The Other Life of Charlotte Evans

by Louisa George

  ‘Right. So we’re here. Just the small matter of where we’re going to be sleeping tonight.’ Niamh dropped her bags to the ground outside the central station and blinked into the light.

  The flight had been… alcoholic. And the train journey into town uneventful. In fact, Eileen had fallen asleep on Charlotte’s shoulder and Charlotte had wished she could have done the same. Or, preferably, slept for ever.

  ‘Apparently the houseboats are just round the corner,’ Lissa called out as she scrolled through her emails on her phone for the directions. Her mood hadn’t exactly improved, but she was managing to string sentences together that didn’t appear barbed. Maybe it was just morning sickness making her sour? ‘Follow me. I should have brought a big stick or an umbrella to hold up so you can see where I am, if I’m going to be the tour guide.’

  Niamh laughed. ‘God help us. We’ll end up in some seedy grunge nightclub or something.’

  ‘Or a dungeon.’ Mia nodded.

  But Eileen just smiled and grabbed the handle on her suitcase. ‘Don’t be mean. She’s organised everything, and I’m sure it’ll be just fine.’

  Mia looked at Lissa’s raven hair and jet jeans and ebony jacket and her eyebrows rose. ‘If you like black.’

  But the houseboats weren’t black. They were two beautiful, bright and airy, four-berth boats moored in front of tall, narrow, candy-coloured buildings just a five-minute walk from the railway station.

  ‘Oh, they’re gorgeous. Thanks so much, Lissa.’ Niamh threw her arms around her, which Lissa accepted a little uneasily. ‘I may have underestimated you.’

  They all piled into the first boat, exclaiming oohs and aahhs at the wooden furniture and modern white decor. There was a spacious bathroom, two double bedrooms and a wooden deck that opened to the outdoors.

  ‘I thought they’d be like caravans, but they’re huge.’ Sonja pulled open a kitchen drawer and lifted out a corkscrew bottle opener. ‘Excellent. This is all we need. Marvellous. Sorted then.’

  Lissa tutted. Unusual. ‘I was going to suggest that Charlotte, Eileen and I have this one. Shelley, Mia, Sonja and Niamh can have the one next door. But are you okay with that, Charlotte?’

  Charlotte wasn’t overly sure. There was an atmosphere of unease with Lissa that she’d never felt before, and she wasn’t sure if it was coming from her anxiety about the things Ben said, or the pregnancy, or just generally being here at all. But she couldn’t let fifteen years of friendship disappear down the canal. ‘Of course. Mum, you take that double and we’ll share this one.’

  Lissa nodded and looked at the time on her phone. ‘Okay, ladies, go and unpack. You have twenty minutes and then we’re having lunch. Er… after we’ve sorted the bike hire.’

  Pale-faced, Eileen stopped on her way to her bedroom. ‘Bikes? I’m nearly seventy.’

  ‘Tosh! You’re what? Sixty-seven, which means early sixties really and sixty is the new black, right Mrs E? You’ll be fine. It’s all flat and we’ll go very slowly. You’ll love it. Trust me.’

  ‘Hmmmm… why do I feel very suspicious about that? Can we go to the Anne Frank Museum while we’re out?’

  ‘Ugh. Do we have to?’ Terminally uncultured Sonja shivered. ‘Won’t it be depressing? This is supposed to be fun.’

  Niamh flicked through a brochure of things to do she’d found on the kitchen bench top, and grinned. ‘If we’re going to go to any museum, can it be the sex one?’

  This time Sonja looked very enthusiastic. ‘Oh my God. Yes. Yes, Let’s do that.’

  It was late afternoon by the time they’d done a circuit of the city, criss-crossed what felt like a thousand canals, and ended up back at the houseboat, having laughed until their sides hurt at some strange exhibits in the sex museum. Eileen had stopped off to learn all about Anne Frank by visiting her house, which, they’d discovered, wasn’t far away at all.

  And while they’d laughed and been silly as they’d wheeled their way around this pretty city, they’d been cocooned by the comfort of numbers; seven people to take the strain away, to make the jokes, to distract from the turmoil inside Charlotte’s head.

  Now it was just Lissa and her, Charlotte wasn’t sure what to say or do next. Normally it would have been a recap of the day, plans for the evening. A vent about Ben. But things felt so different to Charlotte that she literally didn’t know what they could talk about that would be safe territory.

