"Are you happy?"

“I’m not sure,” said the first girl as she sat down on the soft, white leather couch in Charlie’s well-appointed living room.
“Don’t be silly, Laura!” replied the second girl as she turned and smiled towards Charlie.
“I’m serious Natalie, we shouldn’t be here.”
Yet, there they were, and as far as Charlie was concerned, there was no way back. They had taken the forty-minute taxi journey back from the party out at Green Manor, in aid of some children’s charity. Charlie had shown how much he cared, as usual, with his wallet, rather than giving any thought to what or whom he was supporting. As far as he was concerned the inevitable suggested donation was like an entrance fee, a way to spend time with the great and the good from across the county. The more he gave, the more he got invited back, so he was now very well thought of by all and sundry. Which, Charlie thought, he didn’t mind at all looking over at his, even by his standards, stunning guests.
“…and that time when you threw coffee all over me in front of the guy I liked, you meant well of course?”
“It was for your own good, that guy was a looser!” shouted Natalie.
Clearly things had gone back a bit further than Charlie had anticipated, but he still felt he was in control of the situation. Just let things run their course, he thought, then he could make his mark.
“That’s not what you were saying two weeks later, when I found you in bed with him!”
He sensed the argument would soon be reaching an energetic peak. He knew for a fact that post argument sex is the best, with all the hormones, testosterone and adrenaline coursing through the body. He stood up and walked across to the sound system, the hub of mood control as far as he was concerned. Without hesitation, he found the perfect CD and put it in, then dimmed the lights.
“Ladies, can I interrupt you? I’m afraid you’re far too gorgeous to be arguing.”
They both looked at him, and Charlie could see that new atmosphere had aroused their senses.
“How about I take you on the grand tour? We can start with the bedroom.”

A week had passed since what Charlie had been calling his finest hour, and things weren’t going as well as he would have liked. Over the last few days he had resorted to leaving his precious mobile at home because of the number of calls he was receiving from the twins. The issues that had been brought up that night were far bigger and more significant than he had realised: they had fallen out, and Charlie was to blame.
The only thing the twins agreed on was that he was not a good person, and thought himself to be far more important than he actually was. Charlie considered himself to be strong, but there are only so many times that a person can be told that they are arrogant and self absorbed before they start to believe it, so he was starting to feel a little self conscious, as well as tired, really tired.

“Next!”
Charlie dragged himself back into the real world and looked around. The hot dog vendor stopped shifting the onions and looked directly at him. With his tiny mouth and small pointy nose, he looked just like a badger, which Charlie would have noticed, if he hadn’t been so unbalanced by the power in the man’s stare. Charlie looked away. He felt uncomfortable with those eyes on him, they already seemed to have seen too much of him. He suddenly wasn’t hungry any more.
“Well, what do you want?” said the plump hot dog seller.
“Err, I’m not sure,” stammered Charlie.
What was happening to him? Doubt wasn’t something Charlie Bird had to worry about. It wasn’t an emotion he experienced, and he pitied people who did.
He looked up, to meet the eyes of the man, make his choice and assert that he was Charlie Bird, he was bigger, he was better, and that the mans only purpose was to serve him.
“Well I would figure that out if I were you.” Said the man before Charlie had a chance to start.
There it was again. He felt awkward. He looked at the man, mouth open.
“Look, I’ll just put something together for you, seems that might be for the best”, he said as he went about the business of making up a hot dog. When he was done he handed the food to Charlie, took the money from his outstretched hand and with just the faintest hint of a smile said,
“There you are. Are you happy?” Charlie’s eyes flicked up to meet his, then quickly looked away. He turned sharply and walked off carrying his hotdog, thinking.
He knew what had just happened was stupid, but he couldn’t understand why it had happened. Maybe there really was something about the man, maybe he could really see how shallow Charlie was. When he looked in to the eyes of that hotdog seller, he felt exposed and uncomfortable. He felt a need to become a better person.

