Page 63 of Always the Bridesmaid

‘It’s all worked out for the best but I don’t know that I can ever repay them for their loyalty and their belief in me. For their hard work and investment in me. And I’ll never shift the guilt of how I threw that back at them when I quit university.’

I look around us and see that we are now in the Commons chamber – obviously not in session. It’s smaller than I would have imagined from TV but the rows of green leather upholstered benches are just as I have seen before and they line either side of the room. The Speaker’s chair is at one end and it is as large and grand as I anticipated. There is a box-like piece of furniture in the middle of the room, equidistant between both sides of benches, where the prime minister opens that big fat book on the news. Charlie tells me I’m looking at the house table and a mace.

‘Have you had this conversation with your parents?’ I ask.

He looks at me almost with surprise on his face. ‘They lived it. There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Charlie, I don’t know your parents but I think I’m starting to get to know you better and I think you’ve done incredibly well for yourself. Please don’t take that to be patronizing; I don’t mean it that way. I think for anyone to find their passion and find their feet in the world is impressive. You keep striving and getting better and I’ve seen you before you go out on stage. You push yourself every time. I don’t think you need to have any guilt and if your parents are as decent as they sound, I’m sure they agree.’

Charlie turns his head sharply, almost aggressively quickly, and tells me, ‘With respect, Sarah, you don’t know what I’ve put them through.’

He’s misunderstood me, I think.

‘I appreciate that, Charlie, I’m just saying that if you—’

‘Can we just have fun today? Please?’

I know the conversation is over. I nod but he has already followed the tour group out of the chamber and away from me.

I hang back and pretend to be appreciating the room for a minute or so longer, giving Charlie space, which I think he might appreciate. All I’m actually thinking, as I look around the now empty room, right before another tour group moves inside, is how sad it is that Charlie can’t appreciate the complete inaccuracies of his words.

The tour ends after one more corridor and by the time we’re outside of Westminster Abbey, on the sidewalk, it’s as if our conversation about his past never happened.

There’s no remnants of animosity or anger as he asks, ‘Hungry?’

It’s early afternoon and after being on our feet since Charlie picked me up at the hotel this morning, I’ve worked up a good appetite.

‘There’s a proper British pub nearby if you fancy the full experience?’

We walk a few minutes to a traditional public house. It has deep-red facias and gold trims on the signage outside. Inside, there are oak tables to match an oak-top bar and several booths are furnished in deep-red leather. We take one of the booths and peruse a large two-sided menu.

‘Tell me, what do I need to eat to get the full British culinary experience?’

‘It’s got to be beer-battered fish and chips,’ Charlie tells me. ‘Though this is a British pub with a typically British pub grub menu, so I’m sure you’ll be good with any choice.’

I turn my menu over to review the drinks options then set it down on the table, patting my hands on top of it affirmatively. ‘Nope. If you tell me I need fish and chips, that’s what I’m having.’

Charlie orders the same and we each order a pint-sized soft drink to replenish after our hours of activity. We end up falling down a rabbit hole of British history which then somehow burrows into movies of historic significance and their many factual discrepancies. Charlie and I agree to disagree on the fact that he is ruining Hollywood gold for me by changing the story of William Wallace that I understand from Mel Gibson, and the events of Queen Victoria’s life that I’ve learned from Emily Blunt.

Nearly an hour and a half has passed when we head out for stop number nine at Westminster Bridge.

We don our top hats once more and Charlie takes a selfie of us with Big Ben poking out of my head. We are near the front of the queue when the bus arrives. Charlie briefly chats to the driver and after he ushers me upstairs to the open top deck, he informs me that she’s a friend; she also works the comedy circuit and this is her side hustle.

‘She’s good,’ he tells me. ‘It’s just a matter of time and luck for her.’

I admire how supportive he is of other comedians, rather than competitive, like I see so often in the legal field, with men and women constantly beating each other up in the proverbial sense in order to get a jump up the ladder.

From up here, we have an amazing view as we drive through the city. There’s a slight breeze in the air and when the bus picks up speed, I’m forced to hold onto my hat. The wind blows in my face, cooling against the warmth of the sun. We drive alongside Hyde Park and I tell Charlie, ‘I’d like to go for a walk down there.’

‘If you can trust me, I’m going to go one better than a walk but that’s tomorrow, during Captain Charlie's Second Day of Touristy Fun.’

I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the sun, trying to soak in the welcome vitamin D.

‘I trust you,’ I say. ‘But I do think you need to work on your branding. Surely you can do better than Captain Charlie's Second Day of Touristy Fun.’

‘Hey, I’m not a man of many words but like most good things, it’s quality over quantity, no?’

‘Charlie, don’t lie to me. I haven’t been able to shut you up all day.’

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