Chapter Text
Usually, I start every year the same way; right after New Year, I would go for an intensive train camp in the Alps, for two weeks, with Andrea and some friends. Let's be honest, it is a great way to get back in shape. I could have done it in Monaco, of course, there were way enough gyms in Monaco. But that was not nearly as fun as doing it in the Alps.
I still had three days before leaving, three days of lazing in my apartment, playing piano, and going for a run when I wanted to. I try not to see anyone during these very few days between the camp and the holidays. We are only the second of January, meaning that for the past ten days, I have been with family and friends nonstop. I love it but I like to be alone too… It is so rare once the season starts back.
Right now, I am lying on my couch, going through Instagram. There is nothing really interesting going on, to be honest, not even completely crazy rumours of fans. I love it, sometimes, to see them trying to piece everything together with less than a tenth of the info and the worst imagination possible. They always have really funny theories. But not at this time of the year.
Last year, I spent the days with my girlfriend, Alex. But that is out of the question now. We have decided to end our relationship at least three weeks ago. Well, we… It is the official version, that we agreed on together, just life with Charlotte. But let's say that was more Alex's decision than mine. Not that I could blame her. When we became officials, she got the biggest wave of attention one could get. I would have avoided it too if I could.
Driiing
I shake the sad thoughts out of my mind and left the couch for the intercom. Leon, the concierge, always rings when there is someone authorized downstairs. Well, someone plain and simple. Luckily my address has not leaked yet and I do not get fans here. So, if someone is downstairs for me, it is probably my mum or Andrea. I am just annoyed they haven't called before…
“Yes, Leon?” I ask in French, pressing the interphone button.
“There is a registered letter for you at the reception, Sir.” My concierge answers in his always so professional voice.
“Oh… Do you need my signature or something to get it?” I just wonder, not sure why he calls me for that.
Usually, when a parcel arrives here, he keeps it downstairs and gives it to me the next time he sees me. But I always tell him that I have something coming. Other than that, … I do not receive anything usually. My mail usually gets sent to my agent.
“Yes, Sir. That is what “registered” means.” Leon said in a deadpan voice.
I get my shoes that I quickly lace, trying to imagine what this letter is for. As I have said, my agent deals with most if not all this kind of stuff. I have not paid an electrical bill in my whole life because he does this for me. Same for the mail from Ferrari or this kind of stuff.
“Ah, here is M. Charles.” Leon says with a neutral tone when I step into the hall. He is behind his perfectly tidy bureau, looking at some postman who looks quite annoyed, until he sees me. I can pinpoint the exact moments he understands that the Charles Leclerc he has on his address book is me.
“Hello, how are you?” I ask with my perfect smile, sliding right back into my PR-prooved self.
“I… I… I need your signature here.” The postman manages to say, holding out some paperwork.
I smile once more and take the papers, reading them quickly. I have learned to always read what people hand me. Once, I have almost signed a marriage certificate. But this time, it is simply a paper stating that I have indeed received the papers from…
“Norway?” I exclaim, looking at the name of the expeditor country with surprise. “This is from Norway?”
“Yes, Sir. If it… If it is written on the paper.” The postman says after a little hesitation.
Well, that is a surprise! I know only one person in Norway, my best childhood friend Theophile, but I don't see why he would send me a letter. We have spoken together just a few days before, right after Christmas. His wife, Abi, is expecting their second child any day now, maybe it is a birth announcement? But why doesn't he have sent it by email like usual? Or it is the “present” that Eliza, my goddaughter, has said she made for me.
“Thank you. Have a nice day.” I say after signing the paper and taking the thick envelope he gives me.
“Could I… Could I take a picture?” He asks in a trembling voice.
My concierge takes the picture after having made us move in front of a non-recognizable wall, politely reminding the postman that he is of course not supposed to share any information he has gained during his work. I smile when he does it, knowing how protective he can be.
I look at the envelope on my way back to my third-floor apartment, curious. It has some Norway's logo on it, which I first find surprising. But what do I know about it? Maybe they put every letter envelope when they leave the country.
As I opened it, I find multiple pages inside. Well, if it is Eliza's present, she has drawn a complete exhibition this time. But immediately when I take the pages out of the envelope to put them on my coffee table, I can see that these are not some four years old drawings.
These are legal papers, from the Norwegian government.
And in the middle of it, a handwritten letter, or a photocopy of a handwritten letter. I take it first, not really knowing why. I can feel in my gut that this is not something good… It is a letter, dated back to the 30th of December, written in a handwriting I do not know.
“Charlie,
Let's be honest, I would have preferred to speak to you face to face or at least on the phone, rather than writing to you – or more dictating to you since it is a nice nurse lady who is writing for me – but we do with what we can.
If you are reading this, it means that the surgery didn't go well. The doctors have said it is a 50/50 percent chance that I am walking out of there alive. Well, the coin fell on the wrong side apparently. I am with Abi as you are reading these words. Because Abi is dead too, if you don't know it yet. We got into an accident, a nasty one. The doctor said she didn't suffer, neither did the baby, that it was a clean death. I am happy she went first. She doesn't have to worry about leaving Eliza alone in case the surgery goes bad.
