Day Fifty-Three Sober
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
I can’t write about last night.
I can’t write it all down here. It’s too intimate. I can’t even write down why I can’t write it down.
But I can say that I haven’t stopped thinking about it for a single second since.
The problem with living with the woman you’re falling in love with is that once you’ve decided not to kiss again, or not to do all the other things you want to do, you’re still just both there.
Together. She took herself off to bed first, afterward, but popped back into the kitchen to get a glass of water in those pajamas, the pale blue ones with the little shorts, and I felt like I was going to go mad if I didn’t touch her.
Right now, she said. I can’t do this right now.
Is it reasonable to feel hopeful after that? Or am I being delusional? To me, not right now conveys a possible yes right now, one day. She’s been very open about the fact that she turned up here grieving and brokenhearted. I don’t mind waiting until she’s ready, if that’s what she wants.
Is it what she wants, though?
Bye for now (see—it implies that I’ll be back, doesn’t it?).
Charlie Jones
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Subject: Day fifty-three sober (cont.)
Reading over the below, I think perhaps that email was even more embarrassing than it would have been if I’d detailed everything that had happened on the sofa with Charlie. I am thirty-seven. I am an adult. What am I doing? What would I advise Toby to do?
I just need to talk to Charlie and finish a sentence.
I need to ask her what she needs from me right now, and whether after right now is over, there’s any chance she might want…
I don’t know. Me, I guess. She’s gone to the shop for the early shift, but we’re meeting to discuss harvest festival this lunchtime, so I’ll see her then, and have time to talk to her properly afterward.
It doesn’t have to be all fraught and angst ridden. We just need to have a grown-up conversation. There are a lot of things to consider here. Our living situation. The job share. The bizarre list of Charlie Joneses from the Bramblebay Farmhouse spare room. I need to keep a level head.
…But I can’t stop thinking about last night, that’s the problem.
I honestly cannot stop the memory of it from appearing in my mind, over and over, every beautiful second of it.
I’ve been sitting here with my laptop on my knees, in bed, getting absolutely fuck all done, and it’s absurd.
My head is not level. I am not feeling like a grown-up at all.
I’m feeling like a teenage boy, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.
So long,
Charlie Jones
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Subject: Day fifty-three sober (cont.)
Let me recount the harvest festival meeting, explosive secrets and all.
The rain was thick and heavy; everyone arrived at the farm shop dripping, then shed all their waterproofs at the door.
“Change is coming,” Galoshes said ominously. “You can feel it in the air.”
“What a depressing spin on autumn,” Charlie said.
“Can we talk about my squash bobbing idea?” Red asked.
“You know I’m all for the harvest theme, but can’t we just do regular apple bobbing?” Charlie asked. “Apples are autumnal, too, aren’t they? I mean, you mull them—that’s basically the test.”
We were standing in the middle of the shop, the rain coming down on the roof with that satisfying pitter-patter that always makes me think of camping.
Charlie was dressed in a long skirt and a woolly brown jumper, her hair pulled up in a clasp; she looked fresh-faced and beautiful, and every time I glanced at her, I knew she could feel it.
It was something in her posture—her usual poise was just a little more self-aware.
I had to swallow my smile as her cheeks pinkened under my gaze.
She doesn’t want a relationship right now, I reminded myself. But I’m a patient man. I can wait.
This is the problem with hope—once it kicks in, you can’t shut the bloody thing up.
Meanwhile Red was waving a round zucchini under my nose.
“Is that not the most autumnal thing you ever did see?”
She seemed much happier than she had been last week, though I’ve had no update from Toby.
He was still gazing longingly at her from where he stood beside Galoshes, so I assumed their relationship issues remain unresolved.
I found myself thinking, Why don’t they simply talk to each other?
and then remembered that I, too, have absolutely no idea where I stand.
I was probably gazing longingly at Charlie, too.
Maybe you never grow out of being foolish when you’re in love.
I can’t decide if that thought is depressing or lovely.
I tried to return my attention to the zucchini situation and asked Red if she meant it was autumnal because it was yellow.
“It’s just fun. Vegetables in unexpected shapes are fun. And apple bobbing is so done. We want to do things the Ormer way!”
“I like apple bobbing,” Toby offered. “And I’m…pretty Ormer. Seventh generation.”
He blushed beet red, and I gave him an encouraging look. When we first got here, he’d never have spoken up in a meeting like that.
“You’ll love squash bobbing then,” Red said, very brightly, though without looking at him.
She deflated slightly as everyone remained in puzzled silence.
“All right, I’ll be straight up with you.
Rosie planted way too many of these, and nobody’s buying them, so she’s bribing me to win you around to the idea, OK? ”
“Ah. Did Marly by any chance advise against this crop?”
“I suspect so?” Red said, trying to suppress a grin.
I grinned, too, and then my smile dropped—I remembered that list in Marly’s spare room, and the fact that my friend was hiding something from me.
A few weeks ago, it would have been proof that I was right about keeping my walls up—and it’s true that the whole business would hurt a lot less if I’d kept Marly at a distance.
But I don’t think I ever could have. That plan was never realistic.
I am not a man with walls, and I just have to live with it.
“Out of interest, what was Rosie’s bribe?” Charlie asked.
“She said she’d let me drive her tractor.”
Charlie laughed. “Honey, sort out Rog’s dodgy Wi-Fi and he’ll let you borrow one of his for a week,” she said.
Rog, of course, was late for this meeting—something to do with delivering a trailer to a sheep farmer, or possibly it was the sheep he was delivering, I forget. When Rog calls me to make his excuses, I generally just tune out these days.
“He’s been bugging me to go around and fix it since I got here,” Charlie told Red. “Apparently I look ‘tech savvy.’ ”
“It’s the fringe,” Red said.
