Set Me Free

by Jennifer Collin

  ‘She runs an art gallery in one of the retail spaces at the Boundary Street site.’

  Nana Gwen reached up and smoothed his wayward hair. ‘That’s complicated,’ she said and took another sip of her tea, watching him over the brim of her cup. The café they were in was enclosed with tinted glass, cocooning them from the summer heat and the bustling crowds, but giving the impression they were part of the action outside. Craig much preferred the impression.

  He turned his attention back to Charlotte. Indeed it was complicated.

  He’d been watching her for a good few minutes, which was a rather pleasant way to pass the time. She was wearing a vintage dress this morning, a 1970s mini with bold orange and black swabs of colour. The cork wedges on her feet gave her a little more height and accentuated the length of her lovely legs. Disappointingly, her luscious hips were secreted away beneath the A-frame mini.

  He regretted the mess he'd made of things. He certainly did not regret sleeping with her, although the image of her hovering naked above him still haunted him at the most inopportune times. He couldn’t help wondering what might have been if he'd kept a clear head, and his clothes on that night. Had he been more tactical he might have gotten everything he wanted, the Boundary Street development, and Charlotte Evans, a warm, naked and regular, smoky-eyed feature in his bed.

  Craig shook his head to clear the imagery.

  What was done, was done, and, as his dad used to say, ‘You can’t stop progress’. The development application was rolling on regardless. Margie assured him last week the plans had been submitted to Council.

  As much as the collateral damage in this one pained him, the designs were good, and the project should be a success. He would come out on top and Keith would have to back off and give him free reign.

  When he spoke at the community meeting about blending the old and the new so the cultural heritage was preserved, he’d meant it. He genuinely believed in protecting urban heritage, and this was the opportunity of a lifetime. The right building in the heart of a gentrifying neighbourhood would improve the value of the whole area while preserving what made it unique. The building he wanted to demolish was so old and decrepit, it was about to collapse. Seemingly the locals, including the tenants working hazardously within, were in denial over that.

  In some ways, he was looking forward to the next meeting. To her credit, Charlotte did a bloody good job of sabotaging the first. But with the designs now complete, he knew he had a compelling argument. They’d be mad to want to hold on to that tinderbox.

  Charlotte side-stepped a determined mother with a stroller, bringing to Craig’s mind the memory of her on the dance floor at Barb’s. For the first thirty seconds she'd smoked the floor he’d been transfixed. And then as he watched those hypnotising hips swivel towards her partner, he felt an inappropriate stirring deep within that made him look away and close his gaping mouth. For the rest of the dance, he stared into his drink, but his peripheral vision betrayed him and he caught glimpses of her flying through the air to the great delight of the crowd. At the end of the dance, he glanced up in time to see her partner plant a possessive kiss on her beautiful mouth. It made him growl within, and want very much to charge across the room and tear them apart.

  But when she came back to the table, he was still rooted to the spot. As Cassette had started provoking her, he felt an urgent need to explain himself. The chances that she'd forgive him and overlook his indiscretion were extremely limited, but he wanted her to know he wasn’t an arsehole.

  His apology, for what it was worth, hadn’t been a complete failure. She softened towards him, and before they parted he could have sworn she was thinking of kissing him. The self-control he’d exercised at that moment had been exceptional, but as much as he wanted her, making things messier was not going to help anyone.

  Nana Gwen dragged his attention back to the table. ‘I think I’d like to have a look around now love,’ she said, gathering her handbag.

  ‘Sure, Nana, I’ll pay first.'

  When he turned back from the counter, Nana Gwen was gone.

  Charlotte wandered aimlessly through the market, looking at the stalls. Diane and Emily were indulging in a tense moment of bonding beneath the hands of a Chinese masseuse. Bemused by the irony, Charlotte was passing the time browsing through the mix of vintage fashion, vinyl records, general junk and gaudy tourist trade that made up the Northside Wharves street market.

