A Proper Charlie

by Louise Wise

  ‘S’cuse me, love,’ the larger of the two men said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Charlie, stepping aside.

  One began to unplug the coffee machine, while the other lowered the bottom of the trolley so it could slide beneath the machine.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Melvin, arriving for the morning. The coffee machine was his lifeline.

  ‘Boss’s orders, ‘fraid,’ one of the men said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ someone else said, joining Melvin, Charlie and Sarah.

  As if fearing there might be a mutiny, one of the workmen held up his hands in surrender. ‘We’re taking it away. If you don’t like it take it up with your boss not us.’

  ‘Damn Middleton,’ Sarah muttered, scowling. ‘I knew he’d make changes without discussing it with us.’

  ‘It’s only a frigging coffee machine!’ called Faye from her desk.

  ‘But it’s our coffee machine,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Somebody should say something,’ said Sarah. ‘It isn’t fair that we weren’t consulted. We need this coffee machine.’

  The workmen shrugged at one another, and began to load the machine onto the trolley.

  ‘I agree with Sarah,’ said Charlie. ‘Someone should go and say something to Mr M.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Sarah. ‘Off you go then.’

  The others looked at her expectantly and Charlie flushed. She was fired up from last nights’ activities. She slammed down her empty paper cup, the effect ruined because the cup failed to make any noise, and it crunched beneath her hand spilling the last dregs. ‘OK, I will!’

  The others clapped. ‘Way to go, Charlie!’

  Urged into action, Charlie began to stride across the office. ‘First he kicks poor Fanny out of his office and now he’s removing our coffee machine. I’m going to have words. Maybe two syllable ones!’

  ‘Since when did you care about Fanny?’ Melvin called after her. They were laughing.

  Charlie marched on undaunted. She reached the office door, and rapped three times, but no one answered.

  ‘Charlie!’ called Faye, still laughing. ‘Charlie, Middleton’s not –’

  But Charlie opened the door and stepped inside, ready to demand answers. But the room was empty. Hands akimbo, she glared around the room as if Mr Middleton might be hiding somewhere.

  ‘Damn the man!’ Charlie cussed, and spun round to stalk out of Mr Fanton’s office, but instead came face to face with Middleton himself. ‘Oh,’ she said. Surprise opened a door to her anger, and it began to flee her body.

  ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ he asked pleasantly, but it was clear he had heard her words, and displeasure forced the corners of his mouth down. He stepped inside, and Charlie saw the look of worry on Melvin’s face before the door closed.

  ‘Actually there is.’ She raised her chin, trying to hold on to her anger. ‘Why have you removed the coffee machine?’

  ‘Because it’s faulty –’

  ‘Caffeine helps concentration and aids productivity,’ she waded in hotly, without even stopping to listen. ‘You’ll find most people nipping off to the canteen for a coffee now; actually the canteen will become the office just so we can be near a coffee machine. Don’t you realise how addicted we are to caffeine?’ With one hand on her hip, the other was waving a finger beneath his nose. ‘Without coffee, or tea – some people prefer tea, which is perfectly OK, personally I’m a coffee person, although I do like tea, but would never say no to a hot chocolate, especially if it’s offered with cream and marshmallow.’

  Mr Middleton waited as if for her to continue her tirade, but she stood smiling up at him, thinking of how much she fancied a hot chocolate, topped with cream and marshmallows. In fact, it would do her mood the world of good.

  ‘Er, you were telling me what the effects would be on the workforce should the coffee machine be removed permanently?’ he asked. His voice was less strained Charlie noticed – and his face had softened. ‘And also what you’re like without your hourly fix of coffee or tea, or hot chocolate,’ he added softly.

  Now reminded of her anger Charlie realised it had all disintegrated around her. ‘Oh, well, without either we just crumble,’ she clicked her fingers, or rather rubbed finger and thumb together, ‘we’d be nothing.’

