by Carol Wyer
She should have pulled away, yet an animal urge in her had made it impossible to break from his embraces. She recalled the clumsy attempts to have sex in his car; the fumbling, murmuring, and the final embarrassing moment when Harrison, far too inexperienced it seemed, had ejaculated way too soon, leaving her frustrated. Harrison was oblivious to the disappointment and gazed starry-eyed at her. Mercifully, he didn’t ask if it was good for her and dropped her home, driving off without wanting an invite to come in.
She tried to avoid him over the next few days. But he’d turned up at the studio. Seeing his keen face smiling at her through the studio window, she was mortified that she had let the situation get out of hand. She made vague excuses about how busy she was and how she had no time that week to see him.
The following week, he blocked the corridor as she raced to get to the studio. She was late and had no time to talk to him. He invited her to the theatre to watch a comedy about doctors. She was in such a hurry, she accepted his offer. During the play, he attempted to put his arm around her shoulder. She wriggled away from it pretending to look for something in her handbag. Afterwards, she said she had to rush off to bake cakes for the next day. He seemed disappointed and leant in to kiss her. She let him but did not return it with fervour. She hoped he would sense her reluctance but he didn’t take the hint. Thereafter, he began popping up when she wasn’t expecting him: when she did the rounds to ask patients for requests or outside the studio as she was leaving. Although he was amiable and pleasant, she began to get a niggling feeling about him.
He invited her to a concert. She refused, citing work as an excuse. He looked so deflated that she felt guilty and agreed to go for a quick coffee with him to make up for it. At the coffee shop he stared at her with puppy dog eyes and told her how amazing she was. Charlie shuddered at the memory. She apologised for leading him on in the car. He put a finger against her lip when she tried to explain and stopped her speaking.
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I know.’ Charlie thought he understood that it had been a one-night stand and left feeling relieved.
However, after that episode, flowers began to arrive at the studio on a daily basis. Each bouquet carried a message: ‘To Charlie. You are my sunshine. Love Harrison.’ ‘For Charlie. My friend. My rock. With love.’ ‘For the most beautiful girl in the world.’ She didn’t know what to do.
‘Talk to him,’ suggested Mercedes. ‘Be honest with him. Tell him you don’t want a relationship.’
Charlie asked Harrison to meet her at a local pub after work. He arrived carrying a large box of chocolates, a huge smile plastered over his face. He planted a kiss on her nose.
‘I’m so glad you’ve found time for us,’ he gabbled, not giving Charlie an opportunity to speak. ‘I was telling the other radiographers about you today. They can’t believe you’re my girlfriend,’ he continued. ‘Wine?’ he asked and, not waiting for a response, headed for the bar, leaving Charlie shaking her head in disbelief.
‘Harrison, I’m not your girlfriend. We just went out a couple of times,’ she hissed at him when he returned with two glasses of wine.
‘Of course you’re my girlfriend,’ he insisted. ‘After that night. It meant something special, Charlie. You don’t make love to strangers.’
Charlie shook her head. ‘It might have meant something special to you, but me, well, I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t the same for me. I don’t want you to think we have anything special. We don’t.’
She waited for him to become upset or shout at her. He didn’t. He merely smiled. ‘I can wait, Charlotte,’ he said.
‘Don’t you get it? I won’t be repeating that episode again with you. It was a mistake. I was drunk and lonely.’
‘That episode? Charlotte, we made love. That’s what people who love each other do. That’s why it’s called making love.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ she said, her voice rising. They were beginning to attract the attention of other people in the pub. ‘We didn’t make love. We had sex. Brief sex. It wasn’t even good sex. In your car. Once!’ she hissed, frustrated now. ‘And, please don’t call me Charlotte.’
He looked confused for a moment then smiled again, annoying Charlie further. He really did not want to understand. She had no option.
‘Look, I don’t want to see you again. Okay? It’s over, whatever it was.’ She left him sitting alone in the pub, his box of chocolates untouched on the table.
The following day, Harrison came by the studio. Mercedes told him to go away while Charlie hid in the back office, but he waited by the exit door and when Charlie emerged he pleaded with her to reconsider and go out with him again. She refused, so he trailed after her along the corridors to her car until she got angry and told him to leave her alone.
The flowers continued to arrive. Charlie felt sorry for him and didn’t want the hospital staff to get wind of it and tease him, so she took the flowers home, each day. After a week or so of managing to avoid him, he visited her at home.
‘Charlie, I don’t know what I did wrong. Please tell me. I want to make amends,’ he sobbed.
Charlie couldn’t be cruel, so she invited him in, made him a cup of tea and explained she wasn’t ready for a relationship. She told him it wasn’t his fault. She explained she needed to be alone. She was still getting over the breakdown of her marriage. He was too young and she felt so old. He seemed to accept it and left.
For a few weeks afterwards, he drove past her house every other night on a motorbike and stopped opposite her front door. At first, he stopped only for a minute or two then revved the bike and went, but then he stayed longer, sometimes for an hour. She knew he was there even though he made no contact with her. She heard the quiet purr of the motorbike engine as it cruised past. She peered out of a darkened upstairs window on one occasion and observed him sitting, watching her door. She toyed with phoning the police but she could not. This was Harrison. He wouldn’t hurt her. He was upset. Eventually he’d get fed up and go away.
