Can't believe there's going to be no more Our Girl, though I hadn't watched the last series I always held out a little bit of hope that the BBC would come to its senses and persuade Lacey to come back and let us see Molly and CJ's story :( I suppose we can all live knowing their characters are out there trying to make it work again. Anyway, hope everyone is well! Thanks for reading.
Dear Charles
Sorry you had to witness the cocking up of the installation of my new state of the art security lighting system that I got on a special deal from Groupon. I'm sure the company who put it up would be happy to have your business if you wanted one too - I'm prob gonna' leave them a review to say '100% effort in hardsell and would be nice if they actually listened to the customer'. Anyway, I really hope Rebecca doesn't refuse to let you have Sam over cause' of your mad neighbour' and if she is being funny then please let me know if there's anything I can do. You might suggest I move but I'd prefer not to if that was okay? I play scrabble with Sadie two floors down on a Thursday and I'm the only company she's got these days. You might actually remember her, to put some fun in her life she requests that I abseil down, though on reflection I'm probably gonna' stop doing that, what with health & safety going a bit mad these days.
Take care
Polls.
Ps. I think Sadie has taken a bit of a shine to you. If she ever faints in front of you, double check she's not at it. There's been a few too many stories of being resuscitated by handsome men after fainting fits.
Shit.
Dear Charles
Please don't think I'm saying that you're handsome. I don't think you are. It was just Sadie said you were, and well, I wanted to warn you.
Polly.
Double Shit.
Not that I think you're ugly. Don't want you to get a complex. I just don't want you to think I fancy you, because I don't.
P.
Oh God.
I know you're going through a divorce, and maybe it was Rebecca that cheated on you, so please know that there will be lots of girls out there who would fancy you. Just think of Tracy 'The Flirter' Robertson…. Though I do think you can do better than her - her voice would seriously get on your tits.
Anyway, I don't want you to take a restraining order against me, so this is the last letter you'll receive.
P.
Ps. I hope you read them in order or they ain't gonna make any sense, next time I'm writing to you I'll put numbers on them so you know which to read first.
Pps. Ain't it funny when I sign my name P that it then all flows much better. P. Ps. PPS etc etc etc.
Putting the last letter through the door, I retreat back to my side of the hall where I slouch down the wall and contemplate how shit everything is going with a deep sigh that starts from my toes and doesn't end until I feel a certain amount of relief that I've 'sorted it' as Bones requested. All I need to do now is avoid my neighbour and be patient until all this is over. Though god knows when that'll be.
On the day I'd seen my little friend Bashira's dad brandishing a gun with a room full of what looked like explosives behind him, I'd taken my siblings home, told my Mum I was popping out for a bit and that I'd be back for tea and then toddled off naively to the police station. Don't for a minute think I wasn't shitting myself, but I'd thought they'd want some details and job done. There was part of me who wasn't even sure if the Old Bill would believe me. Unfortunately it wasn't like that. Before I knew it, there were hushed conversations, more interviews and then a sudden relocation to a penthouse flat. I never did make it home for tea. 3 months later and every bleeding day when I ask, they tell me the trial won't be long now, a couple of times there's even been tantalising dates mentioned and then they've been postponed. What scares me even more is that it won't be a case of straight home afterwards, I'm going to have to testify at court and then god knows what will happen to me; I'm still not sure I'll ever be safe to have the life I used to have. So deep in thought I don't even hear the lift ping and I'm only aware there's someone when I clock the regulation high shined dress shoes and the khaki brown trousers of a set of Number 2 Dress.
"It's rude to sneak up on people you know." I say, trying to resist the urge to look up into the no doubt disappointed stare of my neighbour but with the continuing silence I give in, and when I do look up, Charles raises his eyebrows, like he almost expected me to be there.
"Please don't tell me you've locked yourself out again." Taking his keys out of his pocket I think for a moment he's not going to wait for an answer, then at the last minute he looks down and does the eye roll I could win an Oscar for imitating.
"I'm only going to ask this once." He says, like it pains him. "And please don't think for a minute I'm emotionally involved in any way."
I nod, more interested with my sudden realisation that he doesn't look as self assured as normal, tiredness on his features I've not yet seen.
