Becky coughed. As they turned round, she crossed her arms.
‘Hi, Becky!’ said Mike. ‘How are you?’
She waited long enough for them to have a good, skin-crawling think about how much of their conversation she had heard. Then she turned towards Mike, refusing to make eye contact with Charlie, and said, ‘Someone’s here with a karaoke machine. Ronnie says they need your help.’
‘Fantastic! I’ll do that now!’ He gave her two trembling thumbs up. ‘Er, you won’t mention what I just said to Ronnie, will you? I mean—’
‘Go,’ said Becky, pointing towards the stairs.
‘Right! Thanks!’ said Mike and scrambled past her. Charlie followed close behind, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Becky watched their retreat and chided herself for letting Charlie’s opinion irritate her. It was her own fault for eavesdropping. And Mike was right: if Charlie thought she was pushy then it was a sign she was doing her job. Besides, it definitely was for the best that he had no interest in her whatsoever. Definitely. The very last thing she needed was the added complication of a boss who fancied her.
By eleven the karaoke was in full flow. The sounds filtering through to the kitchen weren’t all bad, although occasionally Becky wished she could develop selective hearing.
About half an hour later, she noticed the kitchen was emptying of guests. ‘Where’s everyone going?’ she asked Ronnie.
‘Front room. Sounds like Mike’s doing his epic rock version of “Total Eclipse of the Heart”. That’s always good value.’
‘But who’s singing with him?’
‘Pete? Or Brian.’ She stopped by the door to listen. ‘Doesn’t sound like those guys, though. I suppose it could be—ouch! What are you doing?’ she said as Becky grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the lounge.
An area had been cleared to form a stage. Charlie and Mike were absorbed in the song, belting out the lyrics with boozy confidence. Microphone in one hand and a beer bottle in the other, they took turns to sing a line. They closed their eyes as they tackled the chorus and Mike added dramatic flair by falling to his knees for the finale. Rapturous applause covered the final chords and Charlie and Mike celebrated with a high-five and man hug.
Grinning and whooping with the rest of the audience, Becky joined the general plea for an encore. Alcohol certainly brought out parts of Charlie which stayed buried while he was sober. She had no desire to see the return of the gloomy letch she had slapped back in July, but she had no objection to this cheerful, sociable drunkenness, and it was high time Charlie had some fun and forgot about work.
As he passed the microphone over to the next wannabe rock star, Charlie looked years younger than the stern, silent man she was used to dealing with. And the impromptu duet was evidence the party had achieved another of her aims: Mike and Charlie were on their way to becoming firm friends.
Chapter 19
Becky’s next meeting with Charlie was the following Monday. Ronnie had given him permission to assist in the construction of the latest window extravaganza at Sweet’s, and Becky took advantage of the opportunity to check in with her client on neutral territory, free of any association with his painter’s block.
Ronnie had shut the shop for the afternoon so she and her team could give their undivided attention to replacing the window decorations and changing the summer in-store displays for autumnal designs. When Becky and Dylan arrived they were all busy in the kitchens, although Charlie managed to escape to open the door and show them to a table in the corner where her tea and cake were waiting.
‘Tell me, Charlie,’ she said as she sank onto the chair he had pulled out for her. ‘Is Bonnie Tyler your regular karaoke choice or was that Mike’s idea?’
‘Honestly?’ He took the seat opposite her. ‘It was that or “All by Myself”.’ He grimaced. ‘The Celine Dion version.’
‘Ah. Devil and deep blue sea. I understand. Anyway, you can sing. I think you got away with it.’
The sugary scent from the slice of cake Charlie had chosen for her was divine. She took a small bite and asked, ‘Is chocolate your favourite or did Ronnie have this left over?’
He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked over his shoulder.
Becky laughed. ‘She’s still in the kitchen. But if you’re about to say anything bad about her cake, I’d keep your voice down, just in case.’
He leant forward, close enough for her to notice the light dusting of icing sugar in his hair and smell hints of vanilla and cinnamon. He tapped the back of her hand with the tip of his index finger and said, ‘Honestly, the best cake I ever had was at school. The canteen made this dense plain sponge in huge tins. It was covered in white icing and coloured sprinkles and served in big, right-angled triangles.’ He smiled, his eyes drifting up and to the left. ‘It was soft and fluffy and slightly synthetic-tasting. It was great.’
Becky mirrored his smile and, as Ronnie emerged from the kitchen, said, ‘Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘Aha!’ said Ronnie. ‘He’s got round to telling you he’s painting, has he?’
Becky choked on her cake. Waving away offers of backslapping, she took a sip of tea and raised her eyebrows at Charlie.
‘He told Mike yesterday at the rugby.’ Ronnie rested her hands on Charlie’s shoulders and gave them a hard squeeze. ‘He’s being inspired in his sleep, isn’t that right, Charlie?’
Charlie’s gaze wandered towards the exit, then down to the floor, where Dylan was busy running a plastic car up the table leg.
‘You could say that,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘I should get back to the kit—’
Ronnie pushed down on his shoulders, shoving him back into his seat. ‘I’ll give Becky the short version, shall I?’ Ronnie smirked as Charlie squirmed under her hands. ‘Last Thursday night he dreams some woman comes into his studio. She’s in the buff, except for a big white shirt. He paints the shirt a while. She vanishes but then there’s a painting in her place. Next day he reproduces the painting.’
Becky blinked. It sounded weird. But if Charlie was finding productive inspiration in his sleep then she’d volunteer to make him cocoa and sing lullabies.
‘That’s one painting down!’ she said.
‘Um, actually it’s two.’ Charlie squirmed some more. ‘I painted another yesterday. They’re small and I’m still not completely happy with them, but I’ve made a start.’
‘Exactly!’ Becky beamed at Charlie’s newfound, glass-half-full thinking. ‘This is great. I’m so pleased for you.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Ronnie, taking the chair between Charlie and Becky. ‘Let’s get back to the dream. I want details. Does this mystery woman have long dark hair, big brown eyes and bear an uncanny resemblance to a certain local gallery manager?’
‘Ronnie!’ Becky kicked her in the shin.
Blushing to the tip of his nose, Charlie twisted free of Ronnie’s hands and sprang to his feet. ‘I should go and see how they’re getting on with the display.’
Giving Ronnie her sternest glare, Becky spoke quickly before Charlie could complete his escape. ‘Maybe I can come by and see what you’ve been working on. When are you back to teaching?’