Intentionally, I haven't seen Charles for days.
After meringuegate I'd not been myself. It was like a combination of depression, excitement and fear. My stomach churned whenever I thought of him, and after far too long of lying in my bed and staring at the ceiling I'd finally cracked what was going on. I was at a precipice. A junction. Two options: go with my emerging feelings for him and have a full blown 'I could be falling in love' crush, my mind swirling with daydreams of how he would finally admit his feelings, of a life after this where we walk along the street holding hands and gently taking the piss out of each other. Marriage. Kids. The whole shebang. My feelings for him were already so strong that I knew I would be broken if we ever split up, but, I also knew that I would be broken if his feelings for me weren't the same. It would be subjecting myself to pain, masochistic pain. So, my second choice, the sensible choice, was to withdraw, to admit that a man who is going through a divorce, who is suffering from PTSD and is completely the opposite from me in all ways, won't be lying in his bed across the hall flitting through scenarios of telling me he loves me. I chose the second option; sadly.
There is still the unsettled feeling in my tummy questioning my decision. I still have to consciously think of things other than him but it's been far easier than what I thought it would be. When I look back, it had always been me that had found my way to him so it wasn't as if I had to keep out of his way. He hasn't once knocked on my door to check I was okay, or posted a letter through my door, nothing.
My life has returned to pre Charles levels of boring and it feels safe.
Well as safe as it can be when you've been removed to a safe location to stop folk trying to take you out so you can't testify.
"We'll move you the night before the trial starts."
I've got the company of both Elvis and Bones today. Lucky me. "You'll be in a swanky hotel. No expense spared. The taxpayers of the United Kingdom of Great Britain will even allow you a cheeky wee vodka from the mini bar I'm sure." It'll be the night after that I'll be hitting a pub hopefully, then I'll really be able go relax, start enjoying my life but I don't say this out loud.
"That alright?" Asks Elvis, with a slight frown.
"Yeah whatever"
Bones waves his hand vaguely in my direction. "Can the real Molly Dawes please stand up."
I give him a half hearted smile. Aware the two of them are exchanging looks. "I'm fine honestly. Just want it all to be over and to get back to my family." Away from tempting neighbours and back to the familiarity of the Dawes clan. I've decided that I'm going to do something really exciting with the rest of my life, the world is my oyster - except I think that's a really silly saying cause oysters are tiny, it would be better if the saying was 'the world is the universe and beyond the blackhole' or something like that. I'm also not sure about the whole lobster thing either, 'you're my bleeding lobster' because it's a well known fact that lobsters quite happily eat each other and that's not romantic. Also, why does everything involve sea creatures? If Bones and Elvis weren't here I'd write these things down in my blue book and get some answers.
"You were fine before but still managed to escape by abseiling down a bloody building." Bones states, and I catch him warily looking at the balcony. "There hasn't been a single report this time of you up to any nonsense, you've been staying in your flat."
"And going to see Sadie." I marginally raise my voice for the first time from the monotone level it's been at since they knocked on my door. For one moment I thought it had been Charles. I'd peaked out the eyehole of the door earlier to see my neighbour leave. Dressed casually as his door shut behind him and he made his way to the lift. The knock on the door had been when there was a possibility he could be making a detour which involved seeing me on his return. My carefully constructed wall had been knocked down in a second as I'd had what can only be described as a hot flush at my conundrum of how I would be around him. Instead, on letting in Bones and Elvis, I flounced pathetically back to my sun lounger, putting my sunglasses on and leaving them to perch awkwardly on a flower pot and the edge of the balcony.
"Is there any chance for the last few days, you could maybe not see her?" Elvis asks with a slight pleading edge. Apparently it really does look like this can be all over soon."
"No."
They both look uncomfortable.
"Take Sadie away from me and I'll walk out onto the streets with a sign that says I'm Molly Dawes 'n' I've got inside knowledge on a terrorist cell."
"You're in a bit of a shit mood."
Pushing my sunglasses up onto my forehead I fix Elvis with a death stare. "You try bein' cooped up for months mate 'n' then we can compete for who is the grumpiest." Tonight, I have a date with Sadie and a scrabble board and there is no way on earth that I'm missing it. Sadie is the only person who can get me out of my current gloom.
