Home and Away
Further to the northwest and one hundred fifty miles away from Sanditon, unaware of the drama a Sticky Toffee Chocolate Lollypop might provoke, Charlotte finished her last tour of the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel and settled down behind her desk. Her final task for the day was to type the duty manager report.
As it was Boxing Day, half of the West Midlands seemed to be on the move. Consequently, Charlotte had been very busy during her shift. There was no hour without drama, from the breakfast crew running out of eggs to the airport shuttle off-loading guests at one hotel and their luggage at another, plus the daily complaints at check out about hot water, cold water or no water in the shower (usually, it was the guests who did not understand how to work the ultra-modern fittings, but that was an explanation no guest wanted to hear). A flight layover had swamped reception, Charlotte had called the police about a guest who had forgotten to pay his bill but remembered to take the television from his room, and after lunch, when matters finally seemed to quieten down, a false fire alarm had led to the evacuation of the whole building.
Everyone had warned her that on Boxing Day, the duty manager would have no two seconds to breathe through, that guests and staff would be running wild. Charlotte did not have much of a choice, though: as the latest addition to the management team, it was tacitly expected of her to volunteer for the duty manager shifts during the Christmas days.
She did not really regret it. She enjoyed her job, and so far, work had been a perfect distraction, especially work in a busy and anonymous airport hotel were most guests only stayed one night, left early to catch their flight and never returned. There was no place more different from the Sanditon Grand Hotel than the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel. Even the staff were different. There was a high turnover, no one cared about where she had been before or who she was, and if someone was having a secret affair, they were having it truly in secret and not in the elevator room. The temp agency never called to cancel their people, the gardener simply did his work without dabbling in electricity, and the manager had a high regard for proper accounting and called her Charlotte, but never "my dear". If he had a brother, or two, they never showed up at his workplace.
Charlotte filed the duty manager report away. Tomorrow she would go to Willingden, only to return to work in the new year. One week under the care and the love of her family was well worth working all the duty-shifts no one else wanted to do. As long as the many members of the Heywood-clan refrained from asking questions about Sanditon.
Back in July, her family had been highly suspicious about her unexpected and teary appearance on that Saturday afternoon. Initially, however, they connected her departure from Sanditon and her evident despondency to the fire. That was until the landline started ringing during dinner. "I'm not here," Charlotte said, nearly ducking under the table as the panic surged up inside of her. "If it's someone asking for me, please tell them I'm not here."
"Charlotte!" her mother gasped as Alison went to answer the phone. After a few moments, her sister duly said: "I'm sorry, she's not here. – No, I don't know where she is. – Sorry, what was your name again? Right. I'll let her know." Alison returned to the table. "Some James for you, Charlotte. Asks you to call him back, night or day. - Why do you want me to lie for you? Is he the arm?"
"No," Charlotte said, staring at her plate, realising that this was the worst part of it: there were many good people in Sanditon who right now would be worried about her.
"Then who is he? And who is the arm?"
"He's a friend."
"And the arm?"
"What's this about an arm?" Mrs Heywood asked.
"Charlotte's lover. But she won't give me his name."
"I don't have a lover," Charlotte told her plate, unwelcome tears welling up to her eyes, making her whole face melt away. Alison's expression changed immediately.
"I'm sorry, Charlotte. I really thought… did he dump you?"
"Do you want me to thrash him?" her brother Joe offered. "Defend your honour?"
"If he's dumped you, he's an idiot anyway," Dan added. "Good riddance." Charlotte blew her nose.
"Now really … it's not worth the fuss you are making about it. But I'd be grateful if you told any callers that I'm not here."
"You shouldn't be asking your family to lie for you, Charlotte," her mother said sternly.
"Yeah," Joe agreed. "Gives it a bit of a bad smell."
"He's not married, is he?" Dan asked.
"No, he's…" Her voice trailed off. Selling himself to the ugliest handbag in the UK. Asking me to become his little secret London affair. Stealing me my special moment.
"That bad?" her father asked. Mr Heywood was a man of few words and even less display of emotion. It was all in his eyes, searching hers with great concern now and even more affection. Charlotte had never seen her father like this, and it broke her. It broke her so utterly and entirely that when she was done with crying, Mr Heywood lifted her up and carried her to her bed.
"I told you to be careful," he said as he stroked her hair just as he had done when she was a little girl, crying after stumbling over her own feet in the cobblestoned yard.
"I know, Daddy. I tried to… so much, but…"
"Now." He kissed her on the forehead. "You lie down and try to sleep. And tomorrow, you'll come out with me and help me with the calves."
Charlotte blew her nose. She knew full well that a day out on the pastures with her father and his Black Hereford calves was not enough to make her forget Sanditon, but it was the first step. And she had to take the first step at some stage, for she had a mountain to climb.
