This is entry number fivein the Agent Charlie series. Read previous chapters here.

Enigma: Bristles is looking at me intently. He consults a black square in his hand, checks my nappy, then checks the square again.

Smooth comes in.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Hm?’

‘Something’s wrong with your phone?’

‘…no, no…’ He scratches his head. ‘It’s witchcraft. How does he do that?’

Stealth: After five months of my tutelage the Natives have become masters of stealth. They lower my sleepy body into the cot with the delicacy of a bomb disposal squad; they creep around their own apartment like burglars and they sleep with the hair-trigger watchfulness of a president anticipating assassination.

Gender gap: ‘Isn’t it amazing how quickly Charlie changes,’ says Bristles.

‘What do you mean?’ asks Smooth.

‘His moods: one second he’s chuckling, the next he’s crying.’

Bristles beams.

‘Are you sure he’s a boy?’

There’s a loud silence.

‘That’s rich,’ says Smooth. ‘Coming from Mr Menopause.’

I cry. Someone has to.

Milestones: Natives are not very bright. To reduce Emergency Response Time, Agents have to be masters of melodrama: if I am hungry or sad or lonely or ill or in pain or uncomfortable or need a hug I have to scream. Only screaming will distract the nearest Native from the irrelevancies which structure their lives.

Witchcraft: I deliver a blast of treasure into my nappy.

‘There it is again!’ shouts Bristles, holding up his black square ‘phone’.

‘There what is?’ says Smooth.

‘How the hell does he do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘Check out the text.’ He shows her the phone. ‘Every time Charlie fills his nappy, I get an emoji of a turd.’

Summary:

So far so good.

No one knows I’m in charge.

Stay tuned for the next instalment of the Agent Charlie reports, edited by Peter Flynn, next week.

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