Chasing Charlie

by Linda McLaughlan

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Again he was staring right inside me. Warmth bloomed inside my chest. I was kidding myself. We couldn’t possibly be friends in the long term. There was no way I could be friends with someone who made me feel like this.

  ‘Mum was on the phone just last night actually. She was asking me about my love life.’ He paused for a moment.

  I waited for him to continue and hoped my chest wasn’t flushed.

  ‘She was asking if I was seeing anyone.’

  He looked like he was waiting for me to respond but what the hell was I meant to say to that? I panicked.

  ‘Really?’ I said, my voice quavering feebly.

  ‘It was strange her asking. As I said earlier, she never does ask. It must have been something in my voice,’ John said, pausing yet again for me to say something.

  But what do you want me to say? I thought. I’ve ruined any chances of seeing you!

  ‘Am I seeing someone, Claudia?’

  I found it difficult to meet his intense stare.

  ‘Erm, are you?’

  ‘I’m asking you,’ John insisted.

  I went to reach for my water but misjudged the distance and knocked it over, sending water all over the table and onto the floor.

  Within a heartbeat, the woman from the bathroom was there, mopping it up while I apologised with small squawks.

  John reached over and took my hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, and I sat there, my heart thumping, until the woman had finished. She flashed me one more be-calm glance and we were left alone.

  ‘I think we should go, it’s getting late,’ I said.

  ‘We will when you’ve answered my question. I’m only going to ask it one more time – am I seeing anyone, Claudia?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know the answer to that, John. I didn’t think you were. I . . . ah, with everything that’s happened, I thought that meant that maybe you weren’t, rather we weren’t, but . . .’ I stuttered.

  ‘But?’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But – could I be seeing someone? Could that be possible? Could you at least think about it and get back to me?’

  I let out the air that seemed to have been trapped in my chest for a minute or more and nodded inanely, as if I had no control over my head.

  ‘I could . . . think about it,’ I said.

  36

  SAM

  On Friday morning I opened my curtains to find the sun streaming in gaily though my window and it made me want to sing. I was feeling excessively pleased with myself, having managed to get through the whole of the previous evening eating a total of thirty grapes. The day stretched ahead of me, hours and hours of uninterrupted preening. Finally, my two-week beautifying regime would be coming to a flurried conclusion. The list on my mirror had grown. I had a mud mask to apply, yet more exfoliating and a detailed analysis of my eyebrows to complete. Possible toenail painting – I thought I’d leave my fingernails until the following day. I thought I’d also pepper the day with toning yoga stretches and eat a suitably tiny amount of grapes. I patted my stomach happily. I was sure I was feeling lighter already.

  I spied my oil burner almost buried on my desk and unearthed it. It had a thick layer of dust coating the bowl so I picked a pair of knickers off the floor and wiped as much off as I could. I poured a little water in from the glass next to my bed and, after rummaging in my drawer, I found a tealight and some lavender oil. As I dropped a couple of drops into the bowl, the clean, sharp scent filled my nostrils, lifting my virtuous little spirit further. Lovely. I smiled.

  I found Ed reading the paper in the kitchen.

  ‘Morning! What a day!’ I said.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Can I borrow your lighter?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just to light my oil burner.’ I looked at him, hands on my hips, but I was smiling.

  Ed gazed at me. ‘You’re in a good mood today,’ he finally commented.

  I spread my arms wide. ‘The sun is shining!’

  Ed looked out of the window.

  ‘So can I have your lighter?’ I reminded him.

  ‘Oh, right. Of course.’ And he leant back in his chair so he could fish the lighter out of the pocket of his skinny jeans, revealing a patch of taut olive-brown stomach, a jet black line of hair disappearing into his fly. I flicked my eyes to the floor, my belly suddenly fluttering with nerves. These grapes do make a girl feel a bit strange, I told myself.

