Take a Chance on Me

by Carol Wyer

  Charlie recognised him. He was one of the local BBC evening news presenters.

  ‘How do you feel now, Charlie?’ he asked, thrusting the microphone towards her.

  ‘Relieved. Relieved and ecstatic. It was an incredible experience.’

  ‘Was it difficult to face your fears?’

  ‘Yes. I have to thank Alastair for helping me and, of course, I’ve had the support of my dear friend Mercedes who has overcome far more than an irrational fear of sharks.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve inspired many to tackle their fears head-on, Charlie. Thank you for taking the time to talk to us and good luck with the next challenge. I’m sure it’ll be a breeze after this one.’

  They turned off the microphone and chatted for a few minutes about the radio station then the small crew left to cover another story.

  ‘How did you manage to get the cameras here?’ Charlie asked Mercedes.

  ‘I didn’t. Jake sorted it out. He phoned a friend on the way here, told them it would make a great story for tonight’s news and arranged it for you. That man is perfect,’ she purred. ‘I think he’s smitten by you, you jammy cow. Why else would he go to such lengths to get the television involved?’

  ‘Because he is an arse. An arse who attacked a defenceless man, tried to spy on me, dragged up my past and is trying to prove he’s a big man by impressing me with his contacts. He’s one of those blokes who thinks he needs to prove something. He might have fooled you, but I know he’s up to no good. Where is the big shot?’

  ‘He had to leave. He said something about his son and went. Not before he watched you go into the tank though. He told me to tell you, well done. I think you’re being harsh on him.’

  Charlie was surprised that she felt some disappointment that he had departed. However, he was lucky because now she felt strong enough to tear him off a strip for his past actions. It was a shame he was not there to face the new Charlie.

  ‘Drop it. I don’t want to sour my elated mood. Let’s go celebrate. I think we deserve a bottle of champagne. We are staying the night here, aren’t we?’

  ‘I booked us into a hotel.’

  ‘Fantastic! Come on best friend. Let’s go paint Chester red!’

  Fifty-Three

  It was a green-faced Charlie who arrived back home the following afternoon. Peggy banged on the front door as soon as she had sat down.

  ‘Charlie, I saw you on the television. Bert recognised you and barked. You were wonderful.’

  ‘Come in, Peggy.’

  ‘Sorry, dear. I can’t stay. I have a date. I’m going to the theatre with Gordon.’ Peggy’s cheeks were rosy. She looked years younger.

  ‘So, you and Gordon. Is it serious, Peggy?’

  ‘Yes it is. At our age you can’t afford to hang about. He’s a lovely man and Bert thinks he’s super too. He kissed him today and sat on his arm like he used to with Dennis. I have a feeling Gordon might even pop the question tonight. He’s booked a table at a very smart restaurant before the performance. He’s been whistling all day.’

  ‘All day?’

  ‘Yes, he’s more or less moved in with me. It made sense. No point in heating two properties and his is awfully large. He prefers living in our street. He says it’s much friendlier here. He hardly speaks to his neighbours.’

  ‘You really like him, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, Charlie. I didn’t think for one minute I’d want to be with another man after Dennis passed on, but Gordon makes me feel so alive, and he’s so funny. I laugh and laugh when I’m with him. I know it all seems a bit rushed, but when it’s right, it’s right.’

  ‘Peggy, you go and enjoy yourself. And if Gordon puts a ring on your finger tonight, I want to see it first thing tomorrow morning.’

  Charlie pulled the little lady into her arms in a warm embrace. She felt so fragile. Life was precious and she was so pleased for Peggy.

  ‘I must go back. Gordon was playing ball with Bert and I bet the little devil’s propelled balls all over the lounge.’

  ‘Gordon or Bert?’

  Peggy laughed. ‘Bert. If ever they decide to hold parrot Olympics, he’d make a champion ball thrower. They end up everywhere. He has a superb aim. He managed to hit Gordon on the nose. I’m sure he did it on purpose.’

  As Peggy turned to leave, Charlie said, ‘Have fun tonight.’

