Page 66 of Charlie Sunshine
“Oh, do you know each other?” Joan asks, smiling. “That’s good. It’s so awkward being the new boy in the group.”
“New boy?” I ask.
Misha appears to be deliberately avoiding my gaze and staring intently at Joan.
“He knocked on the door,” Joan says, “and we let him in. Hopefully, that was okay, Charlie. He knew the password.”
“What password? We haven’t got a password,” I say stupidly.
Misha stirs. “I think you should have one and it should be ‘Rude Runaway,’” he says succinctly, still not looking at me.
I swallow, all too aware that everyone else is staring at me. “Oh okay, that’s an interesting thought,” I say, my voice echoing loudly. “It’s fine that M-Misha is here.” I pause to gather myself. “Let’s grab drinks and food and discuss last week’s books.”
The next few minutes are spent making sure that everyone has everything they need. But even as I serve the tea or pour wine, I’m conscious of Misha’s figure standing on the far side of the table. He’s dressed in one of his costly suits—a navy Marc Jacobs with a subtlecheck. He looks wealthy and successful and as far away from me as if he were on Mars.
I edge towards him as the others take their seats, talking amongst themselves. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“What do you mean?” He gestures at the array of books. “I’m attending my first ever book club. How happy that must make you.”
“You don’t like talking about books,” I say through gritted teeth. “You say it takes all the enjoyment out of reading.”
“What a silly boy I am,” he says mockingly, his eyes glittering. “Because this right here is very enjoyable, Charlie, and let’s face it, I could really do with a reason today to turn my frown the right way up.”
As I try to think up a response, I become aware that all eyes in the room are on us.
“Everything okay?” Rita says loudly. “Shall we get down to it?” An older lady, she’s small and bossy and a massive gossip. She was very rude to Joan when she joined, and now they have an ongoing passive-aggressive feud where they compete over who is the most bookish person in the group. It’s one of the reasons why none of the rest of the staff want to run this club.
As if on cue, Joan sniffs. “Always in such a hurry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure Charlie knows what he’s doing, Rita. He is the head of the group, after all.”
“That makes me sound like I’m leading a group of militia,” I say nervously. I sneak a glance at Misha, automatically expecting his usual sardonic amusement—a wink or a smile. But his face is stony and distant. I swallow hard.
“Okay,” I say far too heartily. After sitting down, I grab a book with a very gloomy brown cover. “Let’s get started. I thought we’d discuss this one first. What did everyone think of it?”
Rita puffs up like a pigeon. “Well, I thought that the central theme of disassociation was very well done through the use of beautiful metaphors and?—”
“Tart, Misha?” Joan says, interrupting Rita’s flood of words as she offers a plate to Misha.
“It has certainly been said before, but how did you know?” Misha says, taking one.
Joan laughs loudly. Rita’s mouth moves for a few seconds, but no words are coming out.
“They’re so yummy,” Joan says. “Charlie makes beautiful cakes and biscuits.”
“He does indeed.” Misha shoots me an inscrutable glance.
“Oh, you’ve had them before?” she asks, startled.
“Oh yes, I’m very familiar with Charlie’s buns,” he says. “Very springy.”
There’s a stunned silence, and I laugh nervously. “Fnarr fnarr.” The group stares at me, and I turn determinedly to Rita. “Please go on, Rita.”
“Are you sure?” she says, a slight snap to the question. I nod, and she inclines her head regally. “Well, of course, Charlie. You are the boss, after all.” She smiles at the group and many of them shift awkwardly on their chairs. Mr Pinter holds his Bakewell tart to his chest protectively as if she’s going to take it away from him at any second. “Hmm, as I said, I thought that the central relationship was handled beautifully, but occasionally it seemed a bit overdone to me. Too much reliance on metaphors and a simplistic view of love.”
Misha shifts. “Yes, but what did you think of the main character’s reaction of flight when they slept together for the first time? Did you think it was wise? Or a bit of a gitty thing to do?”
There’s a stunned silence, and I blink and look down at the book.I can’t remember that,I think, opening the cover. Where did he… Oh!
I glare at Misha, who sits back happily and bites into his tart.
