A/N: This is my first time writing younger versions of Elsie and Charles. Charles is 38, Elsie 32.
And warning: Cute dog alert!
Yes. This would do. This would do quite nicely.
Having been given the keys only minutes before by the landlady, Charles Carson walked around his new flat, the steps taken by his large feet echoing between the hard wood floors and the high ceilings. The morning light from the window facing the street drew him like a moth to flame and he knew at once this was where he would station his large oak desk from which he would author his first novel. Looking over his shoulder, he quickly determined his small dining table would easily push against the far wall with one of its leaves dropped, giving him room for three of the four chairs, thus eliminating the need for him to purchase a new desk chair.
The small settee he had inherited from his grandmother would sit nicely in front of the fire place, and he could set his large leather arm chair near it, allowing him a comfortable place to sit and read one of the many books he had collected. The housing for his vast collection had, in truth, been his sole reason for choosing the flat. Twelve feet tall and requiring even his six foot two frame to use a ladder to reach the highest shelves, the writer had instantly fallen in love with the unusual built-in cases that buffeted either side of the fireplace.
Standing in the middle of the large room, he paused, determining whether he could hear any noise from the street or the flat above him but was met with only silence. The spaciousness of the flat, as well as the quiet were in stark contrast to the cramped, noisy quarters he had occupied in London. While both cities still exhibited reminders of the recent war, Charles felt he was a in a different world. The lack of industry pollution and the daily hustle and bustle of the larger city had exhausted him. In this new place, however, he felt he could finally breathe for the first time in three years.
Halifax was a city still deep in recovery from the hundreds of German bombs that had ravaged and wrecked it in the previous years and 1948 was still a time of ration books and recovering heroes in England, of which Charles Carson was one.
Three German bullets received during a fight in the battle for Caen in June of 1944 had left him with a metal plate in his hip and a tendency towards shyness, although he fought to maintain his proud and strong posture while constantly dogged by his painful, halted gait. In truth, he was seeking an escape from all he had known before the war and this move from London to the north promised a respite from well-meaning, but patronizing acquaintances, as well as the ghosts of his past; all but one, and it was this particular ghost on whom he had pinned his hopes.
Barley had been particularly clingy that morning, his small furry body warm and comforting against hers in contrast to the cold fall air that filled her tiny basement flat. It didn't help that she would rather do anything than go in to work that day. Mr. Tufton was a sweaty, pudgy bore who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Elsie Hughes had become quite aware of this fact over the last month she had spent working for the food supplier, her position as his clerical assistant and all around girl Friday earning her several gropes and unsolicited comments. She would have walked out the first day, but jobs for women were hard to come by all over England and Halifax was no exception. Given her circumstances she had no choice but to endure the man's unwanted attention in order to collect a paycheck.
Her sister's face flashing in her mind followed by the thought that if she had gone another way she would have already been up for three hours having milked cows and cooked a large breakfast for a brood of children and a large Scottish farmer husband, Elsie resigned herself to her day, sighing as she rolled away from her small companion, his whimpers earning him a quick kiss on his furry head before she slipped into her dressing gown.
Within twenty minutes she was dressed with a modicum of makeup applied and her auburn curls tamed so that they framed her face. Slipping on her green felt coat, she dropped an apple into her pocket before putting Barley into the small stairwell that ran alongside her building, a locked gate keeping the pooch from escaping to the street, but allowing him fresh air and a very small patch of garden on which to do his business.
"Be very good and I will bring you treat!" Elsie promised, her Scottish r's rolling along with her clipped plosive consonants. With a sweet smile and pat to the dog's head, she slipped from the gate, moving quickly along the walk, pausing only briefly as she heard the loud sputter of a large lorry pulling up behind her.
Charles had just stepped up to the window when his eyes landed on a woman in a green coat passing his window, her auburn hair shining in the sunlight. He would have continued to watch the striking figure had a large lorry not pulled up at the same moment. Turning, Charles' largely forgot about the woman, his attention now focused on getting to the door to welcome his belongings to their new home.
