Charlie's Web (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 1

The cocktail glass slipped from Charlie's hand and began its descent to the ground. It seemed to go in slow motion, but that was only in her head. Because if it really had, she would have had time to stop it, to prevent herself from the humiliation of dropping her drink in one of the city's trendiest bars.

The smash echoed around the room. She saw the people around her looking at her; pitying eyes, relieved faces, just glad they weren't the one who committed one of the biggest sins of public drinking. Thou shall not smash one's glass in a bar. It proved drunkenness, klutziness and was just a lesson in ultimate humiliation.

Charlie had broken this rule quite a bit, if we're being completely honest. In fact, when Charlie was under the influence, she often did silly things. These included: hugging random strangers, accidentally drinking from other people's glasses, and falling over. The falling over happened nearly as much as the drink-dropping - more frequently when she was wearing heels.

Charlie + alcohol + stilettos = a natural disaster in the making.

Thank goodness she wasn't not wearing heels tonight then. Because her cool status had already dropped way below zero.

Where was Thea? Calculating in her head, Charlie realised that her friend had been missing for nearly ten minutes. Surely it didn't take that long to do a pee? Had she fallen down the loo or something? She squinted in the direction of the toilets, and saw Thea standing just outside the door. Her iPhone was glued to her ear as usual.

Of course. It would be Craig.

It was always Craig.

"Like they don't spend enough time together already," she murmured testily. She took out her own phone in an attempt to feign nonchalance, since two barmen had now descended on the table and were ostentatiously clearing the shards of glass at her feet. No one to call, and she loathed actually speaking on the phone anyway, so she turned to Facebook.

Facebook was her addiction - she was hooked on finding out about everyone else's lives. She had Facebook-stalked every ex she had ever had the misfortune to date with the persistance of a private investigator, and knew the marital status - possibly entire relationship history even? - of every single girl who had been in her class at high school. In fact, she could probably sum up the salient points of their entire lives if you grilled her on it.

Specialist subject in Mastermind perhaps? She wasn't sure John Humphrys would really care who Laura Nicholson from her sixth year art class was currently married to, but if that question came up she'd definitely be in with a great chance of winning the quiz show.

Her heart sank as she spotted her remaining single friend (REAL friend as opposed to Facebook friend - a pretty big distinction) had now amended their status to "In a relationship." Another one bites the dust and now Charlie stood alone. The one who everyone would invite to dinner parties full of couples and one "eligible bachelor" who would be anything but.

Thankfully none of her friends were really prone to throwing dinner parties but that was hardly the point.

And all the cliches would fall on her like autumn leaves fluttering down from the trees. "Oh you'll meet the right one eventually." "It'll happen when you least expect it." "You just need to stop looking."

To the last, Chalie tended to retort, "I just need to start looking, actually."

And this was true. She wasn't really actively searching for a man. She didn't really see the point. After all, it always ended in disaster. Exclusively . . .

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It's perhaps a bit early to get into Charlie's romantic history. You have only just met her after all. We're not wanting you to judge her as some sort of man-repellent before we've even got off to a start. But then you also have already witnessed the fisticuffs to come in the future, so maybe it's okay to tell you about it now?

So here it is, in the proverbial nutshell .. . .

Charlie had never had much luck in the relationship department. Or even in the NON-relationship department, for that matter.

There had been random kisses on nights out.

A one-night-stand here or there. (Not too often though due to the intense Catholic guilt that would press down on her with the weight of a giant afterwards and cause her to actually do the unspeakable and go to mass - gasp!)

Three relationships.

If you could even call them relationships.

Nothing particularly notable. No declarations of love. No amazing romantic gestures. Just a couple of handfuls of drunken dates followed by some tentative attempts at snuggling on the sofa in a coupley fashion, which had then, on all three occasions, culiminated in the "it's not you, it's me" speech.

And so Charlie was now at the grand old age of 29 and completely alone. Without even a prospect in sight.

But completely content with it, of course. Or so she kept telling herself anyway.