So the next day, she put on her rubber boots and accompanied her father to the meadows down by the river. She was not much of a help, though. As good as it was to be outside in the summer sun and do some physical work, there was the undeniable fact that all these cute baby Black Herefords were staring at her from large, dark eyes, making her think of someone else's dark eyes. She was practically surrounded by a herd of Sidney-Parker-eyes, all of them mooing at her. It was not ideal.
Her father let her walk away and sit by the ancient bridge, staring at the water flowing beneath her. At some stage, he sat down next to her, put his arm around her shoulders and let her cry as they watched the fish jump and the dragon-flies dance.
When Charlotte and Mr Heywood came home for tea, they found the grown-up part of the Heywood-clan assembled around the dining table, looking at them expectantly. Mrs Heywood was tapping on a pile of print outs in front of her. "We have been thinking, Charlotte," she said as Charlotte sat down between Alison and Joe. Alison immediately took her hand. "We believe that what you might need is a change of scenery."
"A change of scenery," Charlotte repeated, thinking of those calves' eyes again. In a farmer family with nine children, a change of scenery usually meant a village fete visit in the neighbourhood.
"Yes," Mrs Heywood said, tapping on the papers in front of her again. "So we've booked you and Ali on a flight to Carcassonne."
"What?" Somewhere in her head, Tom Parker started complaining about people booking cheap flights to the Mediterranean instead of a train ticket to Sanditon.
"Yes!" Alison clapped her hands, smiling broadly. "We are going to France! You and I, and a tent, and our sleeping bags. Just think of it! One month in the south of France!"
"I… I… I… - but…" Who was going to pay for that?
Dan leaned forward, touching Charlotte's arm. "Don't you worry about the money, Char. Mum's pawned her wedding ring."
"I haven't," Mrs Heywood said with some dignity. "But I would if it were to help one of my children."
"We'll be living off nothing but baguette and water for four weeks," Alison said with a grin. "But we'll be having the best time ever!"
Later, Charlotte found out that her parents had raided their emergency funds, and she insisted on paying for her part of the journey herself. After all, she had some savings from Sanditon. Of course, mrscampion's pay off might have proven helpful, but the sheer thought of the money made her feel sick, so she returned it, even when it was credited to her account for a second time.
And Alison was right: they had the best time. Not ever, but as far as possible under the given circumstances. The south of France was not quite the distant country she had expected to travel to this summer, and unfortunately, Sidney Parker seemed to be looming in the alleys of even the remotest Provençal mountain village. Still, with Alison by her side, pointing at this and that - and did you see that cute kitten lounging in the lavender? - it was difficult to lose herself completely in melancholy and memories. Yet there were still enough moments of gloom, of sadness and grief, and even of anger about the injustice of it all.
One night towards the end of their holidays, huddled into their sleeping bags, listening to the cicadas' evening song in the nearby field, Alison quietly asked: "When are you going to tell me about him, Charlotte?"
Charlotte shifted her position, staring at the branches of a walnut tree shadow-dancing on the tent's ceiling. "Someday, Ali."
"But why won't you give me his name? Is he famous?" No, Charlotte thought. Only famous for parking in the no-parking zone.
"He's not famous." But if Alison knew his name, she would google him and freak out about how terribly hot he was, and being the optimistic girl that she was, she would end up calling the Sanditon Grand Hotel, ask for Mr Sidney Parker and tell him to come and see her sister, pronto, please.
"I don't understand why he ended it. – Charlotte?" Alison sat up, grabbing for her phone. "You are glowing with love in that picture!" Charlotte did not look at it. She knew herself how she looked in that picture from the premiere party.
"It's complicated," she told the tent's ceiling.
"How can it be complicated? Two people being in love?"
"Please, Ali." But Alison was not in a mood to give up.
"It's only… you seemed to be so happy at Sanditon. Even before Mr Mysterious turned up. I believed… I believed you had found this one place. The place where you belong."
"I was very happy at Sanditon," Charlotte conceded, thinking of her attic apartment, the beautiful view, the herring gull sitting in the gutter every morning to greet her (the French seabirds were rather a disappointment in that regard). All those moments in the office when she had realised that they were moving forward, that she was achieving something: making Mr Mathews pay that forgotten wedding bill, making the Instagram account work, making the open-day a success.
"Until Mr Mysterious came and spoilt it all?" Alison asked.
"No. He… he only added to the magic."
"How?"
"Ali…" It was so difficult to explain, and yet, her sister deserved some sort of explanation. "He made me question myself. Doubt myself. Time and again. I hated him for it, I really did, Ali, but… then I understood that I only hated him because that was easier than to admit to myself how much I was in love with him."
"Wow," Alison said, remaining silent for a while. "And now? Do you hate him again?" she finally asked.
