Page 90 of Foes & Cons
I thought lying inside a coffin was torture, but hearing Charlie Chamberlain saying all this is worse.
“But you just laugh when your mates do it. When Vivian does it.”
“When has Vivian ever made fun of you?” he says.
I spin round to look at Frank, the shadow of sentimentality retreating in the wake of instantaneous rage.
“All the time! I’ve seen her whispering to you about me. Shehasn’t stopped since she got here. I don’t know why you had to bring her.”
“What’s Vivian got to do with this anyway? I thoughtwe were talking about us?”
“We’re not talking about us,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek.
“Fine, ignore this conversation just like you ignored me. Shit, Eliza, when did you get so cold.”
“Cold?” Tears spring in my eyes as I blink at Frank. “How can you sayI’mcold? You didn’t . . . you didn’t even contact me when my nanna died, Charlie. I’m sorry youfelt pushed out, that I pushed you out, but I thought you would, despite how things had changed.”
I’m glad of the darkness and the privacy as my face completely crumbles and I don’t know if the tears are for Nanna or for Charlie. Maybe they’re for both.
“Eliza,” Charlie Chamberlain says, his soft voice sending a little crack tearing through my left ventricle.
“Forget it,” I say, trying to keep control of my voice.
I take a deep breath and search my pockets for a tissue which, of course, is fruitless as I hadn’t planned on having a meltdown inside a coffin today.
“I . . . I . . .” Charlie Chamberlain’s voice is quiet, like it’s tiptoeing towards me. “I came to your house, Eliza. Of course I came to your house. I wouldn’t have . . .”
I lift my head, waiting for the rest of his words.
“What?”
“You were asleep, and your mum said you’d been awake all night, so I didn’t want to . . . I just . . . I wanted to . . . but I left what I’d brought and . . . maybe I should have waited but it had been so long, and your mum was upset. I didn’t want to intrude.”
I swallow, blinking at the back of Frank’s head, then press my cheek against the cool, white plastic. We don’t say anything fora while, and I let Charlie Chamberlain’s words swirl around the fake coffin dust and paint fumes.
“Guys,” sniffles Rashawn. “Eliza, I’m sorry about your nanna.”
“Thank you,” I squeak, also sniffling.
A sliver of light slips into the coffin as my lid lifts and a hand emerges holding a travel tissue.
“Thank you,” I say to the hand.
“You’re welcome, love,” says Headset Lady.
I dab my face and blow my nose, then lie back. My chest feels lighter, like I’ve dropped something I’ve been carrying around for ages. Or let it go.
“Charlie, I . . .” I pull myself up onto my elbows a little and look down at Frank. “You’re right, I . . . I did push you out of our friendship. I shouldn’t have done that, but . . . I’m sorry, OK? I’m sorry for what happened, and I’m sorry I pushed you away. Most of all, I’m sorry that I don’t have you any more; I’m sorry you’re not a part of my life. You were my favourite part of my life for a while. I miss that, and I miss you. That’s what I’m most sorry about.”
“Don’t you want to know what he brought you, Eliza?” whispers Rashawn after a while.
“Huh?”
“He said he brought you something when he came to your house.”
I look round.
“What did you bring me, Charlie?” I say, waiting for him to respond, but there’s nothing. “Charlie?”
