Seven Daze

by Charlie Wade

  Before long he’d meandered towards Charlotte’s. Still quarter of an hour early, he sent a message. I’m a bit early. Shall I wait in the pub down the road?

  He stood outside the front door kicking his heels for two minutes before the reply came. No it’s okay. I’m nearly done.

  His stomach was a mess of butterflies that never wanted to eat again. Taking a deep breath and checking no lumps of hair were sticking up, he pressed the door buzzer.

  “Hi. That was quick.” Her voice electronically mutilated through the entry phone.

  “Yeah.” Was all he could think to say.

  “Come in.”

  The door buzzed as the lock was released. One last deep breath and he pushed it open then walked into the lower stairwell. He’d seen a glimpse the other day, but now actually inside a crisp freshness filled his nose. Flowers or pot pourri seemed to fill every void. There was another smell though, the smell of a new building. Recently plastered walls and the smell of timber settling in. He’d give it five years before major structural alterations were needed, but for now the residents were living the ultimate dream. Spacious flat, good area, exclusive neighbours. What more could they want?

  The eight or nine stairs of bare wood led to the lower gallery. In the background, another flight of stairs reached up. Old bricks and bare wooden beams clashed with new door fittings and handrails.

  “Come in.” Her voice called from round the corner.

  As he walked up the stairs, the room opened before him. Large wasn’t a big enough word. Three massive leather sofas arranged in U shape stood in the middle, like a field of cows chewing the cud. Facing them, the biggest LCD television he’d ever seen. A small coffee table in front of the chairs littered tidily with magazines, books and remote controls. The evening sun shone in through the large front window accentuating the split level of the galley above. Bookcases and modern prints lined the walls and a Blaupunkt music system took the right hand corner, a small desk occupying the left.

  Behind the sofas, a dining table with six chairs was plonked near the far wall. The nearer wall had two doors, one heading under the stairs and barely large enough to be more than a cupboard. At the rear of the room, and under the supported ceiling, Charlotte stood in the kitchen. Jim wondered if the kitchen had been borrowed from a hotel. The ubiquitous central island played host to a sink and work area, while behind it an array of ovens, grills, hobs and oversized fridge filled the wall. It amazed him the sheer quantity of stainless steel that had been crammed into the area. Another door led from the kitchen. Jim hadn’t a clue what would be in it. This had been a warehouse, so it couldn’t be a garden. The bedrooms were above, so what else could be back there?

  Smiling, he walked to the kitchen. In Charlotte’s hands were three pairs of shoes, two strapless, one with a lot of straps. He thought she looked stunning, more than normal. Her hair was still damp and a touch frizzy. Make-up had been applied, and the dress, a knee-length black number, suited her.

  She held her hands up, the shoes swinging round. “This is my pad.”

  “Incredible,” was all he could say. It was more than incredible; he’d never seen anything like it. He tried to close his mouth aware that his tongue was nearly on the floor.

  “Sit down.” She pointed at the sofas. “I’ll just finish my hair off.”

  He wanted to tell her she looked perfect, but the words wouldn’t come out. Every time he tried, they sounded corny in his head so got no further. He wandered round the middle sofa and sat in the corner feeling lost. The music system was playing a CD at a incoherent volume. Background music. He thought it was jazz or blues, but really wasn’t sure. The speakers either side of the television looked powerful enough to blow the poorly renovated roof off. He wondered what The Clash would sound like at full volume.

  As hard as he was trying not to, his brain feverishly totted up the contents. It was a lot more than twenty grand, though, at Terence’s rates, it would be closer to eight.

  That didn’t matter though. Charlotte was off limits.

  Off limits.

  As she went upstairs he flicked through the small stack of magazines. Financial and other highbrow titles. He didn’t know where to start. He supposed a glossy gossip mag or puzzle book was not in keeping with the rest of the place. Picking out a copy of Private Eye, he sank back into the cow-sided sofa. It seemed to mould around him, keeping his posture yet giving an immense feel of comfort.

