“Don’t say that experience thing to anyone else,” Bri said sternly. “You’ve got to—”
“Fake it till I make it, yep, I know.”
“Do I need to come out there, however a person does that, and check you’re really all right?”
“No!”
The idea of BMW-driving Bri getting pulled up the hill from Ormer’s harbor in a tractor trailer made me feel very stressed.
“Fine, but don’t trust this guy, OK? He could be a real con artist or something. And don’t do anything mental,” Bri said. “Don’t join any weird island cults or sleep with anyone I wouldn’t sleep with. Sensible me, that is, not the old me, she slept with that guy fromCasualty, you don’t want to be like her. I’ll call you again later, Mabes needs me. Stay strong, remember you are going to be great at this job and keep your eye on the prize.”
I had a chat with Tabbie before she lost interest in me and left Bri’s phone on the sofa, and now I’m just sitting out on the sturdy little bench in the garden, listening to the island. You can’t hear the sea from the stables, but it’s misty this morning, and every so often a foghorn sounds through the white glow behind the hedges, reminding me that I’m never more than a short walk from the world’s edge. I’m just taking it all in, one breath at a time. Maybe the grief and the sadness really have stayed on the mainland. Maybe I can find happiness here.
I’m not going to deny Jones his chance at this beautiful life—I’m not willing to risk the possibility that he might take mine. But if he does try to muscle me out or suggest to Rosie that she should just keep one of us on, then I’ll come back at him with claws.
This new me might be positive and peppy and ponytaily, but she still knows how to fight her corner.
From:Charlie Jones
To:Charlie Jones
Subject:Day two sober
Two days since I left, two days since I last had a drink. I have what must surely be the world’s worst hangover, and last night—honestly—I might have had a beer if there had been one in the stables. Or an open shop where I could buy one. I guess a perk of living on a remote rock with a woman who seems to only drink chamomile tea is that I’m unlikely to really put that urge to the test.
Because, yes, I live with someone now. Me, aspiring hermit, the man who chose to come and live on a secluded island where nobody knows him. I now live with a womanalsonamed Charlie Jones, who sings a medley of every track fromReputationin the shower, and leaves potfuls of gloopy, seed-speckled oats hardening on the kitchen sideboard, and shares not only my name and my house, but also my job.
She just barged into the kitchen, fresh out of the shower. It felt way too intimate. I could smell her shampoo. I could see a distracting amount of her legs. I shouldn’t know that this random stranger has fluffy rabbit slippers, but I do.
This situation is too messed up. I needsomepart of my life that this female doppelgänger does not inhabit.
“Oh, who are you emailing?” she asked.
I snapped my laptop shut. “Myself,” I said.
She paused midway through opening the fridge. “Hmm!” she said. “Quirky.”
“It’s not important. Rosie rang while you were showering. She said Marly is going to drop by.”
“Ooh, lovely!” said Charlie, with a smile. “See you soon!”
I watched her take her tea into the bedroom. That smile of hers. The airy positivity, the way she talks to me like we’re friends even though shemustwant me gone. I don’t know. It feels all wrong.
I have a very strong suspicion that Charlie Jones is full of shit.
More soon,
Charlie Jones
From:Charlie Jones
To:Charlie Jones
Subject:Day two sober (cont.)
This Marly is an interesting character. An Australian, a fair bit older than Rosie—early forties, maybe. Gray pixie cut, square face, unimpressed eyes. She marched into the stables out of the rain and stood in front of the wood burner, dripping rainwater from her waterproof jacket. An adoring spaniel stood by her heel, spinning in the occasional excited circle. Charlie and I ended up sitting on the sofa side by side, looking up at Marly like schoolkids waiting for a telling off.
“I did not post two bloody letters,” she said, not bothering with a hello. “I put Rosie’s note in an envelope and handed it to…”She squinted for a moment. “Someone. Galoshes? Kim? Anyway, whoever it was, they did the address and they’ll have given it to Rog to post. And none of those people have any reason to engineer this bizarre situation, so who the fuck knows what’s gone on.”