Charlotte thought for a second, then shook her head. "No. Maybe it would be easier if I could, but I can't. Hate is such a dark emotion. I'm sad and disappointed and hurt." And she missed him. She had to search for a tissue, tears rolling down her cheeks now. Oh, how she missed him. Smiling at her with that rare, boyish Sidney-Parker-smile. Sharing his ideas with her. Talking things through. Teasing her a little, but always in a kind and loving way. Showing her how much he enjoyed being with her, how much he appreciated her spirit.
"Charlotte," Alison softly said.
"It's alright." But of course, it was not. Because the one thing that was even worse than the sadness, the disappointment, the pain, the emptiness of being without him and the horror at his desperate suggestion of a secret affair was the sorrow. The sorrow of what would become of him.
How could he remain his own true self with mrscampion's poison slowly dripping into him? That was what pained and worried her most, that he would lose himself again and turn into a man full of self-loathing. That mrscampion would destroy her Sidney, the Sidney Charlotte had come to love.
But that was nothing she could tell Alison. Alison, however, the sensible girl that she was, understood very well that sometimes, tears said more than words. So she scrambled out of her sleeping bag and held her big sister, held her very long and very tight and until all tears had been cried out – which was a long time after the cicadas had ended their evening song.
Half a year later, waiting for the end of her shift at her desk in the Birmingham Cresta Airport Hotel administration office, Charlotte was still feeling that sorrow. Whenever she thought of Sidney, it was with a quiet and tender sadness that made her long to touch him, just to feel that he was still real. Sometimes (and that was a good sign, according to Alison, who had started an interest in psychology) she thought of him with anger about all the impossible decisions he had made without consulting her, taking the world on his shoulders. But overshadowing it all was the sorrow of what had become of him.
She sighed and checked the watch on the desktop. Another ten minutes, then she would return the master keys to reception and call it a day. There was no use in starting anything new now, so she took out her phone and read her messages. Lots of family pictures in the Heywood family group, lots of texts from her parents and her siblings, telling her that they loved her and missed her and kept the best food for her arrival on the next day. Alison, asking her whether she was looking forward to her Christmas surprise. Her father, telling her to be careful on the journey from Birmingham to Willingden.
Charlotte wiped a tear from her eye. The Heywood clan had proven such a bulwark when it came to protecting her. She knew that Mary had called while they were away in France, and James. Again.
Ignoring James was something Charlotte found increasingly difficult. None of what had happened was his fault, and his evident concern and persistence only went to show what a good person he was. More than once did she consider meeting him, on neutral ground, somewhere in London perhaps. But then, she felt again that it was mean to raise his hopes when Sidney was still so much in her mind, and that such a meeting might end in awkwardness, with James wanting to hold her hand, or trying to kiss her. She hoped that he had taken the opportunity the internship in Vancouver offered him and started a new life, just as she was about to start a new life in Birmingham.
Alison believed that she overdid it, and Joe offered to set her up for blind dates with his football friends – but then Alison was only eighteen, and Joe's friends had already proven a disappointment during her teenage years.
She closed her messages and checked the newsfeed. As it was Boxing Day, there was no real news, but her phone's all-knowing algorithm had a special advertisement for her. It featured a blond, petite woman holding an ugly handbag in her left hand while clutching a dark-haired man's waist with her right. The man was half-turning his back on the viewer so that he was seen in semi-profile only, with the woman adoringly gazing up to him. Behind them was an idealised version of the view of the Sanditon Grand Hotel towards the cliff, the sea and the sky. Idealised, because in reality, Charlotte had never seen a cascade of hearts tumbling down from the upper row of balconies.
Eliza – Madly in Love, the caption read. New reality series starts Sunday, January 28th at 9 pm, only on ITV Life.
Reality? This was the greatest joke of reality Charlotte had ever seen. She took a closer look. mrscampion had been airbrushed and seemed to be following a rigorous diet, judging by her tiny waist. The man she was holding on to as if he were her life… Sidney… barely looked like Sidney at all. He could be any dark-haired man, seen in semi-profile as he was. Even the stubble of his beard somehow looked photoshopped. Who in the world would think it necessary to photoshop Sidney Parker's face?
Yet it hurt.
Whatever happens, it's not real.
It is so real that you plan to go on nationwide television with it, Sidney.
And there they were, on nationwide television, Sunday, primetime. Madly in love.
Charlotte realised that it would become impossible for her to ignore this. And that she better told Alison who "the arm" was before the Heywood-siblings for once agreed on which TV channel to watch and they all added one plus one at nine pm on Sunday, January 28th.
She started shutting down the desktop when the duty manager's phone started ringing with the reception's number in the display. Probably a last-minute catastrophe, she thought as she answered the call.
"Miss Heywood?" the receptionist said. "Can you come to the lobby? There are two men here asking for you."
