Earl sounded like the bloke off Mum’s ‘Believe Yourself Thinner’ CD. ‘Let’s start by taking some slow, deep breaths.’
His heavy breathing was positively disgusting; Ed did a disgusting mime to match.
‘You see, guys, there’s nothing more catastrophic than repressed anger. The trouble is, when something bad happens, that’s exactly what most of us do. It feels like we’re protecting ourselves, but believe me, it’s the last thing we’re doing.’
A Mexican wave of repressed hilarity raced round the circle.
‘But I’d like to start with an apology,’ said Earl. ‘Not just on behalf of myself, but on behalf of my whole generation. How did children of the sixties create such a terrible world for our own young people?’
Molly’s straight face was looking decidedly curvaceous. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s great what you’re doing for us now.’
Earl’s voice dropped a few more semitones. ‘OK, I want you all to remember a painful experience from your past; something that happened at school, perhaps – a failed exam or a sarcastic teacher?’
He’d obviously met Mr Catchpole.
‘But whatever it might be, try to relive that experience; feel those feelings all over again. And this time, instead of holding on to all that anger, you’re going to let it go. That’s right: shout, scream, stamp your feet – whatever feels right. OK, in your own time.’
We eyed each other nervously, like boys at a party working up the courage to dance. Finally, Jack weighed in with a high-pitched wailing sound, Molly mewled and the two Harrys howled half-heartedly. It was as if someone had slapped on ‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor’. Suddenly we were all creating our own variations until between us we’d created a very respectable cacophony.
And one of us was really going for it. Even a trained actor would have found it hard to sustain the impressive combination of tears and groans that was starting to dominate; except somehow it grew in intensity, until the sobbing sounded so realistic the rest of us started dropping out to listen.
But then we saw who it was pounding the earth as he wept, his face contorted into a mask of agony and the little black squiggles beneath his eyes forming salty spiders’ webs on his cheeks. I’d never seen a grown man cry before, but I had a feeling that Earl was no stranger to it.
‘What do we do now?’ whispered one of the Harrys.
We huddled, embarrassed, like distant relatives at a funeral. I remember thinking how typical it was of Campbell to want to play mourner-in-chief. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You lot go back to the pods. I’ll stay with him until he calms down.’
‘Cheers, Cam,’ said Ed, already on his way. ‘See you later, yeah?’
The others quickly followed; even Lucy, who offered a few words of encouragement before setting off down the hill.
I still hadn’t forgiven him for what happened at the blackhouse, but it didn’t seem right to leave him like that.
‘I’ll wait with you if you like. You don’t want to be up here on your own.’
Campbell glanced anxiously at Earl who was rocking back and forth with his head in his hands. ‘Thanks, Jess, that’s really . . . kind of you. It’s probably best if you go with them, though.’
‘It’s OK, I don’t mind.’
Earl was bawling again, a rogue slither of snot dangling from his nose.
‘Please, Jess. I really don’t think we should crowd him.’
‘Fine,’ I said, getting the message that I was surplus to requirements. ‘What’s the matter with him anyway?’
‘He’s still upset about Kevin.’
‘Listen, Cam,’ I said, test-driving his nickname, and liking the way it sounded. ‘It’s none of my business, but do you think it might be better if we left him to it?’
Earl began to howl.
‘Look, I’ve told you,’ said Campbell. ‘I’m just going to make sure he’s OK. Now please go. If you leave now you’ll catch up with the others.’
‘Yeah . . . right,’ I said, taking a few reluctant steps towards the pods.
‘Hey, Jess,’ called Campbell.
‘Yes.’
He just looked at me. ‘Nothing. I’ll see you tonight at your initiation.’
Earl must have been riddled with anger. Halfway down the hill I looked back again. He was sobbing uncontrollably, and Campbell was standing over him with his hand on his shoulder.
Hungry Like The Wolf
‘OK, Harry,’ said Campbell solemnly. ‘Let her have it.’
They trained their torches on a spot halfway up the blackhouse wall. Harry M nodded at Harry W who started removing bricks to create a laptop-sized hole.
