Charlie

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘But I don’t understand why she’s kept it quiet,’ Charlie raged, her face flushed a bright pink. ‘She’s a cheat. Just like my father.’

  ‘I expect it’s fear that stops her telling you, more than anything else,’ Ivor said gently. ‘Fear that you’ll leave home.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s despicable?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘It’s the worst kind of moral blackmail to make out you are completely dependent on another person. I think when you go home you must tell her that you know. But have a drink now and put it aside. Beryl and I want to hear about school and your new waitressing job.’

  Two half pints of lager later, Charlie had stopped being angry. Ivor had suggested they went out on the MaryAnn in the afternoon and her mother’s cunning ways had turned into something of a joke.

  ‘No more for you,’ Ivor said as she finished the second glass. ‘Or you’ll be reeling around my boat like the proverbial drunken sailor. Now, nip upstairs and put on some nice warm clothes. You’ll need it out there, it’s brass monkey weather.’

  The cold wind, the sea and being with Ivor again worked its usual magic. At five as she came back into the harbour Charlie was exhilarated and giggly. Beryl had invited them both back to a meal with her, saying she had help in the bar so she wouldn’t need to put in an appearance until much later in the evening.

  ‘You go on back there,’ Ivor said after they’d moored. ‘I’ll go home and get myself spruced up. I think Beryl’s got a bit of a party in mind.’

  Charlie walked into the kitchen to find Beryl drinking tea with a tall young man. ‘This is my nephew Andrew Blake,’ Beryl said. ‘Andrew, this is Charlie. Andrew’s my sister Dora’s boy, and staying with me for the Easter hols. He’s at City University in London studying electronics.’

  Charlie just stared for a split second. She had heard Beryl talk about her nephew, but she’d never said he was such a dish. He had that winning combination of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, and an embarrassed schoolboy grin.

  ‘Now, I’ve told you about Charlie,’ Beryl reminded him, nudging him to respond in a sensible fashion. ‘She’s my little friend, former kitchen slave, and as smart as you.’

  ‘Hullo, Charlie,’ he said finally, and despite his youth his voice was very deep and adult. ‘My aunt has told me a great deal about you, I’m very pleased to meet you at last.’

  Charlie looked at Beryl helplessly. She knew this was match-making, Beryl was that kind of person. Charlie was embarrassed yet pleased too. Few girls would object to anyone trying to fix them up with someone so handsome. Now she understood why Beryl was cooking dinner and why Ivor had been invited too. He’d known about this, the old rascal. So why hadn’t he warned her?

  ‘Would you mind if I just got changed?’ Charlie asked. She had left her oilskin coat on the boat, but her feet and old jeans were wet and she felt her hair must look like rat’s tails.

  ‘No, you go ahead, dear,’ Beryl said and gave her a broad wink which implied she expected her to dress up. ‘Andrew’s giving me a hand with the cooking. It’s one of his many talents.’

  Charlie was as quick as she could be, but it was half an hour before she came back downstairs. She wished she’d had some previous warning about this, then she would have brought some smarter clothes with her. All she had other than jeans was a dark red maxi-skirt and a matching jumper. But at least her hair had been trimmed and after a shampoo it gleamed satisfactorily. Andrew had seen her at her worst, so things could only improve now she looked half decent.

  Beryl and Andrew were sitting at a table in the snug. Ivor was there with them too, and Pamela, a woman in her thirties who often helped Beryl out, was behind the bar.

  ‘Coo-ee,’ Pamela called out as she spotted Charlie. ‘How are you, dear? Nice to see you again. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘A vodka and lemonade, please,’ Charlie replied. Before she was eighteen no one ever offered her a real drink, yet since her birthday, which people couldn’t possibly have known about, everyone kept plying her with alcohol.

  Charlie went on into the snug. Ivor, Beryl and Andrew all turned as one to look at her. She blushed till she felt her face must match her outfit.

  ‘Well, you look smashing,’ Beryl said appreciatively. She turned towards Andrew who was staring openly at Charlie. ‘Can you believe that both your mother and I were that slender once?’