Then the phone rang at all hours of the night. When she answered, she would be met with silence. On one occasion she spoke, ‘Harrison, is that you?’ No one replied. She unplugged the phone at the socket.
Driving to work one day, she noticed a motorbike that stayed exactly two cars behind her car. It trailed her all the way to the hospital. When she left work, it was parked in a lay-by near the hospital. Pretty sure it was Harrison, she stopped to tell him to quit pestering her. This time she had had enough. He was startled when she hurtled into the lay-by, brought the car to a halt beside his bike and, leaping out of it, steamed towards him.
‘What the hell are you up to? You know where I work. You don’t need to follow me about. If you keep this up, I’ll report you for harassing me. I’m sick of it. I’m fed up with the stupid flowers and you appearing outside the studio window. I’m sick of you lurking outside the café and my house, and if you phone me once more, I’m going to the police. Mercedes is married to a policeman. I’ll get him to arrest you.’ She stood hands on hips. Harrison seemed surprised and hurt.
‘Charlotte, sweetheart, I can explain,’ he began.
‘Don’t call me Charlotte, you cretin! And, for crying out loud, I am NOT your sweetheart. I never have been nor will I ever be. Now piss off and leave me alone.’
‘There’s no need to swear at me,’ he said, his right eye twitching.
‘I haven’t even begun to swear properly. Just fuck off, Harrison. I don’t want to see you or your poxy bike again.’
She marched back to her car, climbed in, slammed the door, revved it and drove off at speed, leaving Harrison sitting on his bike with a strange look on his face.
She calmed down at home and decided she had been a little harsh on the man. However, he had frightened her. Her outburst would hopefully put off Harrison, who must now surely think she was a deranged foul-mouthed bitch, and not the paragon of virtue that he had believed her to be.
That following night, a motor
bike engine woke her, and shortly after the phone rang. She answered it. There was nothing but eerie silence punctuated with one muffled sob. After a poor night’s sleep, she came downstairs to find a note pushed through the letterbox:
Dear Charlotte,
I won’t bother you anymore. Be happy.
Love forever.
Harrison x
And that had been the end of it. Until now.
Harrison was the last person she needed in her life now or ever. She thought about replying to the email but decided against it. She pressed the delete key with determination. It was best to ignore it. When Harrison heard nothing from her, he would no doubt understand that she was not interested in him. She had more important things to sort out. She had cakes to box up, requests to read, shows to prepare and a bizarre proposition that she needed to consider.
Thirteen
‘Hello dear,’ said Peggy sotto voce. Charlie was trundling down her driveway lost in her own thoughts and hadn’t noticed her neighbour standing outside her own front door.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Oh yes, thank you. I’m just watching out for the postman. I’m expecting a parcel for Bert. I want to smuggle it in before he sees it. It’s for his birthday in a couple of weeks’ time. If he sees a box, he’ll get excited and want to open it immediately. You must think I’m quite dotty,’ she added.
‘No, I don’t. Bert is unique and very clever.’
There was tapping at the window, followed by barking. Bert was on the window ledge bouncing up and down, trying to attract Charlie’s attention. She waved at him and he squawked back.
‘Oh drat! He’s seen us,’ said Peggy.
‘Look, why don’t I take in the parcel? The postman should be here very soon. I’ll keep it at my house until you want to collect it. That way you won’t have to worry about hiding it from Bert.’
‘That would be perfect! Thank you, Charlie. I don’t want to spoil the surprise for him. He loves his birthday. I’ve got him a little hat to wear. You’ll come by, won’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it. Last year’s was huge fun. He was very entertaining. I especially liked it when he blew out the candle on his cake then sang “Happy Birthday”. Has he got many guests coming?’
‘I’ve invited the Wilkinson children, George, Harry and Oliver, and the Mackay girls, Sophie and Elizabeth. I thought that would be enough. I don’t want him over-excited. You know how he loves to show off in front of everyone.’
‘So, what’s in the parcel, Peggy?’
‘It’s a basketball hoop and ball especially for parrots. I can’t wait to see his little face when he opens it!’ she replied, eyes twinkling.
‘He’ll adore it,’ said Charlie, feeling a sudden burst of affection for the tiny woman in front of her.
At that moment, the postman appeared at the end of the street.
‘There he is. I’ll nip inside and distract Bert. Thank you again.’
‘Get in before he sees the postman,’ Charlie whispered as Bert tapped on the window again and began meowing.
Fourteen
The next day, Charlie had just managed to balance her Tupperware cake boxes on top of each other and had reached the café when her phone rang. She ran the risk of dropping the cakes, so she let it ring and shouldered the door open. Art glanced up.
‘I’m just making coffee for me and Patricia. Do you want one?’