  Occasional noise and a hairdryer whirring told him she was nearly ready. Beside him in the other corner of the sofa was a laptop. Gripping the magazine closer, he tried to purge his mind of the thought running through it. The details of her deal would be in the laptop. Information on share prices, investors, maybe home addresses. He could set himself up for life by just walking out now.

  Off limits.

  Sighing, he put the magazine down. The words weren’t going in. Where the hell could this go? Just exactly where could this go?

  The bedroom door opened, her voice sharply following it. “I’m really sorry.”

  He turned round. Her face looked hurt again, mortified. He had a good idea what was coming next.

  “You don’t have to sit there. The chairs at the dining table are solid wood. Sorry, I forgot.”

  Jim wasn’t sure what she meant, but stood up anyway. “Sorry, what do you mean?”

  “The sofa. Sorry, I just didn’t think.”

  Jim looked at the sofa. Whatever she was on about, he hadn’t a clue.

  “Leather?” She looked ready to spell it out. He clicked. Phony vegetarianism had foiled him again.

  “Oh. Umm.” He paused, looking away as she descended the stairs, her droopy lock of hair leading her way. “It’s okay. I’m not that much of a ...”

  “No, you shouldn’t apologise. God, you must think I’m awful. Please, sit at the dining table.”

  Jim walked away from the sofa. He was the awful one and he knew it. This whole vegetarian lark had gone too far. He had to find a way of stopping it.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she picked a pair of strapless shoes from the pile and squeezed her feet in them. Jim was standing midway between sofas and a table, unable to move either way.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Nearly.” She smiled. “Handbag and phone.” She walked towards the kitchen area and picked up her bag. Scouting round for her phone, she paused, her face confused. “Upstairs.”

  Jim stood rigid, still midway between the cows and chairs while she went upstairs. His voice had all but disappeared. All the things he wanted to say lost amongst a sea of confusion. He realised his mouth was open again. He felt like an inbred simpleton speaking to a rocket scientist.

  She reappeared and walked downstairs. “Ready now.” Her face beamed with a glowing smile.

  “Okay.” Was all he could manage as he followed her outside.

  Outside, as she triple-locked the door, Jim looked around. People were still milling around either going home or out for the evening. Turning to face her as she put her keys in her bag, he remembered the last time they’d stood here. Two days ago, but a kiss had sealed the start of whatever this was. Her face blushed before him; maybe she was thinking the same thing. Looking down at his feet he pondered making his intentions clear; taking her in his arms. But it didn’t feel right.

  “Where are we going then?” she asked.

  “Well, considering I’m a bit of a stranger, I was hoping you could recommend somewhere.” But nowhere too expensive he thought, but didn’t say.

  Her face dropped momentarily. He guessed she was looking to be surprised. He’d done that alright. Truth was, he didn’t know anywhere. Even if his story was true, how would he have come across somewhere decent to eat so quickly?

  Her smile half returned. “Chinese?”

  Jim nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  “We need a cab then. I know a good one.” She stuck her arm up in the air briefly. Though not much traffic seemed to come down the back
street, there always seemed to be a cabbie around, just waiting. Within seconds, the cab pulled up to the pavement and Jim opened the door. Remembering his manners, he let her in before himself.

  “Where to, guv?” asked the cabbie.

  Charlotte said a road name that Jim didn’t catch, which was followed by the cabbie tutting and sucking in air. Mumbling something about “North of the river,” he eventually pulled a u-turn then joined the queue of traffic crossing the Thames.

  Sat next to her, her perfume filling his nose, Jim caught her eyes and smiled. “Had a good day then?”

  “Yeah,” she paused briefly for breath. “Got another investor in today, which was nice. I thought yesterday I’d got the last one, but it just goes to show there’s no harm in looking. Then I caught up on some paperwork that seemed to take forever in itself ...”

  Jim noticed the taxi driver looking in the mirror. Catching his eye, he smiled.

  “... and then that was it, home time. What about you?”

