everything okay?’ he asked, clearly wondering why she’d called him so early on a Sunday morning. ‘What’s happened?’
She had just been about to ask him how his grandmother was, but the anxiety in his voice led her to reassure him instead.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied hurriedly which, whilst it wasn’t the whole truth, wasn’t a full-blown lie. ‘Everything’s fine. Well, it is now…’ she added, more honestly, and went on to tell him about losing Carlo. ‘It’s my fault,’ she finished, ‘I shouldn’t have let him off the lead.’
‘It’s not your fault, Charley, it’s mine. I should have thought to warn you not to, but it didn’t occur to me he’d run off. He’s never done it before. You must have been worried sick.’
God, how are you so lovely? I tell you I nearly got your bloody dog run over and all you can think about is how tough it was for me.
‘Well, yes, I was worried, but only because I was terrified he’d be hit by a car and I knew how devastated you’d be. Me too,’ she finished truthfully.
‘But he wasn’t, Charley. It happened, but he’s fine, so don’t beat yourself up.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. Changing her tone she said jokily, ‘Of course he’s missing you dreadfully. He does a lot of pathetic sighing and mournful gazing out of the window at the shop waiting for you to return. Honestly, he’s so melodramatic!’ Then she continued more soberly, ‘He’s not really eating properly…’
‘He’s probably sulking. He’ll eat if he gets really hungry. If you’re worried you could try feeding him at my place. That’s if it’s not too much of a hassle,’ he finished hastily.
‘No, not at all. It’s a good idea. I will.’ Charley left a beat or two before going on to ask Ricky about his grandmother.
‘The doctors tell us she’s still stable, but she’s slowly worsening. They don’t think she has long now.’
Charley’s heart went out to him. ‘That must be so hard for everyone.’
‘She’s sedated, so I’m not sure how much she realises what’s going on. It’s my mother’s who’s struggling.’ She could hear the weariness in his voice. ‘She’s with her day and night and doesn’t want to leave her.’
Charley was reminded of Tara’s ordeal, how she had struggled to get through her mum’s last days. It had been traumatic and devastating and towards the end, as Kim’s gruelling battle with cancer drew to a close, Tara had just wanted it to be over. For herself as much as for her mum. She remembered how ashamed Tara had felt even admitting that, even to Charley. One thing bereavement had taught Charley was not to beat around the bush when it came to talking about death, not to tiptoe around, hiding behind euphemisms, too frightened to call it by its name.
‘This is a dreadful time for you and your family, Ricky,’ she said gently. ‘Waiting for someone to die is gruelling. It’s probably harder for those left behind than it is for the dying. And although it might make you feel guilty to admit it, it will be a relief for everyone when she dies, not just for your grandmother. And it’s not wrong, or selfish to want the waiting to be over.’
There was silence down the phone. Charley hoped to God she hadn’t offended him by speaking so bluntly, and that he didn’t think her insensitive or uncaring. It was so difficult when she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see the impact her words were having on him. After a while she prompted him.
‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ Then there was a beat before he said, ‘I’m fine. And thank you, Charley.’
‘You know where I am if you need to talk. Anytime. And I mean that.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ he repeated.
‘Give my best wishes to your family. Tell them I’m thinking of them.’
She put her phone down on the kitchen work surface feeling bereft, and wishing she could be there for him and his family. In her experience, only the bereaved can really comfort the bereaved. The cavernous, aching void of loss is simply beyond imagining for the uninitiated. More than anything, she wanted to be with him.
Carlo’s breakfast lay, mostly uneaten, in his bowl at her feet, while Carlo himself lounged on the floor nearby, morose and moping. Making a snap decision, she picked up the dog’s bowl and food bag and stuffed them into a plastic carrier. Going into her bedroom, she packed her overnight rucksack with everything she’d need for work on Monday. Then she slung it over her shoulder, clipped Carlo’s lead on him, gathered up the dog’s basket and his food and took them both round to Ricky’s. Letting herself in, she halted momentarily in the hallway to take in the essence of Ricky that seemed to hang in the air. It wasn’t just the faint smell of him, it was more as if it were the imprint of his existence. Ricky’s presence haunted his flat in much the same way the ghost of Josh, even five years after he’d died, still hung in the air at hers.
Being back in Ricky’s flat had an immediate effect on Carlo. As soon as she put his food bowl on the floor he shoved his nose into it and, quite literally, wolfed his breakfast down. After which, with an air of self-importance that amused Charley, the lurcher did a quick tour of the flat. She watched him, unsure if he was looking for Ricky, or just checking the place over. He scratched lightly on the back door, asking to be let out, and did a swift circuit of the garden before trotting back in happily, tail up, ears up, big daft grin on his face. Then, his security duties apparently completed, he leapt onto the sofa, and curled up contentedly.
‘Happy now?’ she asked him. He regarded her from under his shaggy eyebrows and whacked his tail on the sofa cushion. ‘And now you’re just gloating,’ she told him.
