Take a Chance on Me

by Carol Wyer

  ‘I expected it to be hard-going, given that its little legs looked all tough and chewy, but there was nothing to them. They’re just dry and crunchy,’ she continued. ‘If you close your eyes and pretend you don’t know what this is,’ said Charlie, waving the second locust about, ‘it could be a crisp or a burnt bit of almost anything. Burnt like almost all the food you cook, for example.’ She hooted with laughter.

  The mixture of cocktail and wine was going to her head. She attacked the crocodile dish with zeal. Mercedes joined her, commenting on each dish and pausing only to take photographs of Charlie eating and gurning in an exaggerated fashion.

  Charlie decided she was enjoying herself. It was, after all, a new experience. And the more she ate and discovered it tasted good, the more she enjoyed it. She caught the man looking over from time to time. He had ordered some sort of bean stew. Not everything on the menu was as adventurous as the dishes Mercedes had chosen.

  ‘This crocodile is really tasty,’ said Mercedes, piling some more onto her plate and spearing it with her fork.

  ‘A bit like a cross between chicken and fish.’

  ‘Only with a plump juicy texture.’

  Charlie nodded in agreement.

  Plates emptied, the women were invited to choose a dessert.

  ‘I’m actually too full to try a chocolate locust,’ said Charlie, wiping her mouth with the serviette.

  ‘I’ve got that covered. We’re going for something called a “visit from the doctor”. It seemed most appropriate given we work in a hospital.’

  Charlie shook her head in disbelief. It seemed she was in for yet another surprise.

  The waiter cleared their plates and announced rather dramatically that both ladies looked dreadfully sick. He claimed they looked at death’s door and that he’d call a doctor immediately. His performance attracted the attention of those in the restaurant, including the man nearby who watched, amused, as the drama unfolded. His friend glanced over as well and made some comment to his friend. The man smiled and nodded.

  Charlie played along and claimed she was indeed feeling terribly hot and unwell. A few minutes later the waiter reappeared in a doctor’s jacket and with a stethoscope around his neck. He was carrying a large leather chest that he placed on the table between the ladies and opened to reveal an array of ornate bottles filled with spirits and liqueurs. The ‘doctor’ explained that they should choose their medicine.

  Mercedes squealed alarmingly and pointed to a bottle with a small coiled snake in it. ‘That one. We need to take some of that.’

  The waiter agreed and continued the act, raising the bottle to reveal the creature inside it. He explained it was absinthe that had been distilled for twelve years.

  ‘There’s no way I’m drinking from that bottle. And, apart from the fact there’s a pickled reptile in there, I read that absinthe can make you go blind,’ said a horrified Charlie.

  ‘Who cares? We have to give it a go,’ replied Mercedes, raising her phone to photograph the bottle.

  ‘Would you like me to take a picture of you both?’ asked the man at the next table. ‘It seems a shame not to have you all in the photograph.’

  The women agreed and posed with the waiter and the bottle containing the snake.

  He returned the phone and commented, ‘Hats off for being so adventurous. I’m most impressed.’

  Mercedes nudged Charlie and said ‘phwoar’ under her breath. Charlie giggled helplessly.

  The waiter meanwhile, continuing the act, poured the alcohol into two small glasses and called for a nurse to bring a bowl of boiling water to the table. He offered the women a capsule from a small jar, warning them not to ingest it. They were told to throw the capsules into the water, count to three and down their medicine.

  ‘Come on Charlie. Be brave,’ urged Mercedes. ‘Do something outrageous.’

  ‘One… two… three! Yeurgh!’ Charlie exclaimed.

  Mercedes joined her. She pulled a face of horror and was immediately consumed by a coughing fit. Once it abated, they both burst into fits of giggles.

  The man, who was paying the bill for his table, looked over and smiled genially at them again. He rose and wished them a good afternoon.

  Charlie was sorry he had gone. Alcohol and the lunch had made her feel brave. She might have attempted to engage him in chat if he had stayed.

  Still sniggering, the women realised that their green capsules had dissolved and released little sponge snakes. The waiter assured them it meant they were now completely cured. They ordered the bill which arrived in a keepsake box, with a note informing them that it had been made by a homeless man in South Africa and given to all customers as a reminder of their experience.

