Chasing Charlie Read online

  ‘You were always so intense, Sam.’

  ‘Was I?’ I may have been a tad on the dramatic side as a teenager, but wasn’t everyone at that age?

  ‘So what do you do now?’

  Oh thank you – let’s talk about now.

  ‘Nothing great really. I work in the film and telly world as a third AD.’

  ‘Really?’ Charlie’s eyes lit up. ‘That’s much more exciting than cutting people up.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ My face felt like it was on fire.

  ‘Of course it is. Tell me about it.’

  And we talked, and we drank, and we laughed. And then we drank some more, and leapt through the last decade. My cheeks toned down to what, in my tipsy state, I thought was a pretty pink, and I stopped feeling like I was going to careen out of my chair with nerves.

  As we chatted and the afternoon slid into darkness, I began to see flashes of his younger, softer face, the one I’d caressed and spent hours looking at. It kept peeking out of this grown-up, more chiselled version, giving me a little shock every time. He asked intelligent questions about my work, leaning in to hear my answers, and seemed genuinely interested. His hazel eyes, only slightly crinkled around the edges, didn’t leave my face for a moment.

  And then, when I’d stopped wondering if we would ever talk about that night, he said, his face serious for the first time all evening, ‘Sam, I want to say how sorry I am about how it ended. I’ve always felt bloody awful about it.’

  ‘It was pretty shitty,’ I murmured as I took sip number fifty-five of the evening. I was warm and drunk and felt ridiculously attractive. I rooted vaguely around inside to find the anger that had been simmering for all those years. Here? No. What about here? No. The anger wasn’t there at all. But he was.

  ‘Hey, we were young, what happened happened. Life’s gone on. Cheers!’ I raised my glass to him, aware of the naughtiness in my eyes. His eyes glittered back at me.

  ‘But I was a complete sod,’ he persisted, his fingers resting on my arm. I looked down at them. God, they were sexy.

  ‘Yes, but you were young,’ I insisted. I wanted to keep this high going and enjoy the lack of antipathy I felt. But he wouldn’t leave it alone.

  ‘The thing is, Sam,’ he said, leaning in closer, ‘I’ve often wondered what happened to you. You’ve been at the back of my mind. Not always, but there, you know?’

  Do I what? My heart was in my throat.

  ‘It’s really, really good to see you again. I didn’t think I’d get the chance to see you before—’ But he stopped himself, settling back into the chair. And even in my drunken state I could see he was battling with himself.

  ‘Before what?’

  He shook his head once, then leant in again. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Before life gets all serious, you know.’

  ‘What, wife and kids?’

  ‘Yes. Or perhaps we settle somewhere else in the world?’

  He’d suddenly faltered, not so smooth after all.

  ‘Are you seeing anyone now then?’ There, I’d said it.

  Charlie hesitated, ever so slightly, but then reached across the table and took my hands.

  ‘I’m so happy to have bumped into you, Sam. This means so much to me,’ he said, his face utterly earnest.

  ‘It’s nice to see you too, Charlie.’ My face was heating up again.

  And then it happened. My eyes locked with his, the noisy chattering around us stopped and we became completely lost in one another, the years folding up neatly until there was nothing at all between us.

  A moment passed, then another, and then he opened his mouth and sang ‘Da da da – da!’ like we were in some crazy opera, and we cracked up laughing and broke away from each other, returning to the frolicking conversation of before. But it had happened – we’d shared a moment and it meant something, and my heart soared for the rest of the night.