  I was finishing up my shower when I started feeling a bit odd. Sort of hungry-sick. Hungry. No, sick. No. Hungry? I couldn’t decide. It was very silly to only eat grapes really. I knew that. Imagine what Dad would say if he knew how ridiculous I was being! Maybe I should eat something a bit more substantial. Some toast maybe. Yes. That’ll be all right. Just some plain toast. No butter. Surely there can’t be many calories in a piece of toast.

  Ed was in the kitchen, making a cup of tea. He turned when he heard me come in.

  ‘Are you OK? You look really pale.’

  I didn’t answer straightaway and I suddenly felt like I needed to sit. Ed came over to me and sat down.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, holding my forehead in my hands, ‘I don’t feel that great. I was OK before my shower but now . . .’ I placed one hand onto my stomach. ‘Maybe I should have some toast or something. I think those grapes might be making me feel a bit light-headed.’

  Ed jumped up and set about making me toast immediately and I sat quietly, hoping that the good feeling from the start of the day would return. I didn’t feel like I had the energy to stand up, let alone concentrate on beautifying myself. The smell of toast soon filled the kitchen.

  ‘You know, I’ll never understand why girls do this to themselves,’ Ed said.

  ‘Do what?’ I croaked.

  ‘Starve themselves when they’re not actually overweight.’

  ‘Well, I’m not exactly a skinny number.’

  ‘You are so.’

  Ed came over and put a piece of dry toast under my nose.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  I withdrew my head from my cradling hands and looked at my toast. It didn’t produce the rush of hungry saliva I was expecting – in fact, the opposite. My stomach creaked ominously. I took the toast to my mouth anyway and tried a tentative bite from one corner. Bloody dry, all right. But I ploughed on, taking several bites and forcing myself to swallow them, one by one. Ed placed a glass of water next to me too and I took a sip of water now and then. Halfway through the ordeal I put the toast down and resumed my head-in-hands position, and waited for the food to hit my stomach and for my energy to return.

  ‘So are you looking forward to the party tomorrow night then?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Not right at this moment in time.’

  ‘You’ll be OK by tomorrow though. You’ll have a blast.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  There was silence while we both sat in our own thoughts, the clock ticking quietly in the background, the fridge humming.

  After a bit, Ed stirred and wandered back to the kitchen counter. ‘I’m sure you’re going to look amazing,’ he said to his coffee maker.

  And even in my tragic state I buzzed quietly with pleasure. He really can be a nice guy, can Ed, I thought.

  It wasn’t long after this that I had to leg it to the bathroom to be sick, after which I went straight back to bed. Ed came in as I lay, buried in self-pity, on my side. He placed some water next to my bed.

  ‘Do you need anything else?’

  ‘No,’ I groaned. ‘It must have been the Bombay mix.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The Bombay mix at Kate’s. We shared some Bombay mix.’

  Ed was quiet for a minute then said in a confused voice, ‘I’ve never had a problem with it myself.’

  ‘They had a bug,’ I groaned again.

  ‘The Bombay mix?’

  Oh my God, he was being so dense. ‘No, you twat, the kids. The kids have had a bu
g. A bug in the house. Kate had her hand in the bloody Bombay mix and so did I. Geddit?’

  ‘Oh.’ Ed sounded hurt. ‘Can I get anything else for you? A bowl for beside your bed?’

  ‘I said no, Ed, just leave me alone.’

  I lay there in misery. I hadn’t meant to be so sharp with him. I could see he was only trying to help. But I felt so horrible. Why couldn’t things just come together for me for once, like they were meant to? I had bumped into Charlie for a reason, to be in his life again, and this party was my opportunity to shine. I’d put so much bloody effort into it! I also wished I’d pulled the curtains; the sunshine seemed to make me feel worse rather than better. It was mocking me, streaming so generously in my window, as if I deserved it or something. Which of course I didn’t. Oh fuck, here comes the bile.

  I ran to the toilet again and after vomiting violently I sat on the cool floor for a bit, getting my breath back. I was vaguely aware of Ed talking on the phone in the kitchen and then I returned to bed.

  ‘Sam,’ he whispered from the door.

