Page 67 of Charlie Sunshine
“Erm,” Rita says in a high, flustered voice, rifling through her own copy of the book. “Erm, I really can’t remember that bit. I think I must have skimmed over it.”
“Say it isn’t so,” Joan says happily, and Rita glares at her.
Joan turns to Misha, taking a massive swig of her wine. “Please elaborate, Misha. I must say it’s very nice to have new blood in the group. Groups can get sostale,don’t you think? Rather like councils when one member has been in power for too long. When everyone is just ripe for the sound of a new person’s voice.”
I swallow hard, but Misha hasn’t the sense to seem even remotely scared at what looks very much like an attempted coup.
“I’d be delighted to,” he says smoothly. “When the two main characters slept together, the hero buggered off before the other character woke up. I found it disturbing and bothersome, to tell you the truth. Entirely spoilt my enjoyment of the rest of the book.” He stares into space with a winsome look on his face. “Who woulddosuch a thing in real life?”
Wanker,I mouth at him, and he shrugs happily.
Old Mr Jessop helps himself to another biscuit and watches Rita’s frantic flicking through her book with every sign of enjoyment. “Didn’t read it myself,” he says cheerfully. “Far too many pages. I read in bed,” he confides. “This sort of book hurts my wrist when I’m holding it up.”
“How delightful,” Rita mutters. “Perhaps Charlie should weigh the books before he makes his selections.”
“Far too manywords,” Mr Jessop says loudly. “Seems like even you didn’t have a chance to read them all this time, Rita.”
“Oh,” I say quickly as Rita flushes bright red with temper. “Shall we move on to another book?” I pick up one of the books randomly from my pile. “I found this enjoyable,” I say in a determined voice. “The two women at the centre of the story were lively characters, and the mystery was very engaging. Did anyone else read it?”
A few people nod, including Rita, who looks rejuvenated at the change in book. “Oh yes,” she says loudly. “Of course, I guessed the mystery straight away.”
“Of course you did,” Joan mutters, taking another long drink and draining her glass. She waves it at me for another refill. Unfortunately, she gets drunk easily and, if she’s drunk, she’s quite verbal with Rita. I look at her dubiously before giving in and pouring more wine.
“Yes, I find that if you study human behaviour as much as I do that there are no surprises in life,” Rita says loudly. “The characters’ behaviour was very predictable, but engaging nonetheless.”
“Really?” Misha says, cutting through her speech like a great white shark through water when it’s spotted a seal.
“Oh God,” I mutter.
“Did you say something, Charlie?” Joan asks.
“I was just going to say ‘Oh God, I hope we don’t run out of wine,’” My voice sounds slightly desperate. “You know, because of all the… wine.”
“Did you have something to say, Misha?” Joan asks, her voice slurring slightly. “I must say I like the sound of your voice. It’s very deep.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling at her with all of his considerable charm. “I was just going to say that sometimes characters surprise us. I mean, take these two. Friends for so many years and then as soon as there’s a change in circumstance one of them can’t handle it and runs off quicker than a greyhound after a rabbit.”
“Like what?” Rita asks. “Whatchange of circumstance?” She takes a large glug of her wine and starts to leaf through the book.
“Can’t you remember that bit?” Joan asks.
“I must have missed that part,” she says through gritted teeth, her cheeks flushing. “You know, because?—”
“Of all the skimming, yes,” Joan says sympathetically. “It must be a problem having your fingers insomany pies without people asking you to stick your digits in there in the first place.”
“I beg your pardon,” Rita says loudly.
Joan takes another swig of her wine and waves her hand regally. “Granted.”
Rita stares at her. “No, I meant–”
“Okay,” I break in loudly. “Getting back to the book. Did anyone else find the mystery easy to solve? I thought that the methods of murder were fascinating and possibly an allegory of the way that society?—”
“I liked the bit where the librarian was a complete wanker,” Misha says with a great deal of relish in his voice.
“Where isthat?” Rita cries, turning the pages so forcefully that a couple of them rip. “I can’t remember a librarian.”
“I think Misha might be getting his books mixed up,” I say quickly, shooting him a glare. “There’s none of that behaviour in this book.”
