Chapter 1
Charlie’s Manchester bachelor flat is orderly, if not spotless.
In the lounge, an erected card table and two folding chairs sit between a sofa and two upholstered seats. An ‘in progress’ Scrabble board game lies upon the card table. Behind, are bookcases, a closet, and an entry door. To the left is Charlie’s adjoining bedroom. To the right, a dining table with six chairs, as well as the entry to the kitchen.
In the bedroom, Charlie, fiftyish, wearing woolen trousers, a sweater, and laced leather shoes, sits on the side of his bed, elbows on knees, in thought.
In the lounge, Bob, late-fifties, sits at the card table, blankly staring off, rather sadly, into the nothingness. Although similarly attired to his brother Charlie, his clothes, and his hair, are somewhat askew.
Bob, now snapping out of it, gets back to studying the Scrabble game. After twisting his face in frustration, cheating, he puts two tiles from his rack of into the crumpled paper sack containing the reserve tiles, then pulls out two new ones. Displeased with the result, he puts one tile back into the sack and draws out another. Still not satisfied, he throws that tile back, and then commences to openly search through the bag for the desired letter -- which, upon finding it, he uses to form a word on the board.
A ‘ding’ sounds from the kitchen.
“Charlie! Your kitchen just went ding!” Bob announces, in a raised voice.
In the bedroom, Charlie does not react.
“And it’s your turn!” adds Bob.
Unhurriedly, Charlie rises, enters the lounge and heads for the kitchen, passing by Bob, who mildly scolds, “I’ve already made three word placements on your behalf, Charlie! You have very nearly fallen hopelessly behind!” Charlie nods, then disappears into kitchen.
Bob’s attention is now captured by his own left hand. Studying it, front and back, he moves it about, wiggling a finger here and there; and, impressed, he smiles.
Charlie reenters from the kitchen carrying five plates, which he begins to set about the table.
Bob says, “Look, Charlie ... last finger ... the little one on the end there. I think ... ‘move!’ ... and voila! ... it moves!” Bob’s pinkie finger wiggles. “Amazing, is it not!? I think it ... and it happens!”
In response, Charlie reflects, “I believe I'm going to have you sit here, at this end of the table.”
“Ahhh.” says Bob, “mother’s old place. If you’ll look underneath you’ll see where I once carved out the letters: ‘Mrs. Joe’s place.’
After a minor double-take, Charlie gets down on on hand and knee to see for himself. Then, rising, rather amazed: “Great Expectations?”
“I used the carving knife ... when I was fourteen, if I remember correctly,” says Bob.
Suddenly, the entry door bursts opens and Josie, Charlie’s daughter enters — seventeen, self-absorbed, counter culture attire, jet black hair, piercings. Removing her coat, a good sized bandage on her upper arm is revealed.
“Hello Josie!” welcomes Charlie, cheerfully, though somewhat strained.
Not responding, Josie turns and opens the closet, to first hang up her coat, and then to retrieve from it a blanket and a tattered teddy bear.
“Greetings, Josephine!” says Bob. “We were just talking about your namesake.”
Josie moves to take a seat at the end of the sofa away from the card table, where she wraps herself in the blanket, before removing a smartphone from a her bag and becoming instantaneously absorbed, while clutching her teddy.
Mildly frustrated, diplomatically, Charlie says, “You could knock, you know.”
“‘Mi casa su casa?’ I thought you said,” retorts Josie, not looking up.
“What happened to your arm?” asks Charlie, again, diplomatically.
“Tat removal, infected,” tersely replies Josie, again not looking up.
“’I 'heart' Ian,’ was it not ... as I recall?” says Bob.
“It was Liam, I think, Bob,” says Charlie.
“Whoever he was,” says Josie, riveted to her smartphone, “he’s now an oozing mass of road-kill in my mirror.”
Charlie sighs philosophically, then says, “Well, Josie, I do love you. I hope you know that.”
“What?!” declares Josie’s device screen illuminated face, surprised by the expression.
“I love you ... that’s all,” repeats Charlie as he disappears into the kitchen.
Josie mutters, “The family of the strange!”
Whilst Josie continues to smartphone-surf, Bob resumes studying the Scrabble board. After a time he begins wiggling a foot. “Look, Josephine! I can make my foot move, just by thinking it!”
Josie responds by asking, “Is half-brother bringing his new wife?”
“I believe that to be the case, yes,” says Bob. “Would you care to take your father’s place in our scrabble competition?”
Josie looks over at the Scrabble board. “I thought Scrabble was an app.”
“This antiquity, known as a board game, once belonged to your grandfather. It’s from the 1950’s.”
“Primeval ... cool,” says Josie, who then, smartphone in hand, moves to take a seat at the card table and commences to study ‘her’ rack of letters.
Charlie enters with two wine bottles which he sets on the table before returning to the kitchen.