  ‘Yes?’ I croaked.

  ‘That was Kate, she said that the bug should only be twenty-four hours, forty-eight tops.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Right. Well, call me if you need anything. I’m around a lot today.’

  ‘Thanks, Ed.’

  37

  MARA

  I was quite busy on Friday morning. It was getting closer to the annual book festival funded by the local council. Most likely, this would be the last time it ran, being one of many things coming under the council’s sharp knife. The children’s book readings were always at the library and the staff worked really hard to try to make it as welcoming and stimulating as possible, aiming to boost membership on the coat-tails of the festival. It was a fun week but unfortunately it never made significant differences to the membership stats. Yet another reason for the council to close the doors on this place before long. The spectre of closures was looming, bigger and darker every day, over my precious library. Closures that were apparently justified cuts that needed to be made in response to the economic downturn. Downturn, I mused, was a wholly unsatisfactory word to describe the rising tide of misery that those on the bottom of the food chain experienced. I worried that things were going to get so much worse before they got better. And, as for the library closing, I simply refused to think about it. Or at least I tried not to.

  Ed called mid-morning to let me know that Sam was vomiting at home with a bug picked up at Kate’s. And I surprised myself by having a wave of fury rise up and swamp me. Bloody Sam! Could she not keep her crappy little life to herself for once! No, she had to go and ask Kate for twisted diet advice. I knew all about these grape diets, having witnessed Kate do them for years, feeling torn apart with frustration that I couldn’t do a thing about it. And now, silly Sam not only managed to come home with a bag of grapes, she was also infected. It was the last thing we needed in the house. Ed was going away on Monday on this big job. Never mind the big party Sam was going to. Honestly.

  I sat seething at my desk and then took myself outside for a walk round the block. What was wrong with me? In normal circumstances, my reaction would have been one of sympathy. Instead I just felt angry with her. I stomped along the road, trying to pound the anger out of myself. The thing was, I realised, I felt squeezed into a corner right now. Worried about Ed, frustrated with Sam. Everything happening a bit too much in my face, not leaving me any space at home just to process life and be quiet.

  I smelt him as soon as I walked through the door. Old Vern was back. He hadn’t been in for a long time and I’d started to worry. I glanced at my staff, Cindy and Laura. Their faces were scrunched in disgust, which they dropped when I caught their eyes. They were both too young and cosseted to understand why I allowed Vern to read the paper every day, let alone worried when he hadn’t been in for three weeks. They were scared of him and repulsed by his smell and couldn’t see the human being underneath. But I didn’t press the point with them – they’d come across misery in their own lives soon enough and have more empathy eventually. I strode over to them, quietly finding out how long he’d been there. Five minutes. My arrangement with him was for fifteen minutes a day. And usually you could set your watch by him at ten thirty.

  I skirted around him to my office and pretended to work while I took surreptitious glances at him through the glass. He was hunched over the paper, his face close to the print. He looked paler and more drawn than usual. Where have you been, Vern? What are my own pathetic worries compared to yours? I wondered. And then I immediately chastised myself – was I just being a condescending, guilt-ridden, middle-class moaner? I sighed and looked at the clock. It had tipped past the fifteen minutes I usually allowed him. I stood up and reluctantly went and put my hand on Vern’s shoulder.

  ‘Hello, Vern,’ I said quietly. Loud noises often frightened him.

  He didn’t look up. His stomach was pressed against the table, his hands grasped together, almost in prayer. He looked even more vulnerable than usual and I felt my heart lurch again in sympathy. I looked at the page he had open. He was reading about Syria and the growing number of ordinary people forced from their homes, miserable story after miserable story recorded on the pages of The Times in grim little black-and-white type.

  ‘Vern,’ I said again.

  He grunted to show that he was listening.

  ‘It’s time to go now, love.’

  Vern sat back from the table, taking his hands away, and sighed.

  ‘Bad news, bad news,’ he muttered.

  ‘Awful, Vern,’ I agreed.

