Page 7 of This Thing With Charlie

“You’re going with the loft conversion and giant roof window then?”

“I thought I could employ you as my architect. Do you have a degree in planning?”

“No, not yet.” He laughed. “Would be useful, though. I know a thing or two about roofing because we had a leak at the bakery, and I managed to fix that with a bit of help from Google.”

“Job’s yours then. I don’t know anyone else in this goddamn town anyway.”

“You know me,” he said with a little smile. “You’ll always have me.”

I smiled, and he laughed like it was a funny joke that we’d shared.

American food served daily,the sign screamed as we walked through the door. And Charlie, of course, knew all the staff by name, introducing people who greeted me with smiles and promises of a full belly and the best ice-cream sundaes this side of the Atlantic.

We chatted as we always did. I asked about his childhood and offered up mine. I told him about my parents who had me when they were far too old to parent. I told him about growing up with my dad in a wheelchair, and my mum trying to cope with a rebellious teenager when she had just survived her second stroke. I told him I knew what it was like to be alone in the world, and he looked like he was about to cry for a little while. When our food hit the table, he blamed the wetness in his eyes on the excitement of macaroni and cheese and garlic-infused beef burgers. I laughed at him and cut a piece of my cheese and bacon stack for him to try.

“You serving me up your germs?” he teased as I put a sweet potato fry in his mouth. Then he retaliated by offering up his spoon loaded with steaming macaroni and cheese. I greedily took it as he laughed and offered me a napkin to mop up the sauce running down my chin. I stole another chip off his plate. He stole one off mine.

It was an easy evening, full of our usual chatter. He now knew all about the women who broke my heart, yet I knew nothing about what made his own heart bleed. He told me about his recipes and classes, cleverly avoiding my questions about his friends and family. It was not until we were sitting with a ridiculous dessert in front of us, an oversized bowl full of chocolate brownies and scoops of ice-cream, drizzles of sauces and handfuls of chopped glazed pecans, that Charlie started to tell me something, something that felt more real.

“I think I lost a friend at the weekend,” he said quietly, licking a drop of chocolate sauce off his spoon.

“What happened?” I questioned, expecting all the worst scenarios in my head. I was curious because, although he told me millions of words, he never really let me in. I knew hardly anything about what went on in his head. Well, apart from roof windows and sailing ships and how to make incredible mince pies. I knew nothing about who he was on the inside.

“He’s not answering my texts,” he said, bringing out his phone. “I have texted him every day, asking how he’s doing, and get nothing back.”

“Maybe he’s… busy, or maybe… he’s not okay?” I tried, hoping he would tell me more. Anything to help him smile again because his face was now sadder than I’d ever seen it before.

“He’s okay, all right,” Charlie said, loading up Twitter on his phone. “Look, he’s retweeted a load of crap, all funny memes and things. Yet, he can’t just pick up the phone and text me. I just want to know we’re still good. It’s my fault, really. I dragged him into something I shouldn’t have. He wasn’t into the whole idea, and I made him go out that evening. Then he blocked me, just like that.”

Nothing he said made sense, but then suddenly he was back to being himself, showing me funny accounts on Twitter and stupid video clips that made us splutter with laugher.

We’d split the bill, so nobody could argue, yet he threw in an extra tip to the girls who served us because he knew how nice it was to be appreciated. I told him I appreciated him because I was a miserable bastard at the best of times, and he’d put up with me for almost two weeks.

He patted my back as we headed back up the hill towards town, a little unsteady on our feet, as the skies drizzled rain and the wind blew us backwards as we hit the bottom of the High Street.

“I think you need to give your friend some time,” I suggested, hoping he wasn’t too down about whatever had gone on.

“He’s a miserable bastard too,” Charlie snarled. “You know when you think you know someone? He looks so bloody innocent, but the guy is into all kinds of weird shit, and to be honest, I don’t think he likes me much anyway.”

“Probably all for the best then.”

“Perhaps,” he muttered as we reached the town square, and he pointed toward the bakery up the side street as I looked over towards my hotel.

“Thanks,” I said. “I had a really good evening.”

“I did too,” he said, suddenly looking all shy.

I should have thought. Perhaps used my brain. I should have seen every little signal and read into every one of his smiles. I was a Doctor of Medicine for fuck’s sake, yet I had somehow, got this all wrong.

Because Charlie, my Charlie, was suddenly far too close and far too warm as his breath hit my face. He was suddenly everywhere, his hands on my waist, his lips softly pressed against mine.

I was a respectable adult and should have known better. I should have hugged him and made him giggle and said all those words to make this right. Instead, the imbecilic turd that I was? I pushed him away and spat out some pathetic sentence laced with disgust.

“The fuck?” came out of my mouth at the end as Charlie recoiled in confusion.

“Oh,” was all he said.

I stood there, the fool that I was. I just stood there as he turned around and walked away. I stood there, and I suddenly didn’t know who the hell I had become.

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