  Pondering the fragile relationship between her mother and her sister, she crashed into a little old lady and very nearly knocked her off her feet.

  ‘Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?’

  The little old lady looked dazed and confused. ‘I think I’m lost dear,’ she said dusting herself off as though she'd actually fallen. Although her demeanour was frail, her cream silk dress, the kind Charlotte would reserve for weddings and the like, not the local bazaar, spoke of money and luxury. The perfume cloud making Charlotte giddy was definitely not Yardley. Her white hair, cut in a short bob, was coiffed to perfection and her make-up seamless. The pearls around her neck sat comfortably, as though they were at peace and not twisted and twirled by someone uncomfortable having something that expensive around their neck.

  Charlotte was taken aback by the honest answer. ‘Um, can I help you? Are you here with someone?’

  ‘My grandson, dear. He was just here a moment ago and now I’ve gone and lost him.’

  Clearly the missing grandson was an adult. No responsible parent would leave their child under this woman’s supervision.

  ‘Can you call him?’

  ‘Oh no, dear. What if he came back while I was looking for a phone booth? I don’t go for those fancy mobile phones you know.'

  My God. How did people survive in the modern world without a phone? How did you ever meet up with anyone, or let them know you were running late? Or find them if you lost them?

  Think, Charlotte.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, taking the old lady by the arm to steer her away from the pressing flow of people. ‘These markets can get quite busy and confusing. Shall we walk for a bit and see if we can find him?’

  ‘Thank you, dear. I do get nervous in these busy crowds. All these people pushing and shoving.’

  ‘Mmm, I know,’ agreed Charlotte, thinking of the woman with the stroller who’d almost barrelled her over five minutes ago. ‘Now, where did you last see your grandson?’

  ‘Up there I think, dear. Although I could be walking in the wrong direction. I’m not sure.’

  ‘Well, we could just stay here and wait for him to find you. Perhaps this way we won’t miss him.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. But let’s sit down shall we? My weary old legs need a rest.’

  ‘There’s a bit of a ledge over there. Would that be okay?’

  ‘Perfect.'

  Charlotte escorted her over to the ledge by an overstated water feature, dodging the crowd as they went. Once they were comfortable, the little old lady asked her what her name was.

  ‘What a lovely classic name,’ she commented.

  ‘My mother named her children after the Bronte sisters. I have a sister Emily and a brother Andrew. She didn’t have three girls, so she did her best with what she had to work with.’

  ‘And are you a fan of your namesake?’

  ‘Of course. How could you not be?’

  ‘Indeed. And what about you, dear, do you have any children?' She was a curious little old lady, but Charlotte found it quite pleasant to chat with her. It was a nice way to pass the time, and it didn’t involve spending money on more foolish wardrobe choices.

  ‘No, not even a husband.’

  ‘Won’t your boyfriend ask you to marry him?’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘No boyfriend either.’

  ‘Really? A pretty young thing like you? My grandson is single and a strapping young man. Perhaps the two of you might hit it off.’

  ‘Perhaps.' Charlotte amused her, curious to have a look at this ‘strapping y
oung man’ when he appeared. The description made her think of a country bumpkin. ‘You haven’t told me your name,’ she added.

  ‘It’s Gwen.’

  ‘That’s a lovely name.’

  Gwen chuckled, making Charlotte warm to her even more. ‘People don’t often say that to old people, love.'

  ‘I suppose. It’s still a lovely name.’

  Gwen took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you dear but here comes my grandson. Thank you for sitting with me.’

  Charlotte followed her gaze to find Craig Carmichael barrelling through the crowd towards them, a suspicious but determined look on his face. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d last laid eyes on him and she’d forgotten the effect he had on her.

  Charlotte swallowed. He was gorgeous even when he was scowling. Today he was wearing an early 90s band t-shirt that looked well-loved and authentic. His jeans were dark denim, snug and flattering, causing her to flush slightly and avert her eyes as he got closer.

  ‘Nana, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ he sternly told his grandmother, his hands forming fists by his side. His eyes flicked over Charlotte.

