“Shall I come back another time, with the samples?” Doc said tactfully.
His tray was almost empty anyway. Toby was at the till, looking panicked at the volume of tourists forming a queue.
“That might be best,” I said. I took the last of the biscuits, though. For research.
After the rush of sales, Red shepherded her tourists back out of the shop again, all clutching their new local produce. As she walked out, she pointed to a spot on the map of Ormer that Charlie had fixed up next to the door.
“Try there,” she whispered to me with a quick thumbs-up. She had holes in the cuffs of her long-sleeved top, as if for this very purpose. “Great views—people often hang out up there.” Then, on the glare she was getting from Galoshes: “What? Look at his face. He just wants to be part of things!”
I explained to Galoshes that I wasnottrying to be part of things.
“Don’t tell me, love, I don’t give a shit,” she said.
Galoshes’s attitude is also, incidentally, on the list of staff issues to resolve.
Bye for now,
Charlie Jones
From:Charlie Jones
To:Charlie Jones
Subject:Day eighteen sober (cont.)
Tonight I think I saw the real Charlie for the first time.
I headed for the spot Red had tapped on the map. I could only reach it by scrambling up a steep narrow track in dense undergrowth, and for a long time it felt as though I was justgetting deeper and deeper into a giant blackberry bush, but eventually I emerged onto a peak with a view that stretched all the way across to Little Ormer. The whole island lay below me—I could even see the winding trail on Windward Ridge joining the two halves of Ormer, like a rope holding the island together. I traced the fields of Bramblebay Farm, realizing I recognized almost all of them—the wheat fields Marly and Rog harvested yesterday, the gem-green clover field, the orchards with their higgledy lines of trees.
There were wine and beer bottles on many of the picnic blankets around me, and I almost turned back around and headed home, but then I heard someone shout “Jones.” It was Marly. She waved me over to introduce me to a couple of farmers from the east side of the island. She handed me a lemonade without asking if I wanted anything stronger, but nobody commented or seemed surprised. Nothing staying private on this island has its pluses: it saves you having to explain yourself to anyone.
“We’re talking exes,” Marly told me, after insisting I sit down with them. “You got any really nasty ones?”
“A really good one, actually,” I said, then winced. What was my second rule, after not drinking? Leave the past in the past.
“Oh! A good ex!” one of the farmers said, knocking back his beer. “Do I smell heartbreak?”
I shook my head. “I owe her a lot. More than I could ever repay.”
“Money?” Marly asked.
Something in her voice made me glance at her. There was a sharpness to it. She was looking at me keenly—it was a good reminder to keep things vague.
“Not that kind of owing,” I said. “She helped me turn my life around. I wouldn’t be here without her.”
We talked a little bit about the drinking, too, and I ended upsaying the worddepression—I don’t even know why. I came here tostopburdening people with my shit, but Marly’s too easy to talk to, and it felt so good to be out there in the fresh air chatting about stuff that actually matters.
“Ah,” Marly said, when I mentioned depression. “I’d been wondering.”
“Whether I’m depressed?”
“Where the empathy comes from. Real empathy is one of the few upsides of bad shit happening, in my experience. Some people just turn mean, but the good ones get wiser, connect better…Oh, I know you’re shooting for a lone wolf thing, but I don’t buy it—you’re a connector through and through.”
I made it clear that this was not correct, and I am in fact an aspiring hermit.
“Give you one tiny nudge and all your feelings come spilling out,” Marly said, grinning at me. “It’s a good thing, especially in a man—take the compliment.”
After that, the conversation quickly descended into a lot of complaining about farming—which, to be fair, did seem like a profession with a lot to complain about. I settled back to listen as the sun set pink over the island. There was rain forecast for the night ahead, and you could feel it in the air. The sadness was still there—it’s so fucking dogged—but it was a nice way to spend an evening. The nicest I’ve had in a really long while.
