Chapter 8 – Charlie
Charlie grinned as she spotted the skip. She was short of materials for that day’s year two school project and knew having plenty would go some way to making up for the glue incident the day before. She’d been warned about Mr Wallace before she’d taken the job as teaching assistant, and everything they had said about him was true. For once, Charlie couldn’t rely on her looks or personality to charm him, she had to ask “how high” when Stone-features Wallace said “jump”. Not that he said anything. Even his talking voice was a bark. In his case his bite was even worse. Charlie would never look at a tube of Uhu or Pritt Stick in the same light again.
Frowning at the carpet, there was no way she could do anything with that, she stood on her tiptoes to see what lay around it. There was a bit of old copper plumbing pipe she could offer. If Mr Wallace turned his crow-like nose up at it, Charlie’s ‘self-employed wheeler dealer’ uncle could probably get some money for it.
Spotting a not-too-dirty lace curtain, she curled it up and placed it next to the carpet, alongside the copper pipe. With nothing else evident, she lifted up one corner of the carpet. “Ooh. What’s this?” She pulled out the parcel, blew off some dust, she assumed from the carpet, and read the address. “France? What are you doing here?” She turned the parcel over to read the ‘from’ but the side was blank. She looked at the remaining four sides but they too were blank. “We’ve got geography tomorrow, maybe this will help,” she thought and put the parcel with her other finds. A quick scour for other treasures proved fruitless.
The parcel was too big to fit inside her bag so she stuffed the pipe and lace curtain into it, and tucked the parcel under her left arm while she sent a text message to Evie about their plans for that evening.
Getting on the number twenty-seven bus, she showed Frankie the bus driver her pass and smiled as he nodded. She took her regular seat – second row, far right – and placed the parcel on the free seat beside her. She took the pre-rush hour bus so it would be emptier than later ones and that was especially handy as she wanted to pop into Maisie’s Blooms to get a mixed bunch of flowers. She and Maisie had been in the same class at school and Maisie always gave her a discount, occasionally a free bunch if they were past their best. Even if Mr Wallace wilted them further with one look, or hadn’t wanted to use them in any of the planned projects, Charlie felt they might go some way as a peace offering.
The doorbell chimed as Charlie pushed open the heavy old wooden door.
“Sorry, Charles,” Maisie said as the door groaned shut. “It’s sticking again. Landlord’s too tight to get a new one.”
“Your father,” Charlie laughed and Maisie nodded.
“Says it’s traditional oak. Something out of Harry Potter… from… what was the school called?”
“Hogwarts,” Charlie said as she put the parcel on the floor and rooted around in her bag for her purse.
“Course. Brain equals sieve… unless it comes to flowers. What’s on the menu for today?”
“Fish and chips, I think,” Charlie answered, straightening up.
Maisie giggled. “No, not for lunch. I mean in class. What has Stoneface got planned for you?”
“Colours and textures. Not sure that copper pipe and lace are going to go far enough so thought I’d add a mixed bunch to the list.”
“Good idea. No castoffs today, sorry, but can do you a double dose for a fiver.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Maize.”
“I’ll find my garishest paper too if that helps.”
“It would.”
“On your own today?”
“Only for an hour or so.”
Charlie watched Maisie wrap and tape the flowers, then Charlie looked up at the clock. “Jeez! Is that right?”
Maisie followed Charlie’s gaze, turning round to look up at the wall above her head. “Oh no, never is. Always fast. You’ve got plenty of time.”
Charlie breathed out. “Cool. Erm… how fast?”
“Ten minutes… eleven maybe.”
“Oh no. Only ten minutes?”
“Might be eleven. It means I can allow for traffic holdups when I’ve promised a delivery slot. You know, for Interflora and the likes. People are very particular. I don’t think anyone likes waiting in unnecessarily. Can’t say I blame–”
Charlie slapped the five-pound note on the counter, while reaching down for her bag, mouthed a “thank you” and rushed out, flower heads bobbing in the breeze.
***
The Parcel Page 8