I found the list of Charlie Joneses, by the way, in the book about Ormer. You never mentioned whether I was on there or not. Did it not occur to you that I might want to know? I mean, it was me who got offered your job in the first place…
Charlie x
Sunday October 5th 2025
For about five seconds after recognizing Berty Jones, I just stood there on the ferry in the island drizzle in absolute blank panic. My first thought was that he was here on behalf of his wife, coming to get me for nicking Charlie’s job. Not sure what “coming to get me” would have involved, but nonetheless, anxiety was through the roof.
“Excuse me,” he called, once he’d stepped onto the harbor.
I was just getting off the ferry. Red was there, helping people in her tour-guiding T-shirt; found myself reaching to clutch her arm as I stepped to land. She looked at me, puzzled, as Berty went on, “I’m looking for Charlie Jones?”
“Oh, fuck,” I muttered.
Red got the idea and pulled me behind her, out of view. I told her I loved her through the cloud of her curls.
“What’s going on, Charlie?” she whispered over her shoulder. “Who is that guy?”
“Which Charlie Jones?” someone on the harbor called back at Berty, to a chorus of laughter.
I realized—shit—half of the island was out here, preparing for tomorrow’s festivities. Barn dance is tonight, but main festival kicks off tomorrow, so the harbor was getting decked out in full orange-and-gold glory. Galoshes, Rosie and Marly were there, and I couldsee at least six members of the committee, even while cowering behind Red. And there was Jones—my Jones, Ormer Jones, looking windswept in an old brushed-cotton shirt as he ducked his head so that Marly could speak in his ear.
“Got a couple of Charlie Joneses about,” Rog shouted good-naturedly, taking an armful of gourds from his trailer.
“What did you say?” Berty asked.
“Kind of a funny story, actually,” Rog said. “They both showed up for the same job, up at the—”
“Oliver?” Berty said.
Nobody responded to this. He said it again. I obviously had no idea what he was talking about and was pretty preoccupied trying to work out how the hell I was going to navigate this situation (Whydidn’t I just tell Jones about the name thing sooner? Now it was going to beawful.) but did slowly clock that Berty was looking in Jones’s direction.
And Jones was lookingverywindswept, actually. Maybe more…frazzled.
“Look, mate, I can explain,” Jones said.
Never heard Jones call anyonematebefore.
“Oh, so she came here for you, did she?” Berty said, readjusting his cap—always a tell that he’s feeling something, an experience Berty has never been particularly comfortable with.
“No, hang on, it’s not like that, she—”
“So where is she? Where’s Charlie?”
He was looking around now. I shrank back, but it was too late—Galoshes had spotted me.
“There she is,” she said.
Berty’s eyes settled on me. I saw the exact moment he recognized me—he looked totally astonished. If I hadn’t been completely panicking at the imminent public humiliation (actual worst nightmare—infront of most of the committee, in front of Jones…) then might almost have been a little bit satisfied.
“Aspen?” he said.
My eyes went straight to Jones. He was stiff, arms crossed over his chest, staring at Berty.
“What the hell?” Berty said to me. “What areyoudoing here?”
“I can explain,” I said, a little desperately.
“You think this woman’s called Charlie?” Berty said, turning back to Rog.