  Having secured the bikes to railings outside the boat she climbed down the steps and threw her bag on the luxurious white sofa. ‘I’m bushed. Is there time for a snooze, d’you think?’

  ‘Yep. I’m bloody knackered. I could sleep for a week.’ Lissa followed her in, dumped her bag on the sofa and slumped down next to it, feet on the coffee table in front of her. ‘I wish they’d all just back off about the drinking.’

  ‘You do realise that at some point you’re going to have to tell them about the baby, don’t you? You won’t be able to fob them off with the antibiotic story for long. Sonja said you’d have finished them by now and they’d be out of your system.’

  ‘I know. I know. I know. Just leave it, will you?’

  Here we are again. Was she really such a downer on everyone? ‘I’m trying to help.’

  ‘Well, you’re not.’

  Lissa was renowned for straight talking and even for being grumpy, but this was another level. ‘What’s eating you?’

  Lissa looked up from the phone she was tapping on. She certainly had a lot to say to whoever she was messaging. She sighed dramatically. ‘Look, I’m pregnant and I’m tired. I feel sick and I’m exhausted by pretending to be happy all the time.’

  Me too. ‘I’m sorry. I never imagined my hen weekend would be so hard for you.’ The words were out before Charlotte could bite them back and she immediately regretted them. This wasn’t like her. Who was she becoming, pushing everyone away?

  She was protecting herself, she knew. She couldn’t help it. But if she wasn’t careful she wouldn’t have a boyfriend or a best friend.

  But Lissa lurched upright. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I was just letting off steam and you’re the safest person I can do that with. You don’t usually mind when I gripe. I have a lot of things to think about, okay?’

  ‘Yeah. You and me both.’

  About Ben? Is that what she was thinking about? Or about the baby?

  God, the baby. Lissa was carrying a child and it hadn’t been until Ben had all but forbidden Charlotte to have one that she’d realised how much she wanted one. How her gut tightened at the thought of having a baby inside her. And of the hopelessness of thinking that might never happen. That she might never hold a baby to her breast. Before it was removed.

  There were too many thoughts, too many things in her head, and yet here she was parading around like a tourist as if she had no cares in the world. In that moment she decided to get one thing out of the way, and hopefully out of her head: the Ben issue. She needed to ask her friend about him before the worry ate away at her. She needed to make peace with her chief bridesmaid. ‘Lissa? Can we talk? I mean, there’s some… stuff we need to nut out between us.’

  But her best friend threw her phone onto the coffee table and stood up. ‘Can it wait? I’m going for a shower and a nap.’

  As she watched her go, Charlotte wondered just how broken things were between them. And whether they’d ever be able to fix them.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She’d managed not to look at the phone while Lissa was in the shower, but it had taken more willpower than Charlotte knew she had. And her question about Ben was never answered.

  Then Eileen had bumbled back to the boat and before long they were all dolled up in their sashes – and fluffy wings and spiky tiaras – and sitting round a table in their third busy bar of the evening, in the Red Light District, pretending to be having fun. The Spice Girls background music seemed very appropriate, at least to the pack of hens surrounding Charlotte. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel remotely spicy, posh, sporty
or otherwise. She just felt flat.

  ‘Let’s play a game!’ Mia seemed to have taken on the role of party planner, what with providing the luminous pink bride’s outfit and now being games mistress. She tugged out her tote, grabbed some laminated cards and put them face down on the table. ‘I have a few in mind. What about Truth or Dare?’

  ‘Oh no. No way.’ Too many lies. Too many secrets. Charlotte glanced nervously at Lissa, trying to make amends for their little frisson earlier. But she didn’t appear to get the telepathic apology. ‘Let’s just have a quiet drink.’

  Mia tapped the cards and giggled. ‘Quiet? Nope. Not a chance in hell. How about a game of Random Acts of Flirtiness?’

  ‘What the hell? A what of what?’ A spike of fear ran down Charlotte’s spine.

  ‘So… here’s a pack of cards I’ve made up. When it’s your turn you have to pick one and do the deed on the card.’

  Eileen was white with fear. ‘Oh God. No. Can I go home?’

  ‘Not a chance.’ Mia turned a card over, read it, smiled and put it back face down on the table.

