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Chapter Six

CHARLIE

I manage to get through a ton of paperwork in the office today and, with Anita’s help to keep any distracting calls at bay, feel like I’m actually getting somewhere with the Otex merger. The only slight dampener on my day is that I don’t hear from Alex Hoskins, but no big deal. It’s Friday and it can all wait until after the weekend. I make a note in my online diary to call Alex on Monday.

‘Charlie? Do you need anything else?’ Anita pops her head round the door of my office, her summer scarf already tied jauntily at an angle and her huge handbag on her shoulder. ‘Only, it’s just that it’s Friday … and my daughter is bringing the baby over tonight – we’re going to have dinner and then …’ She hesitates.

‘It’s fine Anita – go. Like you say, it’s Friday and family has to come first.’ I turn on my most prize-winning smile for her, all gleaming white teeth.

‘Thanks, Charlie – you are the best, and I mean best, boss. Have a brilliant weekend!’ With that, she flicks her scarf over her shoulder and heads off towards the lifts.

I stretch out, and peer through the blinds that separate my office from Geoff’s. His computer terminal is switched off, and his jacket and briefcase are gone. Taking this as a sign that he has also had a productive day on his side of the Otex merger, I decide to pack up early and head home to Sal and Maggie.

I’ve called Sal repeatedly today and the phone has been answered every time, each time within a few rings. Hopefully yesterday’s tiff has hammered home the idea that I really don’t see the need for Sal to have so much contact with that side of the family. We don’t have any contact with my family. I moved down to London from Lincolnshire to go to university and haven’t looked back since. My mother is still living in the house I grew up in, that shabby little terraced house with its worn-out carpets, stained kitchen lino and tiny rooms full of dusty, old-fashioned furniture. I couldn’t wait to escape from there and, after living under my drunken father’s violent regime for so many years, university felt like my life had begun again. There’s nothing for me there and I haven’t been back since, not even for my father’s funeral, when that last glass of whisky proved to be just a little too much for his poisonous old soul to take. I’m not the same person that walked out of there eighteen years ago. I won’t go back there again, ever.

‘Honey, I’m home!’ Sal comes out of the kitchen, smiling nervously as I shout my arrival through the front door, holding out my gift of Haribos. Sal is the only grown-up I know that actually likes Haribos, even after that awful Channel 4 programme showed the actual ingredients used.

‘Did you have a good day?’ Sal accepts my kiss on the cheek, and the bag of sweets, and leads me into the kitchen where I can smell something delicious simmering on the stove. I am glad to be home and the bitter taste of last night’s argument has dissolved, meaning I am feeling more affectionate towards Sal.

‘We had a perfect day,’ Sal says. ‘We stayed home and played in the garden all day, the weather was so lovely. We had a picnic under the apple tree, and Mags ran through the sprinkler for about two hours. Oh, and look, we checked on the veg patch and picked our own little harvest!’ Sal opens the fridge to show me a large ceramic baking bowl filled to the brim with fresh strawberries, and another, smaller, bowl filled with tiny new potatoes. ‘Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you run up and get changed and I’ll open the wine.’

I head upstairs to our bedroom to change into something cooler, the windows wide open in an attempt to get some air moving through the house. Even though it’s close to 7pm it’s still ridiculously hot and muggy. I lie on the bed in my underwear, hoping for a cool breeze to wash over me, but the air is thick and still. I hear Sal singing in the kitchen while preparing dinner, something low and sweet in Italian, and I smile to myself before pulling myself upright and grabbing a pair of shorts. Sal is obviously making an effort after ruining our evening yesterday. Maybe – just maybe – some lessons have actually been learnt and I feel optimistic that tonight will be a better night.

After a meal of poached salmon and new potatoes from Sal’s vegetable garden, Sal puts Maggie to bed and we settle down for a night in front of the television. Sal brings through another bottle of wine, and the bag of sweets, and I finally feel relaxed. My family are all under one roof, together, with nobody snooping around, poking their nose in, interfering in how we do things, and Sal seems to have realised that all we need is each other. Sal is showing me respect today, by doing what I asked, and the effect of that is that everyone is calm, relaxed and happy, which just goes to prove my point. Anyone looking in from the outside would see us for the perfect family. Which is, of course, what we are.