  ‘Thank you. I hope you raised lots of money. You looked so composed on television. I’m proud to know you.’ With that, Peggy bid farewell and left, a noticeable skip in her step.

  Shutting the door behind her, Charlie mused on how much Peggy had changed in such a short time and reflected that she too had changed. They were both more content. Peggy’s transformation was down to Gordon and Charlie had Mercedes to thank for taking her out of her comfort zone. She decided to call her friend. The phone was answered on the fifth ring.

  ‘Hi Mercedes, I’m just checking on you.’

  There were muffled noises and cursing.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Dropped my blasted ball of wool. It’s rolled off and Bentley has grabbed it.’

  ‘Wool?’

  ‘That funny stuff that comes from sheep. You can get it in all different colours.’

  ‘Ha-di-ha. What are you doing with wool?’

  ‘It’s one of the daft challenges from your list. I’ve nearly finished it. I’ll show you when I next see you. You really were the dullest person on the planet coming up with this. Why ever would you want to knit a onesie?’

  Charlie snorted loudly. ‘I didn’t write that. Surely, that wasn’t on my list? I can’t knit or sew.’

  ‘I’m afraid you did and, worse still, I’ve spent weeks knitting one. I’m just sewing up the last of the squares on it. I’ll bring it in tomorrow and you can model it for me.’

  ‘Like heck I will.’

  ‘If I can waste my precious hours knitting the wretched thing, thanks to you, then you can try it on. In fact, you can wear it during the show. I insist. If you don’t, I’ll make Ryan wear it and come around to your house posing in it. He’ll sit on your doorstep so everyone can see him. You wouldn’t do that to him, would you? Poor Inspector Onesie!’

  Charlie could not hold the phone for laughing. ‘I give in. I’ll wear it. But only in the studio. Where no one can see me.’

  ‘Deal. Can you get in early tomorrow? An hour before the show?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I need your help with something. See you then. Bentley! Come back here with that yarn!’

  Fifty-Four

  When she walked into the Art café the following morning, Charlie was treated to a round of applause, led by Patricia and Art. She felt like a celebrity. Throughout the morning, people congratulated her on her dive and commented on the television interview. The feature had included some footage of her sitting calmly with Mandi and Melissa, discovering the shark’s tooth on the floor and handing it over to Melissa, while a large shark swam above them. She had done it. She had no more fears to face. Mercedes had been right. She was not the same woman. Basking in the limelight, she decided that nothing would stand in her way now. She would tackle any challenge thrown at her, save the station and then make some important decisions about her life. She had been hiding away too long.

  The doorbell clanged announcing the arrival of customers. She looked up to see a red-faced Jake. She prepared to do battle with him.

  He marched up to her and from behind his back pulled out a bunch of flowers. ‘These are for you. To say congratulations. I watched you go into the tank but I had to leave to collect Toby from the hospital.’

  Charlie was thrown by the news and recalled the anxiety she had felt when Amy had been taken to casualty following a tumble in the school playground. Charlie had been worried sick and Amy, who had fractured her thumb, had had to wear a large plaster cast for several weeks until it healed. Her reaction was of concern.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Thanks, he’s fine. He hurt hi
s ankle during a cricket match. The school feared it was broken and whipped him off to hospital but it transpired it was only sprained.’ He changed the topic. ‘So, these are for you. They are to ask forgiveness for forcing you to share your story. I’m sure reliving it was horrific, but it was such an opportunity for you. The television crew were far more interested in filming you when I told them about your past history. I hope you didn’t mind.’

  For an instant Charlie forgot she was furious with Jake. He didn’t seem like the sort to be aggressive. All she could see was a nice man who was undeniably charming and handsome. She gazed at the mixed bouquet of flowers.

  ‘These are beautiful. What are these blue flowers? I’ve not seen them before.’

  ‘They’re from my garden. They’re borage, also known as starflowers. You can eat the leaves. Traditionally borage was used in cooking and for medicinal purposes. Nowadays, they’re mostly used commercially for their oil. I like the look of them. I sometimes use a few leaves for decoration on my food. I added them to the bouquet because they represent courage.’

