Hello again! Don't get too excited, I won't be able to post this quickly normally. This chapter came quite easily. I do hope to post more regularly than every two years though, so that's good.
A random note about your author: I have a deep obsession/love for all things personal finance/economics. I tried to keep that stuff to the minimum needed to move the story along. Because I love it so much I can see myself potentially becoming a bit too involved in that area of the story, so please let me know if the money stuff gets, eh, boring. :)
On with the show!
1:58AM
Elsie rolled over, away from the clock. Her mind wouldn't stop. A whirling dervish of emotions and memories, she couldn't seem to shut them up no matter what. Her to do list was foremost on her mind. She needed to call Robert back and politely disagree: they could refurbish the servants quarters in order to do a bit of filming. The Ladies had to send her their schedules. And she had to call the bank to make sure the payroll was updated.
And then, of course, there was Joe. She pushed him out of her mind, shaking her head, every time his face popped into her minds eye. But it was no use. He was right there.
Memories of their first New Years together - the fancy attire they wore only for him to bring her to a cold barn in the middle of Argyll, their own music, their own dancing, their own kisses unseen by anyone else. They made love in that barn, how many times? She sighed and rolled onto her other side. She mustn't focus on the good memories.
2:43AM
Really it had been thirty-five years. She blanched. Thirty-five years together. Five years of dating and waiting. Thirty years of marriage. Of course they wouldn't now make it to thirty years. February 1st, their anniversary. She hoped all the paper work was done by then. By their anniversary, she hoped she was a free woman.
She laughed aloud in her little room. What did it even mean to be free? Sleeping alone in a cold bedroom that wasn't her own. She hadn't even unpacked her little red suitcase into the chest of drawers.
Perhaps it meant she was free to kiss anyone she liked. He certainly was. That had been his intention all along. Divorce Elsie, Fuck Marla. That was his plan. How kind he was to wait for the divorce.
And besides, on the kissing front he had given his permission. 'Kiss whoever you like, just remember you're coming home with me.' He had laughed, winked, at that. New Years Eve 1987, all the ladies lining up to give Charlie a small peck after Alice had died. It had become tradition at this point.
And now she would be the one with no one to kiss. Tomorrow evening, when everyone else had their partners, she would be alone.
3:54AM
Perhaps not alone. Charlie would be there. Beryl and Isobel would give him their due diligence - a small peck on the lips. Tradition. She would do the same. But then, after that - no one else. Bert had always been too shy, and Rishi wisely steered clear.
She took a deep breath. Yes, at least she would have Charlie to kiss come New Years Eve.
She cringed. That awful memory finding its way into her brain. Her whole body squirmed at the thought of it. The guilt of it. Little blasts of those stolen moments in Beryl's backyard. It must have been four years ago, when Anna went away to University. She squirmed again, her sheets getting caught around her feet.
'I'm not much of a catch', said Charlie.
His face, so sad. She could still feel the tension in her body, sitting so close to him, rubbing shoulders. Her belly was in knots. And she had clearly had too much to drink.
'I think you're quite a catch', she said.
And then she had kissed him. Albeit chastely. Albeit for a slight second longer than necessary. Too long for friends.
Four years ago and they had never discussed it. Good god, what had she been thinking? Was this karma? Had Joe seen her? Had that been the tipping point for their relationship?
4:35AM
The clock was mocking her. Of that she was certain. She rolled onto her stomach, the only position she hadn't yet tried. Her body ached and burned all at once. How could she be so hot on a night like this? And she had frozen the first half of the night. She huffed. Fluffing her pillows she wiggled her body into an L shape that she knew wouldn't last long. Stupid body.
Stupid Joe.
Stupid Charlie.
Stupid Anna.
Everything was stupid. What a stupid fucking mess she was. Her body pushed at her and if she had any lapse of control she knew she would scream.
Stupid clock.
What would Charlie say, she wondered, if she broke his clock?
8:37AM
The click of the door startled her awake. Awake, good, that meant at some point she must have fallen asleep in order to then…awake. She buried her face among the pillows. She was still on her stomach. Her eyes creaked open as she heard the tinkling of china on wood.
Charlie.
She spun around, sheets clutching her hips. Groggily she watched him jump back in surprise.
"Oh! You're awake." He said.
She hummed her response.
"Well, sort of," he chuckled, "I brought you some tea. There's pastries from Bert's downstairs."
Something about that bothered her, but she wasn't quite alert enough to know why. Gently she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and got a proper look at her friend.
"You're chipper this morning," she said, her voice heavy with sleep. "Also, good morning."
"Good morning," his smile broadened, "I brought up my files, if you have a chance, perhaps we could go over some of the details today?"
"Yes, yes, of course," she said. She glanced at the bedside table and picked up the teacup he had just set there. He stood besides her bed and she wasn't quite sure why he was staring at her.
"Charlie," she said as the thought popped through her head, "what if I had been naked?"
The tips of his ears turned pink. He swallowed sharply, "naked?"
"Yes, if I slept naked and you came in - although I do appreciate the gesture." She raised her teacup at him.
"Oh heavens, I'd not thought of that." He looked everywhere but at her, "But you don't."