  Mr Middleton turned from her, looking as if he was trying to hide a grin. He clumsily placed his briefcase and laptop on Mr Fanton’s desk and knocked a hard-backed book to the floor. ‘The coffee machine is old and faulty,’ he said retrieving the book and tossing it on the desk. ‘It’s being replaced shortly. In fact you should have a new one by tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Then why didn’t you say instead of letting me waffle on and make a complete ars – er, fool of myself?’

  His smile widened. ‘I did tell you, only you were too busy waffling.’

  Charlie grunted, and folded her arms. ‘Well, maybe you should learn to speak up, then.’

  ‘OK, my fault,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I’ll speak up. I could even holler if you want me to?’

  ‘Now you’re being sarky.’ She glanced at the book. It was clearly a non-fiction; factual. She wondered of Mr Middleton’s outside interests. The book was upside down and she couldn’t make out the title, but she could see the planet Jupiter and its unmistakable Red Spot.

  She looked back at him with interest anew. ‘You’re into astronomy?’

  He looked guarded as if he had tolerated a lifetime of ridicule for his sport. There was something soft about Ben Middleton, Charlie noticed with a start. He tried to be the no-nonsense businessman with neatly combed hair and pin-stripe suits, but beneath it all he was a gentle, out-of-his-depth man.

  ‘Wow, you’re…’ she stopped herself before she blurted it all out. Instead she said, ‘Did you see that documentary the other week? The one about Jupiter and its ever-spinning red storm?’

  Ben looked startled. ‘Um, er, yes, as a matter of fact I did.’

  Charlie nodded happily. There weren’t many people you could discuss your love of all things space. ‘I thought it was brilliant! I love stuff like that.’ Judging by his expression she guessed she had impressed him, but she couldn’t fathom how. She turned towards the door. ‘I’ll tell the others,’ she said.

  He appeared flustered. ‘Tell them what?’

  ‘That the coffee machine’s going to be replaced,’ she answered.

  ‘Oh, right, yes.’ He looked relieved, and Charlie warmed to him even more.

  TWENTY TWO

  Ben closed the door after her. He had dragged himself into work feeling as if he could close the business down altogether and it wouldn’t bother him. He was worried about his sister and his father’s health, as the doctor claimed any more stress could lead to a fatal heart attack. Ben, single-handedly, had to keep the business going, make the takeover successful, find his sister and grieve for his mother.

  His father hadn’t given him too much of a hard time over losing Camilla’s phone number, but probably only because he hadn’t been told the sort of information Ben had lost.

  He must have dropped the scrap of paper between being evicted from Readman’s and reaching home. He had been in such a hurry to escape Shrek that he’d failed to check his pocket. And of course, he only went to collect it after the cleaner had cleaned his room and Iris had sent his suit off to the cleaners. He had demanded the dry cleaners search their shop, but it hadn’t turned up.

  But despite all of this, somehow this woman, this Charlie Wallis, made the world feel warm again. The feeling was disturbing as well as welcoming. And it lasted until early evening when Melvin Giles bounded into his office like a gazelle.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, beaming. ‘You’ll love this. We’ve another exclusive.’

  Ben picked up the page proofs Melvin had placed on his desk. ‘Information like this,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘I want before they’re made into proofs.’

  The smile on Melvin’s face slipped.

&n
bsp; Ben stared at the proofs on his desk and rubbed the back of his neck.

  ‘Third Victim for Gentleman Abductor’, the headline screamed at him. But the words beneath had stricken him dumb, ‘Known prostitute and drug user, Sally Readman is the third woman to vanish from the streets. Fears for the missing women grow’.

  At the slight click of his door closing, Ben realised Melvin had slipped out. He hadn’t meant to sound so brusque, but dammit, his sister was out there!

  *

  Charlie was walking better in her heels, although instead of a short skirt and stockings she wore jeans and a polo jumper – finally taking Jan’s advice. She’d scraped back all of her red hair as well and hid it beneath a baseball cap, leaving the black hairpieces to frame her face. She preferred the dark colour better than the blonde. Her face was made-up in a riot of colours.

  She’d been thinking about Mr Middleton and realised with a start that he’d replaced Andy in her constant thought. Every time she closed her eyes she could see his chocolate eyes, crinkling at the corners, as he smiled down at her.