  ‘You have passed the first Carpe Diem challenge of the year,’ declared Mercedes as they left the restaurant and returned to her van. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Like a new woman. I’m sure if I rub my legs together, I think I’ll be able to chirrup,’ said Charlie, guffawing.

  Eight

  The following week, Sam Sullivan clattered into the radio studio, grinning like a Cheshire cat just as Charlie was packing up from her show. He dropped his bag on the floor, pulled out his plastic boxes containing sandwiches and snacks, and sank into the presenter’s chair.

  ‘Have I got a surprise for you,’ he commented.

  ‘Come on, spit it out.’

  ‘Nope. You’ll have to listen to my show. I promised Mercedes. My lips are sealed until then.’

  He slipped on the headphones and began whistling while he unpacked his thermos so she couldn’t ask him any questions.

  ‘Mercedes, you horror, what have you done?’ She hissed to her friend who feigned innocence. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll clamp your wheelchair!’

  Mercedes wouldn’t give in either, so it was with some trepidation that Charlie sat in the City Hospital coffee shop listening to Sam’s show.

  ‘That was Crosby, Stills and Nash and their classic song ‘Marrakesh Express’. I’ve never been to Morocco. I’ve always fancied it though – all those souks, tagines and mysterious ladies in veils – which links me nicely onto my next item. You might know our devious technician, Mercedes Thomson. She works with Charlie on the afternoon show. She’s the rich auburn-headed mischief-maker who’s often found hanging about the coffee shop scoffing doughnuts and telling jokes. Yes, that one who races patients in wheelchairs up and down the corridors when no one is looking. Well, she has extracted a promise from our delightful Charlie Blundell to take up a number of surprising challenges this New Year. Our unsuspecting Charlie has no idea what has been chosen for her, but has already been cajoled into eating insects, crocodile and drinking some disgusting absinthe distilled in a bottle containing a snake: yes, the photographs of the event are online on our website. Take a look if you don’t believe me. Right, now, I can reveal the next challenge live on air.

  ‘Hang on a sec, I just need to cue this background music to Mission Impossible. Right, that’s it… remember the original series with Dan Carter and Cinnamon Carter? Way before Tom Cruise. They don’t make them like they used to, do they? Okay, let’s go.’

  Charlie could imagine him pulling a semi-serious expression as he lowered his voice and began, ‘Good evening, Charlie. Your mission, should you chose to accept it, is to contact Jasmine from Jasmine’s Belly Dance Studio in Sutton Coldfield where you have been signed up for belly dancing classes. Now that I would like to see,’ he added with a hearty chuckle. ‘Our Charlie, all sequined up and shimmying.’ He guffawed again then re-adopted his pretend spymaster voice, ‘So, Charlie, that’s your mission. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck.’

  He left a pause and then continued in his usual style. ‘And now we have another song especially for our belly dancing diva. It’s Groove Armada with “I See you Baby (Shaking that Ass)”.’

  Charlie flushed.

  Tina, a matronly woman in her fifties who worked full-time in the coffee shop, was cleaning up after a
busy day. She called out to her, ‘Do you want to borrow a couple of our tea towels as veils, Charlie?’

  ‘I could do with them, Tina. I might just go and tie them around Mercedes’ neck.’

  ‘My cousin Laura did belly dancing, or was it pole dancing, I can’t remember? I know she earned a shedload of money from it. She always had new designer gear and swish cars. I asked her one time how she made so much money. She said something about a spearmint rhino. I didn’t know what she was on about. Figured that was one of the moves,’ said Tina, wiping her large hands on her apron.

  Charlie didn’t explain that Spearmint Rhino was a lap dancing club. She passed back her empty mug of tea, thanked Tina and set off to hunt down Mercedes to complain about the challenge.

  She found her in the studio, munching on a chocolate brownie.

  ‘You promised,’ said Mercedes, while pretending to assist Sean.

  ‘I can’t do this. I have two left feet. You’ve seen me dancing. I need to be drunk to dance, and even then, I fall over.’

  ‘Well, I can hardly do it, can I? I don’t even have two acceptable left feet, two left wheels maybe,’ Mercedes replied good-naturedly.

  ‘Are you using emotional blackmail?’ Charlie stared hard at Mercedes.

  Mercedes returned the look, eyebrows raised in mock innocence.

