Charlie
One week later.
“Charlie?” Someone cries my name as I enter the flat after work on Thursday. The voice sounds strange, like they’ve been crying.
I take my shoes off and pad quickly through the hallway to the living room.
Julie sits slumped on the sofa, her face flushed.
“Julie?” I drop my laptop bag and run to her. “What’s happened?”
Tears slip from the corner of her eye. “Charlie.” She starts howling again. “Sorry … accident,” is all I manage to decipher from the sounds she is making.
I’m freaked. I’ve never seen Julie like this.
“Julie?” I shake her hand softly, trying to break her hysterics.
She lowers her head to the ground, not looking at me. “Charlie, our emails.” She swallows a sob.
“Emails,” I repeat, confused. What is she talking about?
“Our emails about getting revenge on Danny, way back when things were weird between you two.”
I remember.
“Yes?” A sense of dread hits me.
“They were on my work email server and … and some of the media team found them.”
I sit up alert. “And?”
“And,” she wails. “There’s a story … I couldn’t stop it. I begged them.” A large grunt escapes her. “I’m so stupid, Charlie,” she whispers through tears. “And so sorry. Please forgive me.”
“A story?” I ask, my heart in my throat as my brain tries to understand what she is saying. “Show me,” I add, breathing hard.
She nods, wiping the wet from her cheeks, then takes out her laptop. “I see all the articles before they go live.”
She turns the laptop to me and inhales sharply.
The large font headline hits me.
Nexus CEO Danny Walker rocked by sleazy office sex scandal.
With every word, my skin crawls like insects are running over me. “He’s been seeing someone else?” I whisper.
“Wait, no,” she says. “It’s you. The article is about you.”
I scan the lower font below the headline.
My name. Everywhere. His name. Our secrets are laid out in black and white but distorted through a sleazy exaggerated lens.
Danny Walker, 41, reportedly offered employee Charlotte Kane an undisclosed sum to perform sordid explicit sex acts.
Danny Walker has long been dogged by allegations of womanizing…..
…exposing himself and making indecent propositions….
The blood drains from my face, and the words dance in front of my eyes.
“But that’s not why he offered me a buyout,” I cry. “This is all wrong. All fucked.”
I stare at the screen, no longer reading it.
That cannot be happening. I’m a lowly I.T. Support person in a mouse-riddled flatshare. I’m not newsworthy.
But Danny Walker is.
Searing pain shoots through me. There’s no return from this digital footprint, this slander. I’ll lose my job. Even if I don’t get fired, I’ll have to leave. Would anyone hire me after this?
A million images race through my head. Tristan’s furious face, Alex, Jackie, all the techies, everyone at work laughing and whispering about the office slag, Mum’s mortification and consequent hibernation, another family shame, but the image that sticks in my head the most and stabs at me is Danny … Danny’s fury, Danny’s disgust, Danny’s hatred of me.
I inflicted this on him.
The article is a poor reflection of me, but Danny? Danny’s reflection is on another level. It’s so sensationalised. They make me sound like a gold-digging slut and him, a creepy Casanova preying on staff.
“Charlie? Please speak to me.”
“Is it live now?” I sob.
“No,” she says. “But it’s going to press on Saturday.”
“Can we stop it? Can I talk to someone and say it’s bullshit?” I glare at her. “This can’t be fucking legal. It’s not true.”
“You can try to sue for libel afterwards,” she says in a small voice. “But you can’t stop it in time.” She swallows. “Do you hate me?” she whispers.
I breathe out heavily. “No, Julie. But I know someone who will hate me.”
She nods. “Are you going to invite him over?” She lets out a joyless laugh. “He’ll strangle me.”
“No.” I shake my head. “He’s swamped. I need to tell him now. Over the phone.”
I stare at my phone, inhaling a deep breath.
Julie asks me something, but I barely hear it over the sound of my pulse in my ears.
Taking the phone, I walk down the hall into my bedroom and shut the door.
I jab the buttons with my trembling fingers, and his name flashes on the screen.
“Charlie.” I know from his voice he is smiling.
“Danny,” I reply shrilly, choking back tears.
“Charlie?” his tone becomes alert. “Are you OK?”
I have to make him understand I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He has to forgive me. I can’t lose him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “There’s an article coming out … it’s terrible … it’s about us.”
“How do you know this?’ he asks, his voice sharper. “It’s OK, sweetheart.”