  ‘I got a little bit confused, dear. And this nice young lady has been looking after me.’

  Craig opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. He looked at Charlotte, back to his grandmother and then back to Charlotte. Frowning, he seemed to be trying to make sense of the situation. Charlotte was desperately trying to recover some composure of her own. After several heartbeats, Craig found some words.

  ‘Hello, Charlotte. How are you?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you,’ she replied, matching his formality. Her throat was dry. She wasn’t able to say much more.

  ‘Oh, do you two know each other?’ asked Nana Gwen, with an air of innocence that suddenly seemed forced. Charlotte threw her a puzzled look. She looked back at Craig and could have sworn he just finished an eye roll. What did that mean?

  Whatever it meant, Craig wasn’t jumping to explain their association to his grandmother.

  How would Charlotte explain it? Survivors of a one night stand?

  ‘We’re business associates,’ she opted for, filling in the stretching silence.

  Nana Gwen beamed, somewhat exaggeratedly. ‘Is that right, dear?’

  Craig jumped in. ‘We need to get going, Nana.' There was something cold in his voice that unsettled Charlotte. He was in a hurry to get away from her. Why was that? When he walked her home the other night, she thought they’d established a form of truce. His urgency was dreadfully suspicious.

  Charlotte gave him a loaded look.

  He sighed heavily, his hands loosening at his sides. ‘I’m sorry about what’s happened with your sister and her husband.' There was a hint of guilt in his tone. Had he known about the affair? Was that it? Was that why he was so edgy?

  ‘Me too,’ she said, averting her eyes.

  As she scrambled to collect her thoughts, she could feel both Craig and his grandmother watching her.

  ‘I should probably let you know we’ve made some progress with the development,’ said Craig. ‘I’ve submitted the plans to council for approval. You should be able to find them online.’

  The look she threw him this time was loaded with shock. She wished it wasn’t. She didn’t want him to think she was spooked. Nor speechless. Although she was both.

  Thankfully, he was gracious enough not to smirk. ‘I’ll be organising another community forum to discuss them soon. Probably some time next week. I’ll let you know.’

  Charlotte nodded.

  Craig turned his attention to his grandmother. ‘We should get going, Nana,’ he said. ‘Thank you for sitting with her, Charlotte.'

  ‘My pleasure,’ she murmured, looking away again. It had been; for a time.

  ‘Goodbye, dear,’ said Gwen. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’

  Charlotte doubted that very much, but the smile she gave Gwen was sincere regardless.

  Chapter nine

  Charlotte gazed up in awe at the clean Art Deco lines of the building she’d been obsessing about all week. A fixation that nagged her even as her sister’s life fell apart, and her own world threatened to come crashing down around her.

  She still hadn’t had an opportunity to search for the development plans online. Now would have been the perfect time, with Emily and Diane out of the apartment collecting Emily’s clothes, art supplies and other personal belongings from her former home. But instead of pouring over the plans, she found herself here, pouring over the architectural marvel before her.

  She snapped a few close up photos of the features and wrestled with her sketchbook. Her black and white striped maxi dress was not proving functional as she ineffectually tried to hold the book between her knees, put her camera away and search her handbag for a pencil.

  The building loomed large before her, and she need to step back to take it all in. She crossed the street and rested her backside against a sleek BMW parked by the kerb. Drawing like this, in real life rather than from a photo, was terribly old school of her, but there was nothing like recreating the lines on paper from sight. She could capture the personality of the building and recreate it with the charming nuances that could only be seen in person. There were things photographs would never show, no matter how high the resolution.

  The car beneath her suddenly blip-blipped to life, making her jump and drop her book. She put a steadying hand against her heart, only to feel it race even faster when she saw who was holding the electronic keys. Craig smiled sheepishly, looking devastatingly handsome for the second day in a row. Yet another checked press-stud shirt fit snugly across his well-toned chest, and his jeans, once again, were far too flattering. Charlotte was suddenly struggling to take in enough oxygen.