The weekend came, and Charlie went out to a small bar just out of the centre of town. He had been invited by a woman he had met at a charity event, for a quiet meal with a few of the more high profile guests.
The girl who had invited him was called Amanda; she had red hair cut to her shoulders with a curve to it that framed her face. It was a cheerful but strong face that looked like it could manage to light up a whole room if it wanted, or command an army if it needed. Charlie knew she was interested in him, and he had worked towards steering her into his bed all night.
Although there was no question about her interest, it was proving harder than normal to advance the situation. He knew he was getting there, but, at the same time, he knew he needed to ease back on the drink. Something was stopping him though: it felt good to let go. It was something he never did, his whole life was about keeping control. Here he was, slightly drunk, with a group of almost strangers, and it felt genuinely exciting. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages and was telling stories where he was the looser, not him humiliating other people. He felt a genuine bond with the people, and it wasn’t just because he was Charlie Bird, but because he was a real person.
He looked at Amanda, she had shared a few stories of her own. They had been funny and quite personal, Charlie had laughed at them, not because he wanted to sleep with her, but because he couldn’t control the fits of laughter that they had generated in him. She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were sharp and made him jolt for a second, but then both of their faces simultaneously broke into smiles. He got up and walked round to sit beside her. “You’re a lot of fun Charlie Bird.” she said with a smile. Within half an hour conversation had turned round to them sharing a taxi home, By the time they were in the taxi there was no question that he would be going up to her flat for coffee.

Once inside Amanda’s flat, they chose to skip the coffee, in favour of the main course. Which was proving to be a huge disappointment.
“Its never happened before”, said Charlie, knowing straight away how futile it sounded, which in his case was a shame because it actually never had happened before. It didn’t change things though, and the more he thought about it the less likely it became. He knew he was on a slippery slope, and tried to think stimulating thoughts, but the longer it went the less likely it got, until he realised that all the blood he was trying to steer south was flooding his increasingly reddening face.
When he looked into the face of Amanda he saw something that surprised him. Not disappointment, resentment or anger as he expected, but something much softer. Was it pity? She held out her hand and lightly guided his head onto her naked chest.
Pity was not something he was used to seeing in a woman’s eyes. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, yet the longer he lay there, the more he felt something come over him. Normally when he was feeling low, he had to carry the burden of it himself, laughing, smiling and going on as normal as if he didn’t have emotions. As if he was the rock on which the rest of the world could lean. But this was different, he felt that just through this intimate moment the sadness was being reduced, drawn away by the soft skin of this beautiful woman who had extended her hand to him. It didn’t take his sadness away, just made it more bearable.

When he woke up the next morning, it was to a sick feeling and an empty bed. He raised himself out of bed, put last night’s clothes on and stood thinking what to do. What he wanted was someone else to tell him what to do, or even just someone else to care what he did. He was tired of figuring it all out for himself. He looked over to the mirror on the dresser and saw his reflection. In the soft grey light, with his creased shirt and trousers and scruffy hair, he stood looking the picture of childish uncertainty He raised his hand up to touch his face, then dropped it almost immediately back to his side. There was a note on the dresser, with his name on it. He assumed it must be from Amanda, presumably telling him she would prefer that he didn’t get in touch. ‘Charlie. Are you happy?’ That was it. He stood looking at it for a while, then, with no emotion, let it drop to the floor.
“No I’m not,” he muttered under his breath and headed for the door.

So he went home, to his parents, not the shell he had lived in for the last six years. They lived on a farm in a village where everyone knew everyone. It was a typical farm, with tractors strewn about the place, and a sense of quiet amid the chaos of animals and machinery. He pulled up on the weed strewn gravel drive, got out and stood looking. There was a movement from one of the flower beds to the right of the drive.
“Mum?”
“Charlie!” There you are, our big city business man.”
“Don’t!”, he said a little sharply. “Sorry… I just want to forget about that Charlie for a while.”
“Well I’ll go put the kettle on, and then I think your dad might have the perfect thing to help you forget.” A smile broke across her face.
It turned out his dad did have just the thing: two days of worming, dagging and fly spraying the sheep. Charlie didn’t mind though, he enjoyed the opportunity to do some simple manual work. He found it easy to let his mind go and just get lost in the work.