‘It’s not here,’ said Harry W, his arm disappearing into the wall like a vet at a calving.
‘Let me try,’ said Campbell. ‘I’ve got longer arms than you.’
Lucy had insisted on putting my hair up in a messy bun (with a band and some grips from her ‘secret store’), so I felt almost human for once. The trouble was I felt suspiciously like a human sacrifice. Just because they’d been nice to me for a few hours didn’t mean they couldn’t suddenly turn nasty.
‘It’s not . . . dangerous, is it?’ I said, trying not to think of Death Rock.
There was plenty of knowing laughter, but no one answered my question.
‘Gotcha!’ said Campbell, pulling out a small rectangle of lime green plastic and passing it to Jack.
Harry M held it up to the torchlight. ‘Now please be careful, Jess. It’s over ten years old.’
‘And switch it off as soon as you finish,’ said Campbell. ‘We’re running out of batteries.’
I don’t think I’d ever seen one before. It was practically an antique. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit confused.’
Harry M cradled it over to me, like a new mother surrendering her baby to an accident-prone aunt. ‘The Gameboy Color,’ he said. ‘Over one hundred million units sold worldwide; fifty-six colours simultaneously from a palette of thirty-two thousand. I picked it up at a car boot sale – couldn’t believe my luck. Without this baby we would never have had the Xbox.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s a matter of opinion,’ said Ed.
Harry M didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Notice the infra-red transfer port. You could actually use that as a TV controller.’
Jack whistled appreciatively.
‘Turn it on,’ said Harry M. ‘You’ll find the switch on the right hand side.’
‘OK then, but I still don’t get it.’ A familiar logo flashed onto the screen accompanied by a satisfying electronic beep. ‘Rampage – World Tour. Never heard of it.’
‘It’s a simple side-scrolling smash ’em up,’ said Harry M. ‘Set it to difficult and select a monster.’
‘So what’s it got to do with my initiation?’
‘You have three minutes to get forty-five thousand points,’ said Campbell. ‘Why, what did you expect?’ he added smugly.
‘I’ll help you out if you like, babe,’ said Ed, standing behind me and slipping his hands over mine.
‘No thanks,’ I said, removing myself from his sweaty clutches and selecting Ralph the Wolf. ‘And I’m not your babe, OK?’
Naseeb was in charge of the egg timer. ‘Are you ready, Jess?’
I nodded.
‘They all joined in with the countdown. ‘Five, four, three, two, one . . . GO!’
I wasn’t a complete noob. I’m not exactly proud of this, but I was part of the Pokémon craze that swept Warmdene Primary in Year Five, so I knew my way around a Gameboy Advance. How different could it be?
And it kind of reminded me of those epic battles with ‘the elite four’; everyone crowding round to get a better view of the screen and offering words of advice.
‘Watch out for the helicopters.’
‘If you punch out the windows, the buildings just collapse on themselves.’
‘You can get more health by eating people.’
The instructions said, Destroy all buildings to advance to the next city.
But the graphics were terrible and it wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked.
‘Two minutes to go,’ said Naseeb. ‘Come on, Jess; you’ve got to smash them!’
Everyone groaned when my wolf died. ‘Nooooooahhhhh!’
By the end of the first level I was only on five thousand, four hundred points. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’
‘Course you can,’ said Campbell. ‘Press Start to continue.’
The buildings in level two (Liverpool) were taller and there were loads more people about. Once I’d eaten a few, I actually started enjoying myself.
‘Last thirty seconds,’ said Naseeb. ‘Come on, Jess, you can do it.’
I reached Kankakee on thirty-seven thousand. By now I was sensing the hazards before they even arrived, zapping the skyscrapers for fun.
‘Five . . . Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . ONE!’
‘Yesss!’ I screamed, punching the air before joining the rest of them in an orgy of high-fiving.
‘Forty-six thousand, five hundred,’ said Harry M, snatching back his precious baby and flicking off the switch. ‘Not bad, I suppose, but it won’t exactly put you on the leader board.’