By two o'clock, the movers were gone, leaving him with a flat teaming with boxes and crates, although his desk, table, leather chair and settee were now placed relatively where he intended them to stay. He decided to leave his bedroom for last. He could get by with a bedroll atop his naked mattress for one night, as well as make a short trip to the chippy he had spotted a few streets over for dinner, thus allowing him to also ignore the small kitchen and its contents for the day.
He made good progress, filling one of the bookshelves in a little over two hours. A remarkable feat given his compromised hip and the countless trips up and down the dark wood ladder; its doppelganger awaiting his climb on the other side of the fireplace. The autumn sun quickly retreating and his tummy rumbling as a reminder that he hadn't eaten since breakfast at eight o'clock that morning, Charles washed his hands before straightening his tie and donning his coat and scarf in order to make a quick trip for fish and chips.
The air was crisp and leaves crunched beneath his uneven steps as he tried to ignore the extra twinge that plagued him given the cooling weather. He was rounding the corner when he was almost run down by a familiar whirlwind of auburn curls and a flapping green felt coat uttering a tirade in a glorious Scottish brogue.
"…pat me on the bum, I'll smack you upside the head, you…you…big oaf! Coffee, Elsie love! My suits, Elsie love. My wife wouldn't know, Elsie love…"
The tirade continued as the woman passed Charles, nary even looking up at him as he all but gawked at her. Not knowing what possessed him to do so, he turned to follow her, rounding the corner just in time to see her huff around the side of the building next to his own. A grin found its way onto his face as he realized he had just met his first neighbor.
The walk to the chippy was pleasant. Finding comfort in his anonymity, Charles was pleased that his unusual movement drew little attention from passersby. One older woman had given him a smile, but it had consisted more of warmth than pity which boosted his morale regarding his choice to move to a place where he didn't know a soul.
Upon his return, he was surprised to see a familiar shade of green fixed on the steps on the other side of his own. The proximity of the two buildings left him little choice in acknowledging the woman and he felt his stomach tie into an unfamiliar knot as he approached. Her body in less motion, he was able to get a better look at her face, noting her elegant nose and large blue eyes rimmed with thick lashes. As taken as he was with these features, it was her smile that truly captivated him. A full plump lower lip was topped with a thinner one above, although both were ruby red and outlined a dazzling array of straight white teeth. Now less than ten feet from her, he realized the source of her mirth. In her lap was a small gray terrier about the size of a bread box, its front paws resting against her chest as it happily panted up towards her face.
"You are the best boy, you are, my sweet one!" Her accent so sharp and percussive earlier was now melodic and soothing as she cooed at the animal.
"Hello." Charles stopped at the bottom railing of his steps, careful to keep his distance so not to startle either the woman or the dog.
"Hello." The woman offered politely, but carefully as she regarded him.
"I don't mean to bother you, only I just moved in." Charles pointed his empty hand towards his building. "I moved in today, as a matter of fact. I suppose we're neighbors?"
The woman took a moment to regard the man in his entirety. While most people were struck by his height, it was the warm eyes looking into her own that Elsie noticed first. They were a beautiful mix of brown and gray with flecks of yellow and copper which glowed in the setting autumn sun. He had quite a pronounced nose, but it was regal in its size and placement above his gently smiling mouth. While the attention of strange men usually earned a rebuff from the spirited young woman, she didn't feel threatened by this one.
"I suppose we are." Elsie tucked Barley under her arm as she rose to offer her hand. "Elsie Hughes."
"Charles Carson."
His hand fully enveloped her small one, its warmth and gentleness causing a shiver to go up her spine as she returned his squeeze. "And this is Barley." The small dog wiggled, excited by the presence of the stranger, as well as by the enticing aroma coming from the man's paper bag.
"Hello, boy." Charles politely held out his hand to the small animal, allowing it to get accustomed to his smell before patting its head.
"He doesn't usually take so kindly to strangers, Mr. Carson. You should be quite chuffed."
