The Life and Afterlife of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 1) (20 page)

She looked at me with sadness in her eyes.

"Forget about me, Charlie, I'm no good for you. This hatred between you and Russ only confirms it."

She drove off without so much as a glance in her rear-view mirror.  That was the day I made a promise to myself never to give up on her.

Chapter Eighteen

Over the next year I made numerous attempts to contact Lucy.  I needed to rectify the damage I'd caused to our friendship but she didn’t make it easy for me.  Every letter I wrote went unread, every text I sent was ignored and every phone call went unanswered.  She seemed to have cut me out of her life without a second thought and her silence was agonising.  The contact I’d relied on to get me through the weeks of loneliness while she was in Bath was at an end, and to top it off I no longer had the camaraderie and support of my best friend either. 

The days dragged by and work on the farm started to become so tedious I decided enough was enough.  I had a long-overdue chat with my father about my future career and, with a heavy heart, told him I had no passion for farm work.  His reaction was calm and accepting. He smiled, nodded his head at me and said, "Do what you love the most, son, and do it well."

I was awash with relief and guilt.  I could see the disappointment in his face but I could also see the concern that he felt for me, his only son.  It was evident he wanted the best for me and had chosen to put aside his own plans for the future.  I had never felt more love and respect for him than I did in that moment.

An idea for my next business venture popped into my head at random one bright, spring Sunday morning.  After we’d both attended a rather potent sermon on forgiveness, Mr Raven, being his usual nosy self, caught me on my way out of church. 

"’Ere, I see that treehouse is still up."

I nodded and tried to determine whether he had brought this up as a way of letting me know his disapproval of it or whether this was an attempt at conversation. 

"I can still see you three kids, playin' in that treehouse now.  I reckon every young ‘un in Yorkshire should have one.” His eyes took on a faraway look, he obviously thought he was being philosophical. “But they're all too busy playing their computer games and watching them DVD thingies..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head in disgust.

I held back a smile and nodded in agreement.

"To tell you the truth, I had great fun building that treehouse. I wish I could do it all over again if I'm honest, incorporate some changes. Make it bigger... maybe with proper windows and individual rooms for sleepovers... put in a pool table, why not?"

"Don’t get carried away with yersen now, lad," Mr Raven laughed as he walked on down the hill.

I was about to follow him but stopped mid-stride.

Was I getting carried away or had I just thought of a great new business venture that would allow me to do something I could get excited about? Something that would challenge me but should also prove extremely rewarding?

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made to me.  Why not turn what I loved into a business? And why not expand on what I already knew?  I could make treehouses that were bigger and better than any currently for sale.

The business was registered in August of that year and I named it Treetop Heaven.  I spent hours going door to door with leaflets and driving to towns far and wide to spread the word.  It was heavy going, with little reward at first, but soon it would prove fruitful.

To my delight, I got my first commission in the affluent Yorkshire town of Harrogate.  My clients were wealthy and wanted to get their little boy something for his tenth birthday that he didn't already have.  They had a large apple tree in their garden that seemed a good candidate for a treehouse and after agreeing the specifications I got to work.

The hours were long and my muscles ached after a day spent cutting and nailing wood but I found myself enjoying every minute.  The work allowed my creativity to flow freely and I had never had that opportunity before.  Ideas flashed into my mind and I created something that was not only unique but also meant something to my clients.  The treehouse was a work of art that would last a lifetime and would hopefully bring joy to the next generation of children in the family.

On the day of its completion I stood back and admired the house I had created.  I took in the rope bridges that connected the house to neighbouring trees where look-out posts were installed.  I studied the wraparound balcony to ensure it was safe enough for the little legs that would no doubt be running amok along its wooden frame.  I marvelled at the windows reflecting back images of other trees in these leafy surroundings.  The windows were the trickiest part of the construction but I had enlisted the help of a local glazier.

I can still see the smiling faces of those first clients as I revealed to them their new treehouse.  They gushed about what a great job I had done and how the natural appearance of the wood fitted in with the surroundings perfectly.  It was better than they had envisioned and I was proud of my first design.

Before long news of my treehouse company had spread across North Yorkshire and everyone wanted in on the action.  In those first six months I actually had to turn work away as I was inundated with enquiries.

I started to earn the kind of living I had only dreamt of before and in just over a year I had enough money to buy my own house.  It was a small, two-bedroomed cottage in the village with views of the green and the river beyond.  It had parquet floors and a decorative old fireplace in the living room.  In the bedrooms dark wooden beams created criss-cross patterns over the ceiling.  It wasn’t a large place but I fell in love with it instantly.

The previous owner was an elderly lady and it was obvious that she had been an avid gardener. I had some well-stocked flowerbeds immaculate with blossoming roses, creeping clematis and cheerful spring bulbs.  Birds were frequent visitors to the feeding tables scattered throughout the garden. The soil proved to be very fertile and I decided to grow my own vegetables and even won a prize for biggest marrow in the village fair.

I couldn't have been busier and I barely had any time to dwell on the lapse in my friendship with Lucy and Russ.  Instead of brooding on it I threw myself wholeheartedly into the business.  After all, building something that features in all small boys’ fantasies was the perfect distraction.

Occasionally, and always out of the blue while occupied with a mundane task, my thoughts would turn to Lucy and I would be overcome with sadness at our lack of contact.  After six months of trying I had given up.  The one-sided communication was unbearable and only brought me unnecessary pain. 