On the second evening, he decided to take a walk. If there was one place in the world he knew, and could truly call home, it was this village. He knew every inch of it. Of course, lots of things were being altered, new houses being built, roads being widened and narrowed in a constant effort to reduce speeding. However after walking for fifteen minutes, he rounded a corner where he knew there was a house that hadn’t changed and never would. It was the house of Snowy Farr, a local character. It was permanently Christmas in Snowy’s world. His whole house was decorated from top to bottom, front and back with every kind of Christmas ornament imaginable. Trees with baubles and tinsel, big plastic images of Father Christmas happily throwing presents from his sledge, teddy bears with red hats and scarves, a nativity scene, and a thousand other toys and plastic decorations. Quite frankly it was a mess, but a glorious, innocent, festive mess. To see Snowy’s house and the promise of Christmas it brought, even in mid-March, was magical. Snowy may as well have been father Christmas himself, for the significance he carried to a young child. In that house, it was reasoned, there must be presents stacked to the ceiling in every room, and elves running around checking presents off lists, and a plump old lady serving hot mince pies with brandy butter.
As for Snowy as a man, he was clearly eccentric, or Charlie assumed he was, and he looked like Father Christmas, or Charlie assumed he did. The realisation dawned on him that he didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t think he had ever met him, ever spoken to him, or in fact, ever seen him. His character was based entirely on myth, and everyone had embraced it. He was almost untouchable, untainted, because he represented the best in everybody, the positive side of everybody.
Snowy was somebody who had made himself into a character to put hope in and rely on in bleak times, like a living fairy tale. He never crushed the legend; he played along, and let people believe what they wanted to believe. He understood his place and played his part perfectly. This, Charlie admired more than anything. By being nothing more than himself, he had managed to become more than just a man, and he had found happiness, if not for himself, then for thousands of other people. Only for odd moments, but he truly touched people in those moments.
Charlie stood looking at the crowded, overflowing front garden as dusk fell and the network of fairy lights started to twinkle. He looked up, saw the stars, and his mouth opened just slightly. He had forgotten about the stars.

He kept helping and working over the next few days, spending time with his mum preparing dinner, walking with his dad as they checked the sheep, shelling peas in front of the television in the evening. He also kept visiting childhood places, both physically and through his memories.
He thought about his life. The cycle of parties, work, girls and superficial things that filled his daily routine. What had happened to the things he truly loved, he wondered. It wasn’t just that he didn’t spend time at the things he loved. It was that he never even thought of them. Never even gave headspace to things which that teenage boy had thought most important, beyond all other things. The way he felt the time he spent a whole afternoon picking flowers from the garden to say thank you to his Mum for taking him to see the new lion cubs at the zoo. Agonising over just the right combination of gladioli, statis and carnations to avoid overwhelming one or the other. Trying to find the perfect balance to accentuate the grace of the gladioli, or the texture of the statis. The feeling when he knew it was exactly right. Even if she didn’t like it, he knew he had got it right, because it represented how he felt. It was honest and entirely heart-felt. When was the last time he gave flowers to anyone? Last week most likely. Who? God knows. Probably some company executive or marketing group he needed to impress. He didn’t even know what flowers would have been used; didn’t even see them.

After returning from one of his morning walks, he was surprised to see that his parents’ car was being loaded with suitcases. His mum came out of the front door with a painfully out dated yellow leather suitcase, battered through years of use.
“Hello dear”, she said almost unable to hide a childish giggle that was threatening to take over her face, “Your father is taking me away for a long weekend!” She looked at him with a gentle steady gaze. “You don’t mind do you?”
“No, Its fine,” he managed to say without showing his surprise.
“Right well were off, I left a note with all the details on the dresser in the dinning room,” said his mum, softening her tone. “I thought I should let you know, because I remember you used to like him, that Snowy Farr died this morning. You remember him don’t you? Anyway we best be off, see you soon dear.”

Snowy was dead. He tried to understand how this made him feel. It was sad certainly, but there was something wonderful about it. He had died as he had lived, quietly slipping away, leaving behind memories for so many children, young and old, yet very little of himself. This way he would remain perfect in the memories of so many people. Charlie decided that tomorrow he would go back to Snowy’s and pay his respects. He moved into the living room, slumped down into an armchair and next to the crackling fire in the hearth, let thoughts of Snowy wash over him. He dozed off and dreamed about simple pleasures, like the light smell of roast chicken on a Sunday morning or the feeling of waking up on Saturday to rain pelting the window, knowing that there’s no reason to get out of bed.