"Is everything alright in your life? Are you in some sort of trouble?"
Yes, yes and yes again and if he could do anything to sort my predicament I'd love him forever. Yet I shake my head, and give another sigh. "No. I ain't. Things are just a bit, how would you say it ….. complicated."
He nods, my answer satisfying him that he's done his duty and now he can piss off. Except I find myself asking:
"Is everything alright in your life? Not that I want you to think I'm emotionally involved in any way - cause I ain't?"
He laughs, not in a funny haha way that I've told him the best joke in the world, but almost like me, there's so much going on in his life that it would be impossible for one person to sort it. I'm feeling sorry for him which is weird, like all of a sudden there isn't this wide chasm of privilege and position between us.
"Oh 'n' by the way." I point to his door. "I might have sent you a few letters. You know, just to apologise for the other day."
Charles surprisingly doesn't look annoyed, shrugging his shoulders as he looks down at me with the familiar furrow between his brow. "You don't have anything to apologise for. I'm not sure I would have been happy to have cameras going up on my balcony looking into my bedroom." He inhales a breath. "Though I would have of course preferred if you didn't rip the guys a new one when my son was there."
"Fair point." I say, in complete agreement with him, that my timing wasn't exactly perfect but then again when do I ever do perfect? I open my mouth to tell him it won't happen again, because surely there's not much else they can put up to make sure I stay where I'm meant to be, when I realise he's gone, all I see is the door starting to close. My head again sinks back into the wall and I close my eyes and mutter under my breath. "Good night Molly, thanks for the chat."
"Who's Molly?"
"Shit." I exclaim in fright, placing my hand over my chest at the sudden and unexpected resurgence of my neighbour, a small pile of familiar letters in his hand. "You nearly gave me a julius caesar."
"What?" He's the one who now looks confused, his entire face scrunching up as he waves my letters in the air. "Molly. Julius Caesar. Is this a game of how many names you can come up with that have nothing at all to do with our conversation.
"Are we having a conversation?"
Charles slides down the wall beside me, choosing not to answer my question. His long legs stretching far past mine. "You weren't joking when you said a few letters."
"I've told you before that I'm a lady of my word." Reaching over I take the letters out of his hand, put them helpfully in order and then place them back to his outstretched hand, taking a nonchalant yawn and stretch, trying to watch him read the entire time without being obvious. I could be wrong but it does look like he wants to smile at my letters, the corners of his lips twitching up at times and at one point he almost exhales a laugh. Once he's finished, I'm handed the letters back. I wait for a comment but there's none, instead he brings his knees up, meaning they're tantalisingly close to mine and I wonder what it would be like if I accidently bumped my knee against him. The temptation to do so is thankfully interrupted by him finally speaking.
"Sadie sounds fun."
I giggle. "She is, I'm a bit fond of her."
He nods his head, and scratches his chin. As usual, I'm unsure if our chat is over when he yet again surprises me with a smile and another question like he's really interested. "Who wins at scrabble?"
My bum is starting to numb, but I'm enjoying his company so I shift slightly, wishing I'd had the foresight to bring out one of my cushions. "Tends to be her, I have to be honest. She plays in German and there seems to be far more high scoring words in German than English."
"She plays in German? And do you know enough German to know that she's not scamming you?"
"It's a game of trust; Charles." I giggle and I'm surprised to see him return it with another, even more genuine, smile. Though in true me fashion I soon ruin the friendly mood with just one misjudged question. . "So what you been up to today? Important meeting?"
"Could say that, yeah?" His answer is clipped. His next question to me full of indifference. "What have you been upto?"
"Yeah, I've been up to lots of important stuff too." I haven't. Charles knows I'm lying because he laughs softly and there's just a little bit of softening again.
"Agoraphobia, very debilitating." He says, with a bump of his shoulder against mine.
The heat that is filling my right shoulder is akin to having put a head pad on it and to keep the sensation going I bump against him. "It is. I've also realised I've got aichmophobia."
"What on earth is that?"
I roll my eyes and take a sigh. "Surely everyone knows what it is." I give a disappointed shake of my head and explain in a kind voice his sad lack of knowledge. "A fear of scissors, well of sharp objects. Which is well annoying cause I'd really like to get my hair cut."
