Charlie and Me. Chapter 18

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If you follow my blog on nobodysreadingme.wordpress.com you’ll have met an earlier incarnation of Treeza

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Charlie and Me. Chapter 18

For some time Charlie and I had also sensed there was something going on in Sylvester’s life. You know when you’re on the computer and it suddenly throws you one of those pop-up windows asking you to do something you’re not 100% certain about? It was a bit like that. You’re vaguely aware of something running in the background but you don’t really know what it is. A sort of Norton 360 feeling.

Sylvester opened a pop-up for us when he arrived unexpectedly at Chateau Authaus late one Saturday afternoon. He came in through the back door. We don’t stand on ceremony here. If the doors aren’t locked you just walk in. Unless you’re a youthful burglar with an ASBO, in which case Charlie will beat you to death.

Charlie and I were sitting in the kitchen. Did I tell you we’d had a couple of very tasteless ‘Mission Control’ neon signs made up? I don’t think I did. The signs amuse us and their glow is useful when one or other of us is creeping about in the dark raiding the fridge. We’re both very naughty snackers at odd hours of the night. This may be something that’s connected to both of us being unhinged and suffering disrupted sleep patterns that make Haydn look normal. Our circadian rhythms are well up the pictures.

Here’s a recommendation, because as you know I don’t give advice. Get caught by someone you love while you’re eating something out of the ordinary at four in the morning. Doorstep sandwiches filled with sweetcorn, salad cream, and strawberry jam. Rice pudding straight out of the tin with anchovies and pickled jalapeno chillies. Yes I accept that last one was a bit off the wall, even by my standards. It was delicious. Just another recommendation; avoid jellied eels. They are vile, like eating fishy snot with bones in it.

But do get caught doing this. It is something that should happen to you at least once in your life. It can lead to some interesting times when you go back to bed. Share out the food and you may not even make it as far as the bedroom. You may not even make it out of the kitchen. That’s my experience anyway.

We were drinking tea, eating toasted crumpets, discussing the Bel Air drag car project, and trying to provoke each other, when Sylvester materialised.

‘Hi Sylvester. This is a nice surprise. Pull up a loose stool.’ said Charlie. This is an old gag from when I spent my time advertising laxatives. She kicked a chair out from under the table. Most people would push one out. Not Charlie.

Sylvester was strangely reluctant about something. He didn’t sit down, he just shifted from foot to foot like a child about to be found out on a minor felony.

‘Errm. There’s someone I want you to meet,’ he brummied.

‘Fair enough. A woman?’ asked Charlie.

Silence from Sylvester.

‘A man?’

Sylvester still maintained an embarrassed hesitant silence.

‘ A hermaphrodite? Fuck me, that would make for an interesting threesome.’

‘Charlie, I’m serious here. I’m not pissing about.’ That was interesting; Sylvester doesn’t swear much, and there was certainly an edge to his voice. ‘A woman, all right? I like her. A lot. We’re, erm, sort of together.’

I could tell that Charlie wasn’t picking up on the tone of voice or the speech patterns or the body language. To be fair, I miss them sometimes, most famously missing the cues from Charlie at the party when we got together. But that’s because I sometimes just miss things even though I’m looking for them. I’m human, I make mistakes, but I do try. Charlie sometimes cannot try. Her frustration, her huge anger override things; she can’t stop herself. She works very hard, but there are times when she genuinely cannot stop the borderline personality disorder swinging into action unless somebody, usually me, gives her a prompt. And she says I’m thick. That’s a bit rich. But I do love her. It’s a very complicated setup. It confuses me no end. Every day. I don’t always let her get away with things, though.

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