Day Fifty Sober
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
It was a clear day today, blue skies and orange leaves.
Rosie insisted on Marly taking a Friday off, and Charlie was managing the shop, so Marly and I decided to cycle down to the beach by Hoard Cave, one of the spots on the island I wanted a closer look at.
Red had told me that pirates used to stash stolen goods there; I had visions of chests of gold coins.
Marly said nothing about the spare room. I didn’t, either. I just wanted a ride with my friend, mix-ups and mysteries put aside. She was quiet, though, like something was preoccupying her.
“Have you seen Charlie today?” she asked eventually, as we left our bikes on the gravel and began to pick our way across to the cave.
It was only accessible at low tide, but thankfully I am well aware of the tide times these days—or at least, I have an app for that.
I told Marly I’d seen Charlie at breakfast, leaving out the part where my heart soared because Charlie ate the whole bowl of overnight oats I’d made for her.
She’s not felt able to eat a meal in one go for ages.
She slept properly last night, too. I love it when she’s less anxious.
There’s a strange kind of satisfaction to it.
It’s like watching your football team winning the game.
Fuck you, anxiety, I thought, as she smiled at me over her mug of coffee. My girl’s going to take you down.
I realized Marly was giving me a slightly odd look. She said she’d seen Charlie yesterday, and that she’d “had some stuff to tell her.”
“Really? What stuff?”
She scanned my face for a moment before staring out to sea.
“Some stuff about the harvest festival. The whole barn dance plan.”
I had to ask her to repeat this, for obvious reasons.
“Barn dance. It’s a fun idea. Very tourist friendly, and a good use of the old sheep barn.”
I had a lot of questions at this point. The old sheep barn with only half a roof? Had we looked into insurance for this? Had anyone confirmed that the barn would stay standing for the duration of a barn dance, however long one of those was?
“Charlie thought a harvest festival barn dance would encourage people to bring the celebration up here, spend some money at the farm shop. Jerry’s got a folksy, country sort of band, they’ll do the music—”
“Jerry the milkman? The constable? Who runs the secondhand book trailer?”
Yes, apparently.
“What even is barn dancing? I’m not actually sure.”
“Oh, you know,” Marly said, pausing briefly between the rocks to do some kind of country-and-western-style jig on the sand. There was a lot of arm-pumping involved, as though she was trying to inflate an air bed. “Someone yells out the moves, everyone joins in…”
“This sounds terrible,” I said, with genuine horror. “Enforced dancing? And you think this is a good idea?”
“I’m not going to be bloody dancing, am I?” Marly said. “I’ll be working at the bar. But Rosie’s in love with the whole plan. There’s also something involving a donkey, but I’m hazy on the details.”
I asked who on the island has a donkey, and Marly said there were some wild ones on Little Ormer, which did not fill me with good feelings about whatever Charlie had planned.
We were almost at the cave now, its entrance a dark shadow on the cliffs ahead.
Marly swung her rucksack from her shoulder and chucked me an old-fashioned, clunky flashlight.
I approached the cave, the beam of my flashlight catching the shine on the wet sand inside. Our feet left thick, sludgy footprints as we stepped in, heads ducked.
It got dark quickly. The sound of slow-running water echoed around us.
“Keep going,” Marly said when I faltered, seeing the cave narrow to a slit just about wide enough for one person.
“What, down there?”
“You want to see the hoard? Or not?”
I didn’t know what that was, but I knew I wanted to see it.
Marly nudged me in the back with her flashlight and I twisted to squeeze through the gap.
There was an inch of water between the stones under my feet now, and we were dropping; I had to cling to the rocks around me as I climbed down the narrow passageway.
The wet boulders beneath me were streaked in strange colors, rusty blues and pale greens.
Eventually the walls of the cave began to widen on either side, and then it opened out again into the most extraordinary cavern.
I shone my light around. The walls of the cavern were dotted with the strangest alien-like creatures—anemones, Marly told me.
They looked like hundreds of giant red gemstones, or boiled sweets stuck to the cave walls, shining wet and vibrant.
It was an amazing sight. We stood in hushed silence, gazing around us.
“It never gets old, this place. You get it, I know you do. The island’s home for you, isn’t it?” she said eventually, her voice echoing quietly through the cavern.
“I think it might be, yeah.”
She smiled. “Want a picture? Here, give me your phone. I left mine at the farmhouse.”
She took a moment fiddling around trying to open my camera app.
“You all right there, Grandma?” I said.
She took revenge by taking a candid shot that I can confirm, now that I’ve got my phone back, was extremely unflattering.
“There you go,” she said, handing my phone over.
I frowned. She looked distracted again. Disappointed, even, as though I’d said something that she’d hoped I wouldn’t say.
“Sorry, the grandma thing was a bad joke,” I said, suddenly thinking of all the ways it might be insensitive. Rosie and Marly didn’t have any children, but perhaps it was a painful topic for them; for all I know, she might long to be a grandma one day, but it isn’t in the cards for her.
“What? No, jeez, I don’t care about that. Come on, let’s get back before we’re drowned by the rising tide, shall we?”
I followed her out of the cave.
When I first met Marly, she really didn’t strike me as the mysterious, unreadable type. She was so straightforward. But lately I feel like half the time I don’t understand what she’s trying to tell me.
And the strangest thing is, as I walked behind her, back through the cave, my light caught on her back pocket, and the unmistakable shape of her phone. So she didn’t leave it at the farmhouse at all.
Why would she lie?
I feel a bit low this evening, which is unfair, really, because who am I to judge Marly for holding things back?
I’m starting to see everything so differently from when I first arrived here.
Secrets don’t feel harmless anymore—I’m not sure how I ever kidded myself they were.
The idea that I can leave the past behind seems increasingly ridiculous now that I’m sober.
I’m finding myself constantly looking back to the man I used to be, and the thought of never telling anybody here about my life before they met me…
it doesn’t feel freeing. It feels like a new kind of burden to carry.
Especially with Charlie. I just read this email through and saw I’d called her my girl—I didn’t even notice myself typing it. It didn’t feel strange. It felt true.
Maybe it could be, if Marly and Rosie let us both keep our jobs? If Charlie and I are just coworkers, not competing for anything, not living together…could it happen then?
I’m not sure how she feels about me now, but Toby says she stares at me. And there was that kiss, in the rain, at the lighthouse…
I don’t know. I can’t believe I’m even letting myself consider it—I came here so determined to keep everyone at a distance. But honestly, these days, I spend most of my time longing to pull Charlie close.
Night,
Charlie Jones