As the months passed I found myself embroiled in the odd blind date, set up by a few old dears in the village who took pity on me. Their granddaughters were all very lovely girls but they weren't Lucy.  As far as a relationship went, a month was the longest any of them lasted and generally I just felt guilty about my behaviour towards the girls afterwards.  So, after a handful of disastrous short relationships, I politely declined any further offers to be fixed up.  I was trying to fill the void left by Lucy and that was too much to expect of any other girl.

I thought about that night in the snow more often than was healthy, starting to obsess about which one of us was in the wrong.  I had hit him and that was inexcusable, but his behaviour towards Lucy was uncalled for.  When I tried to clarify my actions that night, I had a hard time distinguishing whether I’d hit him because of the disrespect he had shown Lucy or because I was jealous that he had kissed her. 

Our friendship was in tatters and it was all down to my actions that night.  After a year of no contact with either of them I realised that I had to be the one to resolve the situation. One of us had to make the first move and I was willing to swallow my pride if it meant getting things back to normal; having my two closest friends, whom I loved dearly, back in my life again.

So on Christmas Eve, a bitter-cold winter’s night, I decided to swallow my pride and seek out the restless, full of himself young man who was formerly my best friend.  Perhaps it was the Christmas spirit or the constant reminiscing I indulged in around the festive period, that gave me the urge to be reconciled with him.  Either way, I found myself planted in front of Russ's parents’ front door, trying to get up the courage to ring the doorbell. 

I stared at the decorative door knob shining brightly in the moonlight.  Russ’s mother was obsessed with everything looking its best and always had to appear perfect to the outside world.  In all the years I’d been knocking on this door, I’d never seen a speck of dirt on that brass.  I put her obsession with perfection down to poor self-esteem and always felt a pang of pity whenever I saw her.

Still trying to conjure up my courage out of thin air, I was startled when the door started opening.  Russ's parents emerged, looking very glam, obviously on their way out to enjoy the festivities.

"Oh, Charlie, lovely to see you but Russ no longer lives here. He moved out a couple of months ago. He lives on Clifton Road now, up near the church," his mother told me.

"Right, Mrs Matthews, I'll make my way there now. I hope you have a lovely evening," I said, turning towards the street.

"We will, thank you. And Charlie…" she said, touching my shoulder.

I turned back to face her.

"Yes?"

"He does miss you. He would never admit it but... you keep him grounded. Russ, needs you.  Though he may not seem it, he will be happy to see you.  He's just…"

"Proud?" I finished for her.  She nodded at me sadly.  I thanked her, got the house number and hurried towards the church.

I pulled my jacket tightly around me as I trudged up the hill.  I was glad Russ had moved out but before the quarrel had always assumed we'd end up living somewhere together when we left home.  I thought about all the important events I was missing in my friends' lives and it got me wondering about Lucy and how she was coping.  It seemed I spent every hour of my free time worrying about her. Work was a good distraction but the worry would set in once I was alone in my cottage.  I wondered whether she had managed to turn things around, whether she had sought help with her problems.  As far as I knew she was still at university so she must have been making good enough grades to stay.

I stood outside Russ's house with one fist raised in mid-air, ready to knock on his door. 
What am I doing?
I asked myself. 
What if he doesn't want to see me? What if I've permanently ruined the friendship we shared?

Then a memory of us as children came to mind.  It was the day I had first met Russ when he was crouching in a corner being picked on by some older boys.  I stood in front of him, ready to take on anyone who threw the next punch.  My intimidation worked and the bullies left.  After that Russ became my shadow. He followed me around the playground knowing that I would protect him.

Now, however, I had become the bully and not the protector.  Now I was the one throwing punches.  I felt guilty as I knocked on his door.  I could hear a commotion inside before it was opened and Russ stood there in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt.

"What, no onesie?" I joked lightly.

He stared at me, his face expressionless.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

He hesitated before flattening himself to the wall to let me pass.  I stepped into his living room, which was in complete darkness except for a roaring fire that cast dancing shadows around the walls.  The soft glow of fairy lights provided an extra source of light that was cheerful but seemed out of place in the tense atmosphere. 

"I'm guessing you're not here for a Christmas knees-up so why don't you tell me what the hell has brought you to my doorstep?" Russ challenged me.

Still angry, he stood opposite me with his arms tightly crossed and a look on his face that told me I was not welcome.

"I wanted to talk to you about that last night," I said, still holding eye contact.  If Russ knew how nervous I was about this meeting he would take advantage and lay the guilt on even more thickly.

"Oh," he said sarcastically, “You mean the night you knocked me unconscious and deeply upset our friend Lucy?"

I looked at him for a moment and tried to work out the best way to approach this.  If I gave Russ an inch he would take a mile, and in my opinion he wasn’t completely innocent in all of this himself. 

"Yes... look, Russ, I'm sorry about that night. I don't really understand what happened but the things you were saying about Lucy were uncalled for and I guess I just... snapped."

Russ was silent for a minute and the muscles in his jaw tensed as he stared at the hearth.  He looked mesmerised by the tall flames that were licking their way towards the chimney. I had never seen him look lost before.  What he said next surprised me and caused my heart to quicken slightly.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?" he asked, not looking at me, still absorbed in his study of the deep orange flames dancing a jig in the fireplace.

I sighed deeply, not really sure how to answer.

"Yes," I said, finally acknowledging the emotion I had suppressed for too long.

Russ started to chuckle softly to himself and I wondered what I had said that he found so amusing.

"We’re no longer allies then," he said, his voice deadly serious.

"What?"

"I’m your competition," he said flatly.

"I don't understand, I thought she was just another game to you," I said, raising my voice slightly. "I thought she was just another conquest."