‘Well done,’ said Lucy, giving me a little hug. ‘Your hair looks good too, Jess.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Well, I suppose you can call yourself a Firewaller now,’ said Campbell, making to hug me, but opting at the last minute for a pat on the shoulders. ‘That’s if you haven’t thought of a better name!’
‘Hey, Jess,’ said Molly. ‘What’s your specialist subject then?’
With hair and beauty taken there was only one option. ‘Epic fail videos.’
‘What, like the bald bloke treading grapes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ll schedule in a presentation for next week,’ said Naseeb.
‘Sweet,’ said Harry M. ‘I reckon Kev would have loved that.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘I didn’t think he’d be particularly into it.’
‘What makes you say that?’ said Lucy.
‘I kind of got the impression he was more interested in all the Dawdler stuff. Isn’t that why he wanted to climb up to Death Rock?’
‘Kevin hated it more than any of us,’ said Ed. ‘He was just better at hiding it.’
Harry M gleamed angrily in the torchlight. ‘I still don’t buy that crofter rubbish. Kev couldn’t give a stuff about it. And you know what he felt about physical exercise.’
‘We’ve been through all this before,’ said Campbell. ‘Why can’t you just let him rest in peace?’
‘I just don’t get it,’ said Harry M. ‘All he really cared about was MMORPGs.’
‘Massively multiplayer online role playing games,’ added Ed – helpfully for once.
Harry obviously wasn’t ready to let Kevin rest in peace. ‘His user name was Rainbow Warrior. And I don’t care what anyone says, he would never have tried to recreate some pathetic macho ritual. Kev was a real —’
‘Look, we haven’t got time for this now,’ said Campbell. ‘They’ll be finishing soon. We need to get back to the Symposium.’
‘Yes, come on,’ said Lucy. ‘Earl might be off his trolley, but he’s right about one thing; we all have to move on. Now let’s get out of here.’
‘Hey, Jess,’ whispered Campbell, accidentally brushing my hand as torches were extinguished and we headed for the door. ‘Did you ever wonder what we really got up to in our free play sessions? Well, tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to find out.’
The Game
‘We’ll talk some more about Thomas Paine next time,’ said Derek, scuttling towards the composting toilets. ‘And we’ll be cleaning out the chicken house, so don’t forget to bring appropriate footwear. Enjoy your free play now.’
‘Thanks, Derek, that sounds terrific.’ said Lucy, changing her tune the moment he disappeared into the cubicle. ‘Oh God, not another morning scraping bird poo. That’s the last thing I need.’
‘Yeah, never mind the Rights of Man,’ said Harry W, ‘what about our rights?’
Erika and the Junior Laggards were dancing round the totem pole, whooping it up deliriously in stark contrast to our cheerless crocodile of teenage resentment.
But the mood improved as we forged deeper into the new forest. Ed took a vote on our favourite pointless websites (a tossup between unnecesarilylongurl.com and isitchristmas.com) and Naseeb made everyone update their relationship status. There was some less than polite banter when Ed (‘It’s complicated’) cast aspersions on Jack’s claim that he was ‘in an open relationship’, but for most of us it was just harmless fun. Apart from Campbell of course, who was having none of it:
‘What’s the point? I’m not even on Facebook any more.’
‘Come on, Campbell. Don’t be shy,’ said Naseeb. ‘Is there something,or someone, you want tell us about?’
Like it wasn’t obvious anyway; if Lucy was ‘in a relationship’, her victim could hardly be anyone else. I actually felt quite sorry for him. As Mum was always saying, ‘The last thing the world needs is another bloke who can’t talk about his feelings.’
‘Look at his little face,’ said Ed. ‘Come on, matey, who’s the lucky girl?’
Campbell’s cheeks were on fire. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about . . . I mean, even if I did, you know, like someone, I wouldn’t —’
It was so agonising to watch I thought I’d better change the subject. ‘So . . . anyway, guys, what’s this big surprise you’ve been promising me? I suppose you’ve got a couple of Xboxes stashed away or something.’
