Chapter 82
Once in a Lifetime
London. Three years later.
A flash pizza restaurant somewhere in Pimlico. The Italian Stallion. White and red décor. There was the scent of garlic and the sound of Lionel Richie and the feeling of fresh money. The place was full of men in suits, and women with big hair, and boozy chatter.
And there with the Ghost was the Dreamer, both standing in their flared trousers and sandals. The Dreamer was staring in disbelief at the sight of Charlie Applewood as he sat talking to Wilbur and eating lunch.
‘Wow. Charlie’s changed …’
Charlie had changed. Balding scalp, white shirt. He was looking a bit sunburnt and now wore glasses. He was thirty-eight years old.
‘But shh.’ The Ghost gestured over to Wilbur and Charlie at their table. ‘I think you need to listen to this.’
And so the Dreamer listened. And at first, there was nothing disconcerting. The two lifelong friends chatted about Charlie and Claudette’s recent holiday to the Costa Brava. Then they talked about Sheffield Wednesday’s chances that season.
Charlie recommended that Wilbur watch a TV show that he and Claudette loved called Cagney & Lacey and read the ‘really bloody powerful’ Alice Walker novel The Color Purple. At which point Wilbur said he had no time to read or watch TV any more.
‘Wilbur Budd has no time to read!’ the Dreamer exclaimed. ‘Never thought I would hear the day.’
‘What about music?’ Charlie was saying. ‘Bowie’s playing … The Serious Moonlight tour. His biggest ever. I know he’s gone a bit corporate but so have we. And it’s still David bloody Bowie, so I was wondering if you’d like to get your glad rags on and go to Wembley Arena with me?’
‘Sorry, Charlie. No can do. I’ve got no time right now.’
‘I had time!’ wailed the Ghost. ‘I had all the time in the world!’
Charlie and Wilbur ate their pizzas in silence for a while.
‘Okay, I had my priorities wrong. But I don’t think I’m a bad person,’ said the Dreamer, sticking his chin up in mild defiance. ‘I think I’m pretty normal.’
‘Yes. But then there’s nothing more normal than to lose yourself.’
‘I know. Okay, we struggled to get over Dougie … and Mam dying brought everything back … and there was a bit of working-class guilt going on … and I was probably more ambitious than I needed … but you’re going on like I’m Scrooge.’
‘No. We are a totally normal product of the time we lived in. But that doesn’t mean we weren’t badly lost. We probably belong in Hard Times more than A Christmas Carol if we’re being Dickens about it. The cold-hearted industrialist who stops seeing people as people …’
The Dreamer had read Hard Times much more recently than the Ghost had.
He remembered the moment when the industrialist Thomas Gradgrind realised he had never learned the ‘wisdom of the heart’.
‘The ground on which I stand has ceased to be solid beneath my feet. The only support on which I leaned, and the strength of which it seemed, and still does seem, impossible to question, has given way in an instant.’
He very much didn’t want to be Gradgrind.
‘But that’s not us, right? I care about people. I don’t see them as units. I’m not just about gain, gain gain … Am I? Are we?’
‘Well, it was the eighties. So no one would have noticed. But, shh … watch this.’
Charlie carefully tore off a piece of garlic bread and looked sad for his friend. ‘You know what they say. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’
‘Well, these are busy times. We’ve had eight new openings in the last quarter. And add in all the inventory issues and supply chain headaches. And we’ve got more competition on the high street than ever … You know me. I need to be hands on.’
‘Borges said something about time carrying us along like water …’ said Charlie.
‘Been reading him a bit. Like reading a scientist in Wonderland. You recommended him to me back at uni and I’ve finally got around to it.
You were always so good at knowing what I should read.
So anyway, remember, you’re like the water. ’
Wilbur smiled fondly at his friend. ‘I’ve always liked your philosophising, Charlie … And you’re right, I should read more.’
‘Just seems sad, that’s all. You used to spend your life telling me to read something and now you run the most famous bookshops in the country and you don’t get time to read … Just seems a bit topsy-turvy.’
‘Well, it’s only this phase of life. When I’m fifty I’m quitting.
Then me and Maggie are going to travel the world.
India, South America, Southeast Asia, you name it.
I might write a book, Maggie will have her art.
But that’s it. This work life will be over.
That’s the plan … That seems a pretty good trade-off.
Work like mad now. Build something meaningful that customers value.
