‘Wow. Charlie’s changed …’
Charliehadchanged. Balding scalp, white shirt. He was looking a bit sunburnt and now wore glasses. He was thirty-eight years old.
‘Butshh.’ The Ghost gestured over to Wilbur and Charlie at their table. ‘I think you need to listen to this.’
And so the Dreamer listened. And at first, there was nothing disconcerting. The two lifelong friends chatted about Charlie and Claudette’s recent holiday to the Costa Brava. Then they talked about Sheffield Wednesday’s chances that season.
Charlie recommended that Wilbur watch a TV show that he and Claudette loved calledCagney & Laceyand read the ‘really bloody powerful’ Alice Walker novelThe Color Purple.At which point Wilbur said he had no time to read or watch TV any more.
‘Wilbur Budd has no time to read!’ the Dreamer exclaimed. ‘Never thought I would hear the day.’
‘What about music?’ Charlie was saying. ‘Bowie’s playing … The Serious Moonlight tour. His biggest ever. I know he’s gone a bitcorporate but so have we. And it’s still David bloody Bowie, so I was wondering if you’d like to get your glad rags on and go to Wembley Arena with me?’
‘Sorry, Charlie. No can do. I’ve got no time right now.’
‘I had time!’ wailed the Ghost. ‘I had all the time in the world!’
Charlie and Wilbur ate their pizzas in silence for a while.
‘Okay, I had my priorities wrong. But I don’t think I’m a bad person,’ said the Dreamer, sticking his chin up in mild defiance. ‘I think I’m pretty normal.’
‘Yes. But then there’s nothing more normal than to lose yourself.’
‘I know. Okay, we struggled to get over Dougie … and Mam dying brought everything back … and there was a bit of working-class guilt going on … and I was probably more ambitious than I needed … but you’re going on like I’m Scrooge.’
‘No. We are a totally normal product of the time we lived in. But that doesn’t mean we weren’t badly lost. We probably belong inHard Timesmore thanA Christmas Carolif we’re being Dickens about it. The cold-hearted industrialist who stops seeing people as people …’
The Dreamer had readHard Timesmuch more recently than the Ghost had. He remembered the moment when the industrialist Thomas Gradgrind realised he had never learned the ‘wisdom of the heart’. ‘The ground on which I stand has ceased to be solid beneath my feet. The only support on which I leaned, and the strength of which it seemed, and still does seem, impossible to question, has given way in an instant.’
He very much didn’t want to be Gradgrind.
‘But that’s not us, right? I care about people. I don’t see them as units. I’m not just about gain, gain gain … Am I? Are we?’
‘Well, it was the eighties. So no one would have noticed. But,shh… watch this.’
Charlie carefully tore off a piece of garlic bread and looked sadfor his friend. ‘You know what they say. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’
‘Well, these are busy times. We’ve had eight new openings in the last quarter. And add in all the inventory issues and supply chain headaches. And we’ve got more competition on the high street than ever … You know me. I need to be hands on.’
‘Borges said something about time carrying us along like water …’ said Charlie. ‘Been reading him a bit. Like reading a scientist in Wonderland. You recommended him to me back at uni and I’ve finally got around to it. You were always so good at knowing what I should read. So anyway, remember, you’re like the water.’
Wilbur smiled fondly at his friend. ‘I’ve always liked your philosophising, Charlie … And you’re right, I should read more.’
‘Just seems sad, that’s all. You used to spend your life telling me to read something and now you run the most famous bookshops in the country and you don’t get time to read … Just seems a bit topsy-turvy.’
‘Well, it’s only this phase of life. When I’m fifty I’m quitting. Then me and Maggie are going to travel the world. India, South America, Southeast Asia, you name it. I might write a book, Maggie will have her art. But that’s it. This work life will be over. That’s the plan … That seems a pretty good trade-off. Work like mad now. Build something meaningful that customers value. Then put our feet up and retire over a decade before everyone else.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Yeah, so I hear. Maggie told Claudette about that at the party …’
At this point the Ghost leant in to his dreaming self to offer some context: ‘Claudette’s fortieth birthday party. She had it in their house in Clapham but lots of her Sheffield friends came down for it. Maggie went but I didn’t. As always, I was too busy.’
‘The thing is though, Wilbo, you won’t be fifty until 1995. That’s a long way off. They might be able to teleport you to India by then.’
‘Well, it’s good to think ahead.’
There was an awkward pause. After which he got to the meat of it: ‘Listen, Charlie, we’ve had a good run, but I think from here on I’m going to need to overhaul the numbers side of things …’
Charlie looked confused. The mood shifted. ‘Numbers side?’