  He managed to look bashful. His face searched hers for approval and found it.

  ‘Thank you. I’m genuinely touched. So, you’re a gardener?’

  ‘Not really. I have a small plot for vegetables and herbs. I enjoy cooking, so I like to have fresh produce.’

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ She found she had asked the question before she had thought about it.

  ‘I’d love to but I have a meeting with Abigail.’

  ‘Well, thank you for the flowers. You shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I should. I still owe you an apology for that incident with the fellow in the white trousers.’

  ‘I think you owe him the apology,’ she replied tartly. His reference to Rob reminded her that she shouldn’t be fooled by Jake.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ began Jake.

  Charlie felt her blood beginning to boil again. Who was this man? One minute he was kind and generous and the next he was stand-offish and arrogant.

  His phone rang before she could say any more.

  ‘Must take that. Well done, Charlie. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. The newspaper is going to run a lengthier feature on you and have assigned me to cover the story. I’ll be going with you when you take your next challenge. Mercedes said that would be fine. See you soon.’

  He left with a smile on his face, chatting into his mobile, oblivious to the fuming woman he had left behind.

  ‘What beautiful flowers,’ said Patricia. ‘Are they from an admirer?’

  ‘No, they’re from a dickhead,’ answered Charlie, dropping them unceremoniously into a large vase.

  Fifty-Five

  Charlie found herself receiving more pats on the back as she walked down the corridors at the hospital. Members of staff she did not know called out to her. It was all a little surreal.

  Vivienne was the first to leap out at her as she arrived at the studio. ‘Charlie, you were amazing. I’ve collected over two thousand pounds thanks to your dive and the publicity surrounding it. And the money is still coming in. It’s looking promising for the radio station. Just need a few more thousand and we’ll be home and dry. The website has been getting hundreds of hits. Sean has posted your television interview there.’

  Charlie was thrilled. She drifted into the studio to discover Sean holding a large multi-coloured onesie against himself while Mercedes took photographs.

  ‘Hi Charlie. What d’ya think?’ she said.

  ‘Wow! It looks like Joseph’s coat of many colours. Or in this case, onesie of many colours. It’s incredible.’ Charlie burst into an improvised version of a song from the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, ‘I wore my onesie, with golden lining. Bright colours shining, wonderful and new. And in the ward, the dawn was breaking. And the folk were waking. Any dream will do.’

  Mercedes looked proud of her achievement.

  ‘I must have been very drunk to have written knit a onesie on my list.’

  ‘Drunk indeed. So, now you have to do your bit because you actually wrote knit a onesie for a charity fashion show and get a friend to model it.’

  Charlie looked horrified.

  ‘You kid?’

  ‘Never. I can prove it if you like. I have the document at home. Since we swapped challenges, I got to knit the onesie and you’re the friend I’d like to model it. Boy, were you drunk that night! Still, knitting has been extremely therapeutic. I think it was the concentration required, not to mention the motion of those needles. I did some every night while Ryan was out. It’s actually enjoyable after a while and, dare I say it? Addictive. It has the same effect as drinking several mugs of cocoa. I’ve been sleeping better at nights. You ought to try it. I knitted Bentley a little woollen jacket based on this pattern too. He wore it to the park last weekend when it was chilly and was admired by quite a few dog walkers. One woman came up to me and asked if I could make one for her pooch. I might start my own line of doggie onesies.

  ‘Anyway, back to the present. We’ve got a photographer lined up and you’re going to hit the catwalk in that,’ said Mercedes gleefully. ‘You won’t be alone. I wanted to bring Bentley to model his jacket but I wasn’t allowed, health and safety, and all that so I rustled up a few nurses to join you. We’re doing an impromptu event in the coffee shop for some of the patients. I managed to get the local boutique to offer up some designer clothes. The nurses are going to wear those. But, of course, you’ll be the real star of the show. So, Miss Blundell, squeeze your sexy bottom into your designer onesie and prepare to strut your stuff. Your audience awaits.’

