Charlie

by Eden Elsworth

  Charlie

  Eden Elsworth

  Copyright Eden Elsworth 2015

  Cover design copyright Eden Elsworth 2015

  Acknowledgements

  As always, I have to thank my amazing partner, Jack Silince, for continuing to put up with me!

  I also need to thank Ava for all her help and encouragement; Melissa for getting me started in the first place; and Sue for finding all my mistakes!

  ONE

  The youngest children in the gang had hammering hearts full of pure adrenaline as they followed their leaders to the large oak tree. Ranging in age from six to ten, they all lived on the small council estate on the edge of the village of Barcross, and played together whenever school and parental authority permitted.

  At the head of the pack, as always, were Charlie and Paul. Although a year divided them in age, they were identical in height, and inseparable. Both seen by the rest as being as brave as lions in the world of field and forest, both looked over the youngest of the gang with a savage protectiveness, and both were like gods to those youngsters.

  Even though Paul was the older of the two, he was second-in-command to Charlie.

  Charlie could run the fastest, climb the highest in the oak tree that stood at the end of the lane they all lived along. Charlie could always find the most exciting ways to fill their days. Charlie never got into trouble with any of the neighbours, because she never got caught.

  Charlie was the principle deity in this tiny world.

  She was also the only girl.

  She led her adoring subjects far and wide in search of thrills that pulled them all early from their beds at the weekends. Whether it was sneaking out first thing to rearrange all the milk bottles on doorsteps, letting down the tyres of the neighbours cars, or swinging out over the river on a rope tied to a tree. Charlie did it all the best and the other children idolized her for it.

  But no one idolized her as much as Paul.

  He looked across at her and grinned as they held back to let one of the youngest in the group get to the tree first. It was one of Charlie’s unspoken rules they all learned instinctively. The little boy that shot past them was out in this world for the first time, so he had to win the race.

  As he reached the huge tree trunk, he whooped his victory, not knowing the race was his the second he left the sanctuary of his home.

  Paul leaned forward as he made the running jump needed to reach the lowest branch of the oak, and pulled himself up to straddle it. The he reached down to grasp the first pair of hands striving up towards him. Charlie lifted the victor as high as she could, then Paul dragged him up to get his first taste life in their fortress.

  One by one, all those not yet able to make the leap to the branch were handed up so they could settle on the thick branch that held their weight easily.

  Then it was Charlie’s turn. She went a few steps back, took a sprint forward, and then flew upwards to fold her body over the oak limb. Hitching one leg over, she straightened.

  The low branch was safest for the little ones, but Charlie had to go up. She swung from branch to branch like an acrobat, years of experience telling her how to do it. Hard on her heels, as always, was Paul, forever chasing his goddess of the forest.

  Charlie always had to get higher than anyone else and scrambled onto the last branch robust enough to hold her. It wasn’t possible to see out at this time of year, not when the tree’s canopy was thick with leaves, but she didn’t want to anyway, not when her brood was inside with her.

  Paul stopped on the branch below her and stood to put them on eye level. He poked his finger through the hole in the thigh of her jeans and frowned deeply.

  “She’ll shout again,” he remarked quietly.

  Charlie shrugged. “Don’t care.”

  She did care though. Her mother always shouted at her for ruining her clothes, for hanging around with boys, sometimes just for breathing, or so it seemed. She didn’t always shout though. Sometimes she just struck out, as if the only way she could cope with her anger was to inflict pain.

  “If we go early, Mum can fix them for you.” Paul’s mother often had to hide the damage Charlie inflicted on her clothes. Sometimes it saved Charlie from one of the vicious or violent tirades that filled her home on a regular basis. A lot of the time, all the neighbours could hear them. Although they all suspected Charlie was being physically abused, no one ever saw any proof of it. Without proof, they felt helpless to act.

  Charlie smiled at him for the suggestion and picked a bit of lichen from his brown hair. Before she had met Paul, her life had been a constant round of fear of her mother, broken up with brief, ecstatic moments with her father when she spent the weekend with him. Steve Teasley had hoped to have a son. Instead he’d got Charlie, and found that was even better. She loved all the outdoor, mucky, thrilling activities he arranged for them to do on his weekends.

  Paul’s parents were also divorced, but they got along better that way. Paul’s father called in to see them every day, without fail. Often staying to have dinner with his ex-wife and son.

  The giggling of the youngsters lower in the tree reached them and Charlie smiled softly. The affection they all gave her so freely made her life bearable. That, and Paul’s company. She repaid them for that affection by giving them moments that made each breath a thrilling adventure. None of the children thrilled in those breaths as much as Paul.

  “Are you going to your dad’s this week?” he asked carefully, half hoping she would so she could get away from her mum, half hoping she wasn’t because he hated missing any time with her. Life was just so dull without Charlie around.

  “I think so,” she replied and grinned. “He said we’d go canoeing next time I went.”

  Paul grinned back. He wanted her to go. He would find a way to kill the time until she brought the light back to his life. A weekend without her always felt more like a month.

  “I’ll see if I can go to work with my dad on Saturday then.”