When he woke up, it was to the sound of his phone ringing.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Charlie?” said a soft familiar voice “Its Amanda. You sound a little sleepy, I didn’t wake you did I?”
“Oh, hello,” he said as his heart rate rose. There was a pause. “erm… how are you?”
“I’m fine. Look I’m really sorry about the other morning, me just taking off, you know. I had an early meeting and you really looked like you could use the sleep. But, I really enjoyed that evening, being with you.”
This was awkward, what did she want, wondered Charlie, surely she couldn’t want to see him again, it had been a disastrous night. Then there was the note, it was hardly loving.
“Really? I mean, me too, but, well I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. I thought I’d been a bit of a…disappointment.”
“No, the whole night was fun. You were fun. I always thought you were a bit of an arrogant arse before. But I think underneath that hard exterior, there’s a wonderful person in you Charlie. We wouldn’t have ended up at mine otherwise, I’m not normally like that you know.”
“Right...”
There was a silence.
“I’d like to see more of you, Charlie.”
He felt a jolt hearing that. He was very attracted to her, and he wasn’t used to receiving honest compliments. It was refreshing, but also what he needed, a little bit of honesty. He got precious little in the life he lived.
“So…where are you? I rang your apartment, but there’s no answer….”
“I’m at my parents, I needed some time away.”
“Well I think you did,’ she said sincerely “has it helped?”
“I think so.” He paused “I’d like to see you too.” There was another pause, then Charlie decided, “You could come and stay here, the house is empty, my parents are away for the weekend. We have an open fire, and lots of food in the fridge. Would you come? I can pick you up from the train station, its only twenty minutes by train.”
“Oh…well…I suppose I am free this weekend, so yeah, why not”, then after a pause she added, “We can talk about that note too,” and Charlie thought he could sense her smiling as she said it.
Charlie spent the rest of the day preparing the house, and completing the long list of jobs he had been left to keep on top of. He was in bed earlier than he had been for a long time.

The next morning dawned and Charlie sprang out of bed with a vigour normally reserved for a child on Christmas morning. Drawing back the curtain he saw that there had been a heavy frost in the night. The tall cedar tree at the bottom of the garden that he had planted as a four year old was covered in white. He loved the frost. It felt like a fresh start.
When he arrived at Snowy’s he was greeted by the same crowd of festive decorations, their joy and beauty not diminished by either the loss of their owner or the hard frost. The colours were reduced, turned to pastel shades by the thin covering of white. It was as if they were flying at half mast out of respect for Snowy, but also showing there solidarity and intentions to carry on, as he would have wanted. He stood taking it all in for a while, then walked forward to the low wall around the garden and said a couple of words before turning to leave, just as the front door opened.
A little old lady with silver hair stepped out of the doorway and onto the path. She walked down the pathway towards Charlie, looking at him with gentle, knowing eyes. She waited until she was right next to him before she spoke, and it was in a clear calm voice when she did.
“Hello dear, thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” She paused and her eyes flicked away from Charlie to the garden.
“Isn’t it a lovely morning?”
“Yes it is. Spectacular.” Charlie looked around at the frost-covered world to remind himself, then back to her.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She smiled, a sad but strong smile.
“Don’t be. He died content. If only we could all be so lucky.”
To Charlie it seemed she had an aura around her. He could see where Snowy would have found his strength at difficult times. In the bright, clear morning, surrounded by the white frost, she almost seemed to glow, her white face, and loose silver curls giving the impression of an otherworldly power.
“He saw you the other night you know, out of the window. He said he thought you looked sad, that he was worried for you. He thought you were lost and would never be able to find yourself.” She paused, and they both stood looking at each other. “But you look different now, something’s changed. Are you happy?” She raised her small right hand, wrinkled and worn with age, but still soft and clean, up to his face and touched his right cheek. He started to open his mouth, but he was surprised how warm her hand felt, even on this cold morning. He felt the steadiness in her soft, reassuring touch, and he knew that he had nothing to say.
“You look happy.” Said the little old lady as she lowered her hand and headed back down the path to the open door, where the smell of brandy butter was drifting out.