Bob turns from the miracle of his wiggling foot to Josie, and says, “One evening, when I was twelve, and your father was five, your grandmother got up from that end of the table, over there ... it was back in Glasgow, of course ... and proceeded to remove the carving knife from the roast, before then inserting said carving knife directly into the side of your grandfather’s belly. Just an inch or so, mind you. He came to no harm. He was a big man.”
“My namesake,” responds Josie, flatly.
“Indeed,” says Bob. “And it was your namesake who insisted upon you being her namesake.”
“Yeah, so mum told me.”
Bob says, “I’ve moved in here, you know ... at your father’s invitation. He had some concern for my happiness and well being at the facility in Glasgow.”
As Josie finishes placing a word on the Scrabble board, Charlie enters holding a cloth covered bread basket for the table.
“Your turn, Uncle Bob,” says Josie.
Bob, furrows his brow at the word Josie has just put down, spelling it aloud, “‘S’ ‘E’ ‘L’ ‘F’ ‘I’ ‘E’?”
From the table, Charlie says, “Check your Oxford English, Bob, I imagine you’ll find that it’s there, now.”
As Bob hands the tile sack to Josie, there is a knock at the door, which Charlie moves to answer, allowing the entry of Charlie’s son, Tom — twenty seven, casually/well attired, not happy.
Clumsily, Charlie embraces Tom, who, taken aback by it, does not reciprocate, and quickly disengages, saying, “What the hell?
Rather sheepishly, though brightly, Charlie responds, “Sorry, Tom, I just ... well, it’s good to see you. Where’s Kasia?”
“On a motor coach, I imagine, on her way back to Warsaw,” replies Tom, as he sourly moves to take a seat in an upholstered seat.
“What?” exclaims Charlie, softly.
After un-pocketing a flask and taking a swig, Tom states, “Says she needs some time to think about things. And, she misses her family. ”
Gently, Charlie says, “I see.”
Tom turns to Josie, and asks, “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m your half,” replies Josie. “Don’t you remember?”
Tom says, “You’ve grown ... and weren’t you blond?”
Charlie takes a seat in the chair next to Tom, then reaches over to pat his forearm, saying, “Hang in there, son. I’m sure everything will work out for you two.” Tom pulls his arm back.
Changing the direction of the conversation, Bob poses a question to his nephew and niece: “So, as a new Mancunian, to whom, do you think, should I transfer my loyalties? City or United?”
“No brainer, Bob. City,” says Tom.
“Figures,” says Josie.
“United? That Figures!” says Tom. Then, after pause, he asks, to no one in particular: “What is this little gathering all about, anyway?”
Charlie says, “I thought it would be a good thing, just this once, maybe, to have my two children …”
“... by two ex-wives …” interjects Josie.
“... and my one ...” continues Charlie.
“... and only …” interjects Bob.
“... sibling ... all together. The only family I’ve got,” concludes Charlie, as he rises to move for the kitchen.
Bob, eyes a’twinkle, declares, “So that you can tell us all how much you love us ... right, Charlie?”
“Maybe ... in part ... yes,” says Charlie as he disappears.
Josie, somewhat tongue in cheek, says, “Should we be concerned?”
Bob says, “He attended a self-help retreat something or other up in the highlands, and ...”
Tom interjects, “He’s bonkers. I always figured it was just a matter of time.”
“... on his return journey,” continues Bob, “he came by the facility and told me to pack my bags because I was moving in with him.”
Tom says, “Bonkers.”
Bob says, “I shouldn’t worry, Tom.”
Back to focusing on Scrabble, Josie says, “It’s your turn, uncle Bob.”
Charlie enters carrying wine glasses which he sets on the table.
“I’ll have one of those,” says Tom, rising and moving to the table, where, Charlie, only slightly reluctantly, fills a glass for his son, who then takes a seat at the table.
Josie’s loud/obnoxious smartphone ringtone signals an incoming text. After reading it, she sends back a short, acknowledging message – before turning to Charlie, and saying. “That was a text from wife number one.”
Surprised, Tom says, “My mum? She doesn’t even know you!”
“Not that wife,” says Josie, pointedly, “the wife before her.”
After a tick, Charlie stiffens. Tom gags some on his wine.
Unfazed, Bob says, “Oh, you must mean Deidre. Pretty thing.”
Josie says, “You know, pater, you really ought to inform your children about such trifling little matters like previous marriages.”
“I ... I ...” Charlie is unable to speak.
“This might turn out to be an interesting afternoon after all.” smirks Tom, pouring himself more wine.
Charlie takes the bottle from Tom and dispenses for himself a small quantity.
“Of course, some would say it’s all just a matter chemical reactions. After the Big Bang set everything into motion, it’s merely been a series of quite predictable chemical reactions. The birth and death of stars ... the Trojan War ... Marilyn Monroe ... Charlie’s multiple marriages.” After a brief pause, Bob continues, “But I don’t believe that for a second.”
END OF CHAPTER ONE