  Paul and Charlie had often been allowed to enter the world of painting and decorating where Mark Smollet earned a living. He patiently taught them the skills he had acquired over the years.

  The sunny afternoon passed away in teaching the bravest of the youngsters how to reach one more branch, then they left the tree to deposit the various children back at their garden gates.

  When they reached Charlie’s house, she and Paul ducked down to crawl along the pavement on hands and knees to avoid Lisa Teasley’s eagle eye, giggling their success as they went round the side of Paul’s home and snuck in through the back door.

  Finding his mum in the kitchen, they offered up Charlie’s jeans, awaiting another miracle with needle and thread.

  Kelly Smollet took the proffered jeans with a smile at the girl who handed them over, and stifled a sigh of annoyance at the woman who made the subterfuge necessary.

  Kelly had moved here with her son four years earlier, and thought at first she would be friends with the other single mum who lived next door. They started out talking over the low chain-link fence that divided their gardens, frequently bewailing the short-comings of all men to one another, mutually sympathizing their fate as single parents.

  Paul was often stood behind his mother during these chats, watching the pretty little blonde-haired girl in her beribboned curling pigtails and pretty pink dresses. He hadn’t known then how misleading the dainty little smiles he got were.

  Paul had his eyes opened one day when the two women had got together to have a moan over coffee.

  Ushered outside to where Charlotte sat neatly on a swing, her legs dangling with pretty white frills adorning her ankles. She watched the tight-lipped little boy approach in silence. He stopped a short distance from her, completely bewildered as to what to do next. He’d
never seen so many frills and lace on one person before.

  “Why are you in my garden?” she suddenly demanded of him in a tone of offense.

  “Mummy made me,” he replied with all his disgruntlement. How was he meant to behave around so many pink frills? He looked around to see if there was anywhere he could escape from them.

  “I’ve got a pet,” Charlotte said with a sweet smile.

  Paul looked at her blankly.

  “Do you want to see him?”

  He shrugged and wished his mother would hurry up so he could be released from this torture.

  Charlotte slipped off the swing and took his hand. Paul was horrified. None of the boys he knew at school liked to be touched by girls, but the girl’s grip was like a vice and he was dragged to the far end of the garden, whether he wanted to go or not.

  “He’s in here,” Charlotte told him. Her sweet, girly voice had suddenly changed and she sounded more like a boy.

  Opening the lid on a large plastic tub that was behind the rickety shed, she revealed her ‘pet’. Inside was a mess of garden bits, from soil to leaves and insects. A smaller tub containing water was in the corner, and next to it was a fat brown toad.

  “Daddy said he needs to eat slugs. I find them when Mummy’s not looking,” Charlotte announced with one of the wickedest grins Paul had ever seen in his life. “Do you want to hold him?”

  Looking at the bloated occupant of the tub uncertainly, Paul didn’t know what to answer. Having spent all his life in a town until the recent move, he had never done anything like that before. But he didn’t want to look like a chicken in front of a girl.

  “Yes,” he replied, lying and trying to sound a lot braver than he felt.

  She leaned down to ease her fingers under the fat toad and lifted it as Paul held his hands out nervously. It felt strange, soft and knobby, damp and squishable. Then it felt wet.

  “He weed on you!” the girl crowed in delight and carefully took the toad from him to set back in its collection of leaf-mould and soil. “He only wees on people he likes,” she went on with a child’s certainty that all animals thought the same way they did.

  Paul looked at his wet hands, unsure where he should wipe them clean, and then bent to do it on the grass at his feet. Charlotte smiled her approval and wiped hers determinedly on her baby-pink dress. Paul though it made her look a lot better. Her sky-blue eyes seemed to sparkle with delight.

  “What’s it called?” he asked, a lot more comfortable now the pristine pinkness had been sullied with black-brown smears.

  “Fatso. Help me find a slug.”

  Her hand gripped his tightly again as they scoured the darkest recesses of the garden for Fatso’s meal

  “There’s one here.” Paul pointed her in the direction of a light brown slimy creature that oozed its way along the dark, damp soil.

  “Pick it up,” Charlotte ordered.

  Paul looked at the thing in disgust. No one had ever asked him to pick up a slug before. Charlotte watched him, frowning, puzzled by his hesitancy. Then she bent to pick up the creature herself with two fingers. She held it out to him. He knew he would have to take it and braced himself.

  Charlotte dropped the slug on his palm. It had been really long on the ground, but now it was short and very fat. The mucous covered meal was cold and wet.

  Wiping her hands on her dress again, adding to all the other dirt that had accumulated on it, Charlie grinned. The original colour of her dress was now almost completely gone.

  Together they took the slug to the tub, presenting their humble offering to Fatso.

  “What’s your name?” Charlotte asked, wiping a grubby hand under her nose and smearing dirt across her cheek. She was looking better and better all the time.

  “Paul.”

  “My name is Charlie. Mummy says it’s Charlotte, but I don’t like it,” she told him in a petulant tone. “Daddy calls me Charlie.”

  Her nose ran again and she decorated her face with more dirt as she wiped it with the back of her hand.

