From Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Subject: Day one sober
Hi. Hey. Here I am, holding myself accountable.
…This already feels incredibly strange. What do I do, just write down everything that happens? How do I know which things to pick? Do I write about the weather, or the walk up from the harbor, or the fact that the sadness is still clinging to me, as though it refuses to be left behind?
I feel incredibly self-conscious right now, but I suppose that’ll wear off. A deal’s a deal, so here goes.
I’m on the Isle of Ormer, starting my new life, but there’s a woman here, too, and she’s trying to nick it.
My new life, I mean. She wants it. She just stood there in the middle of my farm shop looking like she might have been literally dragged through a hedge backward, and told me she’s the new farm shop manager. She’s Charlie Jones, she said.
I told her she’s not. Obviously.
“No, you’re not Charlie Jones,” she snapped back. “Or, well, I suppose you could be Charlie Jones. But you’re not the Charlie Jones. You’re not the person who got offered this job. Because that’s me.”
She was tall, with a thick, dark fringe that almost touched her eyelashes.
Her dress was bright blue and tied with a ribbon, the sort of thing you’d wear to a wedding or something, but she had sturdy trainers on and scratches all over her legs.
She was also beautiful, in a classic, poised, regal sort of way.
Probably worth mentioning, as it somehow made the whole look even stranger—the mismatched outfit, the disheveled hair.
I couldn’t really get a sense of who she was.
But anyway, whoever she was, she was not the new farm shop manager.
We did a bit more “you’re not Charlie Jones,” “no, you’re not Charlie Jones,” and then Rosie Nicole showed up, which is probably a good thing, because me and Other Charlie could’ve been at it for a while, otherwise.
Rosie stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw us both.
Her hair was pulled back with a flower-patterned scarf, and she was in long drapey tie-dye clothes, but in a music-festival way rather than an art-teacher way, if you know what I mean.
She was younger than I’d expected—twenties. Her boots were sturdy and caked in mud.
She stared between me and Other Charlie with total bafflement.
“You must be Rosie!” Other Charlie trilled into the bemused silence, heading toward her with arms out for a hug. “I’m Charlie Jones.”
“Oh my God! Hi! Welcome!” Rosie said, hugging her right back.
Hang on, I thought.
“Sorry, no.”
I stepped forward. They both looked up at me, a little alarmed, maybe. I tried to look less ogreish than usual.
“I’m actually Charlie Jones,” I said. “And this is my job.”
Rosie’s mouth fell open.
“You’re Charlie Jones?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“But I thought…”
“I’m Charlie Jones,” said Other Charlie. “That guy just…is as well.” She spread her hands. “I’m as confused as you are, Rosie.”
“You’re both called Charlie Jones?” Rosie looked back and forth between us.
“Yes,” we said in unison.
“And you both think you got offered this job?”
We confirmed this, once again in unison. I glared at Charlie—she kept taking all my lines.
Rosie looked totally stunned by this. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I only offered the job to one person—we only have the funds for one shop manager. I sent a letter…Does one of you have the job offer letter?”
We both reached for our phones in our back pockets, like two cowboys reaching for their guns.
I showed Rosie my photo of the letter. Other Charlie did the same.
I examined her screen. This is where things got very weird. It was the letter—the exact same one. There was the same crossing-out on line two. I have no idea how she got hold of it.
Rosie reached for one of the maps for sale by the till and began to fan herself. “But neither of you has the original?” she asked.
It hadn’t occurred to me that I would need to show the original. Who cares about originals these days?
“Did you send out two by accident?” Charlie suggested. “I guess we both applied with the same name, which maybe confused the system?”
“What system? The post?” I said. “That’s the exact letter I had. It looked exactly the same.”
“That’s not possible,” Charlie said. “Rosie? That’s not possible, right?”
“Could we have…sent two, somehow?” Rosie said faintly. “I handed the letter to my wife, Marly, to sort, I didn’t put it in the envelope myself…I can’t believe…You’re both called Charlie Jones?”
Now we were getting somewhere. Human error—or interference—seemed plausible.
“Could your wife have made a copy of the letter, and sent it to two of us?” Other Charlie asked.