  Sure enough, the coffee shop was set up for the event, with chairs arranged either side of a makeshift catwalk. Four nurses were gathered in the kitchen area, clad in various outfits, while the owner from the boutique adjusted the garments to fit them. The first nurse, wearing a short blue skirt, boots and a long shirt belted at the waist, sashayed out to cheers. Music pumped out of the speaker in the coffee shop.

  ‘This is madness!’ Charlie whispered.

  ‘It’s just a bit of fun. The audience are loving it. They’ve got vouchers to use in the boutique all this week. They get twenty-five percent off all the clothing. It helps build a relationship with the community and we’re also using it to fund-raise. We’re going to auction off each of the outfits as well as the onesie,’ Mercedes replied. ‘Get into that wonderful outfit. You’re going on last.’

  Charlie removed her jeans and T-shirt and wriggled into the woollen garment. ‘Are you sure I wrote this down on my list?’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  The first nurse returned as a second, wearing a peacock blue cocktail dress and carrying a jacket draped over her shoulder in professional model style, left the room swinging her hips in time to the music.

  Minutes dragged as Charlie stood dressed in the outrageous onesie. Sam in his role as makeshift compere described each outfit to the audience.

  Tina from the kitchen passed Charlie a biscuit. ‘Here, take your mind off it. I think you’ve got a lot of guts to do all of these challenges. I’d never have the nerve.’

  Charlie thanked her and nibbled on the chocolate biscuit. She was going to look a prize fool. However, did that matter?

  The last nurse returned to the kitchen and joined the others who were now dressed again in uniforms. It was time for Charlie to go out.

  ‘All for one and onesie for all!’ Mercedes yelled as Charlie left the room. She was aware of wolf whistles as she attempted to swagger down the catwalk, conscious of the itching wool.

  Sam was most animated as Charlie appeared. ‘Here, modelled by our lovely, adventurous Charlie is a one-off designer creation.’ Someone cheered. Charlie thought it sounded like Mercedes. ‘Give us another twirl, Charlie. Beautiful. Imagine snuggling down in front of the television in this deliciously warm little number. Easy to put on, comfortable to wear, it can be yours if you bid the right amount. All proceeds will go to the save City Hospit
al Radio charity, so can I start the bidding at ten pounds?’ Charlie was forced to stand looking goofy as the crowd bid for her outfit.

  ‘Thirty-five… do I have forty? Forty to the lady in the front row…’

  Charlie turned around to show off the outfit. Mercedes had wheeled in and was now at the front of the room. Charlie wagged her finger at her.

  ‘Charlie you can’t bid for your own item,’ shouted Sam with a laugh. The crowd chuckled.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jake. He was leaning against a wall, notepad in hand and smiling at her. She wished he was wearing the onesie. That would wipe the smile off his smug face. She ignored him and kept beaming at the crowd, turning this way and that so they could all see it.

  ‘We’ll also throw in a signed photo of the lady herself and one of the kazoos that she used on her earlier challenges. Thank you, madam. Thank you, sir.’

  * * *

  The bidding continued at a pace. Mercedes was rocking lightly in her chair in excitement. Charlie lost track of who was bidding.

  ‘One hundred and fifteen pounds… going once… going twice… sold! Sold for one hundred and fifteen pounds to the gentleman at the back of the room. Sorry, but Charlie does not come with the outfit, sir. We’ll get it to you as soon as she’s removed it. Ladies and gentlemen thank you for your time and your generosity.’ Sam walked in front of Charlie to shake her hand, obscuring her view of the audience. A camera light flashed.

  The crowd applauded. Charlie looked about, spied Mercedes and a few others from the studio, but Jake had vanished. Had he bought the outfit? He had been the only person at the back of the room. Why would he want it?

  As the crowd began to disperse, Charlie raced to the kitchen, removed the garment and pulled on her jeans. She wanted to hear why Jake had purchased the item.

  Tina was preparing some food. ‘That was great. Fancy someone paying that amount of money for a onesie. You can buy them in the supermarket for a few quid. Someone’s a fan,’ she added.