  9

  SAM

  There is a certain kind of magazine that I often found myself reading and loathing. You know the kind – glossy, aspirational and filled with gorgeous people living amazing, fulfilling lives in beautiful homes. They never make you feel good. They make you feel like you aren’t worthy of these people, in all their polished fabulousness. But the damn things are compulsive. You just can’t help but pick them up. I don’t get it at all. But, sucker that I am, I found myself sitting in my favourite café in Notting Hill on Sunday morning, my cheekbones resting on my cupped hands with House & Garden open between my elbows. I was reading about an artist in Cornwall, and the ‘light and airy space’ that was her studio slash home. Apparently this woman had ‘eclectic furniture and nick-nacks gleaned from junk shops scattered randomly . . . sticking to a muted palate of neutrals with an occasional flash of crimson’. Oh please, give me a break. With great effort I pulled my head up from my hands and looked out the window onto the street. No flashes of crimson to be seen there. Just grey, grey and more grey. Oh hang on. I squinted. There, far above the shops, was a tiny patch of blue.

  It was enough. The hungover shoppers shuffling along outside disappeared. In my mind, I was noodling on the beach at Studland in the middle of an endlessly sunny Sunday afternoon – yellow sand, mellow sun, seagulls wheeling and chattering overhead, fighting over the last of the fish and chips, the sharp, salty tang in the air. I wished I could be a child again, before everything got so damn complicated.

  The door to the café opened, letting in a burst of cold air, eddying around the legs of those closest to the door. People shifted slightly in their seats and glanced up, waiting for whoever was coming in to close the door. Would they have to shut it? No. Good. The woman closed it firmly behind her.

  It was Claudia.

  She saw me and lifted her eyebrows. ‘Can I come too?’ She could be scarily perceptive could Claudia.

  ‘To the beach?’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Claudia took off her coat with the spiky collar. The cold had formed perfect shiny beads on the wool. Now Claudia was one person who would never feel swamped by the fabulousness of other people’s lives. She slid in opposite me and grabbed a menu.

  ‘So . . .’ Claudia said, ‘what did you do last night to put you in such a dreamy state, young lady?’

  ‘You mean, what was the girl who looks wild around the edges up to last night?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  I groaned and she slapped the menu shut.

  ‘She was up to no good!’ she proclaimed.

  The stubble-cheeked Mediterranean waiter appeared at her elbow and she gave her order hastily.

  ‘That was quick,’ I said.

  Claudia looked at me blankly.

  ‘You usually string it out, you know, cos he’s so scrummy?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Anyway this is much more exciting, so come on, tell me.’ She did know damn well what I was talking about, of course. She was the world’s best flirter. Especially with waiting staff. It’s a pity there isn’t an Olympic event for it really – she could double England’s usual medal total easily.

  ‘Well?’ She was also persistent. Perceptive, flirtatious and persistent, a killer combination.

  Well, here goes.

  ‘I saw Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie? Who’s Charlie?’

  ‘My first love, you know, the Big Teenage Romance.’

  Claudia’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Isn’t he the one you never wanted to see again?’

  ‘Yes. And no.’ I avoided her eyes. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘I didn’t know—’

  ‘No one knew.’

  I waited for her to say something but she didn’t. And then my cursed blush began.

  ‘Oh, something happened!’ she squeaked.

  A couple of people turned their heads towards the noise and I blushed harder.

  Claudia lowered her voice. ‘Was it good?’

  ‘I didn’t sleep with him.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ I took a s
ip of coffee, playing for time. I still wasn’t sure what to say but there was no way I could go through the day without telling someone something.

  ‘He did give me a lovely kiss goodbye.’

  Claudia’s eyes glittered with amusement. ‘That makes for a nice change then.’

  ‘What do you mean? I haven’t been completely idle on the kissing front, thank you very much.’

  ‘Last year was fairly quiet, Sam—’

  ‘Thanks for the reminder. Anyway you’re distracting me from the story!’

  ‘Sorry, go on.’

  I took another sip of my coffee and Claudia waited.

  ‘It wasn’t just that, Claudia, it was just that . . . we made a connection last night.’

  Claudia threw back her head and hooted. ‘Ooooh, the girl’s in love!’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ I hissed. God, she could be so embarrassing.

  ‘What does Mara make of it?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I’m not telling her. You know what she’ll say, she can’t stand him.’

  ‘But she hasn’t met him, has she?’

