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“It was a-mazing,” she says. “I had a glass of champagne and a piece of a fantastic chocolate torte. So good.”
I grin as we cross to the car. “There’s something to be said for having a rich boyfriend.” I open the car and start helping Mum into the passenger seat.
“Absolutely.” Charlie concentrates on getting her suitcase into the boot, helps me attach the wheelchair to the rack at the back that Kip had fitted for me, then gets into the back seat.
I glance at her in the rear-view mirror before starting the engine and pulling away. “Everything okay, sweetie? You’ve lost weight, and you’re very pale.”
“Oh, just been working super-hard. I’ve got a dissertation this year, and the assessments are coming thick and fast, too.”
“Are you eating well?” Mum asks. Charlie has a student allowance and a loan, and she works in a bar in the evenings and at the weekends, but Mum and I both know money is tight for her. We suspect that, like with a lot of students, her diet suffers occasionally so she can pay her rent and other bills.
“I’m fine,” she insists and changes the subject, asking what we’ve been up to. She seems chirpy enough, so I wonder whether maybe she has just been working hard, and I’m imagining it.
We have dinner together, and in the evening we chat for a while, then watch a movie, and she seems fine, although I notice her gaze drift off occasionally while the movie plays, as if she’s not really watching it. Something else that’s odd is that normally her phone is glued to her hand, and she spends a lot of time texting, but tonight it sits up on the kitchen counter, face down, and she doesn’t touch it all evening. When I query her about it, she says she’s trying to cut down her screen time as she’s been having trouble sleeping, which seems like a fair enough explanation.
At nine, Mum declares she’s going to bed, and I think that maybe now I’ll get a chance to talk to Charlie alone. But she says, “Yeah, I’m really tired, too,” and before I can argue she gives us both a hug, then heads off to her room and closes the door.
I help Mum to bed, making sure she’s propped on the pillows as she likes to read before she goes to sleep.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with Charlie?” she murmurs.
I hesitate. “I’m sure she’s just tired after studying so hard.” I know she wants to get a good job when she moves up here, and she’s always been the type to get her homework and studying done before she goes partying.
“I hope so,” she says. “I thought when I had kids that I’d stop worrying when you grew up, but I don’t think I’m ever going to stop!”
I kiss her cheek. “Whatever’s bothering her, I’m sure it’ll sort itself out.”
*
The next day, Good Friday, Charlie looks a little brighter, and by Saturday she’s almost back to her normal self. Despite this, her phone remains on the kitchen counter, and she looks a little lost without it. The explanation that she’s trying to cut down her screen time doesn’t quite work for me, and I try to talk to her a couple of times, but she insists she’s fine and just exhausted from studying, and in the end I drop it, sure she’d talk to me if there was anything actually bothering her.
I’m distracted anyway by my upcoming trip to Wellington. I spend the morning having Charlie trim my hair and then waxing myself so I’m smooth all over, and take my time on Sunday morning deciding what clothes to take.
And then I walk out of my room intending to start lunch around one p.m., and I go into the kitchen to find Mum and Charlie sitting at the table. Charlie’s face is in her hands and she’s sobbing, and Mum looks up at me, clearly upset.
“What’s going on?” I ask, pulling out the seat next to them and rubbing Charlie’s back. “What’s up, sweetie?”
She just shakes her head and sobs louder. I look at Mum, whose eyebrows draw together.
“I’ve been trying to get her to tell me what’s wrong,” Mum says. “I know something’s bothering her.”
“I can’t,” Charlie says, hiccupping between the words.
I kiss her shoulder. “Hey, come on. You can talk to us about anything, you know that. We’re here for you.”
She lowers her hands a little so she can look at me. They’re red and shining, filled with pain. “I fucked up,” she says.
“Why?” I continue to rub her back. “Is it something to do with your studies?”
She shakes her head.
And then it hits me. The phone left on the kitchen counter. The fact that she’s lost weight, and looks completely lost. And the guy who came to pick her up in February.
“Is this about Jake?” I ask.
Tears leak from her eyes, and she covers her face with her hands again and sobs.
“Aw.” I squeeze her shoulders. “I knew you weren’t just friends. What happened? Did he break up with you?”