She took her overnight bag through to the bedroom and was about to dump it down on the duvet when it struck her that it might be taking a liberty assuming she could sleep in his bed. Perhaps she should borrow the quilt and bunk down on the sofa instead? She hesitated, trying to imagine what Ricky’s response would be if she asked him if it would be okay, then she smiled as a clear image of him floated into her mind telling her not to be so ridiculous. Of course he wouldn’t mind.
The rest of the day slipped into a typical Charley-and-Ricky kind of Sunday, albeit without Ricky. Keeping the hound on his lead, she took them both for a long walk around the Downs, and then she went to her and Ricky’s favourite café for brunch, where Carlo stretched out contentedly under the table while she ate scrambled eggs on brown. Then the two of them spent the afternoon lounging on the sofa back at Ricky’s flat. Charley knew she should be catching up on the accounts but she whiled away the afternoon scrolling through photos of Ricky on her phone and then watching a rom-com while Carlo snoozed and snored. She felt sublimely content. Which was odd, because the last time she’d been in Ricky’s flat, only a few days ago to collect Carlo’s kit and caboodle, she’d felt almost like a trespasser, whereas now she felt totally at home. Even raiding his fridge for a store-cupboard supper left her guilt-free.
She decided to stay at Ricky’s until he came back, telling herself it was purely in the interests of the lurcher and definitely not because she also was enjoying being there. It was only when she went to bed that something felt wrong. Slipping into Ricky’s bed alone triggered a sense of loss, the empty space beside her reminding her he wasn’t there, and wasn’t in her life any more. She turned face the other way and was grateful when Carlo slunk onto the bed and lay with his back against hers.
‘Don’t tell Ricky,’ she told him.
Charley slept like a log and shortly after dawn she drifted into an extraordinarily vivid dream. She was standing on the Rialto Bridge, holding hands with Josh, as she had done on their honeymoon. Except that when she turned to look at him it wasn’t Josh, it was Ricky. And then all of a sudden Ricky was running and pulling her along the bridge behind him, except she was floating up above him, as if she were a party balloon on a string. And every now and again he’d turn round, look up at her and laugh. And then she was laughing too and somehow she knew they were heading for a hotel, except she knew they were going in the wrong direction because the hotel was behind them, but it was all right because when they got to the hotel it was a church. And then quite suddenly she started falling and Ricky put out his arms to catch her – but just at that point her alarm went off and woke her up. The dream had been so vivid she reached out, expecting to find Ricky next to her. Discovering he wasn’t, she rolled onto her back, disappointed.
Daylight was already pouring through the blinds and it gradually dawned on her that it was a Monday and she’d better get up. She padded barefoot through the living room to the kitchen area, Carlo following her optimistically, hoping for his breakfast. She flicked the kettle on and fed him while she waited for it to boil. Then she reached for the Italian ground coffee – ground, because Ricky refused to give instant houseroom – and opening the packet, she inhaled the rich, slightly bitter aroma deeply. Mmmm, I love his coffee! And then it hit her.
Of course she loved his coffee… and she loved his flat, and his bed, and his sofa, and she loved his eyes, and his mouth, and the way his hair flopped over his forehead, and the way he looked at her and the touch of his hand. She loved his smell, his smile, his accent, even his bloody dog – no, especially his bloody dog… She loved all of this, and all of him, because she was in love with him. He was… not The One, she reminded herself, because Josh was The One. No, Josh had been The One. Ricky was The One now. The One after The One.
She glanced at the clock on the cooker. It said six forty, which meant it would be seven forty in Tuscany. Was it too early to call him? Maybe. Marginally. She’d grab a quick shower and call him after that. Standing in the shower, enjoying the hot water tingling on her skin, she rehearsed what she’d say to him. I’m an idiot, and you are a wonderful, wonderful man. I was wrong. I do love you… no, I am in love with you. I’m really sorry if I hurt you. Can we try again? Please? There was so much she wanted to say to him.
Towelling herself dry, she heard her phone ringing on the side in the kitchen. Wrapping the towel round her, she dashed through. It was Ricky. She snatched up the phone, her heart pounding.
‘Hi,’ she said, ‘I was just going to ring you.’
‘Oh?’ he queried, but without giving her the chance to reply he said, ‘My grandmother just died, Charley. She’s gone.’
Charley felt the world pause for a second, and then a rush of compassion swept over her, brushing aside what she’d so desperately wanted to say to him and leaving her feeling utterly bereft on his behalf. She sat down hard on a kitchen stool. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Ricky. So sorry. Please give my condolences to your family.’
‘Yes of course,’ he said, then continued flatly, ‘I need to stay on until the funeral. Would you mind having Carlo a little longer? I’m not sure when it will be. Sorry.’ He sounded done in.
‘Of course I will. You don’t even need to ask. And you certainly don’t need to apologise.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, then, after a beat he asked, ‘Why were you going to call me?’
This is so not the time, said a voice inside her, so she merely said, ‘It doesn’t matter. It can wait until you get back. Take care.’