  She loved Andy, she told herself. Andy was the one for her, not Middleton. As if to prove it she pulled out her mobile and texted Andy: Redy 2 cum hme? Im w8ing. Her text was replied to almost immediately, which gave her hope: Hed not str8. Ned mor time.

  She beamed. So, they hadn’t technically finished! Brilliant! She walked jauntily along the path deliberately blocking Mr Middleton from her mind. She was thankful when she joined a group of woman and was able to chat about ordinary girly things.

  After a few hours, Charlie had gathered more information on the prostitutes and their thoughts, and was about to head home when she saw Jan. She was delighted to see her safe, and Jan seemed equally pleased to see her.

  ‘Turned any tricks tonight?’ Jan asked.

  ‘Only a couple,’ the lie slipped easily from her mouth.

  ‘I hate the middle of the week,’ Jan said. ‘It’s always so quiet – walk!’ she said urgently. ‘Rozzer at two o’clock,’ she said. She linked Charlie’s arm and they strode up the path like they were two ordinary young women out for a late night stroll.

  Charlie looked over her shoulder at the plain-clothed WPC walking close to where they had been standing. She appeared to be touting for business just like them.

  ‘How’d you know she’s a copper?’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Jan said darkly.

  ‘You’ve been in trouble with them?’

  Jan nodded. ‘More than a few times. I’ve been done for soliciting and possession –’

  ‘Possession! Oh, Jan, not drugs. If you use them then you’ll never escape this life.’

  ‘Relax Mary Poppins, they weren’t mine. Well, sort of. I earned them, I suppose you could say. I didn’t want them, but it was either that or nothing. I thought I could sell them on.’

  Charlie groaned inaudibly as they rounded a corner away from the police officer. ‘Have you, er, seen Sally lately?’ she asked, thinking she’d just get her question over with so she could stop worrying.

  ‘Sally?’ Jan frowned. ‘Oh, her. No, why? Don’t lend her any money or nothing, you’ll never get it back.’

  ‘No, I haven’t lent her anything. I was just wondering.’ Charlie bit on her lower lip, and in her mind’s eye saw Sally climb into the red car.

  They crossed into another road, and stopped.

  ‘I think we’ll be safe, here,’ Jan said.

  ‘And you’d know all about safe, wouldn’t you? You know, I’ve a clanger of a headache, so I’m going to call it a night.’

  ‘Already?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Goodnight, Jan, take care,’ she said and began to walk away. Jan shouted a farewell and leaned against a lamppost, and dug deep into her pocket for a cigarette.

  Charlie hadn’t gone far, when a red car crawled passed her. The red Audi! She couldn’t see through the tinted windows, but she imagined the driver scrutinising her. She shivered, and pulled her polo neck up around her mouth, feeling very cold.

  The car turned the corner, and stopped just by Jan. The window rolled down and Jan put her hands on the edge and leaned inside. Even as Charlie saw her hand move to the handle, she wasn’t aware of kicking off her shoes and racing towards her. Even pushing Jan to one side was a blur and as Charlie jumped into the backseat her brain caught up with what she had done in disbelief.

  ‘Frigging bitch!’ Charlie heard Jan yell as the window slowly rolled back up. ‘Just because it’s a posh car, you think you’ll earn.’ She spat her cigarette on the ground, and saluted Charlie with her middle finger.

  As the car sped away, the enormity of what she had done bore down upon her. She tried to look at the driver through the mirror, but his face was in shadow and his hair was covered with a black woolly hat.

  She looked around the car. The seats smelt of leather, and they certainly felt that way as she slid a hand over the upholstery. She looked up at the roof trying to take in and remember every detail so she could refer it back to the police if she – when – she escaped. Her gaze dropped to the floor, it was a black space and she couldn’t even see her feet. She groped the area with her toes. The floor was soft and clearly free of dirt and debris… no, what was that? Lodged underneath in the mechanism of the front seat, Charlie’s toes curled around a piece of paper. Slowly, without moving the upper part of her body she brought her foot up towards her lap. She quickly pocketed the paper, and resumed to stare at the back of the man’s head. Black hair around the nape escaped the tight beanie hat he wore and curled around his ears. He needed a haircut, Charlie noticed.