  With difficulty he stood up and bent down to pick up his rucksack. The sum total of his belongings. He took one last, regretful look at the newspaper and then he turned, finally looking at me in the eye.

  ‘There are little ones with no place to be,’ he muttered, angry and helpless all at once. I just nodded. Vern turned and shuffled out of the library.

  I stood watching him go. I was aware of the stares from my staff and the couple of patrons at the desk, and wanted to shout at everyone to leave the man alone! He might live on the fringes but he cares about the heart of things more than can be said for you lot! But instead I took a deep breath and returned to my office and shut the door firmly behind me.

  38

  SAM

  I put one foot on the floor and stood up, and stretched gingerly. I hadn’t vomited since one o’clock that morning, the longest stretch so far. I took one foot towards the door. Maybe that’s it then. I hoped so. I shuffled out to the kitchen and saw a note placed at perfect right angles to the edge of the kitchen table. Mara.

  Ed and I are taking the kids out for the day.

  Hope you’re feeling better.

  Back around 6ish.

  M x

  My heart sank. Mara’s disapproval at me bringing a bug into the house managed to ooze from the scrap of paper. I hadn’t exactly been up and about the previous night, bar the regular visits to my friend the toilet bowl, but from the snatches of conversation I did hear, even without hearing the content, Mara’s annoyance was plain.

  It’s not my bloody fault! I wailed to myself and then clutched my stomach – greatly reduced, I couldn’t help noticing – as a violent cramp took over. I staggered to the toilet and sat down, just in time. Perhaps, I thought to myself, doubled over in pain with my eyes squeezed shut, it wasn’t actually a bad thing the others weren’t here right now.

  When they did come home I was dressing for the party. It felt like it had taken me the whole day just to get showered and have some toast and tea. My visits to the toilet had been frequent, lengthy and painful. A couple of times, I went from the toilet straight to my bed to curl up and sleep.

  Mara knocked on the door when I returned and brought in a cup of tea.

  ‘You’re not still going!’ Mara’s face, which had been wearing an expression of something like contrition, flicked into shock when she saw me in my dress.

  ‘Of cou
rse I am. I’m fine,’ I insisted.

  ‘Have you stopped vomiting?’ Mara set the cup on my desk.

  ‘Yes . . .’

  Mara looked at me. ‘But?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I buried my head in my wardrobe.

  ‘You paused.’

  ‘Did I?’ I withdrew my head. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  Mara’s lips tightened. ‘You still look awful.’

  ‘Thanks! But skinnier, don’t you think?’ I pulled my dress tight against my stomach.

  Mara sighed. ‘Do you want some supper before you go?’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right. Don’t have much of an appetite yet,’ I said, and she left the room.

  *

  The venue was half full when I got there, which was a relief. I leant against the bar, not trying to look cool – although I hoped that’s how it came across – but because I was recovering from the effort of getting there. I felt decidedly light-headed and as I waited for my drink I hungrily devoured half a bowl of peanuts before I’d realised what I’d done. I kept scanning the crowd for Charlie, obsessively wiping crumbs from the corner of my mouth as I did so, but he wasn’t anywhere. I had spotted the toilet and judged I was within a fast trot of the door, should that be necessary. So far, so good. I wiped the corners of my mouth again.

  ‘Sam,’ a familiar voice behind me called, and I turned.

  ‘Ed?’ Had I forgotten something? I thought wildly for any other reason why he’d be here. Was something wrong? But he was all dressed up. What was going on?

  He walked towards me, smiling, and from behind him, dressed in the most perfect little black dress you have ever seen, was Rebecca. Together they walked up to me.

  ‘Wh-wha—’

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Rebecca finished for me, looking smug.

  I blinked.

  Rebecca laid her pretty head on the top of Ed’s arm. ‘Dear Ed agreed to come as my date.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I felt beads of sweat form over my top lip. My weeks of grooming in preparation for the party felt like they were unravelling before the neat little package that was my sister. And I wished she’d take her damn head off his arm. We all know how gorgeous and petite you are! I felt like screaming.