Ordinary Miracles Read Online Free PDF Page B

me feel better. He’d be moved by the photogenic quality of my despair. He wouldn’t have to know me or anything, it would just sort of happen.
    ‘And what would the man do?’ asked Charlie, when I told him this.
    ‘I’m not quite sure.’ I sniffed into my handkerchief. ‘He’d just care and be incredibly protective. He’d say something like “There, there, my dear, don’t worry. You’re young. You have a lot to learn.”’
    ‘He’d probably offer to teach you it too.’ Charlie sounded rather cynical about my knight in shining armour. ‘Frankly, Jasmine, I think you’re better off with me.’
    I’m only beginning to realise what a good pal Charlie i s. He can even look interested when I’m dredging up the mind-numbingly minute details heart-break seems to require. For example, the fact that a door was half ajar when Bruce said something should not be worthy of comment, but I mention it anyway. The fact that Bruce then unwrapped a Milky Mint or ran his hands through his hair seems important too.
    It’s like I’m relating every frame of some weird art-house movie. I’ve even said things like, ‘And then I decided I had to leave him. I didn’t take the big brown suitcase because the canvas holdalls were roomy and so much lighter.’
    ‘When I’m leaving a relationship I usually use a fold-up trolley for the heavier items,’ Charlie commented, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
    Being a gentle but firm sort, Charlie doesn’t tell me to shut up when he’s had enough – maybe after an hour or so. He just offers to make us some tea. He pours mine into the mug he’s bought me. It’s got a big teddy bear wearing a T-shirt on it. The T-shirt says ‘So Where’s The Picnic?’
    While we’re drinking our tea Charlie usually suggests a diversionary tactic, like renting a DVD, or going for a walk. At first I’m a bit pissed off, but after a while I’m relieved. I think Charlie knows this. He only interrupts my monologues when, deep down, I’ve had enough of them myself.
    Sometimes, when we’re out walking, Charlie tells me a bit about his own romantic disappointments. It’s nice that he knows I need some reciprocal revelations. He doesn’t wallow in them like I do though – his are more light-hearted and anecdotal. You can sense he’s polished them up over time, and sanded down their sharper contours. He is attractive, so I’m sure he’s disappointed quite a few people himself.
    Music has been his real passion for a long time now, and of course that’s awfully seductive to some women. They s tart off by loving that passionate, intriguing commitment to something other than themselves. Then, when they can’t somehow get at it, they can end up hating it too.
    Maybe that’s why the woman Charlie almost married was also a musician. They lived together for years – until Rosie arrived.
    ‘It’s either that pig or me,’ she told him.
    He hasn’t gone into detail about the ensuing drama, but it’s pretty obvious who won out. The pig thing was probably just the tip of the iceberg anyway. They’re still friends though. After a frosty patch she took to calling round and pouring her heart out about her new boyfriend. Then she went to live, alone, in Stockholm. Just as well really – it would be a bit much having us both whimpering and wailing on his sofa.
    I suppose staying here is a bit like a convalescence, but it would be unfair to Charlie to let it drag on too long. I’m paying him some rent, but not enough. I’m using the money Bruce and I put aside for a conservatory.
    I think I’ll try to get some temporary secretarial work. In fact I’ve been practising my word-processing on Charlie’s computer, but typing a short letter still feels like flying an aeroplane. Charlie’s not much help because he doesn’t seem to understand the thing either. He tries to obscure this fact with smatterings of obscure terminology, but I see right through it. Learning about computers is, it seems, not