Charlie Jacobs was a strange sort of chap. Outwardly he seemed like everyone else - just like you or me. But under the surface, Charlie was a wreck. A biggish sized man, he was pale of complexion, he seemed to be robust and although not athletically stupendous was as fit as many men his age, he was 43, and had never been ill in his life. He had a chirpy sense of humour and, in the printing office where he worked, Charlie was usually part of the banter and chat that always went on around the kitchen and, he was a noted wit in the the office email banter - this was one of those places where political correctness was still considered with a healthy laissez-faire. No one ever said anything out of line, but much of the banter definitely had a bit of an edge to it.

Where most people drank tea or coffee in the office, there were a couple of trendy mavericks who drank kombucha or any number of other trendy sounding things, usually involving some weird process involving either letting something go mouldy or battering something to a pulp. Charlie was strictly an orange juice fan. In fact, in all of recorded time (actually about 8 years in the office), no one had ever seen Charlie drink anything else. Smooth orange juice from a carton with no bits. For lunch, where everyone had a salad, or a soup, or a ham roll, or a pastrami on rye with dill pickle, or a reheated pasta from the night before or even a cold pizza slice taken hurriedly from the fridge before diving out to catch the bus and not be late for work, Charlie ate a pale cheese (always grated) on white bread sandwich. He never ate anything else. What’s more, he never had anything else for breakfast. Or for his evening meal. Charlie lived on grated cheese sandwiches and orange juice. And nothing else.

As a baby he was eventually weaned off milk, but was extremely anxious - to the point of vomiting if he tried new foods. He screamed and cried continuously. The only thing that pleased him was a grated cheese sandwich. As a child his parents despaired- they tried everything but Charlie would get such a massive anxiety attack if presented with anything other than a grated cheese sandwich that in the end they gave up. Over the years Charlie had made several attempts to try other things but the thought of the different textures and tastes made him so terribly anxious he couldn’t function. Charlie dreaded being invited out to dinner, or even to lunch. Charlie was an anxiety car crash at the thought of a fish finger - although for his whole life he was always driven to try new things, which usually ended up with him being unable to swallow a pea-sized lump of whatever it was he was trying out and then being terribly sick.

Charlie, on one of his desperate attempts to broaden his diet, discovered a new sort of orange juice. He was so proud of himself for trying something new and not being an anxious whimpering mess that he adopted the new drink with gusto, guzzling it down by the pint. It was smooth - so no horrid bits, it was really tasty with that orange tang he really liked and was half the price of his original brand. Charlie was properly chuffed with himself. The juice was branded ‘Knave’ - Like Smooth-Pressed Navel Oranges But Better! It was aimed at fit men who trained in the gym and wore, for reasons not really understood, vast quantities of lycra. In smaller writing on the back of the carton was a list of the ingredients and none of them were recognisable as an orange - even the old favourite add in for cheap juice, ascorbic acid was missing off the list - although, of course, other e-numbers were present, and, even more excitingly acacia gum, propylene glycol, ethyl alcohol and loads of other healthy things

In his 43 years, Charlie was always well (apart from vomiting regularly from the anxiety of being presented with some novel food like french fries or steak). And he felt great on his new juice. Then one day, there was a change in Charlie. His skin became blotchy. He developed bruises on parts of his body where he leant against anything. His legs swelled and bruised and the bruises bled. One day one of his teeth just fell out and his gums were bleeding. He had blue spots on his ankles. Charlie lost his sense of humour and was exhausted all the time. Charlie died very soon after becoming unwell. Everyone was very upset.