  ‘Well, what kind of deeds?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll see.’ Mia gave Eileen’s sleeve a tug. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs E, I’ll be kind to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means, but thank you. I think.’

  ‘Right. Count me in. How do we choose who goes first?’ Sonja rubbed her hands together as if she was about to get stuck into something very tasty.

  ‘Spin a bottle?’ Eyes darting over their table and to the one next to them, Mia grabbed a bottle and placed it in the middle of the huddled circle of women. ‘Look, use this empty beer one.’

  ‘Uh-oh. Oh.’ Trying to avoid the spinning bottle stopping and facing her Charlotte dodged left and right behind Sonja and Eileen at her sides. Slower and slower it span, until it finally stopped in front of Eileen.

  She sighed. ‘First? Why me?’

  Poor Mum. She was really putting herself out there for this weekend. ‘I don’t mind going first if you like.’

  ‘No. It’s Eileen. You’re game, right? Get it over with. It’s harmless, honestly.’ In answer to Mia’s question Eileen gave a very brief, very uncertain nod. ‘You get the Random Accent Act of Flirtiness. Okay. See that group of men over there? The suave-looking guy with the Panama hat and neat beard? He’s your target. You have to go up to the bar, engage him in conversation and pretend you’re from… er… Russia?’

  Lissa grimaced. ‘Mexico…’

  ‘New Zealand,’ Shelley piped up.

  Mia rubbed her hands again. ‘Greece, I think. Yes. Pretend you’re from Greece.’

  But Eileen just sat there fiddling with her beermat. ‘I don’t know how Greek people sound.’

  ‘Just put on an accent and speak in broken English. Just go…’ Mia waved the stack of cards. ‘Or there’ll be worse to come.’

  Poor, poor Mum. But there was a little shiver of pride in Charlotte’s chest as Eileen pushed her way through the crowd and wedged herself next to the man at the bar. She looked far from confident, but together. Strong. She couldn’t imagine Carol doing this.

  ‘She’s a good sort, your mum.’ Niamh had shuffled into Eileen’s place at the table. ‘I like her. You’d never find my mum in a place like this. Thank God you didn’t invite her.’

  ‘Oh, I did, but Ben said she said she’d just see us on the day.’

  ‘Thank God for that. I think she’d have a heart attack if anyone suggested she pretended she was from Greece’ They sat watching Eileen chatting to the bearded man and smiling. Smiling. Laughing now. Wow. That was a first. Then Niamh had another sip of her drink and asked, ‘What do you think Ben’s up to right now?’

  And just like that the fledgling good feelings dissipated.

  ‘Drunk as a skunk somewhere, probably.’ Planning his escape. Why don’t you ask Lissa? She’ll probably know.

  But Niamh frowned. ‘Haven’t you heard from him? After your whole day apart?’

  ‘No. Should I have?’

  ‘I just thought you were joined at the hip.’

  ‘Not this weekend.’ Probably never again. She wanted to blurt it all out, the whole sorry mess, but Niamh wasn’t the right person to say it to. Lissa had been, once upon a time. Her mother was. But spilling her guts all over a random bar in Amsterdam wasn’t the right place. It wasn’t the right time.

  Seemed like that was the story of her life.

  Niamh shrugged. She was just making conversation. ‘I guess it’s not good form to commune with your husband-to-be on his stag night.’

  ‘I guess not.’ So many times Charlotte had tapped out a text to him, then deleted it. Truth was, she didn’t know what to say to him. Where to even begin. All she knew was that she missed him. Missed his laugh and his touch and his kisses. Missed their little idiosyncrasies. The marshmallows and salt and vinegar crispness they shared. She missed everything, basically, and ached to make her peace with him. Somehow.

  When Eileen meandered back from the bar she looked lighter, somehow, and younger. Glowing. She had a bright light in her eyes and a huge smile. Mia was first for the interrogation, although they all crowded round her. ‘How did you do? What did he say? Did he believe you?’

