Page 1 of Charlie Sunshine
ONE
CHARLIE
I stare over the library counter at the small bespectacled man who is grinning at me, and I sigh. Heavily.
“Mr Flint, we’ve had this conversation before. You cannot keep putting your name and telephone number in the back of the Mills and Boon large-print books.” His grin widens, and I shake my head. “The Mills and Boon publishing house was created to bring affordable romance to women all over the world, but I don’t think they ever imagined it would be in this way.” I attempt to look stern. “If it happens again, I’m going to have to fine you. No more defacing of the library stock.”
He nods at me and winks before taking his library card back and trotting through the library in the direction of the large-print romance section.
Bethany, my senior library assistant, comes to lean against the counter next to me. “He’s like the world’s oldest and smallest sex pest,” she says in a marvelling voice.
I lean my elbows on the counter and stare after him. “He’s not going to take any notice, is he?”
She laughs. “Nope. You’re too nice for your own good, Charlie.”
I stretch and look at my tiny best friend, whose hair is coloured green this week. We’ve known each other since we were lowly library assistants together. “It’s not my fault that you’re fiercer than a tiger.”
She laughs again and nudges me. “You’re far too nice. They sense that you’re a bloody pushover.”
“I am not,” I say indignantly. “Last week I totally told that bloke off for jamming the photocopier and losing his temper about it.”
“And what happened?”
I sink slightly. “I did all his photocopying for him.”
Her laughter would be too loud for a university library, but this is an old public library in Southwark, so no one turns a hair. I cast a quick look around to make sure everything is okay and smile. There might be water stains on the ceiling and a strange smell in the children’s library, but this is my little kingdom, and I love every inch of it passionately. I need to because it’s an old Carnegie building and, along with the gifts of the beautiful exterior and the parquet flooring throughout, comes a list of DIY jobs as long as my arm and a council that seems determined to only spend a tenner on its upkeep.
I think of the teetering pile of paperwork on my desk upstairs and groan. When I became a librarian, I had dizzy visions of inspiring readers and working amongst books all day long, my fingers touching authors’ words and handing them down to generations. I also had a very rosy view of the old Browne book-issue system, picturing myself flicking quickly through the cards and staring over the top of my glasses at people. The reality is that I don’t wear glasses, the library card system was thankfully replaced with an online version, and I spend so long on paperwork that the only reading inspiration I provide is when I recommend a book to someone on the Tube. However, I love the job passionately, and I could never do anything else.
I ease back from my thoughts, and a quick check of the clock tells me that it’s break time. “Sue, you’re up,” I call.
“Ooh thanks, Charlie,” the older lady says. “My feet are bloody killing me.”
“Were you out dancing last night?”
“We certainly were.” She laughs. “The bruises on my feet from my husband will stay with me for the rest of the week. The jive doesn’t make allowances for his size twelves.”
“Was he always a bad dancer?” Bethany asks.
Sue smiles. “Oh yes, but he was gifted with talented moves in other and much better areas. The man’s hips are poetry in motion.”
“I willneverlook at him the same way again,” I say faintly, and she giggles and moves off towards the back of the library and the door to the staff areas.
I lean more heavily against the counter, enjoying the peace that usually descends at this time of the morning. The first rush is over, and now the library has an air of quiet bustle. We’ll pick up again as it gets closer to lunch and people come in to use the computers. I can feel tiredness tugging at my body, but I refuse to give in and straighten up instead.
“Why didn’t you take the first break?” Bethany asks chidingly.
“Why would I do that?” I pull the stack of books towards me that the little sex pest left behind and grab the Tipp-Ex from the drawer.
“Charlie.” Something in her voice makes me look up. “You look knackered,” she says quietly.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just a few late nights.”
“Oh really? You would need to have lived the life of Mel Gibson to earn the massive circles under those pretty eyes.” I smile but don’t answer, and she sighs. “You’re on break next,” she says firmly. “And you’re going to stay up there. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do in your office. Like sleep on the sofa or pass out on the floor.”
A deep voice comes from the side of us. “That sounds like my day. You didn’t tell me that you’d gone into banking, Charlie.”
I look up and can’t stop the wide grin creeping over my face at the sight of my best and oldest friend. “You’re one letter off.”