“It’s not,” my dry mouth spits out the words. “It’s my fault. It’s from Julie’s media company. It’s from emails between Julie and I about … us.”
There’s silence.
“Send it to me,” he replies grimly.
I open my laptop again and, with shaky hands, forward the email from Julie to his personal email. It’s an attachment of what the actual article will look like.
“Have you got it yet?” I whisper.
“Not yet … Yes, it’s come through.”
I hold my breath as I hear his brain chugging at the other side, and curses escape from his throat. Why isn’t he talking to me?
“I’m so sorry,” I sob. “I never meant this to—”
“Leave it.” His voice comes low, cold, making my eyes fill with tears.
“Can I come over?”
It takes a long time before he replies.
“That wouldn’t be advisable,” he responds, monotone. “I need to go. Don’t talk to anyone about this.”
The phone goes dead, the silence crushing me like a vice.
I can’t breathe.
I sit on the bed, not moving, staring at the wall.
It’ll be there forever. My name, his name, our relationship tainted on the internet.
It’s all over.
I’ve ruined my reputation and my relationship. I’ve ruined everything. Tristan will be devastated and fall out with Danny, blaming him for this. Mum will want to move houses again. The second disgrace of the family. I’ll never be able to walk into work again.
At 11 p.m., I haven’t moved from my position on the bed, and I message him.
“Please talk to me. I’m sorry. I’m scared.”
I wait. And wait. And wait.
At 1 a.m. my phone buzzes. “Don’t go into the office tomorrow.”
That’s it.
Tears pour down, and I am sobbing so loudly that Cat comes in, gets on the bed, and embraces me in a hug.
***
Things always look better in the morning, they say.
I call bullshit. In my case, the pain is worse. I’ve rolled around the bed all night, waiting for a text that never arrived.
I go through the day in a zombie state, not eating, barely drinking water, pacing around the house. There’s no point getting dressed.
I tried his number a few times, only for it to go to voicemail.
He never refuses my calls, once he even stepped out of a board meeting with the entire board of directors to talk to me.
Cat didn’t want to leave me alone, afraid I’d slash my wrists or something, but I was better alone. I logged on at 9 a.m. to send an email saying I was sick. Only to find an email saying I was being offered the Solution Architect role. I had managed to wrangle myself the role. I’m going to be part of the team redesigning the products. It meant relocating to the New York office for three months, and they wanted to know if I wanted to find my own place or live in their Manhattan apartment for staff.
It’s a bittersweet victory. It wouldn’t matter on Monday; the offer would be null and void. I was never going back to the office once this story hits.
There is still one person I have to tell, and it will almost be as hard as telling Danny.
I have to tell Tristan. Black fear takes over me.
Danny
“You fucking asshole.”
I’m jolted backwards against the door as his fist connects to my jaw.
A stream of blood flows from my nose.
“My sister,” Tristan snarls, his face twisted in anger. I’ve seen him this angry once before, over nearly losing his son, but never with me, never because of something I’ve done.
I back away as he launches another punch at me.
“You could have any fucking girl. You chose to fuck my sister?”
“It wasn’t just a fuck,” I whisper hoarsely. “I care for her.”
“Care for her enough to drag her name through the mud?”
“Can you come in so we can talk about this?” I ask in a low voice, holding the door open. There’s blood trickling on the floor.
“If I come in, I’ll smash every damn thing in your house. What was it, the thrill of going after someone you shouldn’t?” he shouts, his face inches from mine. “You just couldn’t keep your dick in your pants? Explain to me why shagging my sister was worth fucking up our friendship.”
“I meant what I said, I care about her.”
“Bullshit,” he hisses, his face twisted. “If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have taken advantage in the office. You wouldn’t have allowed this seedy story to come out.”
“I’m dealing with it, Tristan. I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely. “I’m sorry I went behind your back. I would never deliberately hurt Charlie. I took her to the Shetlands,” I add.
He does a double-take. “Why?”
“I told you why. She means something to me.”
“You look like shit.” He laughs without humour. “I hope you’re not fucking sleeping over this either.”
“I haven’t slept since I found out about the story.”
He looks mildly appeased.
I stare at my oldest, closest friend, my eyes begging forgiveness. “Can we recover from this?”
“Look, just stay away for now. Stay away from me. Stay away from Charlie.”
“How is she?” I ask tentatively.
He narrows his eyes. “How do you think she is? She’s in fucking bits. Crying all the time.”
I close my eyes and breathe out. The thought of Charlie in pain is killing me.
