I was grateful for the interruption. I’d been stuck for hours and was beginning to wonder if there really was better way to market tampons. I could see that there was a delivery van on the street. If I rushed I might get to the front door before they stuck a card through the letterbox claiming I was out.
‘Morning, have you something for me?’
‘Do you accept Charlie?’
‘I’m not Charlie. I’m Lucy.’
The deliveryman held out a small package the size of a chocolate orange.
‘This is Charlie. I want to know if you accept it or not.’
This wasn’t a normal deliveryman conversation and he made it even stranger.
‘Before you decide I’ve a few terms and conditions to read out.’
He spoke quickly and somehow sounded exactly like one of those things you have to accept whenever you download an app. I signed the agreement. Like most people I accepted without bothering to know what was in it.
He passed me the package, the Charlie, told me to open it carefully as it was fragile, and retreated down the path.
The package felt fragile. It was incredibly light so had to be something delicate. I was sure I hadn’t ordered anything so it must be from work. Some new product that I had to market to the public.
Inside were some instructions and an egg. The egg was white, perfectly round and a little larger than a hen’s egg. It looked real but my guess was that it was some kind of clever mechanical device.
The instructions were basic. They told me to place the egg in a warm space like an airing cupboard and check it every few hours for cracks. Once a crack appeared I was to sit with the egg until Charlie emerged.
I didn’t have an airing cupboard so I lined a cardboard box with towels and placed it on the top of the fridge, which was about the warmest spot in my flat. I then returned to work and suddenly had inspiration. I could do an advert for tampons based on a weather forecast with heavy and light downpours.
I was pleased to have made progress and rewarded myself with a tea break. I was dunking my second biscuit when I realised how ridiculous my idea was. As I cleared up I remembered the egg. There was a real danger that I would completely forget about it, so I made a drawing of an egg and stuck it in the middle of the fridge door.
The egg cracked the next morning. I placed it next to my computer and watched it much more than I watched my work. It took two hours before anything happened.
A tiny, scrawny bird-like thing broke out and squawked at me. I couldn’t believe it was real. I quickly dug out the instructions but they didn’t help. I pulled the package from my bin in case I’d missed something. There was nothing. Either this was the most complex toy I’d ever seen or it was a real living thing.
I suddenly had the idea of feeding it. There were some slices of ham in the fridge, although I had a sense that it – no not it, he, Charlie, would prefer chicken.
I held him on my lap and fed him chunks of ham. He quickly devoured two whole slices before curling up and falling asleep. I watched him for a while and then had such a clever marketing idea that I completely forgot he was there until he started snoring. I smiled and stroked his back. He already looked bigger and somehow more finished. He was a lovely red-bronze colour. He didn’t have any feathers. He didn’t look like he needed them. He was more lizard-like with scales.
My computer pinged. My boss was very happy with my ideas. Very, very happy. She asked me to present them personally to the client. I’d only been asked to do that twice before. She also attached information about five new projects and asked me to pick one. I must be in her good books.
I read the first project specification and immediately had a good idea. It was so good that I did a quick outline and sent it back to her. It wasn’t even lunch-time. I looked at the second project and again had massive inspiration. I wrote an outline but didn’t email it. I’d have a long lunch, take the rest of the day off and send it the next day.
I researched on the internet but couldn’t find any animal to match Charlie. He was definitely real. He devoured real food and made a real mess out of the other end. He seemed pretty intelligent and within a few days was pooing in a litter tray.
I couldn’t believe how much he ate, or how fussy he was. He wouldn’t touch cat food or dog food. He wanted real meat. He grew quickly. I guess that’s why he needed so much food. Within a few weeks I was convinced that he was already going through a developmental phase.
I was right. Overnight he sprouted wings. He now looked like a dragon the size of a small lizard. His wings were bat-like and too small to be effective. He still managed to hover in front of my face whenever he wanted my attention. The top of my head became his favourite perch.
Everything was great. I was eating more healthily because of all the cooking Charlie made me do. Work was going fantastically well. Ideas filled my head, spilled out onto the page and delighted clients. I was promoted to team leader and given my own office with a conference table big enough for all six of us to brain-storm together.
Life was perfect. Until I opened the letter.
It was much more informative than the instructions had been. It explained that Charlie was an idea dragon – bringing inspiration to those around him. At three months old he was fully grown. I therefore had to leave my window open so he could go out and find a mate.
I cried. I cried at the idea of Charlie leaving and I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of him taking all the ideas with him. But I had to do it. I’d signed the agreement committing myself to letting Charlie go and accepting life changing consequences if I didn’t.
Charlie flew out the window at sunset. I was awake all night. I tried to work. It was hopeless. None of my ideas were inspiring.
As the sun rose I heard a flutter. Charlie was back. He flew into his den, curled up and slept.
I read and re-read the letter and became convinced that I’d only committed myself to leaving the window open once. I shut it. Charlie didn’t seem to mind. He remained curled up on his blanket.
There was another letter the next morning. I guessed it would tell me I’d broken the conditions. I hoped they’d let me off if I re-opened the window.
It wasn’t what I expected. I rushed in to see Charlie, and they were right. Charlie was protectively cosseting four round white eggs that were slightly larger than a hen’s egg.
I cried tears of happiness tinged with sadness. It seemed that idea dragons only ever laid one clutch of eggs after which they no longer inspired any further ideas. Charlie could stay but I’d be on my own in terms of marketing strategies. She wouldn’t be any help.
That’s when I had another great idea. I smiled as I realised this was one of my own. The letter had told me that I could nominate egg recipients. The eggs would be collected from me and delivered the same day.
I quickly nominated four of my team and waited for the delivery driver to arrive. It was Friday so ideas should be filling my team’s heads in time for Monday morning.
I was right. Four of my team were more imaginative than ever. The fifth team member was Simon. He’d always boasted that he knew what women want more than they know themselves. It’s not true. His one idea was quickly shouted down. No one in their right mind would market tampons by using a weather forecast about heavy and light downpours.
I wanted to ask the others about their eggs but somehow I knew, and they knew, that Charlie wasn’t something you talked about.