Then put our feet up and retire over a decade before everyone else. ’
Charlie nodded. ‘Yeah, so I hear. Maggie told Claudette about that at the party …’
At this point the Ghost leant in to his dreaming self to offer some context: ‘Claudette’s fortieth birthday party. She had it in their house in Clapham but lots of her Sheffield friends came down for it. Maggie went but I didn’t. As always, I was too busy.’
‘The thing is though, Wilbo, you won’t be fifty until 1995. That’s a long way off. They might be able to teleport you to India by then.’
‘Well, it’s good to think ahead.’
There was an awkward pause. After which he got to the meat of it: ‘Listen, Charlie, we’ve had a good run, but I think from here on I’m going to need to overhaul the numbers side of things …’
Charlie looked confused. The mood shifted. ‘Numbers side?’
‘I’ve been recommended a very good finance guy. Someone very serious. American.’
It started to sink in. ‘I thought I was your finance guy.’
‘You are. And you’ve been invaluable to our growth. But we’re entering a new phase now … Gone are the days of singing along to music in the accounts room.’
Charlie’s jaw tightened as he listened. ‘What? Has my performance ever slipped? I’ll stop the music if you want but you’ve never had a problem before.’
Wilbur tore his own piece of garlic bread without thinking. ‘We’re going to be doubling our operations within two years. We’re going into a new gear now and we need someone with a more macro approach.’
Charlie put down his knife and fork and stared at his old friend. ‘I’m trying to get a grasp on this, Wilbur. I mean, I thought something was a bit off when you said you were taking me out for lunch. When was the last time we had lunch? The seventies? So this was our Last Supper, eh?’
‘It’s not like that, Charlie.’
‘I’ve worked my arse off for you. What have I done wrong?
Jesus, Wilbo, when have I been wrong? My projections have been dead-on every quarter.
I’ve helped us trim down. I helped get us through the recession and now we’re good to grow and grow.
It’s the boom time right now. You can feel it even in here.
Growth, growth, growth. So things will be even—’
‘It’s not about anything you’ve done wrong, Charlie … Look, maybe this is a good thing for you. You’ve always been so much more than an accountant. You’re a thinker. You’re a scientist. A philosopher …’
Charlie shook his head and tightened his mouth.
‘We’d have stayed in Yorkshire. You know that?
I’d have a job at the university. We’d have paid off a house by now.
Do you think we’d have chosen to come down south and have a massive mortgage around our necks?
Claudette doesn’t even want to be here. She never did … ’
Wilbur raised his eyebrows and stared at his pizza. ‘Well, this could be good then. You could be free to go back up north.’
Charlie grimaced. ‘With all due respect, Wilbo, you are taking the piss. Ten years of my life I’ve devoted to this. To you. Because I’m your mate and I believed in you, even when no one else did. Even when you were at your lowest. After Dougie.’
‘You don’t have to bring Dougie into this,’ mumbled Wilbur.
‘But that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You never stopped running. Always trying to put as much distance between who you are now and who you were then—’
‘Please, Charlie.’
‘Look, I’ve never asked for much. Never pushed for a raise. I’ve been with you all the way.’
‘I gave you a job. I was doing you a favour. I let you play your records—’
‘Name one other employee you’ve had that put in as many unpaid extra hours.’
‘I never asked you to.’
‘You never stopped me either. Jesus, Wilbur. I could be teaching physics somewhere.’
‘You still could.’
‘Not a single word of warning. And then this.’ Charlie took a breath and brought himself back down. ‘I can work even harder. I can be like you. No holidays, no books, no TV, no parties … I just need this job, Wilbur. We’ve got a mortgage … and Sophie to look after …’
Beneath his hair, the Dreamer was frowning with concentration, straining to find his own redemption. Trying to find a justification for what he was seeing. ‘I suppose it was just business … I mean, they always say you shouldn’t work with friends and family.’
‘No,’ said the Ghost adamantly. ‘Charlie was literally the most loyal employee you ever had.’
‘So why am I sacking him?’
‘I don’t know. I was told there was better out there. I wanted the best. But I didn’t realise I already had it.’
Talking Heads came on. ‘Once in a Lifetime’.
‘I’m sorry,’ Wilbur told Charlie. ‘It’s not personal. It’s really not.’
Charlie nodded. Then stood up, headed for the door. ‘That’s your whole problem.’