He waved a hand at her appearance. And true enough, she was wearing a night gown.
"I don't sleep naked in the winter. But sometimes in the summer I do." She confessed taking a small sip of tea.
His mouth formed the shape of an 'o' which was all the response she needed. She could tease him, but had learned to stop just before he felt too awkward.
"Which makes me wonder," She continued, "it might not matter if I'm not going to be here in the summer."
"How do you mean?" He asked.
"Well, either you're selling your house or we need to discuss how long I'm actually staying." She said.
"However long you need," he reiterated, "or until I sell, whichever comes first."
"Charlie," she smiled, "you don't have a house guest without knowing when they leave. You taught me that."
"Yes, but," he sat down on the edge of the bed, "this is different."
"How is it different?" She scoffed.
"Because, it's different," he said, "Do you want to leave?"
"No, it's not -"
"Well then, what's the fuss about? You stay as long as you want, end of discussion." He clapped his hands as if to finalize that.
"And if that's in a year, two years?" She pressed, because really, how silly he was being.
"Then it's two years."
She rolled her eyes at him. Drinking another sip of tea, she quickly tried to find another way to broach the subject.
"Besides, I doubt you'll want to stay too long," he added, "I'm not the easiest person to live with."
"Yes, I'm beginning to see that," she quipped. It was his turn to roll his eyes. He stood from the bed.
"I'll be downstairs. There's no rush, enjoy your tea, have a pastry, we can reconvene when it's convenient for you." He said. He waited for her nod and then slipped out of the room.
After a luke-warm shower (her body still felt hot) she settled on a pair of jeans and her favorite green jumper. The shower had calmed her nerves somewhat, but she still couldn't shake how sleepy she felt. When she finally arrived downstairs her jaw dropped. The entire dinning table was covered from end to end with ledgers and accounting books.
Moving around the table she picked up a leather bound book that was the richest mahogany. Opening to a random page she found:
14 October 1994
Lunch at Gilbet's -£43.40 (-£10, 456.43)
Gas bill -£24.35 (-£10,479.78)
Dinner at Shelly's -£56.45 (-£10, 536.23)
She stared at the date: 1994. Looking back at the collection of books she wondered how far back they all went. She returned to the book in her hands her heart skipping a little, negative ten thousand pounds? She didn't remember Charlie being in debt. But then, they had never really discussed finances before. She was a little surprised, really, to find that he was so willing to let her peak into this part of his life.
The front door closed and she turned to see him walk in carrying a bunch of newspapers.
"Ah, I was afraid you might have fallen back to sleep," he said. He threw his car keys into a small dish and walked into the dinning area.
"Charlie, are all of your finances written by hand?" She asked
"Yes, of course." He looked around at the table, "I suppose it is a bit daunting when you look at it."
"I would agree," she said.
"I don't think we need to go through all of them. That one there," he nodded to a small tattered black book sitting precariously on the edge of the table, "that's the beginning, 1969, when I started working in a book shop. And that one," he nodded to the blue book on the top of the tallest pile, "that's the most recent one."
"Right," she said, she picked up the blue book, "let's start with the most recent one then, shall we?"
"Certainly, let me just put these down," he indicated the pile of newspapers in his hands, "I'll be right back."
He went off towards his office and she opened to the first page of his most recent ledger. Her heart nearly stopped.
"You have credit card debt?" She shouted down the hallway.
"What?" His head appeared around his office door. "Yes, I'm afraid I do."
"You have four thousand pounds of credit card debt?!" She tried not yelling it, but wasn't sure she was succeeding. He walked back into the dinning area.
"Yes, that's around national average." He said. The look on her face spurred him on, "I had loans to pay off before, and I had to keep up with my job. I couldn't go around working with Lords and Ladies in some used suit and crap car could I? I would never have earned their respect."
"I understand that, but are you out of your mind?" she couldn't control it, not really, "You never have credit card debt, ever! That's one of the first rules of finance -"
"But it's normal! Everyone has credit card debt!"
"I don't!" She looked back at the book, "And at eighteen percent interest, are you kidding? What have you been doing to yourself these past years, Charlie?"
"I've been paying it off!" He roared, "That's down from the six thousand pounds it was two years ago!"
"Jesus Christ," she said, "how are you paying for anything? You can't go get pastries from Bert's, you can't just jump in your car and waste petrol like it's nothing! Come on, Charlie, you can't waste money like this. Besides it's not like you have any place to go now, you don't have to keep up appearances."
That had been a low blow and she knew it. She hung her head and gathered her courage to look at him, to hold his gaze and try to make him see sense.
When she did finally look up, his lips pursed together and his jaw clenched. She could see the bones in his jaw moving in and out. "Charlie, what are you thinking?"
"I'm starting to think you shouldn't be looking at those," he said. "I'm going to be in my office the rest of the day, I think it would be wiser for me to find a new job than for the two of us to deal with this," he waved his hand over the books.
She nodded but didn't trust herself to say anything. He gave a little huff of annoyance before stalking off down the corridor to his office. Whether or not he wanted her to look through his finances, the books were still out, and she felt a strong desire to fix whatever this problem was.
