Charlie — a short story lesson plan for English reading, speaking & vocabulary

“He’s been dead for ten years,” said the little old lady, looking at me with concern.

I stared back into her silvery-blue eyes and nodded my head slowly.

I didn’t know what else to do.

She had this passive look on her face and I felt expected to say something. So I cleared my throat, desperately trying to think of something to say.

“Your husband?”

A look of mild disgust crossed the woman’s face.

“My husband?” she said. “No. He’s been dead for over fifteen years. No, not him. Charlie. My dear Charlie.”

Who was Charlie?

“Charlie?” I said.

She looked at me like I was an idiot.

“Yes, Charlie. He was the love of my life. He was my one and only true love.”

So. This old lady. Who I didn’t know. She just sat next to me at the bus stop and starts telling me about her secret lover Charlie.

“Oh, I see.” There was a very awkward pause. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss.”

She smiled, but I could see a look in her eye that said she was not convinced.

I turned my head to see if the bus was coming. But just an empty road.

“I always keep him near me,” she said. “He’s always with me.”

“Charlie?” I said.

“Yes, Charlie. He’s always close to my heart.”

“Well, that’s good,” I said. “It’s good to have some spiritual connection to our loved ones.”

I surprised myself at how well I could keep the conversation going. But as soon as the bus arrived, I would go upstairs. No more chatting to old ladies about their long-lost lovers.

“No, I don’t mean that,” she snapped. “I don’t believe in any of that spiritual mumbo-jumbo.”

She tapped her chest. She wore a thick coat and a scarf. It looked like it was made of fur. She clutched at the scarf and held it against her throat.

I wrapped my arms around myself as an icy breeze blew around us.

“Charlie is always with me. And I mean really with me.”

“That’s great,” I said.

I couldn’t talk to this old lady anymore. I just wanted the bus to arrive and then I could get home and have a hot bath. I didn’t want to engage in conversations with this mad old woman and her Charlie, whoever he was.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

I turned to face her.

“Yes. I believe you.”

“Have you ever had someone that you have loved so dearly and who loves you back so dearly that you would do anything to make them stay with you?”

I stumbled for something to say.

The old lady shook her head. “You haven’t, have you? Too caught up in your own life and all the things you think about. You haven’t had time to think of anyone else. That’s the trouble with young people today. Too inconsiderate.”

She was right about that. She had hit the nail right on the head there.

I had been single for… well, forever. I had a girlfriend at college but as soon as we graduated we parted company. Since then. Nothing.

I lived alone in a tiny flat. I had one friend who I referred to as my best friend when in fact he was my only friend. And my visits back home to see my mum and dad were becoming more and more infrequent.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I loved Charlie. And he loved me. We told each other this every single day.”

Then she started to cry. And not just a little weepy, but full-on sobbing.

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief. I hadn’t seen one in years.

“Please,” I said. “Don’t upset yourself. Tell me about Charlie.”

She wiped the tears away from her eyes and then blew her nose.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Well, you said Charlie is always with you. Tell me about that.”

“He is always with me,” she said, and her hand went to her heart again. “He’s right here. Right here with me.”

“Charlie must have been a very special man,” I said.

The old woman leaned back and gave me a glare.

“Man? I never said he was a man.”

I cursed myself for upsetting her again.

“But… I’m sorry… I thought…”

“Yes, you thought,” she said. “And where does thinking get you?”

She patted the furry scarf against her neck.

“No, Charlie was not a man. He was not a human being.”

She smiled back at me. Her teeth all brilliant white.

“So, what was he then?” I asked.

“He was a cat.”

“Oh,” I said.

All this time and the only thing we were talking about was a silly cat.

“Yes, Charlie was my pride and joy,” she said. She tilted her head down. “Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

I looked up the road again and saw the bus trundling down towards us.

“Well, he must have been a very special cat,” I said, pulling some loose change from my coat pocket.

“He was,” she said. “Would you like to see him?”

The bus got nearer.

“A picture, you mean?”

“No,” she said. “Charlie. See him. In the flesh.”

I just stared back at the old lady, unable to think of anything to say.

“Take a look,” she said, and she unbuttoned her coat.

Around her neck, the scarf. Now clearly visible.

It was all fur. And four thin legs with little paws at the end.

A tail. And the other end a head. The ears moth-eaten and worn away and in place of its eyes two glass beads.

And the mouth. A gaping jaw with blackened teeth.

“This is Charlie,” she said. “He is with me all the time. He never leaves me.”