"Bake me a batch of brownies and I'll cut your hair for you?" He says with an adorable grin, and when I say adorable I mean it brings out a smile on my face that hurts the corner of my eyes.
"I've gone off Brownies. Tomorrow I'm gonna' bake meringues."
"I could be bribed with meringues too."
The thought of Charles cutting my hair is causing strange sensations in the pit of my stomach. The thought of Charles eating my home made meringues is causing strange sensations in the pit of my stomach. In fact, the thought of Charles in general causes strange sensations in the pit of my stomach. I really hope it's indigestion. "Anyway." I contine, slightly abruptly. "We both know you don't have time. You're hardly ever in, what with bein' an important army person."
A silence fills the hallway. Immediately I know I've yet again put my foot in it. I'm about to discuss the colour of the walls and whether he thinks its eggshell or magnolia in the vain hope we can keep some kind of conversation going when Charles closes his eyes tightly and inhales through his nose. "Well, as of today I've got some leave."
"You don't sound happy about it?"
'Mmmm."
"You sure you're okay?"
Charles turns and looks, his eyes raking across my face. "I just need some time out. Apparently."
Yesterday I thought Quaseem had the most beautiful eyes, and he does, I'm not taking that away from him in the space of a day but Charles has the most stunning eyes. What Charles can't convey with his expression he does with his eyes, the furrow is there as always, his lips are set to neutral yet his eyes are sad. He's also sitting there watching me, and for some reason I start to confide in him, hoping that hearing part of my story might help him.
"I had a mate who was in the Army. Loved it." I tug at a pile in the cream carpet; remembering Smurf like it was yesterday. "It was his life. Did a tour of Afghanistan and just wasn't right when he came back. I said to him that something was wrong, he just seemed, I dunno' fragged I 'spose, anyway I believed him when he said he was okay. Biggest mistake of my life. Well, one of them. I wish someone had told him to take some time out, get checked out but no one did."
"Taking time out isn't going to help me."
"What you think keepin' busy is gonna' make it all better, that if you don't have time to think then one day it might just all go away?"
"Fuck. Yes. Something like that." He laughs, the same empty of any humour sound from earlier. His focus on the ceiling. His voice so soft I have to strain to hear him. "It's not that I'm depressed or tormented, I just wish I could revisit my actions and change them."
What he wishes is standard for having served in the theatre of war, some of us accept it better than others and realise you can't change what has happened, others take longer to process because one thing I've learned in life - you always have to be looking forward. "You wish you had a tardis."
Charles shakes his head with amusement. "Yes. I wish I had a tardis."
"You got PTSD instead though?"
"So they say." A muscle clenches in his jaw. "I don't think I have."
"I think you should listen to the people that care about you 'n' have your best interests at heart."
"What happened to your mate, is he still in the Army?" He's changing the subject.
"No, he died. A brain hemorrhage."
"Shit I'm sorry." Charles says with feeling.
"It's fine…" I reassure. "Always kicked myself I didn't do more but a very wise person said to me, 'to live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.' 'n' I realised they were right."
"Who was that?"
"My Nan. Was a bit surprised when she came out with it, she ain't exactly known for her inspirational speeches but I'll never forget him. He'll always be part of me 'n' unless you actually murder someone then you don't have all the control over it do you?"
"No I don't suppose you do."
"Look I know we ain't always seen eye to eye but if you ever want a chat or a cuppa', or a …."
"Meringue." His hand outstretches. "Charles. Charles James. Pleased to meet you Polly."
"Polly, Polly Flawes." I say, wishing our handshake could go on forever and in fairness to me, he doesn't seem in a rush to take his hand back, the two of us sitting on the floor grinning at each other until I'm given another heartwarming cheeky smile and a final shoulder bump.
"Piss off Flawesy."
And in an instance my life is good. I love that I'm transported back to the comfort of my Army days and as he stands up, stretching to ease the muscles from sitting beside me for so long I can't help pushing my luck;
"I'm winning you round with my charm and magnetism, ain't I?"
He doesn't deny it. I take it as a win.