  Her eyes caught him off guard. They seemed to rip the heart from his lies. What could he say? Sold a load of stolen goods, robbed a wallet from some geezer and nearly got caught then went looking for a bookies he could pull an armed robbery on?

  “Working on the, erm, GDP update today.” He’d seen a news stand earlier guessing next week’s outcome.

  “Oh,” she said. “I thought the Bank of England did GDP. I didn’t realise the ONS were involved.”

  Damn. It had to happen. She’d caught him out. Or had she? He didn’t know either way. As far as Jim knew, the Bank of England just printed bank notes. Why would they produce statistics? What was GDP anyway? What the hell did it even stand for?

  “It’s like a joint thing, you know.” He hoped that would work.

  She seemed convinced. “It’s the talk of the city you know, what some people would give to ...” She stopped midway through the sentence. He followed her eyes to the taxi drivers mirror. What was she about to say that she didn’t want him hearing?

  “I just crunch figures really,” he said. “I don’t know what half the people there do.”

  Silence filled the cab as they stopped midway across the bridge. He hoped he’d sounded genuine. The cabby hadn’t looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He was just plodding on trying to go somewhere in a city full of people going nowhere.

  Crossing the bridge, it occurred to him where her train of thought had gone. She was going to say people would pay for inside knowledge of GDP figures. He was sure that was what she meant. Maybe he could work on that. Information like that must be worth seven grand.

  Off limits. Charlotte was off limits.

  He looked out of the window and winced. Would one of her acquaintances count as off limits? There’d have to be no comeback to her. He couldn’t hurt her, but some other city slicker? They were prime targets.

  “Shall we get out here?” she said.

  Jim looked back at the road. Gridlocked. Nose to tail, both directions. The cabby sighed loud enough to be heard in Chiswick. Jammed as he was, now north of the river, Jim couldn’t blame him for being miffed.

  The fare was ten pounds eighty. Jim handed him a twenty and shrugged his shoulders. Joining Charlotte at the curb, they meandered up the busy street towards what Jim thought was Chinatown.

  A ten-minute walk later they were in Chinatown. Having never been there before, Jim was amazed by the shops, signs, bustle and array of restaurants. It was just how he’d imagined, and more.

  “You haven’t been here have you?”

  “No.” His voice trailed off.

  “If you want Chinese, go to Chinatown.”

  Jim thought she’d said it snobbily. Perhaps she’d wanted to be surprised by where he was taking her. Either way it was too late. She did seem different this evening. Her whole demeanour. Whether stressed or maybe just bored of him he wasn’t sure. As she guided him towards a particularly bright and large restaurant, he thought of taking her hand. Maybe kissing her before they went inside.

  “This one here,” she said, ruining his chance. Not that he’d have done it anyway.

  He reached for the door and opened it. She smiled, but it wasn’t her best one. He knew he should have gone for Indian, or something more exotic or trendy.

  Guided to a table, they sat down. The waiter handed out menus and took their drinks order. They both had a bottle of lager while waiting for the wine menu. Jim studied the menu. Chinese names with English descriptions afterwards. There were no numbers; how were people expected to order? Try to pronounce the squiggles that were words or just point? Pointing was always going to win. The menu was in the wrong order too. Any normal Chinese was soup, starter, main and then dessert. This one was all over the place.

  Jim looked round. Charlotte had the best view again. Her back to the outside wall left Jim with paranoia that someone behind was flicking v-signs at him.

  “Quite busy isn’t it?” he said.

  She nodded. The stray lump of hair finally fell across her forehead but was quickly tidied up. “Weekends are impossible to get a table. I sometimes bring people here for lunch in the week.”

  Jim nodded. His regular Chinese haunt in Coventry, Wok This Way, didn’t bear comparison to this place. He wanted to tell her about its surly waiters and chipped tables, but couldn’t. He knew this was where things would end up. He couldn’t make her a part of his life. He could never really open up. Always in the back of his head were the lies, the cheating. He wondered how serial philanderers and men with multiple lives and families had either the energy or the brainpower to get away with it.