"Ah, well then, I am, although I think it might be my fish and chips that are earning his favor." Charles took a deep breath, mustering up his courage before adding, "I don't mean to be presumptuous, but there is far more here than I should eat by myself. Would the two of you care to share?"
Elsie took a breath. Her natural instinct was to politely refuse and excuse herself from such an offer, but she found herself drawn to the man, his deep voice soothing and his physical presence comforting.
"That is incredibly kind of you. I am afraid I don't have much to add." Suddenly remembering the apple in her pocket, she fished it out. "I do have this."
"A perfect ending to our meal."
Elsie smiled beckoning for him to sit next to her on the step as she set Barley next to her, his small paws resting on her knees as he continued to inspect the man and his fragrant parcel. His pronounced limp didn't go unnoticed by her, but it didn't induce a sense of pity within her, but rather, respect and appreciation for his perseverance and strength. She had witnessed several young men return from the front, their bodies altered either physically or mentally so that they were tormented shells of their former selves. Charles Carson, however, not only exuded an air of dignity, but also strength in his determination to move with his shoulders pulled back and his head remaining high, although the effort was clearly taxing.
He had carefully regarded her reaction to watching him walk, expecting her eyes to turn away or take on a pitiful cast, but to his surprise, she merely offered a warm, encouraging smile as she held his gaze.
Conversation came easy for the two as they shared in their newspaper wrapped dinner, talk of being strangers in a strange town opening up avenues of pleasant observations as they uncovered small facts about one another.
"So you taught, fought and now are going to write?" Elsie asked before biting off the end of a chip.
"That about sums it up. I taught history at an all boy's school in Essex after I graduated from University and then joined the war effort. Took a hit in Normandy," he indicated his injured hip, "…and now I am going to take some time to write a book, or at least attempt to write a book. And you? How does a Scottish farm girl end up in Hallifax?"
"I suppose I ran away."
While the answer was short, it was successful in piquing Charles' curiosity. "Were you being chased?'
Elsie's lips betrayed a small grin, "Chased by a life I didn't want you might say. I didn't want to be my mother and I didn't want to marry a man like my father."
Charles didn't respond in hopes that she would carry on with her explanation.
"I have a friend named Beryl who runs a tea shop with her sister. She lives in the flat above me," Elsie indicated with a tip of her head before continuing, "…and she knew of a position that was available with one of the companies that supplies the tea room with goods. I came to visit Beryl, was interviewed and hired. I rent my little flat from her sister and spend my days typing and answering phones."
"Mrs. Philpott? She is my landlady, too." Charles didn't want to upset the smile she now gave him, but couldn't forget the tirade he had heard coming from her lovely mouth earlier. "You don't like your boss, do you?"
Elsie glanced up at him in surprise. "Why do you say that?"
Charles swallowed hard before asking, fearing he might offend the one potential friend he had in Hallifax. "I passed you on my way to the chippy earlier and you were upset. He doesn't treat you well?"
Slipping a bit of chip to Barley, Elsie couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye as she answered. "No, he doesn't, but I can hold my own, Mr. Carson."
Charles gave her a gentle smile, "I see." He bit his tongue, unsure how to continue. Part of him wanted to insist she give him the man's address so he could go box him around the ears, but another part simply wanted to reach down and feel her soft hand in his again. Propriety always his guide, Charles simply offered a small piece of fish to Barley.
"I believe you have made a new friend, Mr. Carson." Elsie watched as Barley now rested his paws against Charles' knee. Outside of Beryl, the dog had never warmed to another human, but his quick acceptance of the large, seemingly kind man delighted her.
"Perhaps, in time, I will make two." Charles' words shocked himself and he quickly blushed as she smiled back at him.
"Any friend of Barley's is a friend of mine, Mr. Carson."
"Thank you, Miss Hughes."
"And, if you don't mind watching him for a moment, I will slip inside and slice up our apple."
It was a simple thing, but somehow hearing the word "our" slip from her lips lit a fuse inside of him. The sway of her green coat now out of sight, Charles grinned as he looked down at the little dog and whispered, "I am in deep trouble, Barley."