‘That would be lovely, thanks. It’s been one of those mornings. I dropped the fruit cake removing it from the oven and had to bake another. Then Peggy needed me to help her put up net curtains and she started talking about her son in Canada, so I couldn’t get away. I’ve been running late ever since.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Seventy, I think. She and her husband, Dennis, ran a bar in Lanzarote until they were in their late sixties then came back here when he began to get ill. He died shortly after they returned to the UK. She’s got boundless energy though. She washes her net curtains every three months to keep them ultra-white, but the last few times she’s been too shaky to climb the stepladder, so I nip around and hang them for her. She’s very house-proud. I hope I have her energy when, or if, I ever reach that age. She never stops. Yesterday afternoon, she was in the back garden sweeping up leaves and hauling them about in her dustbin, when I left for the hospital.
‘I don’t think she’s ever been ill. Having Bert around helps. He’s her parrot and a very intelligent one, at that. He’s been with her a few years now. Bert used to go to the bar with them both. He stayed outside on his perch, near the customers. You can imagine what he picked up from them. It took Peggy two years to get him to stop swearing. He’s a wicked mimic. They ran a Karaoke night every Saturday so he imitated a few regulars and sings all sorts of songs. You should hear him singing “Like a Virgin”. Really. I kid you not. Bert even has his own Facebook page where he “chats” with fans and other parrots from all over the world. Peggy set it up after her husband passed away. It gave her a real sense of purpose and, of course, Bert loves the attention too. I really admire these older people who move with the times.’
Charlie placed her boxes on the counter, hung up her coat and set about putting the cakes out.
‘Oh, lovely. I fancy a piece of the lemon drizzle cake with my coffee,’ said Art, putting the cups on a tray.
‘No you don’t!’ said Patricia, appearing as if by magic. ‘You’re on a diet. You know what the doctor said about your weight. Maybe Charlie could take you to belly dancing classes with her. You’ve lost weight, Charlie. I hadn’t noticed before. How much have you lost?’
‘Not much. I’m just a little firmer than before,’ she replied, cutting a small slice of lemon cake and placing it onto a plate that she pushed towards Art.
He winked at her, grabbed the slice and took a large bite before Patricia could stop him. Then he waved a serviette about and pretended to dance. ‘I’ll wear it off, Patty. Look, I can belly jiggle.’
His dance was interrupted by the doorbell as a couple of customers arrived.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Charlie. ‘You enjoy the cake.’
She forgot to check her phone until much later as she raced to the studio. She didn’t recognise the number. Probably a cold caller. She deleted the number and set off to her show.
Fifteen
‘Well done, ladies,’ Jasmine gushed, applauding each of them. ‘You managed the routine perfectly. What an improvement from the last time. No one forgot the moves. And, you look very professional. You look like you’ve been doing this longer than four weeks.’
‘If you’d said four weeks ago that I’d be able to belly dance like that, I’d have laughed at you,’ said Marcia, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
‘Same here. I know you told us we’d improve quickly, but I didn’t believe it would happen so quickly,’ agreed Susannah. ‘I love belly dancing. It’s funny how remembering the moves to a routine, and doing it at the same time as everyone else, can give you such a buzz. The music is intoxicating too. Every time I hear a song with a good beat, my hips start moving. I can’t help myself. I hope I’m not pushing my trolley down an aisle in, say, Asda or somewhere, and a song kicks in that I like. I’ll be whooshing off, shaking my booty all over the place, way out of control,’ she added and demonstrated by thrusting her hips dramatically towards the mirror.
‘We’ve only got one more class and then, sadly, that’s it,’ said Jasmine, turning off the stereo.
‘It’s gone far too quickly,’ commented Charlie. ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect when I first arrived, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.’
‘I’m just going to make a phone call,’ said Jasmine. ‘Take your time. I don’t have any classes after this. I’ll see you on Friday. We’ll do the routine a couple of times and then I’ll give you a taster of what you can learn if you decide to take the intermediate classes. Thanks very much.’
They said their goodbyes to Jasmine and collected their belongings. Susannah
removed her belt scarf and placed it carefully in a large shopping bag from which she extracted a purple and blue hat with large flaps that covered her ears.
‘We’ve certainly improved since the piggy-snorting episode, haven’t we?’ said Marcia with a laugh.
‘Oh, don’t! I still shudder at the memory.’
‘I bet that man still thinks about it at times,’ said Susannah. ‘Or maybe it’s only my husband who has fantasies about such things. He said he’d have loved to have seen it.’
‘You told your husband?’ asked Charlie.
‘Yes, well,’ said Susannah, going pink. ‘We were… well… you know… and it sort of came up.’
‘Oh my,’ exclaimed Charlie. ‘It was in the bedroom, wasn’t it?’
Susannah went redder.
‘It was!’ shrieked Marcia. ‘You were playing games in the bedroom and I bet you ended up showing him what happened here in the studio.’
Susannah gave her a sheepish look. ‘Not quite like that, but we experimented, and that is all I’m going to say on the matter.’ She did up her coat, avoiding any further eye contact with the others.
‘Susannah, you are a dark horse. Or, were you a dark pig?’
‘No, a naughty schoolgirl who needed a proper spanking, if you must know,’ replied Susannah with a wicked grin.
‘I bet you threw in a few squeals for good measure though,’ continued Marcia.