  ‘Get away,’ Andrew laughed.

  Suddenly Charlie knew this was going to be a good evening. She liked men who laughed and as it was clear he liked Beryl as much as she did they already had something in common.

  It was such a good evening. It would have been enough just to share a meal with Ivor and Beryl, but Andrew added another dimension and turned it into a real party. They had two more drinks in the bar, then Ivor and Beryl disappeared into the kitchen to dish up the food and take it upstairs.

  ‘Beryl’s bought herself a heated hostess trolley,’ Andrew confided once his aunt was out of earshot. ‘She’s giving it its trial run tonight. I’m not sure whether it’s in your honour or mine.’

  Charlie giggled. ‘My mother had one of those,’ she said. ‘But she used to forget to turn it off or take things out of it when she’d had a few drinks. Once there was a terrible smell in the house, and no one knew where it was coming from. It got so bad Dad was walking around sniffing like a dog. Eventually he found it. She’d left the remains of a crown of lamb in there. It was rotten. You can’t imagine how nasty it was.’

  ‘I can,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I live in a flat with three other chaps and we’re always leaving half-eaten takeaways lying around until they go rotten. I don’t know what it is about men when they live together, they turn into such hideous slobs, me included.’

  He didn’t look like a hideous slob. His open-necked pale blue shirt was well ironed, and his grey slacks pressed. His hair needed a better cut, it was a bit bedraggled around his ears, but it was clean and shiny. She thought his eyes were lovely – bright, twinkly and kind.

  ‘Are you in your first year at university?’ she asked. She didn’t like to ask directly how old he was.

  ‘Second,’ he said. Charlie assumed by that that he was twenty. ‘Just a year and a bit before they let me loose in the world of business and high tech. Always supposing I get a good degree of course. If I fail I’ll have to get a job in a shoe shop or something. What about you? Beryl said you were doing “A” levels?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘I wanted to go to university, but I don’t think that’s feasible. Has Beryl told you about my mum?’

  ‘Yes, well, a bit. I believe she can’t walk and you look after her. I’m sorry, Charlie, that must be tough.’

  ‘It’s a chore rather than tough,’ but she laughed as she said it, suspecting Beryl had given him the true low-down already. ‘She’s doing a degree herself.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked astonished. ‘What in?’

  ‘Whingeing. I expect she’ll get an honours in it.’

  He spluttered with laughter, and as Ivor was just coming back into the room followed by Beryl, they both wanted to know what the joke was. Andrew repeated what Charlie’d said and both Beryl and Ivor joined in the laughter.

  ‘Come on now, it’s time to eat,’ Beryl said, and waved them towards the door.

  Charlie had never seen the table upstairs in the sitting room laid for dinner before as Beryl always ate in the kitchen. It looked very attractive with a dark blue tablecloth, good silver, crystal glasses, candles and flowers. She had lit a real fire, the curtains were drawn and the room was very cosy.

  Charlie had always been impressed by Beryl’s cooking. She had a knack of making even an ordinary dish like shepherd’s pie something special, but tonight she’d set out to impress: avocados stuffed with prawns for starters, then boeuf en croûte for the main course. Charlie was starving after being out in the boat, and she concentrated on eating and listening rather than talking herself.

  Andrew
was very funny. He told stories about his flatmates’ escapades which were so vivid Charlie could almost see fat, short-sighted Nigel dancing with more energy than style to James Brown, acne-suffering Dan who couldn’t find a girlfriend, and weird-sounding Robert Battershill with his passion for making home-made fireworks.

  She liked Andrew’s honesty too. He didn’t make himself out to be super-intelligent, and pointed out early on that he’d been brought up on a council estate in Oxford. There was a joyfulness flowing out of him, as though he’d looked around him and decided his life was far better than he ought to expect. So many of the students Charlie had met while working in the Royal Castle complained about everything: their grants weren’t enough to live on, their parents expected too much, the government was failing them and they doubted they’d even get a good job when they got their degree.

  By the time Beryl got up to bring in the pudding, they’d already drunk two bottles of claret between the four of them, and Charlie was just a bit tipsy. When Beryl came back into the room with a huge steaming treacle pudding and another bottle of wine, Charlie groaned.

