‘Well?’
‘None of it makes sense, William. Nada!’ Charles swiped a jar of cutlery that crashed onto the floor. A couple playing trivia turned and glared. Some of Charles’ spit had flown and settled on the rim of my glass. He tried to calm himself.
‘Willy, I want to tell you a story. You must listen to it all the way through. If I get interrupted, I’ll go absolutely mad and there’ll have been no point in telling you. Don’t interrupt, okay?’
I opened my mouth but Charles interrupted me.
‘My name is Charles James Stuart, born in the UK. My parents are from a small town in Slovenia named Bled. As in “I touched my aunt Edith with a pencil and she Bled.” Heh, heh!’ He made a flicking gesture with his hands.
‘My parents left and moved to the East End. At some point, I came here. I am forty-eight years and seven months old. My favourite colour is red.
‘Okay . . .’
‘Three months ago I met a girl. A beautiful and spectacular girl – like a top-tier European salmon, I would say! Abbey. She’s beautiful. She’s so stunning I’ll never meet a girl like that again. She’s got strawberry blonde hair and a beauty slim face. This wonderful beauty figure. She’s some sort of Spanish-Chinese-French-Italian. (Hence the beauty!)’
I checked the bartender’s reaction. He’d gone out the back. It was just me and Charles.
‘I met her three months ago (did I say that already?). I was in the supermarket buying bread. Was it bread or milk? It was bread. I know because I wanted to make a sandwich and I didn’t have any bread. So I went to buy some, you see?
‘I’m in the bread aisle and I see this loaf of bread in front of me. I think: “Now, my oh my, this is a beautiful and spectacular loaf.” I pick it up, and right as I do, another hand reaches for it. There was only one loaf left, you see, so that’s why we both went for the same loaf.’
‘And so Abbey went for the same loaf and that’s how you met.’
Charles’ eyes narrowed. ‘No . . . It was my mother. I ran into my mother in the supermarket. I met Abbey at the checkout – she was working at the checkout – and I met my mother in the bread aisle. We went for the same loaf of bread. … Where was I?’ He looked like he’d been pushed over by a stranger while tying his shoes. ‘I told you not to interrupt.’
‘Sorry, sorry. Continue.’
‘I spoke to my mother and then . . . I had to make this sandwich. I was flaming hungry!’ He spread his arms. ‘I ditched Mum and headed to the checkout. Aha! And this is where I met Abbey.’