Cheekily Elvis leans over, gently knocking my glasses until they're covering my eyes again, "Honest to god, if I don't have an ulcer by the time this is all over. She has been the most stressful objective I've ever had in my career." Obviously he knows I can hear him and is just doing this stunt to get a rise out of me, so I ignore them. Tilting my face to the sun and hoping they both piss off soon.
After a period of prolonged silence, I'm aware of Bones standing up from his flower pot, as if he's going to leave, and I turn to watch him tap Elvis on the shoulder. They both look at his phone, and when I pull myself over to try and have a swatch too, the phone is tilted in the opposite direction. I go back to my sunbathing.
"You know you're not gonna' get much of a tan wearing those things."
The 'things' in question are my dressing gown… and my Peppa Pig slippers that Jade bought me last Christmas. I've worn them for the last three days straight and I am seriously considering wearing them down to Sadie's tonight.
"It's not good for you to get a tan. You can get skin cancer 'n' allsorts." I'm not sure what I mean by allsorts but I feel that I've explained my strange attire perfectly well.
"Anyway sweetheart. We're gonna' have to love you and leave you."
With these two, you'd think they'd been in Afghanistan or somewhere their whole lives to be unaware there was such a thing as non PC comments, though possibly of course they could have been in Afghan and I store the question away for another time when I might actually give a shit.
"It ain't appropriate to call people sweetheart, mate. And from my recollection of the last 20 minutes, there ain't anything loving about our conversation…. So…." I fling my hand out towards the door, a prompt for them to piss off and I'm grateful to hear the guys muttering to each other as they do what I've asked.
Up above the streets of London, the noises from below become peaceful, a rhythmical sound of traffic and voices that soon has me drifting off to sleep. And after too many nights of tossing and turning I don't fight it, enjoying the way my muscles relax as I slowly succumb to the darkness of a snooze.
I'm woken from my slumber with digestive biscuits raining down on me. Charles has surprisingly good aim, though when I finally manage to remove my sunglasses I can see that he's frisbeeing them over. He doesn't let up, even when I start to pick up the ones that haven't broken and try to fire them back across the balconies with far less success.
"I was worried that you were dead. Mind you, from recollection people who have died don't snore… Nor do they drool."
"Are you glad I ain't dead?"
Charles stops mid-throw, tilting his head to the side. "Are you glad I ain't dead?" He mimics, sitting down on the edge of his sun lounger. "What kind of English is that?"
When I first met him I would have been deeply offended, now I smile. "The only kind of English I know."
"Acceptable answer I suppose and well yes, in reply to your frankfully stupid question I am glad you ain't dead. I would have gone to your funeral and imagined you in the coffin with your peppa pig slippers and wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry. Your parents would hate me." Charles watches, waiting on an answer. It's a bit up in the air whether my parents would hate him, even if he was sniggering at the back of my funeral, my Dad certainly would be threatened by him but I think my Mum might quite like him. I could see her fussing over him when he came to visit, she'd get the best biscuits out and wouldn't tell him to be careful with the china cups like she tells every other bleeding visitor.
Charles gets fed up waiting for a reply, he stands up, picking up a digestive biscuit and takes a bite before looking into the packet and his next sentence is spoken with a full mouth. "Fancy coming over here and sharing some broken biscuits with me? I think I've got about 5 left."
Fuck. I know what my answer should be. I know what I want my answer to be.
There's that junction in front of me again. The hope colliding with truth.
"If it's okay with you, I think I'll give it a miss."
"Oh okay." Charles is surprised. He really hadn't considered that I was going to turn him down. It won't happen to him much in life. "Though I really don't know why you wouldn't be tempted to come over and eat biscuits that have been on the ground with me. We could even watch some TV. What with your abseiling skills, I'm sure you'd appreciate an episode of SAS Who Dares Wins."
"Not feelin' too great." I lie.
His look of surprise changes to one of almost caring sympathy. "Look after yourself Flawes, okay. And if you need me let me know."
I merely nod. Then I stand there staring at him. He is just staring back. It becomes awkward then I remember that apparently I'm not feeling well. I give him another nod and then leave with the sight of my Peppa Pig slippers and I retreating back into the house.