Page 30 of Charlie Sunshine
SIX
MISHA
I sense trouble as soon as Charlie and Harry come into the bar. I’m standing near the huge fireplace warming my backside and cradling a glass of malt whisky when they appear.
Charlie arrives first. He’s dressed in black skinny jeans with a tight black jumper, and he’s carrying the grey tweed coat that I bought him for Christmas last year. His hair has been slicked back and he looks unusually sleek. Harry arrives a few minutes later dressed all in black, including his expression. He looks like someone has vomited into his underwear.
I repress a smile. I’m not sure why it makes me so happy that they’re having problems. Maybe my mum is right, and I need to start aligning my chakras because my personality is obviously on a downturn if I don’t want my best friend to be happy.
My inner smile drops a peg or two when I think of how I’d found him on the beach this evening. He’d looked sad and worried, and I couldn’t stand it. I’ve never been able to cope with Charlie being unhappy. It throws my whole world out. However, helping Charlie be with that wanker Harry would do the opposite of making him happy.
I throw my drink back, savouring the peaty burn, and watch Jamie the birthday boy greeting Charlie as enthusiastically as a golden retriever. There’s something rather endearing about Jamie. He met Charlie on a fundraising day for public libraries. Get Charlie on the subject of the shortfalls in library budgets. I dare you. He’s loudly passionate.
Anyway, Jamie imprinted on him like a very posh duckling, turning up wherever we happened to be, his face alight with admiration for my gorgeous librarian. Jamie’s family are immensely wealthy, and it seems he has little else to do but follow Charlie around. However, he doesn’t grate on me like Harry, and we’ve accepted him into our group happily, if not a little bewildered. It’s puzzling how someone so rich could find it good fun to hang out at Charlie’s flat which seemed to be vying for slum decor of the year. I think Jamie accepts that Charlie doesn’t see him as a potential love interest, and he’s definitely gained a tiny bit of my approval by staying around to become a friend to him.
Now he hugs him, smiling happily at the brightly wrapped parcel that Charlie hands him. I roll my eyes. I bet it’s a book. Charlie is renowned in our group for giving books as presents that he wants to read himself. Sometimes he’ll even buy his own copy so the lucky recipient can have lengthy conversations about the book with him. In my case, he usually just borrows it back after a few days. Never fails to make me smile.
A waiter appears in the doorway. “Dinner is served,” he says and gestures us into the private dining room where we’ll be eating tonight. The table is long and tiny cards with our names on them mark our places. I’m relieved to find that I’m not sitting next to Harry. His personality would give me indigestion. A multitude of candles sparkle in their glass bowls on the table. More candles burn in the windows, their reflections making the glass glisten, and fresh flowers emit a heavy perfume that saturates the air.
It’s a lovely view, and I smile as I see Charlie looking at the candles approvingly.
He catches my smile. “What?” he asks.
I gesture at the candles. “The place is made for you.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but Harry turns back. “Charlie, apparently you’re sitting with me,” he says sharply and gestures to the place setting in front of him imperiously. I glare at him. If he’d clicked his fingers, he’d have been more subtle.
Charlie looks at him for a long moment, and I puzzle over Charlie’s expression as I sit down. I realise with shock that it’s detachment. It’s all wrong on Charlie’s face, like he’s trying on someone else’s skin for a joke. Typically, he’s sociable and warm with his boyfriends. He’s always concerned for their well-being. I suspect that being with Charlie is like having him wrap you in a warm blanket like the ones on his bed.
There’s something almost insolent in Charlie’s leisurely amble over to where Harry is waiting, fingers tapping on the chair. The corners of my mouth tip up in approval.
Waiters start to move around us, serving the starters, and the room fills with the sound of excited chatter. I sip my wine and look around.
These people are really not my sort of crowd. They’re insanely posh, for a start. I deal with people like them every day, catering to their demands and their arrogance, and they tolerate me because I make them a lot of money. Or rather, I deal with their daddies because this sort is the next generation. Not quite ready to take over the reins of the family business or to marry the right men and pop out the next load of self-entitled children with names like Tarquin or Sebastian, they exist in the here and now, their whole lives dedicated to the pursuit of fun. But the right kind of fun. The trendy, expensive kind of fun.
I’ve skied alongside people like this, sat on beaches in far-flung places and listened to their cut-glass accents. Their voices are always loud, as they’re totally unconcerned with what ordinary people might think of them. Candlelight flickers across the tanned shoulders of the girls and makes their unlined faces glow.
The food is superb, but I pick at mine. I’m not feeling this weekend, but I knew it would be like this. It’s not as if I was expecting a fun time. I’m here for Charlie. My eyes automatically seek him out. He’s leaning across the table talking to Jamie, and Jamie’s laugh rises high above the noise of the group.
The girl sitting opposite me looks over too, and her expressionpinches in disapproval. She’s beautiful with long red hair that glows in the candlelight, but the scowl on her face makes her look almost ugly.
The blonde girl next to her nudges her. “What’s up with you?”
“Just looking at Jamie slobbering over that Charlie bloke.”
“What’s the problem with that?”
The redhead shrugs. “It’s just such a massive waste of his time. Oliver tried to set him up with Lorcan, but Jamie didn’t want to know. Too obsessed with his librarian. He works in a council library, for God’s sake. It’s so common. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were at Oxford or Cambridge.”
“He’s very good-looking though,” the blonde girl offers. “All that hair is lovely, and he’s got a smashing smile.”
The redhead shrugs. “I can’t see the attraction myself. God knows what he has that Lorcan doesn’t.”
“Brains,” I offer, and the two girls stop talking abruptly, staring at me. “Just a thought,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “Or maybe the appeal is that Charlie’s family aren’t an advertisement for years of interbreeding.”
“How rude,” the blonde says, licking her lips and staring at me with sudden interest.
Great, I’ve got one who’s attracted to rudeness.