‘Not quite,’ said Campbell, flashing me what looked like a grateful smile. ‘What would you like it to be, Jess?’
‘A half decent nail bar would be nice.’
‘You wish,’ said Lucy.
‘It’s better than that,’ said Jack. ‘Just wait until you see it.’
‘It’s not a branch of Nandos by any chance?’
‘You’ll never get it,’ said Lucy. ‘Put it this way, it’s something we can all enjoy.’
And I was getting quite excited until we came to a clearing and they all shouted, ‘Ta-daa!’
I didn’t even bother to disguise my disappointment. ‘You have got to be joking. What is it anyway?’
‘It’s our den,’ said Campbell apologetically. ‘Derek built it. Apparently he spent half his childhood traipsing round the countryside. According to him, he was out in the woods until all hours. Yeah, I know – nightmare.’
It was a disgustingly random combination of oil drums and driftwood that kind of reminded me of the bearded colony of protestors who set up camp outside Dad’s bank the previous summer.
‘That’s it?’ I said. ‘That’s the big surprise you’ve dragged me all the way down to the woods for?’
‘Of course not,’ said Campbell, peeling back the smelly tarpaulin that covered the entrance. ‘Grab yourself a seat and we’ll show you.’
No wonder Mum refused to go on camping holidays. At least there were enough holes everywhere to let the sunlight in, but by the time everyone had found a driftwood stool, or if you were lucky, one of those fold-up chairs that old people keep in the car boot, it was sweatier than a seething mosh pit.
‘Are you ready for this, Jess?’ said Campbell, scrabbling around in a pile of leaves and pulling out a Sainsbury’s carrier bag.
‘Yeah . . . whatever.’
He lowered the carrier bag into my lap. It was heavier than I thought. ‘Go on; take a look.’
It felt like opening a Christmas present from Dad’s aunt in Littlehampton who always sent me and Millie matching scarves. Until I saw what it was. ‘It’s not, is it?’
Campbell nodded. ‘Kevin smuggled it back from the mainland, when he had his tooth out.’
‘I love this book,’ I said, flicking through the first thousand pages or so until I came to my favourite bit.
‘Really brings it back, doesn’t it?’ said Campbell.
The others had pull
ed their chairs even closer so they could look over my shoulder and make comments.
‘Toni & Guy digital hair straighteners; I’ve got some of them.’
‘Can we see the digital photo frames next?’
‘What about those hi-def camcorders where you can upload straight to YouTube?’
I could see now what Lucy meant. There really was something for all of us to enjoy. Never mind the Bible and Shakespeare, or even The Railway Children for that matter – the Argos catalogue was perfect desert island reading material.
‘Go on, Cam,’ said Lucy. ‘Tell her about the game.’
Campbell kneeled beside me, his hand centimetres from mine on the plastic armrest. ‘OK, Jess, the rules are simple. You’ve got a grand to spend on anything you like. What do you buy?’
‘How long do I have?’
‘As long as you like,’ said Lucy. ‘We all keep changing our minds anyway.’
The rules might have been simple, but it turned out to be the most difficult game I’d ever played. ‘Right, I think I might start with a decent hairdryer . . . No wait, how much is the cheapest portable DVD player? And what do you guys think of 3D tel—’
It was the strangest sound I’d ever heard: halfway between a deep-throated roar and a cry for help. But if that wasn’t enough to distract me from my catalogue shopping, the rhythmic chanting floating across from another part of the forest was impossible to ignore. ‘What is that?’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ said Jack. ‘Earl reckoned the men were too soft to be hunter-gatherers anyway, so he’s started a wrestling club. No one wanted to do it of course, but they haven’t got the guts to stand up to him.’
Ed was already doing my head in with his lame American accent. ‘The first rule of wrestling club is that you don’t talk about wrestling club. The second rule of —’
‘My dad reckons he’s losing it,’ said Molly. ‘You saw him the other day. What was he like?’
‘No offence,’ said Harry W, ‘but if you ask me the bloke’s a complete lunatic.’
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