Day Fifty-Eight Sober
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Pregnant. Pregnant.
It’s been almost a week since I found out, and I’m really not sure I’m any closer to processing this.
Meanwhile harvest festival is occupying every waking thought that isn’t dedicated to Charlie, because she has the most ambitious plans for this barn dance, and I have become a person who cannot say no to her.
So anyway, I’m off to try and catch a donkey now.
So long,
Charlie Jones
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Subject: Day fifty-eight sober (cont.)
I’m covered in mud, freezing and have a very large bruise on my shin. I think Galoshes filmed everything, so that’s great.
Anyway, there is now a donkey in the appropriate field, looking very photogenic. Well done me.
Christ, I want a drink. I’m trying so hard here, but I feel as though all the connections I’ve made on this island aren’t even real.
Marly’s got a completely bizarre list of Charlie Joneses in her spare room and we can’t work out why.
Charlie’s pregnant—presumably the father is someone I know here, or a tourist, because Galoshes said she’s not even twelve weeks along yet, so it must have happened while we were both on the island, and I just… I don’t know if I can handle all this.
I was with her all the time in those early weeks here. I keep going over and over every day. When could she have met someone? Who the hell could it be?
I need to go and shower. And then what? The evenings have been so hard this week. I don’t trust myself to go out. The pub will be warm and easy. I can imagine how good a beer would taste right now—I’m sure I’d feel better within just one sip.
At least there’s nothing alcoholic in the house. If I just stay here, I think I’ll be OK.
Bye for now,
Charlie Jones
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Subject: Day fifty-eight sober (cont.)
I was just out of the shower, having finally removed the mud from my ears, and heard someone hammering on the door. I ran down in my towel and yanked the door open to find Marly on the doorstep with her arms folded and Ginger wagging at her heel.
“Just tell me why you came here,” she said, as Ginger surged at me. “I’ve been rooting for you, mate, I really have, but it’s harvest festival in two days and it’s crunch time, buddy. Why did you come here?”
“Is this urgent? Or can I go and put some clothes on?” I asked, trying to pet Ginger without losing my grip on the towel.
I was feeling so strung out—I’d spent the whole shower thinking of all the reasons why it would be perfectly fine to go to the pub tonight.
“Yes, it bloody well is urgent. You’re upsetting my wife!”
“What? How am I upsetting Rosie? Will you just come in, Marly? I’m freezing.”
“You honestly have no idea why I’m asking you this?” she said, putting her hands on her hips.
“No! I don’t have a single clue! Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“No!” Marly yelled, yanking off her flat cap and slapping it against her leg. Ginger jumped, returning to Marly’s heel. “Not unless you know, I can’t! Rosie has been very clear on this, and she’ll kill me if I push you, so you have to say it first, Jones!”
“Say what first? What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t know?”
“I really don’t know.”
She dropped her head. “Fuck,” she said, turning away. “I so hoped it was you.”
What is going on around here? Secrets and lies, secrets and lies. The future I’d dreamed up here suddenly looks so unrealistic—did I really think I could have something that good?
I mean, Charlie’s pregnant.
I just don’t know if I can deal with all this without a drink. Maybe I could go to the pub and have a lime and soda, or something? I need to be somewhere warm and busy, with people around. Yeah, I might do that—better than kicking around alone here, right, waiting for Charlie to come home?
To be honest, I might just go and have one drink at the pub—I think I could handle one these days, and it would make this all feel a hell of a lot easier.
Bye for now,
Charlie Jones
From: Charlie Jones
To: Charlie Jones
Subject: Re: Day fifty-eight sober (cont.)
Hello! Hi!
OMG, she writes back!
That last email of yours had me freaked, my friend, so here I am, replying.
I know, I know, we had a rule, but that was designed to snap us out of the weird codependent thing and we’re totally snapped out now, so I’m declaring replies permitted.
New lives are all very well, but sometimes you need an old buddy who gets the context, you know? !
Because holy shit, you have a lot going on over there.
But you’re so strong. I know you’ve got this.
Look at the subject line of this email. You made it this far.
Can you really bear the thought of going back to zero?
If you’re reading this in the pub: get out.
Go, now, walk out the door into the fresh air, take yourself down to the beach, and remember that you only need to stay sober for another five minutes, and then another, and so on. You can do anything for five minutes.
Listen, I’ve been thinking for a while about coming out to the island. And guess what: you’ve freaked me out enough that I’ve only gone and decided to actually do it! I’ve booked a flight. I’ve booked a ferry. That’s right, Mr. Jones (LOL, still so weird)—I’m coming to see you!!
Stay strong, my friend. You’ve got this.
With love,
Charlie x