  ‘Now, don’t look like that,’ Beryl said with a grin. ‘I know full well you are a treacle addict, and you’ll find room for it somewhere. Besides, these boys need pampering. I doubt either of them’s had a home-made pud in years.’

  ‘Mum used to make this when I was little,’ Andrew said as he gleefully tucked into a huge bowlful. ‘She says she doesn’t remember how to make it any more. She’d better come down here and take lessons from you.’

  ‘Takes me back to my childhood too,’ Ivor admitted. ‘Mum made suet puddings all the time. Not just sweet ones, but savoury ones with bacon and herbs. She used to say, “It greases your lungs.” ’

  Charlie squealed with laughter. ‘What a disgusting thought!’

  ‘It did seem to have some magic qualities,’ Ivor said. ‘I can remember going out fishing with Dad after one of those puds and not feeling the cold at all. Sometimes she gave us another lump of it to eat cold later. Nothing tasted better at four in the morning with a nice hot cup of tea.’

  ‘So what food sticks in your mind from childhood, Charlie?’ Andrew asked. ‘Something that had special significance?’

  She thought for a moment. Her mother’s brand of cooking had always been rather fancy and very forgettable. ‘Dad making Nasi Goreng,’ she said.

  ‘What on earth’s that?’ Beryl asked.

  ‘A kind of mixture of different Chinese dishes,’ Charlie explained. ‘Noodles, rice, vegetables and any meat or fish you care to chuck in it. It’s wonderful.’

  Ivor nodded. ‘I had it all over the Far East,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried to make it myself, but it never tasted the same.’

  ‘I’ll find out how to make it properly and I’ll make it for all of us one day,’ Charlie said with a smile.

  Beryl and Ivor went down into the bar later, but Andrew and Charlie stayed upstairs, drinking and talking.

  She had believed she and Guy were on entirely the same wavelength, but after a short while with Andrew she realized this was a fallacy. She had in fact adopted Guy’s ideas; perhaps that was why she didn’t tell him about her parents until right at the end.

  It was effortless telling Andrew about herself, he was so interested. He wanted to know everything about her father, and Charlie wished she had more background detail to share with him, because it was obvious he liked a good mystery.

  ‘If you do come to London after your exams,’ he said eagerly, ‘I could help you dig around. If you could find out from your solicitor which clubs your dad owned, we could go there and pump people for information.’

  ‘Do you think they’d tell us anything? I mean, if the police didn’t make any headway, why should we be lucky?’

  He smiled. ‘We won’t steam in there asking what they know about Jin Weish. We could make out we’re researching a book or something, ask them general questions about Soho in the Fifties. If your dad was a lead player in those days, someone is bound to mention him.’

  ‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ she said, suddenly feeling very excited and hopeful. ‘We might be able to trace DeeDee too.’

  ‘I hope you will look me up,’ he said, all at once more serious. ‘I haven’t got much to offer, just a grotty flat and a clapped-out Lambretta to get around on, but I’d love to see you again and introduce you to all my friends.’

  Charlie thought about those words again once she was in bed, and they made her feel tingly all over. It wasn’t anything like that heart-stopping stuff she’d felt when she first met Guy, yet knowing what she did, she preferred this warm, happy feeling.

  She thought Andrew was lovely. But this time she wasn’t going to rush into anything blindfolded.

  On Good Friday, Charlie’s last morning, she and Ivor walked along the harbour wall together, Minnie running on ahead. ‘What a beautiful morning,’ Charlie sighed. It was only seven, but she’d been unable to stay in bed another minute knowing she had to return home today, and as Ivor was always up and about early, she’d slipped out of the pub to join him.

  It was still very cold, but the sun was shining, seagulls were squawking as they looked for their breakfast, and the boats were bobbing up and down on a brilliant blue sea.

  ‘Is it love that got you up so early?’ Ivor asked teasingly.

