Chapter 3: Silent Night (C is for cosy fire)
Elsie was just drunk enough when she got home from Beryl's that she didn't want to go straight to bed. Restless, she made herself that cup of tea finally, switched on her fireplace, and draped herself (with one leg dangling over the side) into her favourite armchair.
Staring into the flickering red flames, she couldn't help but think of Charles.
During her first dinner party after installing the new fireplace, at which he'd been a guest, he'd not been able to hide his disgust.
"It's not a real fire! There's no embers to stoke," he'd complained, stepping closer and running a finger along the new stark white mantle.
"No, I have mains gas," she'd explained patiently. "It just means I can enjoy the ambiance of a fire without worrying about burning down the house."
His eyebrows had shot up and his mouth stretched into a straight disapproving line. "I didn't know you were so…"
"Tacky? Cheap?" she suggested. "I assure you, it wasn't cheap. It's not a poster of a fire, or a big screen TV looping a cosy scene, for goodness sake. It does heat the room."
"It's a faux fireplace. Isn't there enough pretense in this world without you adding to it!"
She'd huffed, exasperated by his attitude. "It's not like you get out and chop wood every morning either, Charlie."
It was Joe Molesley who'd saved them from an all-out argument over such a trivial thing as a heating appliance. "Maybe we should only worry if Elsie posts a selfie standing in front of her fake fire on Twitter, Charlie," he'd suggested lightly, making everyone laugh and moving the conversation along to social media.
That night, and that argument, had seemed more normal to Elsie though. They often fought, but they never stayed angry with each other for long. And for the really important issues, they'd always agreed.
But lately, when they fought, they stayed irritated for much longer, and ended up avoiding each other for much longer, than they would have done in the past. It was causing her nothing but frustration when-
She groaned at her use of that word. Frustrated. It was Beryl's fault. She'd put the crazy idea of craving sex into her head.
There was no possible way Charles could be craving sex. Not with her anyway. He never leered at her breasts like some men. Nor had he ever made a sexist remark or suggestion to her in all these years.
He was single though… According to Beryl's logic, he might be now thinking about sex. Comfortable sex, between two friends-
Elsie took another sip of her tea. Charlie probably dreamt of a twenty-something year old to keep him youthful like most men.
Before she could question her motives, she retrieved her mobile from the coffee table, opened the camera app, and thumbed the symbol located in the corner of the screen which inverted the image.
She frowned. Her always pale skin was more lined than she remembered; her blue eyes dull and red rimmed; her hair in desperate need of a cut and colour. Not exactly the successful businesswoman image she tried to portray.
Suddenly, her mobile dinged and vibrated simultaneously, causing her to literally jump in fright and almost drop it into her teacup. Gripping it more securely, she read the notification that flitted across the top of her reflection.
She glanced at the time in the gadget's corner. He was still awake at this time of the night? Was he texting her from bed?
Impatient with herself, she swiped the screen to reply.
"Yes, of course I am going to opening," she typed before hitting send. Charles Carson had a more direct approach to finding out whether or not she'd replied to the RSVP, it seemed anyway. "I just came from Beryl's," she added. "Everything's organised. Exciting! ! ! ! ! !"
While she was wondering if she'd added too many exclamation marks, a new message came through. Its speed was surprising, considering the way the person on the other end complained about the size of his fingers on a mobile's tiny keyboard.
She couldn't answer him immediately. She was unnerved by the way he'd posed his question. Even without him saying the words aloud, she could decipher his tone - casual.
She stood and paced up and down on a strip of carpet, searching her mind for clues. Surely Charlie felt the subtle shift in their relationship too.
She glanced over her shoulder to her offending phone. What if nothing had changed? And anything new and more intimate between them was a figment of her imagination. With a grunt of irritation, she strode over to the table and snatched up the phone.
It pinged again. "Elsie?"
Slowly, she told him yes, it would be nice if he should pick her up beforehand so they could go to the party together.
It looked as though she was going to be Charles Carson's date at the Copper Kettle Kitchen's opening party.