  “There was a restaurant we used to go to in Newport. It was called Wok This Way. Always made me laugh that name.” Though he’d managed to twist the lie, it still felt a lie.

  She smiled. “There’s an Indian in Basingstoke called The Spice is Right. That makes me chuckle.”

  Jim laughed. “Know any more?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Fish and chip shop in Newcastle, Right Plaice Right Time. They spelt it wrong though, which ruined the joke.”

  She laughed before sipping her lager. “What do you fancy? They do a wide range of vegetarian.”

  Jim sighed before he looked at his menu. He had to sort out the vegetarian thing, but now wasn’t a good time. He’d normally have chicken curry and chips or sweet and sour chicken balls. He was going to have be inventive. “Quite a lot here, isn’t there? What are you having.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. It was Charlotte’s choice of where to eat. He took it that he should be deciding what they ate. This could go badly wrong.

  “I suppose,” he said, “we ought to decide how many courses first. Soup or starter, then main and pudding.” He regretted saying pudding. The London word was undoubtedly dessert.

  She patted her non-existent stomach. “I don’t think I could manage more than soup and main.”

  Jim nodded. He was relieved. Not for the cost, the place seemed quite reasonable, but just for the number of decisions involved. The wine waiter arrived and gave him a few more seconds thinking time. Jim said Charlotte should order the wine as she knew a lot more than he did. She ordered something French with a long name. Jim nodded, pretending to agree it was a good choice.

  “Hot and sour soup?” he asked. She nodded. That just left the main. On the back of the menu was the business lunch section. Three courses for a tenner. Chicken in black bean sauce he’d had before, remembering it was nice.

  “Do they do a vegetarian black bean sauce?” he asked while making a show of looking all around the menu.

  “There.” She pointed. “The vermicelli’s also very good. I haven’t tried the veggie one but the chicken’s incredible.”

  Jim nodded.

  When the waiter returned he ordered the soup plus a combination of three dishes between them. The wine soon appeared and flowed. Jim got brave and told her about the time he spent a month in Coventry for the ONS. At last he didn’t have to lie. Turning the conversation
round to her, he asked what else she’d done recently besides work. She was not as open as before; talking was jerky, not fluent. Jim wasn’t sure if that was normal for a second date or not. He knew so much about her and wanted to know more, but couldn’t think where to start. His own lies got in the way. He knew this could only go on for so long. They needed to connect; an embrace or more. He had to remove that thought from his head. Especially the more part. The bit that came after the embrace.

  The food was more than worth the money. Jim was more than impressed. It was nowhere near as salty or oily as his old takeaway. Very powerful flavours too. He almost hadn’t missed the lack of meat.

  The wine nearly finished, and the time approaching nine, the stifled conversation turned again to Jim’s job. Charlotte was interested in what he actually did during the day. This was an obvious problem, and his few attempts at playing the fool and trying to shift the conversation didn’t work. “Do you know what I mean, though.” He tried a different track. “You work there all day and when you think about it later, you think, what have I actually done?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. Happens to me too. Sometimes you just firefight all day, but with no embers to show at five o’clock.”

  Jim liked that line, but had a feeling she’d used it before.

  “So the GDP revision figure.” She leaned further into the table, her eyes connecting with his. “Do you do any work on that?”

  Her eyes so close, she could have asked him to kill a puppy and he’d have done it. Was this going somewhere it shouldn’t or was she finding common ground? He thought back to the taxi. He was sure she’d hinted that people would pay for advance information. He wondered both what they’d pay and why she was suddenly so interested.

  “Yeah.” He paused. “ But what you’ve got to remember is you don’t see the whole picture.” He paused again. He knew in his head what he wanted to say, but was unsure whether it was believable. “I mean, I see one part of the figures. Finding what the actual figure is from that part. Well, it’s bordering on impossible.” He realised he’d answered her unasked question: Did he know what the figure would be? He wondered if he could use this at some point. Would the information be worth thousands?