  She looked at the hands on the steering wheel, hands that were dressed in black gloves. To mask his fingerprints!

  She felt she was suffocating, and as she struggled to breathe her heart bounced inside her chest like a rubber ball. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack for a year now; she couldn’t afford to have one now!

  She sat close to the door and carefully, without trying to draw attention to herself, tried to lower the window. The car was moving too fast for her to jump out, but maybe she could shout out of the window for help?

  Surprisingly the window slid down at the touch of a button.

  ‘Doona want air?’

  His voice made her jump; it had a Scottish lilt to it. She stared dumbfounded at his shadowed face in the mirror.

  ‘I can put the air con on if you prefer, lass,’ he said, the voice was definitely Scottish.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said. ‘I want to get out.’ She was surprised again when the car slowed to a stop. Not because she thought he would ignore her, but because she hadn’t realised she had spoken out loud. Her mouth and throat felt so dry, she wondered how her tongue had managed to form the words.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘You’re free to go. Or doona want me to drop you back where I picked you up?’

  TWENTY THREE

  Ben stared in his rear-view mirror at the young girl in his car. She was half in shadow and he could see nothing of her face. She sounded young – and panicky. She didn’t appear hardened like other women of the vice trade, or as self-assured. She seemed out of place, and extremely nervous. Maybe it was her first time?

  He hadn’t picked up a prostitute since Readman and wasn’t happy to do so again, but since Ben heard that Readman had been the third prostitute to disappear – which hadn’t officially been released yet – he’d felt desperate.

  ‘Does the name Jane or Camilla mean anything to you, lass?’ he asked, looking at her through the rear-view mirror. She stared back; her eyes glittering darkly beneath the baseball cap she wore. For a brief moment, those eyes were strangely familiar. Maybe he’d spoken to her before. He sighed; already one prostitute had refused to get into his car because a colleague – can they be called that? – yelled that he wasn’t a customer but a ‘sad old private investigator’, and she’d beat a hasty retreat.

  The trouble was, prostitutes didn’t like answering questions, and were hostile to anyone outside
their profession. But the problem Ben was facing now was that all the women were closing up and allowing Camilla to hide behind them, and because of that he planned to hire a prostitute to be his extra eyes and ears on the street. He’d pay her cash weekly, daily even, if she agreed. Surely, if he offered the right amount, the prostitute would agree?

  ‘No,’ the answer was short as he glanced in his mirror at the woman behind. She wore a denim jacket over the top of a black polo jumper, which covered the lower half of her face as if she was cold, yet she had her head turned towards the opened window. Black hair had escaped her baseball cap, and blew over her face. ‘You can just drop me here.’

  He indicated and pulled over. ‘There you go, lass,’ he said, and watched as she scrambled out of the car. Then it struck him. Of course! How could he have been so stupid? The description of the abductor’s car – posh – could be deemed similar to his own. He groaned, he must have frightened her to death! But why did she get in the car?

  The woman hobbled away, and he noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes. He watched her head for the nearest taxi rank, then look up as if to see him inside the car, before bending down to climb in a taxi.

  Ben felt uncomfortable. There was something strange about this particular prostitute. She didn’t fit the picture. Shrugging off the feeling, Ben pulled away from the kerbside, and began his search again.

  *

  Inside the taxi, Charlie felt inside her pocket for the scrap of paper she had found in the back of the Audi. But she was disappointed. It was only an old petrol receipt with an illegible scribble on the back. But she pocketed it anyway, believing it evidence worth keeping.

  She let herself into her flat in a weary silence. Inside she put on a CD and turned it high so she could hear it from the bathroom where she had a long bath. For once, the thump-thump of music from the flat above was welcomed and, together with the smooth tone of Micheal Bublé, she didn’t feel quite so alone.