It also meant she wasn't dwelling on her own problems. At some point, she realized, she was going to have to go over her finances with Joe and that was the last thing she wanted to think about.
She made herself some coffee and began busying herself with his small blue book. It took her a few hours before she bothered to look up. The clock on the well read a little after noon and she made herself a small plate of lunch. She debated a moment as to whether or not Charlie would want a sandwich too, but decided he would come out of his office when he was ready.
It was around dinner time she realized what his pile of newspapers had been for. He was searching the classifieds. She shook her head in wonder. Taking a glance down the hall, he still hadn't emerged, and she considered for a moment making him an online profile for job searches. Reality took hold. No, he wouldn't want that. They would have to do it together, if he did it at all.
At seven she knocked on his office door but he didn't respond so she ate dinner alone. At ten she returned to her bedroom, already dreading another long night filled with restlessness.
It was just after two in the morning. She had rehearsed all the things she wanted to say to him. Her brain was foggy from the last few nights of insomnia and still, sleep would not come. Resigning herself to the worst, she rolled out of bed, threw on her dressing gown and slippers and padded her way downstairs. Tea and a biscuit would not be remiss.
On the second landing she saw light peaking through the bottom of Charlie's bedroom door. Surely he was asleep. But then again, she reasoned, he was in the midst of change and turmoil just the same as she. Perhaps he was awake too.
That was enough. If they were both going to be miserable and sleep deprived, they might as well be so together.
She knocked on his door. A gruff, "yes," set her to opening it. She found him sat up in bed, pillows bunched behind his back, a remote lay in his hand and the telly on. She smiled at him. He looked so warm and cozy in the blue and white stripped pajamas she and Anna had given him for Christmas.
"Can't sleep either, I see," she started.
"No, no I can't." He said. She could see he was still frustrated with her, but his anger was subsiding and clearly tinged with some sadness.
"What are you watching?" She asked, walking further in to see the screen.
"Oh some documentary or other about the crusades." He had the sound on mute. The words the narrator said popped up in black and white on the bottom of the screen.
She bit her lip, considered her options, then asked, "can I join you for a moment?"
He looked at her, not entirely in surprise, then nodded, "you may."
Fluffing up the pillows next to him, he made a little space for her. She slipped off her slippers and under the blankets to cover her bare legs. Rearranging her dressing gown in an effort to hide the thin nighty beneath it she settled back against the pillows. They watched the show for a few minutes.
"I'm sorry I was harsh with you earlier." She said, breaking the silence.
He looked at her, surprised, "No, no, I should apologize, I know how foolish I've been."
"I shouldn't have reacted so strongly." She admitted, "And you don't deserve that, not from me."
He sighed his response. She glanced at him sideways. He was such a big man, and he had such a way of making himself appear small. They watched the narrator walk down the hall of some underground passage.
"I may have good news though, if you're interested," she said, "although I can't promise you'll like my ideas."
He turned to her fully, "I'm always interested to hear your thoughts."
She stifled a laugh at that, "You have two cars. Sell one and pay off your credit card."
Mulling that thought over, his eyes returned to the telly. "I can see that. I certainly don't need two cars, now that Anna has her own."
"And I don't think you need to sell your house," she added.
"No?"
"No," she swallowed to gather her courage, "No, I think if you took on a lodger, you could pay off your mortgage quickly and then you'd have a steady stream of income. And if you don't spend as much as you did in the past - because of your job - you might even be able to, dare I say it, retire?"
He nodded to show he had heard her, but she knew him well enough to know he didn't like that last part.
"I don't like lodgers. What if they stole something?" he said.
"Well, you don't have to decide right now." She countered, having decided earlier she wasn't going to push him, "It's just good to know you have options."
"Indeed it is."
They continued watching the telly, their conversation idle. It was at the point where she thought she might head back to her room that he spoke again.
"Do you remember the last time we sat like this?" He asked, his eyes trained on the telly.
She thought back. A smile graced her face, although she tried to keep it small, "yes, I believe I do."
"Anna must have been nine months." He said.
It was clear in her mind, that night. At the time it had seemed like a hardship, but now it was a cherished memory.
"That poor dear, so sick. And you were such a wreck." She said, "we kept handing her back and forth."
"You stayed the whole night, I'll never forget that," he added, "no one else stayed the whole night with me. Although I certainly needed it then."
"I thought Cora and Laura helped out too," she said, surprised and a bit shocked to find she was the only one who stayed with him like that.
"Oh they did, but never the whole time." He thought about it, "maybe Laura a few times in the beginning, being Anna's aunt and all, but she lived in Bath and couldn't always help in the way you could."
She felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she stifled what the implications were that she had stayed an entire night, and on more than one occasion. She could see the two of them so clearly, the wailing baby in the arms of the big man. All she had wanted at the time was to hold the little baby Anna.
"I'm glad I was there for it," she said simply.
He turned to her and smiled deeply. Returning the smile, she was only vaguely aware of the small space between them and the bed upon which they lay propped up like two old fuddy-duddies. She chuckled, and when he looked at her curiously, she waved him off.
Not long after that her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off into the soft scent of his pillows.
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