  I shook my head. That was the problem. Mara’s strongest opinions were about people she didn’t know.

  ‘It won’t take her long to be on to you,’ said Claudia. ‘You’re not exactly hard to read.’

  ‘I’m not?’

  ‘Definitely not. But it’s one of your charms, my love.’ Claudia smiled kindly at me and rubbed the top of my hand. It occurred to me she had probably said this to me before but like all the little observations friends make about each other, this one felt brand new, given my new situation. If I was so easy to read, wouldn’t that mean Charlie could see right through me last night and see how desperately excited I was to see him? And wouldn’t that send him running?

  My phone. A text.

  ‘See? That’s probably Mara now, just confirming that when she looked in your eyes this morning, she could tell you’d been with Charlie the night before.’

  I laughed and swiped my screen.

  ‘I didn’t see her—’

  I stopped. My heart stopped. It was him.

  Thanks for a great night. It was gorgeous seeing u again. Hope we can do it again soon Cx

  ‘Nice!’ Claudia pronounced. She had leant over and read it upside down.

  My heart was racing and my finger was so shaky it could barely make contact with the screen to press reply.

  ‘Uh-uh,’ Claudia said. ‘Not yet.’

  I withdrew my finger. ‘Not yet?’

  ‘Make him wait until you’ve finished breakfast.’

  ‘After breakfast,’ I murmured. I read it one more time. OK, five times.

  It was gorgeous seeing you again.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! went my heart.

  But Claudia was right; she was the mistress of this stuff. So reluctantly I flipped the cover on the phone shut.

  Claudia’s breakfast arrived, pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup. I stared at it.

  ‘What? A girl can’t have a little comfort now and then?’ Claudia asked me, sounding slightly defensive, something she never is. Strange.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about your food, Claud,’ I said. ‘I just don’t know what to do about Charlie.’

  ‘What do you mean do? Just enjoy it.’

  ‘But what will my Mum and Dad think? They weren’t exactly devastated when we broke up.’

  Claudia laughed. ‘What’s there to tell? You’re not about to walk down the aisle – you’re just having a little fun. God, Sam, lighten up.’

  ‘I’m not uptight!’ I resented that.

  ‘Well, maybe not compared to your sister or Mara but, babe, you could just let yourself go and have a bit of fun without worrying about the future.’ Claudia waggled a finger at me.

  Rebecca. I grimaced. That mincing, eyelash-batting minx of a sister. When Charlie used to visit, Rebecca was nine and known as Becky. She would watch out for him arriving and rush upstairs to put on her prettiest dress, a pink tutu. She would then make her grand entrance, twirling into the room and ending, without fail, on Charlie’s lap, her famous eyelashes going nineteen to the dozen. Those damn eyelashes – I ground my teeth – have remained the only generous thing about her. What would Rebecca do these days around Charlie? And then I smiled. Actually telling Rebecca about who I was seeing again could be fun. If indeed I was seeing him, of course . . . But even to casually mention I had been out on a date, implying there had been smooching, would be very satisfying indeed. Have some fun, Claudia said. Oh yes, I thought, I think that could just be possible.

  A little later, Claudia put her knife and fork regretfully onto her plate.

  ‘You haven’t finished!’ I was shocked.

  ‘I know.’ For a moment, Claudia looked almost . . . well, you could only describe it as sad. And Claudia was never sad.

  ‘Are you OK, Claud?’

  Claudia took a deep breath and she straightened her shoulders.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she said quickly, ‘I just haven’t got my usual appetite at the moment. Now how was Mara yesterday?’ She was changing the subject.

  ‘Mara?’ I asked. ‘She was still jumpy yesterday. I don’t know what’s going on. Actually I was wondering if she isn’t well and that’s why Ed’s home early?’ I suggested, remembering the brainwave I’d had in the shower.

  Claudia frowned. ‘It doesn’t sound right to me. I think it’s Ed she’s worried about.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that too but now I’m not so sure.’ I pictured Ed twinkling at me across the kitchen table. He didn’t look like someone who needed worrying about to me.

