Page 5 of This Thing With Charlie

I chuckled as I opened the door, being greeted by an elderly man in a crisp white apron.

“Morning!” he said cheerily, “…or is it past midday? Then good afternoon to you, sir. What can I get you?”

“Is Charlie… Is this where Charlie works?” I asked, trying to look calm and polite.

“Charles?” the man boomed towards the back, where a strange-looking Charlie appeared, wearing an apron and sticky plaster tape all over his nose and ears.

“Hey!” he called out, waving his hands about in some kind of weird greeting. “I would hug you, but I’m in the middle of a bread dough, and I don’t think you really wanna be covered in flour. Hey, Graham, this is my Daniel. Daniel, this is Graham. Best baker in Chistleworth, he is.”

The man, called Graham, laughed, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t know about best baker, not anymore. I have arthritis in my hands, and my back can’t take the lifting anymore. But if you haven’t tried one of Charlie’s mince pies, then you haven’t lived.”

He leaned inside the display cabinet, picking out a little mini mince pie with his bare hands, which he handed me on a napkin as Charlie beamed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as I bit into the mince pie, the crisp pastry making me swoon.

“Had to go eat humble pie in the pharmacy, over prescription slips I forgot to sign. I’m now on Mr Patel’s naughty list for the foreseeable future. He even lectured me on the importance of clear handwriting. I’m a doctor; I’m supposed to write like a headless chicken. It’s kind of a basic requirement in medical school. Sloppy handwriting for beginners; I got an A in that one.”

I spat crumbs everywhere, trying to wipe my mouth with the napkin, suddenly feeling like a fool standing in the middle of a bakery, eating stuff I hadn’t even paid for, making lame insider jokes that nobody in the real world would understand.

“I’ll take ten of those little masterpieces, please,” I said instead, thinking I could maybe bribe Mrs Hallet with a nice mince pie, and perhaps, then she wouldn’t shout at me again. Today.

“See? I like your Daniel here, already,” Graham said to a still beaming Charlie, who started pointing out the nicest ones for Graham to pick. They went in the now-familiar little cardboard box as Charlie picked out a Danish pastry that I apparently needed to have with my afternoon cup of tea. On him. Because. Yeah. Just because.

“He hardly eats, this one,” Charlie said to Graham. “If I didn’t feed him in the evenings, he’d survive on just a bag of crisps and a sandwich.”

“That’s true,” I said, trying to hide the bag of crisps that was peeking out of my coat pocket. “He knows me far too well, my Charlie.”

When I said that out loud, the “my Charlie”bit sounded weirder than it did in my head. I supposed it was the way the locals talked, and I felt a little proud that I was starting to fit in.

“What’s with all the plasters?” I laughed as Charlie handed me the box, and I flashed my credit card over the reader on the counter.

“Can’t have piercings uncovered here. Just imagine biting into a bun and finding my nose ring inside. Graham would have me fired.”

“Graham doesn’t quite understand the need for all that scrap metal stuck in your face,” Graham quipped back with a chuckle. He obviously adored Charlie, as much as I found that I did with a small pang of jealousy banging somewhere in my chest.

“Graham needs to get with the times.” Charlie laughed back. “I keep trying to get him to get a tattoo. He needs to live a little.”

“I get enough thrills standing here all day listening to you chatter, like a radio I can’t switch off.” Graham laughed. “He never stops talking, Charlie. Just chatter, chatter, chatter all day. I’m surprised he actually produces all the stuff he does because his mouth never shuts off.”

“And now, you are just being rude.” Charlie pouted and flicked a little flour off his apron.

I left them to bicker as I said, “Goodbye,”and, “See you later,” hoping that I would. See him later, that is. I could have easily stayed in there for the rest of the afternoon, hiding from the world in a room full of laughter and baked goods. But I had a living to earn, and Mrs Hallet to bribe with mince pies.

Later that evening, I sighed with disappointment as I stepped into the lobby where a strong smell of disinfectant was blending with the scented candles lit on the bar. The fireplace was crackling in the background as Penny greeted me and then just walked away. It was not quite what I was used to, but my evening took a lovely turn as I found Charlie sunk into the armchair in the corner, standing up to greet me as I stumbled around in almost childish excitement.

“You working?” I said as I stared at his coat and the scarf arranged around his neck. Obviously not.

“Thought I would take you out for that plate of junk food I promised,” he said, taking my rucksack off my back. “Penny will hang on to your bag if you’re up to it?” he added, suddenly looking a little unsure.

“Dinner?” I blinked, like an idiot. “You’re taking me out for dinner?”

“Yup,” he said proudly, walking behind the bar-ception-desk-thingy and stuffing my bag somewhere under the computer set up as I eyed myself up in the reflection from the glass doors. I looked like shit, my shirt all wrinkled and my tie loose around my neck.

“Coming?” he asked and grabbed my arm, leading me out the door into the cold December air.

He chatted excitedly as we walked down the High Street, his arm still in mine. It was another thing I found charming about my new hometown. The rules seemed to be different here, where people were warm and friendly, even when they were not. Where people touched your arm when they talked to you and patients kissed your cheek when you told them the lump on their finger would be all right and that mosquito bites in December were fairly common despite what Dr Google might think.

I told him about Mrs Hallet, who now thought I was not too hopeless, and that The Chistleworth Health Centre might survive my many mistakesifI could just learn to follow their rules. I told him that Mrs Hallet gave me another printout of my job description, just in case, as she thanked me for the lovely mince pies. I told him that there wasn’t any left once the foot clinic nurses had been in. And I told him that Mrs Pasankar made me promise to bring her some of Charlie’s famous chocolate twists the next time I went to the bakery. “You really should take an order and then ring ahead before you go into town. They run out of twists once the schools are out, you realise that, don’t you?” she had warned, flashing me a rare smile.

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