“Well, we do have a scanner…”
Of course they have a scanner here. The technological equivalent of a horse and carriage.
“But why would she?” Other Charlie asked, looking at me. “Why would she send the job offer to two people with the same name?”
The genuine bafflement on her face gave me pause. She looked as confused as I felt.
“She might have forgotten she posted the first one?” Rosie hazarded. “And then did it again, but picked up the other Charlie Jones’s application, and used their address…”
We all stood around for a minute, wearing similarly dubious expressions.
“What do I do now?” Rosie asked, wide-eyed.
“Don’t you remember if the person you wanted for the job was a man or a woman?” Other Charlie asked.
“I didn’t know,” Rosie said. She was beginning to look slightly tearful. “I just know they were called Charlie Jones.”
“Well, which Charlie do you want to employ?” I asked.
“The one who…I don’t know!” Rosie said, her voice rising a pitch. “You both applied? You both want to work here? Which of you wrote that lovely handwritten letter about how special Ormer seems?”
“Me,” I said immediately.
“That was me,” said Other Charlie.
No way. I was not buying this.
“Do you have the winning application on hand?” I suggested. “We could just check which of ours it is?”
Rosie went still. Then she started fanning herself more rigorously.
“Just let me think for a moment,” she said. She pressed a hand to her forehead.
“OK. OK. Two Charlie Joneses. Both want to come and live here. Both offered the job, apparently…”
I reiterated that finding the successful job application would almost certainly clear this whole thing up.
“Right,” Rosie said, and then, “well, no, I can’t do that.
I…binned them all. Sorry. Burned them, actually—Marly does this thing where she stuffs spare paper into old loo rolls and it makes great firelighters.
No. That won’t work. Now that you’re both here, and we’ve offered both of you the job, I think the only thing for it is to get to know you both.
Yes. What do you think?” She looked between us.
“A trial period! It seems so unfair to send one of you home now. Why don’t we just give you each a couple of months… ”
“You want to…employ us both?” I asked slowly.
“Yes! Yes, what a great solution,” Rosie said breathily. There was something quaint about her—a bit otherworldly. “We’re always run off our feet during harvest season—I’m sure two managers would be a huge help.”
“And you’ll pay us both?” I asked.
Rosie’s eyes widened again. “Oh. I forgot about the money part.”
I shared a brief side-eye with Other Charlie.
“Both of you really want to be here?” Rosie asked rather desperately.
“Very badly,” I said.
“More than anything,” Other Charlie said. “I can’t even tell you, Rosie. I’ve been so excited about this incredible opportunity—starting life over here in this beautiful place, with this amazing project, reviving the farm shop at the heart of the community…It’s my dream.”
Her voice wobbled. I looked away from her. It’s going to be a lot easier to keep hold of this job if I don’t feel sorry for Other Charlie, but I’ve never been great at keeping other people’s feelings out. All the more reason to start life over on a remote, secluded island, I say.
“It’s my job,” I said. “I’m sorry. But I’m not walking away from this.”
I can’t go back home. Home isn’t even there anymore. This is me now, all there is of me: a name, a job, a totally new life. The minute I stepped off that ferry and breathed it all in, I knew it was the right decision. I can be sober in this place. I can be better—I can be brand-new.
“I guess you could interview us both,” Other Charlie said. “See who you would rather give the job to?”
For the first time, at that, I felt nervous.
I’m confident I’m right for this role, but this poised, attractive, well-spoken woman with her posh dress was definitely the kind of person who looked like she should be running a farm shop, not a scarred, bitter ex-bartender like me.
If this actually was a misunderstanding, there’s a chance she was the person who’d been offered the job.
This opportunity was a lifeline for me. The thought of losing it now…
“The trial period idea,” I said. “It could work.”
Other Charlie’s eyes were so sharp.
“But I can’t pay you both,” Rosie said sadly.
“Well, I’d take half wages for the next two months,” I said, then belatedly ran the calculation, and winced. It’ll be just about doable if I dip into savings.
“You’d do that?” Other Charlie asked.
“Would you? For this opportunity? You’d have to take the salary cut, too.”