  Eileen put her hands up for everyone to stop, inhaling before speaking. ‘Peter. His name’s Peter. He’s from Sussex, here for his son’s stag weekend – which he’s not exactly enjoying, I don’t think. He smiled at me and said hello and I pretended I didn’t understand, so he asked where I was from, so I said I was from Greece – I was terrible. I’d never make an actress. And then he looked at my sash and asked if mother of the bride was the same in Greek. Which, of course, it isn’t, because they have a different alphabet.’ Her cheeks were flushed now and her voice higher and luminous. ‘And he said he knew it wasn’t, because he has a villa in Naxos which he spends three months a year at, so while he isn’t fluent in Greek, he can certainly pick out an accent. So I was what you might call… busted.’

  ‘Good effort, though. At least you did it.’

  ‘I did. And you know what? I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Told you so.’ Mia playfully stuck out her tongue, then wobbled sideways. She’d had a lot of champagne. And beer. And a margarita. Oh, and a specialty berry cocktail concoction called a Fallen Lady. Charlotte hoped it didn’t predict the future because Mia wasn’t exactly upright as she picked up the beer bottle. ‘Now… who’s turn is it next? Let’s spin the bottle and see…’

  Eileen sat back in her chair and picked up a brochure for a strip club from the table and fanned her face. ‘I think I’ll sit this one out…’ But she was distracted by movement close by and suddenly beamed as the crowd parted and Peter came into view. ‘Oh. Hello. Again.’ She stood and they walked over to a quiet corner to talk.

  ‘Oh my God, your mum’s pulled. Look at her, I can’t believe it.’ Lissa was kneeling on a chair, taking a surreptitious photograph of the liaison, and from the side Charlotte could see the makings of a small bump. Her heart bumped a little too, but she fought back the tumult of feelings swimming in her chest and tried to focus on her mum.

  Who was indeed cavorting with a strange man, even if he did just look like a jolly granddad. ‘Do you think we need to rescue her?’

  ‘No, she’s smiling, she’s fine.’ Lissa sat down again. ‘You’re always trying to rescue people, Charl. Eileen. Me. Yourself… not that you need rescuing. You just need to look around and appreciate what you’ve got. Plenty are worse off than you. A lot worse.’

  Wow. That hurt. But, in among those angry feelings, there was a swell of loss and affection for her friend. She hated fighting, hated feeling so disconnected from her. ‘Oh. I know that. Obviously. I just thought she might feel a bit out of her depth.’

  ‘Leave her alone. It’s about time she had a little flirtation. Once you’re married she’ll be lost and probably lonely… and definitely worried about you and all those things you have to work out. She needs to build a life for herself, something else f
or her to focus on.’

  This friend of hers was changing. She was… growing up? Not like me. Not at the moment. ‘Wow, Liss, you’ve gone all sensei all of a sudden. Being sober suits you.’

  Lissa looked over at Mia, who was just about to fall over with a cocktail glass filled with blue liquid in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other, and shrugged. ‘Yeah, well. It’s very boring. The sooner I get this sorted the better. D’you think we should get her to bed?’

  Charlotte’s bumped heart started to hammer. ‘Get what sorted?’

  ‘You know what.’ Lissa gesticulated at her stomach.

  ‘You’re going to… what?’

  ‘Shut up. Not here.’ With a sigh, Lissa stood up, ending the stilted conversation. ‘I’m going to pick Mia up off the floor and take her back to the houseboat.’

  They bundled a very drunk Mia into their double bed to keep an eye on her and keep her safe, then went into the lounge. The others had gone off to find a bar – even Eileen, who had a suave companion with her now too. And a promise from all the others not to let her out of their sights.

  Charlotte knew she’d have been better off going to bed herself, but the tension and her stupid thoughts were getting to her. And, possibly, she’d had too much wine. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, writing and editing and then deleting a text to Ben, she found she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth. ‘Lissa, how exactly does Ben know you’re pregnant?’

  Lissa’s eyes flicked up, warily. ‘I told him. Obviously.’

  ‘Why?’

  There were a few moments where Lissa held her gaze before she spoke, which made Charlotte cautious and nervous. ‘I don’t know, to be honest. I just needed to say it to someone.’

  ‘And he was there.’ Charlotte’s fingers wrapped round the handle of her handbag. Tight. White knuckles. ‘Where?’

  ‘At the studio.’ Lissa sat up straight, wariness in her taut body now too. ‘I can tell who I like. Why are you so angry with me?’

  Wasn’t it obvious? When were Lissa and Ben at the studio together without Charlotte?