  ‘Sorry,’ he offered. ‘You seemed pretty far away, and I was actually trying not to startle you.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she blustered.

  ‘I live here,’ he said, indicating the building behind him.

  ‘Really?’

  Craig nodded, grinning at her.

  Charlotte salvaged her sketchbook from the road. His demeanour was hard to take. Yesterday he’d been cool and aloof, seemingly pissed off to find her with his nana. Why was he being so friendly and appeasing now? Suspiciously, when no one else was around, he was making a habit of behaving as if they were friends.

  It kept her on her toes, and she didn’t like that.

  ‘Is this your car?’ she asked, forcing herself to be polite. ‘Oh, I suppose that’s obvious isn’t it, with the keys and all. Sorry.' She quickly checked to make sure she hadn’t inadvertently scratched it.

  After throwing some folders on the passenger seat, Craig circumvented the bonnet to lean against the car, next to her.

  ‘Were you drawing that building?’ he asked, gesturing across the road and glancing at her sketchbook.

  He was far too close. He smelled like he’d just gotten out of the shower. She didn’t want to be thinking of him in the shower.

  ‘Yes,’ Charlotte replied, clutching her book to her chest.

  Craig smiled warmly. It did nothing to settle her nerves. ‘I’m not surprised it caught your eye. If your dining suite is anything to go by, I’d guess you have a bit of a thing for Art Deco.’

  The familiarity implied by his recollection of her furniture had Charlotte flushing.

  ‘I am curious though, how did you ever find it?’ he asked. ‘This isn’t your side of town.’

  She pondered telling him exactly what had brought her over to this side of town and decided against it in case he took it as an indication she’d accepted defeat. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she thought his development stood a chance.

  ‘I have a client out this way,’ she lied, looking away from him. She wasn’t a good liar. Only drunk people believed her lies.

  An uncomfortable moment of silence ensued. She wasn’t about to excuse herself, she had some drawing to do. And Craig
just stood there, looking at her. Perhaps she was in his way.

  As she stepped further away from the car, he asked, ‘Would you like to see inside it?’

  ‘Inside what? The car?’

  ‘No, the building.'

  He must be thinking she was simple. ‘What do you mean?' She was still wary, but now also curious.

  ‘I have a set of keys to that building. It’s a little bit rustic inside, but not too shambolic. I think you would be pretty amazed.’

  Indeed. Charlotte battled to restrain her excitement. She was screaming within. Oh my God! See inside it? How could she possibly refuse? Would it be like it was in her dream last night? She knew she should tell him to sod off and walk away, but she couldn’t leave now. He had keys. He was going to show her inside!

  She tried to muster her mistrust. He must have ulterior motives; why else would he offer something he must know she couldn’t refuse? Perhaps he wanted to press her on what she was up to with her (as yet unwritten) submission to council. Or did he want to pry her for information about Emily and Geoff on Cassette’s behalf?

  He was watching her as her mind raced.

  ‘Okay,’ she eventually replied, beaming like a giddy school girl. Whatever he wanted, it didn’t matter.

  Craig faltered and then excused himself to disappear into the apartment building behind her. It was a 1960s refurbishment, done tastefully, not gaudy or cheap; a crime she’d seen committed against other buildings of its vintage. She wondered what the apartments were like inside. She wondered what his apartment was like inside. Then, she remembered where he was going to take her, and refocused on that.

  Before she knew it, she was skipping across the street beside him and standing on the threshold of the disintegrating apartment block while he jiggled the key in the door. He forced it open and stood aside to let her in. Charlotte slipped passed him, resisting the magnetic pull, and found herself in a dream not entirely dissimilar to the one she’d had last night. The front door opened into a hall, and a set of stairs rose up to the second floor on the left. She could see the doors to three of the first floor apartments were open, the fourth was concealed behind the stairs. A thick layer of dust coated everything and some breathing apparatus wouldn’t go astray.