  Charlie slipped her arm through his and cuddled up to his side. ‘Love for you, do you mean?’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ he growled.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ she laughed. ‘Andrew is gorgeous, Ivor, he’s got all the qualities I admire. But I’m scared of getting hung up on anyone right now. I’ve got to concentrate on my exams.’

  ‘As I remember, love chooses you rather than the other way,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s been good to see you looking so happy these last few days. I just wish you could stay longer.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said, her mind slipping back to all the fun she’d had with Andrew. They’d been out fishing with Ivor, they’d taken long walks together and even dared each other to paddle yesterday down at Slapton Sands. That had been the best fun of all, the beach was deserted because it was so cold and they’d played chase, like a couple of children. He had kissed her there for the first time, a long lingering kiss that had brought back all those half-forgotten feelings of needing and wanting.

  ‘Will you see him again?’ Ivor asked.

  ‘You’re like a dog with a bone this morning,’ Charlie giggled. ‘Yes, if you must know, I will see him again, but not till after the exams.’

  ‘I’m glad about that.’ Ivor pulled her round by her arms and looked right into her eyes. ‘He’s a good chap, nothing hidden, a kind lad with a good future ahead of him and a great sense of humour. I knew you weren’t ready emotionally for love when Guy came along, but you’re a big girl now and the time is right. Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, and don’t consider your mother too much. Take what you want.’

  Charlie laughed. She thought Ivor was so sweet when he gave her his fatherly lectures. Yet she liked it, and he was so wise she couldn’t ignore his advice.

  ‘What time are you going today?’ he asked a few minutes later as they went back towards his cottage.

  ‘About eleven. Andrew is borrowing Beryl’s car to take me.’

  ‘Are you going to have breakfast with me?’ He raised one bushy eyebrow. ‘A big fried one with sausage and black pudding to grease your lungs?’

  She giggled. ‘Yes, please. I’ll even be able to tackle Mum after that.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you to go off gallivanting with me today?’ Andrew asked as he drove Charlie home to Dartmouth. ‘I’d love you to show me where you used to live and all your old haunts.’

  ‘The spirit is willing, but the mother’s influence is too strong,’ she laughingly replied. ‘If I’m not home when I said, she’ll be hell all Easter weekend.’

  ‘She sounds a real tyrant,’ he said.

 
‘No, she’s not that exactly,’ Charlie said thoughtfully. ‘When she isn’t depressed, she’s a weak, kind of fluffy person. Perhaps it’s much harder for someone like that to cope with problems and disappointments. Unfortunately there’s only me now to take the full brunt of her depression.’

  ‘Being crippled would turn most of us into a depressive,’ he said.

  ‘She was one long before that happened.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘I called it “moods” and “nerves” then, because I didn’t know any better. But it was the same thing. The funny thing is that if you were to meet her on one of her “up” days, you’d be charmed by her. She can be very good with men.’

  ‘You take after her then?’ he joked.

  ‘No, I’m not a bit like her. More like Dad I’d say. Mum says I’m cold, she used to say that about Dad too. I don’t think I am, do you?’

  ‘No, not cold. But there is a kind of distance in you,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s what she means.’

  ‘Chinese blood,’ Charlie giggled. ‘When I was at the infants’ school I cut myself quite badly once. The girl who took me into the teacher to get me patched up was astonished that I had red blood like her. I suppose she thought it would be yellow.’

  ‘I love the way you look,’ he said, looking sideways at her. ‘Your shiny back hair, golden skin, those exotic eyes. I’d like to pin a picture of you to the wall and just look at you all day.’

  ‘I suppose it would beat a cheap print of rampaging elephants,’ she giggled. ‘But a bit too much like that dreadful Woman with the Green Face print of the Chinese woman that people used to be so fond of, for my comfort.’

  ‘My mum’s got that picture!’ He made a mock-scandalized face. ‘Don’t you ever tell her you think it’s dreadful, or she’ll die of mortification. She sees herself as something of an art lover.’

  Charlie smiled. She liked the way he dropped sweet things like wanting to pin up a picture of her into the conversation, but then turned back to ordinary things immediately afterwards. She wanted to feel she was special, but at the same time she didn’t want too much intensity.