  “Charlotte Teasley!” A terrifying female voice bellowed down the garden. Charlie’s head snapped up in fear. “What the hell have you been doing?” Charlie’s mother demanded angrily.

  Paul could see Charlie was scared as she walked towards her mother, but she still head her head high. “Feeding Fatso,” she replied, defiance giving her voice strength.

  “I told you to let that fucking thing go!” Lisa Teasley shouted, angered by her daughter’s obstinacy.

  She studied her pretty daughter in frustration. Why was she so obsessed with all things filthy? Lisa knew her ex-husband made things worse, indulging Charlotte’s boyish ways when he took her for a weekend. He dressed her in boy’s clothes, took her places only boys should like, and then brought her home dirty from head to toe and glowing with happiness.

  “No!” Charlie shouted rebelliously.

  Paul stared at her in amazement. He had never disobeyed his mother like that, not even when he hated what she asked him to do.

  Lisa shook her daughter by her arm aggressively, knowing Charlotte would only find something even more revolting to keep if the toad was disposed of.

  “Get inside and change your clothes!” Lisa ordered, almost shoving the small girl in through the back door.

  Trailing inside after his new friend nervously, Paul went immediately to his mother. She put her arm around him and drew him close. He could feel she was tense and wondered why.

  “Kids, eh?” Kelly chuckled, ruffling Paul’s hair. Her voice didn’t sound as relaxed as it normally did to her son.

  “I don’t know what to do with her!” Lisa exclaimed in exasperation. “She goes through so many clothes like that. Every time I make her look nice, she goes and ruins it!”

  Kelly looked at the other woman, shocked by the totally unnecessary anger. “Stop trying then,” she responded rationally. “It sounds like you’re fighting a losing battle there.”

  Having been a bit of a tom-boy herself, Kelly could sympathize with Charlotte, but not at all with her mother.

  “Charlotte is a girl and she will learn how to behave like one!” Lisa announced imperiously to the now horrified woman sat in her kitchen.

  “No she won’t,” Kelly responded carefully, knowing she was on thin ice with this woman she was starting to think she didn’t want to be friends with. “I haven’t known you long, but I’ll give you some advice anyway: You won’t change her the way you’re going about it. Let her grow out of it in her own time.”

  Lisa looked at Kelly, stunned to be told she didn’t know how to treat her own daughter. No one had ever spoken to her that way before. Even’s Charlotte’s father knew better than to tackle her face-to-face, coward that he was. Instead, he constantly undermined her efforts to teach the little girl how to be a little girl.

  Trying to disguise how cross the interference made her feel, Lisa left the room to go and find Charlotte some clean clothes. Her daughter sat on her bed, destructively picking at the lace on the dress she’d got out but hadn’t yet put on.

  Snatching the dress away, Lisa smoothed the pretty fabrics out and roughly forced the garment over Charlotte’s head. She was dammed if she would let anyone else tell her how to bring up her child.

  Charlie watched her mother nervously. Was she going to be smacked again?

  When Lisa had finished covering Charlie in another hateful dress and harshly scrubbing her face clean with a flannel, she dragged her daughter down the stairs by her hand and sent her to the sitting room to read a book in silence.

  From that afternoon, Paul hadn’t just compared every child he met to Charlie, but every adult too, and found them all wanting. They had become inseparable, a single entity.

  Charlie eventually won the battle of the dresses by continuously ripping them, covering them in dirt, or simply cutting them up with scissors. The first time she had been allowed to wear a pair of jeans at home, she’d gone out into the garden and simply rolled on the ground in glee. Of co
urse she had got a smacked backside for it, but she hadn’t cared.

  By the following year, Lisa had been worn down by constant pestering and allowed Charlie to go out and play with the other children that lived in the lane.

  It had only taken a few months for Charlie to become an integral of the pack, and although the only girl, she had become their leader. Her eternal right-hand man was Paul.

  Charlie was the one every other child strived to impress, though the only one who ever did was Paul, not that Charlie ever let them know they hadn’t succeeded.

  Paul pushed himself to compete with his grubby goddess in all they did. Separately, they were Charlie and Paul. Together, they were the beating heart of the gang.

  TWO

  Paul watched Charlie as she scrambled effortlessly up through the branches. He looked at the way her hair tumbled around her sun-browned face, the way her loose t-shirt fell forward so he could see the white bra underneath it, the tanned skin that always looked so warm, and he blushed.

  He could see yet another tear in her jeans that meant she would get into trouble again. He saw the dirt under her ragged finger-nails of her calloused hands. He saw bits of tree clinging to her short, untidy hair.

  The pigtails had long since been shorn off in a mass of uncontrollable tangles. Charlie’s hair curled even more when it was short, collecting all manner of interesting flotsam.

  “You’re too slow!” Charlie called down to him teasingly. She settled with her legs dangling either side of a branch and leaned her back on the solid trunk. “I bet you can’t even get up here!”

  It was no longer necessary for Paul to take the running jump to reach the first branch. All he had to do was reach out to it and pull himself up. He had gained several inches in the last few months, along with other changes he found really embarrassing. After years of him and Charlie being the same height, now he looked down on her.