“Right? I cut it in myself, you know.”
This was an excellent excuse to stare at her, under the guise of examining her hair. Though, now that I was actually looking at it more closely, I noticed that her roots were peeking through—I hadn’t realized she wasn’t naturally brunette, but the hair at her parting was pale.
“No way! Do you have a before and after?”
Charlie paused at that. “Maybe somewhere,” she said. “Next on the agenda: donkeys.”
Charlie was definitely avoiding my eye. Unlike Toby, I actually saw this as an excellent sign. You don’t avoid somebody’s eye if you still see them as a friend. You avoid someone’s eye if not right now means maybe soon.
“Don’t be daft,” said Galoshes. “You’ll never catch ’em.”
“I was talking to Baptiste about it, and he said those donkeys aren’t actually wild—they’re domesticated but broke out of someone’s garden one day and never came back.”
“Are you suggesting we offer donkey rides?” I said, with horror. “On semi-feral donkeys?”
“No, no! I just want them in the field behind the sheep barn where the dance is happening, for the photo opportunities. Tourists love an animal, and the pigs are already occupying West Hilly Field—we just need a good shot in the other direction.”
“Dance?” Galoshes said, with suspicion. “What dance?”
“The barn dance,” Charlie said. “And before you tell me you hate the idea—”
Galoshes promptly confirmed that she did indeed hate the idea.
“I have the perfect job for you,” Charlie told her.
“I refuse to do it.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I’m not doing it, whatever it is.”
Charlie’s eyes flicked to me. I watched her take a deep breath, and then return her gaze to Galoshes.
“Galoshes, until October the 6th, I am your boss,” she said.
“Half of my boss,” Galoshes said. “The smaller half.”
“In what—” Charlie gathered herself. “That means that until Monday, I have the power to fire you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Galoshes said immediately.
“When I first came here, no, I wouldn’t have dared. But I’ve come a long way, and learned a lot about myself, and frankly, I’ve tried everything. I’ve cajoled you, included you, placated you, and you still won’t treat me with even a gram of respect.”
“I said yes to your biscuits, didn’t I?” Galoshes said.
“That was a start,” Charlie acknowledged. “But doesn’t actually make up for the constant insubordination.”
“You’ve tried the carrot, now for the stick, eh? I don’t buy it. You wouldn’t fire me.”
“Please. Give me a final straw. Give me one last reason.” Charlie’s voice dropped deeper. “And see if I’ll do it.”
There was a long, tense moment. I was having to fight extremely hard not to smile. Charlie looked magnificent—chin lifted, shoulders back as she stared Galoshes down. The little tremor in her bottom lip was only mine to see, and I wanted to kiss it slowly and tell her how proud I was.
“What exactly is the job?” Galoshes said at last.
“Dance caller.”
“What?” Galoshes said, with menace.
“You would be the person telling everyone at the barn dance what to do.”
Galoshes paused.
“Everyone?”
“Everyone. You shout, they dance. So, shall we try that again? Galoshes, I’ve got a job for you at the barn dance, would you like to hear about it?”
“Yes. Please,” Galoshes said, after a very long moment.
Charlie smiled, and something seemed to soar in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt pride for another person like that. I love that I know how big this was for her, and that I get to see her triumph over it—that I’m the one person who knows she’s just proven how fucking brave she is.
“Wonderful. You’ll make a fantastic caller. I’ll send you some links—”
“I won’t look at ’em,” Galoshes said, and then, on Charlie’s look, “Not because it’s you, just because I don’t do the internet.”
“I’ll…I’ll show you them,” Toby offered, blinking fast. “If…you want?”
“Wonderful,” Charlie said. “Great teamwork, guys. Now, I have to shoot. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
“You won’t be home for dinner?” I blurted.
I realized, from the interested look from Galoshes and Red, that this was perhaps not something I should say in front of all the staff.
They knew our living situation, but probably didn’t imagine we ate dinner together every night, because that would be…
coupley. Charlie met my eyes for one quick moment and then looked away again. Definitely flustered.
“Not tonight,” she said, already on her way toward the door. “I’ve got three hours’ worth of dances to choreograph with Jerry and the Merry Milkmen, so don’t wait up!”
So much for talking. I sighed, then noticed Red watching me with a shrewd look on her face, and tried to pull myself together.
Don’t wait up probably gave everyone the wrong impression, too.
I cleared my throat and asked Galoshes to give me a hand moving the boxes of new coffee beans from the shop floor to the back room.
“This is the ridiculous ‘autumn spice’ blend?” Galoshes grumbled, as we started stacking them. “If one more thing in this shop has ‘autumn’ slapped on it, the whole barn will turn into a bloody pumpkin, I swear. What happens when autumn finishes? Will it be like this in winter, too?”
“Halloween first, I imagine.”
Good to know that Galoshes’s new respect for Charlie wasn’t going to put a stop to the whinging. It wouldn’t be Bramblebay Farm Shop without the constant background noise of Galoshes complaining.
“I don’t know what’s got into that Charlie,” Galoshes said, shifting a box with a very loud groan. “Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, but she’s finally grown some balls, so to speak!”
I froze. Galoshes headed off through the back-room door, turning when she clocked I hadn’t followed.
I don’t know what I said, exactly. Something shocked. Something like, Charlie’s not pregnant, or No, she’s not, or…the kind of nonsensical, desperate thing you say when the future you’ve just started to dream about abruptly falls apart.
“Oh,” Galoshes said, seeing my expression.
She glanced behind her to check the rest of the staff were out of earshot.
She actually looked slightly penitent, for once.
“I overheard—Rosie did tell me not to tell anyone, and she’s not even twelve weeks along yet.
But I thought you of all people would know, what with you two living together and all. ”
Well, now I do know.
And obviously this changes everything.
So long,
Charlie Jones