  ‘I’ll be rubbish. I am renowned for being clumsy. I knock into stationary objects with monotonous regularity. The patients are always wary when I’m on the wards in case I trip up and land on them. Even you rarely allow me to have a cup or a mug in the studio, on the off-chance I knock it all over the mixing deck. And, look at me: these are UGG boots and this is a large baggy sweater. I haven’t worn a dress or a skirt in years, let alone some sequined harem outfit. I don’t do feminine very well. I’m not petite; I’m five foot eight. And in terms of describing my weight, the word solid springs to mind.’

  Mercedes waved a handkerchief around her face and batted her eyelids in a ridiculous fashion at Charlie who in spite of herself laughed. Mercedes attempted a shoulder shimmy and made her wheelchair wobble.

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it. But only because I promised you I’d do the things on your list. All I can say is thank goodness you haven’t arranged for me to do a Burlesque routine.’ She mumbled, ‘I just hope it isn’t a waist of time.’

  * * *

  Back home, Charlie nipped next door to visit her neighbour Peggy. She regularly checked on the retired school teacher who had lost her husband eighteen months earlier, to ensure she was looking after herself and make sure that nothing had befallen her.

  She tapped on the front door. There was a sound of shuffling feet and a clear-eyed elderly lady appeared. She was slight but there was always an energy about her.

  ‘Charlie! Belated Happy New Year! Come in. You’re just in time. Bert is going to perform.’

  Charlie followed Peggy into her sitting room where she was greeted by a loud shrieking.

  ‘Hello Bert. Gosh, what’s that you’ve got?’

  ‘It’s a new comb. Bert got it from his friend Jasper in Australia. We’re just about to make a video for Jasper, aren’t we, Bert? To say thank you.’

  A green-blue Indian ringneck parrot, about the size of a cockatiel, sat perched upon a platform on top of a pole. He gripped a plastic comb in his claw and whistled loudly at Charlie.

  ‘He’s always pleased to see you.’

  ‘Hola,’ said Bert. He dropped his comb onto the platform and carefully navigated the few small posts that served as stairs. He descended backwards until he reached the bottom post where he perched and whistled again.

  ‘Hola, Bert. Got any new noises for me?’

  Bert meowed like a cat then trilled like a telephone.

  ‘Come on, Bert, let’s try a dog for Charlie,’ said Peggy. ‘What does a dog say, Bert?’

  Bert gave a convincing deep growl and a bark.

  ‘Well done, Bert! That deserves a grape.’

  Bert paced from one claw to the other, his head turning this way and that, as Charlie removed a small bag of red seedless grapes from a plastic shopping bag and passed one to Bert.

  Peggy reprimanded him, ‘Bert, say thank you first.’

  Bert made a kissing noise then took his grape in one claw and proceeded to nibble on it.

  ‘He’s got three thousand friends on Facebook now,’ said Peggy. ‘I thought I’d put up a brief video for them and let him show off his new comb. Bert loves the comb almost as much as the mini shopping trolley he got from Santa. He doesn’t push it yet but he enjoys rattling and shaking it, especially when we’re watching Deal or No Deal.

  ‘I’ve been trying to teach him to say “g’day mate” to Jasper and his Australian fans, but he refuses. Last week, Jasper’s owner and I managed to link up on Skype and both parrots had a good old chat. Well, in truth they made lots of screeching noises. They were both so very excited to be able to see each other. Bert kept tapping the screen with his beak. We’ll do it again another time.’ She gave the bird a fond look.

  Charlie scratched his head. ‘I bet you enjoyed that,’ she said softly. ‘A proper talk with a friend.’

  ‘He needs stimulation all the time. It’s much quieter for him these days than when we used to live in Lanzarote and had the bar. He was always learning new words and noises there. He loves the television now. Can’t get enough of it. Saturday nights are his favourite – so many wonderful talent shows. It’s like the good old days for him when we held Karaoke nights.’

  ‘You could enter him for one of the talent shows. He’d definitely win,’ said Charlie smiling at the thought.

  ‘He’d be too much of a prima donna,’ replied Peggy. ‘Best off joining in at home.’

  Bert, grape now finished, was making soft kissing noises and bouncing up and down.

  Charlie fished for another grape which he took and consumed greedily.

  ‘He’s such a performer,’ said Charlie, scratching the top of his head. ‘I came by to see if you needed anything from the shops. I’m going there on my way to a belly dancing class. I need to buy a T-shirt. Thought it would save you a trip.’