Her gaze was steady on mine. She was trying to figure me out. I imagine I was about as confusing to her as she was to me.
“This place has so much potential,” she said slowly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we could justify two manager salaries at a place like this, once we’ve made some changes. If we work together, maybe we could both have a future at the farm shop.”
I met her gaze. What was this? A compromise—a peace offering? Why? It looked like an admission that the job wasn’t hers, but then, perhaps by offering to take half pay, I looked like I was conceding something, too. Should I just go back to the interview idea, I wondered, and take the risk?
Charlie was right: there were so many easy, obvious ways to fix the shop up.
Visitors come to the island all through the summer, but there’s nothing directing them here from the harbor.
A bunch of tourists arrived on the ferry with me this morning, and they were just gagging to overpay for some island-made honey or something.
“You’ll both work here for two months? But we only have to pay one person’s salary?” Rosie asked.
We both said yes, avoiding each other’s eyes now.
I couldn’t decide if I was being incredibly stupid or had just secured the safest way to keep my precious new life.
The key thing was that Charlie and I evidently thought this job was the absolute dream and were not willing to give it up, and Rosie seemed to think it was not very important, didn’t really mind who did it, and mostly just didn’t want to upset anyone.
I guess if you live on a beautiful farm on a stunning remote island, and you always have, then you maybe don’t realize how incredible that is.
“And you’ll just…sort the farm shop out? But for half pay?”
“For two months, yes,” I said. “At which point, hopefully, we’ll have each proven ourselves and you can pay us both.”
Or one of us will have given up and bowed out. Not me, obviously.
“That’s great,” Rosie said, sagging back against the counter. “Thank God. I’m so relieved I don’t have to send one of you home.”
It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t what I’d signed up for. But it was a hell of a lot better than losing this chance altogether.
“But what shall we call you both?” Rosie asked, brightening. “We can’t have two Charlies.”
I explained that I’d like to go by Jones anyway.
“Perfect! Meant to be!” Rosie said.
“I know you need to get on with things,” Charlie said smoothly. “Are our bags…”
“They’ll be at the stables, which is all set up for you.” Rosie’s eyes widened. “Oh. All set up for one of you.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. “I’ll stay somewhere else tonight,” I said, picking up my rucksack from the floor and yanking on my cap. By this point, I just wanted to get out of there. I was hot, I was stressed, I wanted a drink.
“The farmhouse is a B&B, right?” Other Charlie said. “Perhaps Jones could have a room there?”
I know I’d just offered to give up the stables for the night, but still, she really ran with that, didn’t she?
Rosie’s face fell. “Sorry, we’re full. There are no spare rooms.”
Other Charlie turned to me with a sympathetic smile. “Let me know if you need any help finding somewhere else.”
Hot, stressed, thirsty and irritated now.
“I should ask for references,” Rosie said suddenly. “Can you give me someone to call, each of you?”
We both said that was fine. (Thank God she only asked for one person.)
“We’ll take it from there in the morning, and give you a tour of the farm! Give me your numbers.” She pulled out a surprisingly up-to-date iPhone. I had her down as the sort of person with an ancient flip phone. “I can’t wait to get to know the two of you…Oh, I get such a good aura from you both.”
This made me seriously question Rosie’s ability to read auras, but fine.
“Ormer is a really special place. And we love to take in strays here. Not to call you strays! But I just sense…a tender quality, bruised souls…” She waved a hand in front of our faces. “Broken hearts, complicated pasts…I’m convinced the spirit of the island led you both here for a reason!”
“Fate, maybe,” Other Charlie said, with a smile.
Fate? No. An administrative mix-up, maybe. A meddling postal worker, at a push. But by far the most likely truth, as far as I’m concerned, is that Charlie Jones is a liar, so while I’ve agreed to work alongside her, I certainly don’t plan on trusting her.
Well. There we go. Day one done—I’m off to find somewhere to crash tonight. Presumably there are other B&Bs on this island, although, now I think about it, there can’t be many, given the size of the place. Hmm.
I’m not quite sure how to sign off this email. With love feels…well, yeah, not that. But all the best is pretty weird, too. Maybe I’ll just say,
Bye for now,
Charlie Jones