This letter is for that. If I am dead too, Eliza doesn't have anyone left. My parents died – and let's be honest, I would have not trusted them with Eliza, and Abi's mother passed away a with months ago too – her dad is a douchebag, in prison, that doesn't even know about Eliza, and I really want to keep it that way (it is important that he never sees Eliza, Charlie. He used to beat Abi when she was a kid, I don't want that around my daughter). You are her godfather; you are the only family she can count on.
Take care of her correctly, Charlie, I will be watching you from above. I want to see her by your side every day, I want to see her laugh, I want to see her discover the world by your side. I want her to be loved every second, and to know she is loved. I want her to be happy, to become the most wonderful person the world has ever seen, and I know that by your side, she will have all that. I know you will take care of her as your daughter, that you will make sure she is safe and happy, and that you will show her what it is to be strong and nice.
She is your responsibility to love now, just as you and your parents have loved me when I had no one. And you will see, if you love her enough, she will be the best thing that has ever happened in your life, just as she was in mine.
I love you, brother. Be the best parent for my daughter, will you?
Theophile”
I just have the time to turn before I throw up, right on the expensive carpet. My whole body is trembling like crazy; I can barely see through the tears that are running down my cheeks.
Theoph' has been my best friend since we were five, when he moved in next to our place, with his grumpy uncle. My family took him basically in, having him at our places most days. We grew up like brothers. We didn't see each other as much now, since he was living in Norway and I am changing continents every weekend, but we still spoke to each other every time we could. Shit, I had called him for two hours two days after Christmas! They were fine, Abi, Theoph', Eliza and the baby, everyone was fine!
Eliza.
The vomiting stopped. He wrote to me, probably minutes before going into surgery, for his daughter. My goddaughter, that little bundle of joy that I had not seen more than five times in her life. That little girl that was now an orphan, all alone…
I took the page back. Under the text, the same handwriting had continued.
“This is from Linda Morris, the nurse of your friend. I just wanted to give you a bit more context.
Your friend and his family got hit by a drunk driver around four in the afternoon. As he said, his wife and the fetus died on the impact. The first responders extract your friend and his daughter. Your friend had important internal bleeding and needed to be operated on. He was conscious for about two hours before going into the surgery. He saw his daughter and asked me to write this letter because he wanted to be sure she was with you and not ending up in social services. He has insisted that you were the only person he would trust with her.
He suffered multiple hemorrhages during surgery and despite the efforts of the doctors, he succumbed to them at 21:07.
Elizabeth suffered only minor injuries during the crash. She has suffered a mild concussion and some bruises, but she is miraculously ok. Be sure that she is well taken care of. She has asked about you a handful of times.
My sincere condolences.”
I got sick again. Eliza was in the car when they crashed. She saw her mum died and her dad… I couldn't bear even the thought of her little eyes seeing all of that. Couldn't bear the thought that she had lost both parents. Couldn't bear the fact that Theoph was dead.
I read the two messages again and again, hoping I would find some indication that this was only a dream. Not a prank, because Theoph would never do that, but maybe I was sleeping and unable to wake up. Maybe I would wake up to discover that Theoph was fine, that Abi just had a baby, and that Eliza was with them, happy to be a big sister.
Maybe…
My eyes fell onto the other papers. Official letters from the Norwegian government.
Death certificates. I throw up one more time when I read the name Theophile Alceste Raymond Bastion. And another when I see the death certificate of Boy Bastion, an unborn baby. Abi's is there too. Three proofs of the disaster that happened. That happened three days ago. They have been dead for three days…
I am not able to read any other paper. My breath is shallow, I can barely see my hand because my sight is blocked by the tears that are running like crazy from my eyes. My legs are weak trembling when I try to stand up. I am covered in vomit, as my carpet is, but I couldn't ever care less. My best friend is dead, how could I care?
I should have taken my phone, and called Lorenzo or my mum. I did not. I am too hurt to see anyone else. Too hurt to see the pain in their eyes, the mirror of mine.
I don't want to go to another funeral.
That thought makes me cry harder. I have been to too many funerals. Jules, dads, Anthoine… I can't go to another one. I just can't lose anyone else. This one is the one that makes the cup full. I won't walk away from that one…
Except that I can't not continue. I can't just refuse to go to the funerals or decide to let myself go. I can't cry for the one that was like my third brother because there is Eliza.
Eliza who is actually alone, whose world has completely collapsed in a second. Eliza who is at the other end of the world, probably crying for her dad and mum. Eliza who has asked for me multiple times.
And because of Elisa, I turn around, take a deep breath that I regret immediately because of the smell of the vomit, and take the next paper. Some legal jargon there, explaining that as Elizabeth Charlotte Morgan Bastion's godfather, I am her default legal guardian, responsible for both her and the assets her parents have left her.
There is a paper explaining the steps if I refuse to take guardianship of her. I don't even read it. In his letter, Theoph has not asked me if I could take her. He assumed I was going to, he couldn't even imagine me refusing it. And he is right. It is not even an option to leave Eliza there, all alone.
I look through every paper, until I find some number. My hands are trembling when I take my phone. There are a few rings, during which I almost put it down as I have no idea how I am going to speak without crying.
“Hello, Palmerston North family services. How can I help you?”
It is a miracle when my voice doesn't break down right there.
“I am… am calling for a child in your care. Elizabeth Bastion.”
“Are you a family member of the child?”
“I am her godfather. I… I just received the papers telling me that I am her guardian now.”