His house seems different for no discernible reason. It could be because this might be the last time Charlie ever sees it, or it could be because for the first time Charlie isn't entirely scared of what is waiting for him inside.
Charlie knocks, he has a key but it seems strange to just walk in after being away for so long. This house doesn't feel like his home anymore, he's starting to realise that it never really did.
His Father's at the door in seconds. He's the exact same person Charlie remembers him being, he doesn't appear to have changed a bit. Peter Martin wears his hair cropped close to his head and always tends to sport a shirt and slacks. His belly protrudes over the waistband of his trousers and even now, at eleven o'clock in the morning, Charlie can smell alcohol on his Father's breath.
Charlie would love to be able to say he was surprised.
Peter Martin somehow manages to strike the perfect balance between looking put together and looking like he's falling apart. At first glance Charlie knows that his Father looks like a respectable man, a smart shirt, shining watch, hair combed through. He stands with an air of authority and gazes at others as if he's their king. But Charlie can see the slight sheen of sweat on his father's forehead, the way his hand trembles when it's not holding a drink.
Charlie's Father is a masterpiece until you get close enough to see it's torn.
"Son."
"Father."
Charlie steps into the house without another word. Charlie is too nervous to come up with anything else to say and Peter Martin is a man of little words anyway – until he's got a drink in his hand and you've pissed him off that is.
"How's university?"
"Good."
"You enjoying yourself?"
"The course is interesting."
Deep down Charlie knows that he's still saying things he knows his Father will want to hear. Peter Martin doesn't want to know if Charlie's made any friends or whether he's enjoying living away from home. Peter Martin wants to hear that Charlie's working hard, and focusing on his classes. Apparently nothing else should matter.
"You're still liking it then?"
"Yeah."
"I'm glad to see you."
It's one of the closest things to affection Peter Martin has ever managed and it makes Charlie swallow deeply. It would be a lot easier to let his Father down if he wasn't finally acting somewhat like a Father should.
"Dad," Charlie says.
That piques Peter's interest, it's the first time Charlie's referred to him as Dad instead of Father since the whole Daniel incident. The different between the two is amazing and it was Charlie's one little attempt at defiance.
"Son."
"We need to talk."
"About?"
There's suddenly an edge to his Father's voice, a hint of anger that wasn't there before. Charlie almost prefers it this way, this tone of voice he can deal with, it's the one he's used to.
"Everything," Charlie replies and for a moment it doesn't feel like an exaggeration.
"Go on," Peter Martin says slowly.
"I can't go on like this anymore."
And there it is, laid out in seven simple words, everything that he feels. Because the how or why of it doesn't truly matter, Charlie just knows that he can't go on tiptoeing around his Dad the way he has for the past however many years. He's sick of lying and pretending that everything is okay. Charlie isn't sure that anything has ever been okay really, not since he was born.