  ‘Do you think it could be drugs?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Drugs!’ I squawked, my turn this time to get people turning their heads. ‘No way, he’s too smart for that.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true . . .’ Claudia paused for a moment and looked at me as if she was searching for something.

  ‘What?’

  Claudia lowered her gaze and took a sip of her coffee. ‘Oh nothing. I just think he’s lovely.’

  ‘You don’t fancy him, do you?’ Surely not. Claudia seemed so much more grown up than Ed. I couldn’t imagine her ever seeing him as anything but a friend.

  ‘Me? No, I don’t fancy him.’ Claudia looked me in the eye again. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Ed?’ My head hurt. Do I like Ed? That wasn’t even something to try thinking about. ‘He’s Mara’s brother, and he feels like my brother too, I think,’ I answered eventually.

  Claudia lifted her shoulder in a tiny shrug.

  ‘Me too,’ she said.

  10

  SAM

  Who am I kidding? I wondered, as I positioned my lamp to shine more directly onto my face. It really was too late to improve my looks at the ripe old age of thirty. Why hadn’t I invested more time and money in looking after my skin in my twenties? More to the point, why hadn’t I invested in a lamp that stayed in one place and didn’t keep falling down? Of course I hadn’t given a toss about my skin until I bumped into Charlie. I have, as a rule, looked down at the sad girls who spend too much time looking in the mirror when they could be doing more important things. Playing frisbee in the park, for instance, or drinking. Or both. But overnight the stakes had escalated and I had already spent a shameful number of minutes checking out every pore and hair on my face.

  Specifically I was looking for my freckles. When I came back from breakfast with Claudia, I had shut myself in my room and spent minutes, several of the bastards, looking for signs of the cute freckles I was sure I’d had once upon a time. They had to be there somewhere but, after some time, I had to admit it. They’d gone. I’d lain on my bed in despair then, and the ‘who was I kidding?’ whine started in earnest in my tired, freckle-free head. That was when I spied my lamp. Sessions under a sunbed weren’t an option. I couldn’t even afford breakfast that morning (Claudia had paid, again). But the lamp might just be worth trying . . .

  I wriggled as close as I could to the edge of the bed, my arm t
eetering on the side, and finally the lamp behaved itself and stayed in one place, shining directly onto my face. I was soon asleep.

  *

  I woke to a sharp voice.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  I sat up and my head banged into something hard, making a loud ‘clang’. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed whatever was in the way.

  ‘FUCK!’ My hand registered the pain from holding hot metal in the same moment I remembered what I was doing. What a nightmare, and on top of it all I was dreaming that Rebecca was . . .

  In my room.

  Fucking brilliant. It wasn’t a dream.

  ‘What’s that smell?’ Rebecca squawked.

  I shoved my hand into my mouth and then waved it in the air.

  ‘Fucking hell that hurts!’

  ‘It smells really wrong.’

  She was right, of course. With the smell of burning paint in my nostrils, I gingerly reached out with my good hand and turned the lamp off. Perhaps a hundred-watt light bulb in there wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  ‘You should really put that under water, you know,’ she said. So helpful, my sister.

  ‘You think?’

  I rushed past her and into the bathroom and thrust my hand under the cold tap. How many varieties of idiot was it possible for me to be in one day, I wondered. Damn my hand hurt. I braved looking in the mirror. I looked awful and—

  ‘Your face is all red and blotchy, Samantha.’

  She’d followed me into the bathroom. Awesome. And she was right – I was all red and blotchy, with dark circles under my eyes and a most tragic, pained expression on my face. I looked back down at my hand. I was in pain. Stupid, stupid Sam.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for a while, Rebecca.’ I looked in the mirror again. There was a total of zero freckles.

  There was a small pause as Rebecca no doubt considered whether or not to return to her original question of why I was asleep with a desk lamp pointed at my face, minutes away from burning the house down.

  ‘I was in the area,’ she sniffed.