  ‘How kind. As it happens, I’m out of marmalade. Bert doesn’t like marmalade but I enjoy a little on toast for breakfast. Now, my friend Doris who went to the hospital today for a check-up, phoned me to say she heard you were going to do belly dancing. How exciting! If I were twenty years younger, I’d join you. I used to be very good at the jive. I won a few competitions in my youth. We didn’t have exotic dances like belly dancing in our day. Dennis, being a Scot, was fond of country dancing. “Dashing White Sergeant” was his favourite. He was most annoyed when he got knee trouble. It stopped him dancing. I bet I could still manage a few steps of it if I tried. Maybe I should broaden my horizons and come with you to your classes,’ she trilled.

  ‘I’d be glad of the company. I don’t quite know what to expect, but I suppose it’ll be a laugh. Right then. You’ve got my mobile number. If you think of anything else you need, give me a ring.’

  ‘Thank you, dear. I appreciate that. I’ll be able to spend the whole afternoon filming Bert now.’

  Bert bobbed up and down and launched into various impressions of bells, whistles and noises. ‘G’day mate,’ he said. ‘G’day mate, g’day mate,’ he repeated, then gave a low growl.

  ‘Bert, you said it! Aren’t you clever? Charlie, it was the grapes. He said it to get grapes. I’ll bribe him with some for the video. Thank you very much indeed.’ She handed a grape to Bert.

  ‘Mmm, mmm,’ said Bert in a high-pitched voice before demolishing it.

  Charlie tickled the top of his beak. He made chirping noises and closed his eyes.

  ‘You are very special, Bert,’ she said.

  ‘He is. Bert’s been the best friend I could have hoped for. He was always engaging, but since Dennis died, Bert’s been wonderful company for me. And, thanks to his Facebook page, I have friends from all over the world too. I’m so glad we brought him back to th
e UK with us.’

  Bert made kissing noises then squawked again, fluffing his feathers.

  ‘I’ll get off. See you later, Peggy. Hope he isn’t going to be a prima donna for you. Bye Bert.’

  Bert flew to Peggy’s shoulder and accompanied her to the door where he cackled like a witch then added, ‘break a leg!’ before the door shut.

  Nine

  Jasmine was petite, dark-haired and very beautiful, with a flawless complexion and amber eyes that sparkled with warmth. She wore an emerald-green satin belly dancer outfit and her feet were bare, revealing orange painted toenails. She had the poise and elegance that professional dancers possess. She led Charlie to her vast studio where large mirrors covered three of the walls. Charlie removed her outer garments, hung her coat on the stand in the corner of the room and scrabbled about in her bag looking for a scrunchie to tie up her mop of unruly wavy champagne-blonde hair. While Jasmine searched for the most appropriate music to play, Charlie stared at her own reflection. The woman who stared back, dressed in flared black Lycra leggings, a halter top and a T-shirt on which was written, Keep Calm and Belly Dance, looked tired and uncomfortable in her attire. She sighed. ‘I hate looking at myself in full-length mirrors. I normally avoid them,’ she complained, pulling at the bottom of her T-shirt in an attempt to get it to cover her stomach further.

  ‘You need to be able to see how you move, so you know you’re performing the moves correctly. It’s very good to watch yourself,’ Jasmine replied calmly. ‘It’s important to have the correct posture. I have two other women joining today so you can form a little group. It’ll be more enjoyable that way. You won’t be so focused on your reflection.’

  A tap on the door announced the arrival of one of her fellow students. A large woman in her fifties bowled in. She was clad in a large scarf and a huge duffle coat.

  ‘Brass monkeys weather out there!’ she exclaimed, tugging off a noticeable red and white striped woollen hat. Charlie was reminded of the Where’s Wally character. Catching her look, the woman smiled and twirled the hat about on her hand. ‘My mother knitted it. She’s eighty-three years old and treats me like a five-year-old. She always knits me stuff for Christmas. She made this too, last year,’ she pulled off her duffle coat to reveal a brightly coloured jumper with a large snowman on it. ‘Hideous, isn’t it? Still, it’s warm, and I was round her house earlier, so I had to show willing and wear it. Poor old soul, she likes to look after me even though I am fifty-four and have three grown-up children of my own. Sorry, how rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Susannah.’