‘If I won the lottery,’ she added.
He shook his head. ‘Regardless of winning. You still want to do them; you just need to find a way of achieving them without the money.’
Regan laughed and then saw his expression was serious. She needed more wine. Charlie topped up both their drinks and picked up his Hong Kong Phooey mug, eyeing her speculatively.
Regan snatched up the list. He was being ridiculous. She scanned them. ‘Which of these is even vaguely possible without tons of cash?’
‘Well, the bottom one is, but we’ll come back to that.’ She scanned it quickly; the last item was ‘Get new hot boyfriend who doesn’t nag or wear button-up pyjamas’. She looked back up again slowly; this was a promising development. Charlie was looking thoughtful now. He tapped a bullet point towards the top of the list. ‘How could you help your dad out?’
‘Suggest he dumps Tarty Tara.’
Charlie was grinning broadly. ‘Tell me more about Tarty Tara. I think I love her already.’
Regan shook her head. ‘Where to start … She’s ten years younger than my dad. She works part time so she’s round his all the time. I’m sure she’s bleeding him dry moneywise.’
‘Any redeeming features?’ Charlie was looking amused.
Regan screwed her face up in thought. ‘Hmm, she puts the hoover round. That’s about it, though.’
‘So what does he need help with?’
‘He’s only got a one-bedroom flat. I was thinking I would buy him somewhere nicer. I definitely need lottery money for that.’
Charlie was nodding. ‘Could you make his flat nicer in any other ways?’
Regan was feeling put on the spot. ‘Dunno.’ Charlie was watching her expectantly. ‘It needs redecorating and his kitchen is really dated but I don’t think there’s much I could do there without ripping it all out.’
Charlie leaned forward. ‘But the redecorating wouldn’t cost much – only your time and a bit of paint.’
Regan waved her mug at him and the contents sloshed about, making her realise she was probably a bit more drunk than she’d thought. ‘You forget that paint costs money and I have none.’
‘I’ve got friends in the trade. They have half tins left over all the time. I’ll speak to one of them if you like?’
Regan studied him. He was ruggedly handsome with very good teeth. He’d got her out of trouble when she could have quite happily brained Alex. He’d bought her a takeaway and wine, and here he was offering suggestions of how she could help her dad. She found herself ticking off a list of everything she wanted in a partner and Charlie was it. This guy was sent from heaven. ‘You’re brilliant,’ she said, feeling it was a pretty good summary.
Charlie went coy. ‘Just being a friend. I’m a big believer in karma. You know, that the good you do will come back to you eventually.’
He used the ‘f’ word. Friend. That was unfortunate, because right at that moment she wanted to snog his face off. ‘Do you really believe that?’
‘I have to.’
Her booze-addled brain was trying to process what he’d said when he got unsteadily to his feet. ‘I should go.’ He picked up his jacket and pointed to the door.
‘It’s been a great evening. Thanks for dinner and everything.’ She stood up and held on to the wall to steady herself. How much had she drunk?
She followed him to the door and when he spun around to say something they both froze as their faces were so close to each other. Regan didn’t stop to think. She kissed him. She didn’t have to wait for his reaction. He kissed her back, hard. They were soon up against the brick wall exploring each other in a frenzy of booze-fuelled lust.
‘Ow,’ said Regan, grazing her back on the rough brickwork.
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie through a gasped breath. ‘Chair?’ he suggested after scanning the bare room.
‘Okay.’ They made it to the chair, their lips still attached. Regan paused. How was this going to work? She sat in the chair and Charlie awkwardly kneeled next to her and they resumed their feverish kissing. The chair rocked precariously. Regan clutched the sides whilst still mid-kiss. Charlie’s weight shifted and so did the chair, tipping them both unceremoniously to the floor.
‘Ow,’ said Charlie. ‘Dodgy joint,’ he explained, getting to his feet and rubbing his knee. ‘Old injury.’
‘Actually that was killing my back,’ said Regan, and they paused to look at each other rubbing their separate sore patches. They both dissolved into hysterics. ‘That killed the mood.’
‘Maybe it’s for the best. We’ve both drunk quite a bit,’ said Charlie, planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘I’ll see you soon. Okay?’ He gave her a look that made her go weak at the knickers.
It was more than okay with Regan; the sooner the better.
Regan was settling down to sleep when she saw she had new emails. Maybe it was a job interview. She yawned and flicked through them. Nothing about any jobs, but there was one from Cleo. She opened it expecting to see photos of fabulous places, but instead it was late-night ramblings.
Hey You!
Hope you’re okay and not missing me too much lol. My brain’s a bit foggy because we had a long flight and an even longer car journey … Followed by a meal where I was expected to engage with people. I tried my best but Oscar informed me that it was a woefully inept performance and I need to improve before we meet the next round of prospective buyers. But that’s the least of my worries. A top art critic saw an early preview of my new collection in Japan and to say they slated it would be too much praise. There wasn’t a thing they liked about it. They said: The colours held as much vibrancy as mud. The style felt like a poor copy of Cleo’s earlier work. Even the size of the canvas in their opinion was wrong. Or as they put it, ‘obese’. They concluded that I’ve had my day and my moment in the sun is over.
Oscar is furious. I’m a bit torn. Part of me is happy to retreat back into the shadows and paint. Leave behind the madness of the celebrity lifestyle and be normal. But now it’s happened, it’s a far bigger blow than I’d ever thought it would be. Financially, it’s not great, and all the anxiety I’ve carried about being an imposter, a fraud, just a lucky chance that I once painted something that was okay … now that’s come crashing down on me too.
Coupled with that, there’s also Oscar’s temper to deal with. He swore at me last night. Wanted to know if I’d said something out of line about the reviewer that may have got back to them. Oscar believes this particular person is vain enough to take out their revenge via a review. I know I haven’t said anything out of place but I’ve still been awake all night going over every conversation I can remember that could have in any way been misconstrued. And I’ve drawn a blank.
Everything’s a mess and I’m virtually on the other side of the planet from you. And I know, unlike Oscar, you actually care about me. I miss you. Tell me everything’s going to be okay?
Love
C
x
Regan typed a hasty reply:
Everything is going to be okay.
Love
R
X
P.S. Oscar is a twat.