What He Left Behind

Twenty Four

"Please Noelle, I'm begging you. I wouldn't ask if we weren't desperate."

I'm scared it will go wrong. I'm scared Charlie won't listen. But I also know that I have to make him listen. He may be similar to Austin in a thousand ways, but he's different to Austin in a thousand other ways. Charlie's determined. Charlie has people that care about him. Charlie has insane talent and a future and people that believe in him. Charlie has hope. I refuse to give up on him.

"I'll try," I sigh, giving in. How can I not?

"Thank you," Stan sighs, leaning his head back against the wall in relief. "I owe you one."

So that's how I end up stood alone on Charlie's front porch, my stomach a bundle of nerves as I knock at the door. I haven't decided a strategy for how to approach this. In true Noelle fashion, I'm diving in head-first with no forward-planning. Standard.

I feel like I should have some sort of wisdom up my sleeve bearing in mind I've been through this whole scenario before, but honestly, I'm clueless. My previous approach didn't work out too brilliantly and I can't see how this will be any different. Instead of wisdom, all I've gained is an unhealthy dose of cynicism.

After a few seconds, the door opens to reveal Charlie's father. He offers me a smile, but I think it's more for the sake of being polite, rather than because he's genuinely happy. He looks too stressed to be happy.

"Hi, sorry to bother you but is Charlie around?" I ask.

"You're in luck," he says dryly, "This is the first time in days he's actually come home. Come on in, I'll get him for you."

My stomach is in knots and it takes a couple of moments for me to force my legs to move. Clearly my body knows what's best for me better than my brain does.

"Charlie!" Mr. Hemmingway yells up the stairs before turning his attention back to me, "How are you doing Noelle?"

"I'm alright, how are you?"

"I'm okay. Look," he says sincerely, his expression becoming stony, "I wanted to ask you, since you probably know more than I do, how is Charlie at the moment?"

"How do you mean?" I ask.

"You know how I mean," he says, his tone commanding but not quite rude. Just like Charlie's.

I shrug, wondering how I can explain to Charlie's father that his youngest son, much like his eldest son, is driving himself into an early grave.

"Not so good," I admit, "I don't think he's in a very good place right now."

Charlie's father sighs, running a hand through his greying hair. "He's taking right after his brother, he is. I try my best with the pair of them but my boys are a lot to handle."

"I can imagine."

"I tell you, things would be so different if their goddamn mother had stuck around. This is all down to her, you know."

"It must be tough," I empathise, treading carefully since I'm all too aware how sensitive a topic this is for them. I hear footsteps and look up to see Charlie sauntering down the stairs. He looks dizzy and flustered and rough as shit. He's on a comedown.

"Hey," he says blandly.

"Hey."

"Err...I'd say we can talk in my room but dad will throw a hissy fit that I have a girl upstairs."

Mr. Hemmingway laughs bluntly. "Go talk upstairs," he encourages, "Noelle's a smart girl. She wouldn't touch you in your wildest dreams son. She's far too good for you." I look between the two Hemmingways awkwardly. The hurt that crosses Charlie's face is too jarring for me to feel flattered by Mr. Hemmingway's comment.