The Cult of Following, Book Two

by Barbara Jaques

  *

  Later that same day, Joyann and Percy were sitting in the cool of Vivocity, an enormous shopping mall overlooking docked cruise ships, and Sentosa, a leisure island with a giant theme park that contrasted sharply with the late nineteen thirties Haw Par Villa they had just enjoyed. Percy took a mouthful of cold beer and stared at the fairytale castle turrets, and the outsized signs and rising rollercoaster tracks, all advertising the joys within. As he looked, everything began disappearing behind a dense curtain of rain.

  ‘It’s as if Trudy is trapped in some kind of fantasy, like that place over there,’ he said, gesturing across the water, ‘caught up in an idea because something about the structure of it makes it seem real. I don’t get it. And I really don’t get why me.’

  ‘I agree with you, Percy, that it is all very odd. I think they are just four needy people who were drawn to you, and now they have become carried away. People who join cults, for example, are just people who feel outside of things, lonely people seeking an embrace. I think this group is no different.’

  ‘I have not encouraged this in any way, shape, or form, Joyann.’

  ‘You are quite charismatic, in your own way. Did you know that?’

  ‘We’re talking about me, right?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Joyann! I am not charismatic. God, I wouldn’t even want to be. Imagine people always wanting to talk to you.’ He frowned, ‘No. Not me at all.’

  ‘You underestimate yourself, Percy. You miscalculate the value others put upon those who appear strong.’

  ‘I have to disagree with you again. I never underestimate myself. I know what people think of me, what my teachers thought of me, what my own parents thought of me; what Sal thinks of me. What she used to think of me, anyway. And I don’t mind. Actually, I like it. It’s easy being unpopular. It means I don’t have to try.’ Percy groaned. ‘Now look at me, look what’s happening… for God’s sake! See what you’ve done? We’re talking about feelings. I hate it.’

  Joyann sipped iced tea. ‘What I have done, or what they have done? Or is it what you have done yourself?’

  ‘Don’t. I already feel like I am going insane.’

  She chortled softly. ‘Careful, Percy. Don’t let your followers hear you. They’ll think you are crumbling. We can’t have the Prophet of God suffering a nervous breakdown; it doesn’t send the right message. Maybe there will be one of those chat shows where the public share their problems: being a Prophet made me a mess.’

  ‘Very funny. Not.’

  She smiled, her pretty almond eyes more forgiving than they had been. ‘You know, Percy, they’ll eventually forget if you stop responding. You have a habit of encouraging without meaning to.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t think I do.’

  ‘Percy. You cannot resist saying things to them. I saw you with Trudy. You could have said no to her, but you chose to talk. And I would like to know what you whispered in her ear. Yes. I saw your lips moving.’

  Percy grimaced, ‘I said I was a bastard.’

  ‘And you didn’t consider that maybe she likes bastards? Stop conversing with them. Only then can they know you have nothing to say.’

  ‘I know. You’re right, as usual. All I do is talk about it. Anyway, I’ve already decided what to do. The only thing is to stop speaking to them completely.’

  ‘Good. I think you have made the right decision, and if you need to unload I am more than happy to talk. And I promise not to convert, although clearly you are a god amongst men.

  17. A MEN

  ‘Hi Uncle Percy.’

  ‘Hi boy.’

  Percy was walking along the path outside his house, planning to catch the bus to the Botanic Gardens. Lately, the regularity of his walk there had slipped and he was missing it. He’d already decided on the perfect visit: coffee, watermelon juice, walk, and then a beer somewhere.

  ‘Where are you going?’ The boy had jumped up from the step outside of his own house and was now walking at Percy’s heels. ‘Swim?’

  ‘Yeah, a swim.’

  ‘But you’re wearing shorts and a shirt.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So you’re not swimming?’

  ‘Obviously not. You’re the one who said it.’

  ‘You agreed.’

  ‘Only because you always say daft things.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So where are you going?’

  ‘For a walk.’

  ‘I meant, where are you walking to, Uncle Percy?’

  ‘I’m going for a walk. That’s where I am going.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Percy huffed. ‘You’re hard work sometimes. You don’t need to understand.’

  ‘But I want to know.’

  ‘I am catching a bus to the Botanic Gardens and there I shall go for a walk. Okay?’

  ‘Okay. That sounds nice.’

  Percy frowned, and paused on the path. ‘How old are you? That can’t possibly sound nice to someone your age.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘I haven’t forgiven you, by the way.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Cheating. You can’t claim to win a race when the other person isn’t given a fair chance at it. And it wasn’t fair to set me up like that.’

  ‘Set you up?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Making sure my swim was interrupted.’

  ‘You chose to stop, Uncle Percy. No one made you. It wasn’t my fault she got in your way, or that her top came undone.’

  ‘You seem to know quite a lot of detail for someone who had nothing to do with it.’

  The boy looked at Percy with innocent eyes. ‘You didn’t have to help her.’ He turned and walked backwards in front of Percy for a short distance. ‘By the way, the lady with the big boobs is down there.’ The boy threw a thumb over his shoulder, to where the path opened out into a turning circle for cars and a drop off for school buses. It was also a meeting point.

  ‘Really? Which one?’

  ‘Which boob?’

  ‘Which woman?’

  ‘The one who told you off.’

  ‘And which one is that?’

  ‘She might be Australian, or something?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know,’ came the impatient reply, ‘the one we were just talking about! The one you helped.’

  ‘See you later,’ Percy said, striding off and leaving the boy to try and catch a flying dragon that had just made the mistake of revealing itself. He knew it was most likely the Kiwi whose friend was called Amanda. If indeed she was at the end of the path, she could be on her way to the pool, a sight worth catching.

  As he anticipated, she was sitting on the low wall, wearing a one-piece swimsuit with a towel wrapped like a sarong. Even though he preferred a tiny bikini, he was more than pleased with what he saw.

  ‘Hi Percy,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ Percy flushed a little. She had caught him ogling.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. You swimming?’

  ‘Nah. Walking.’

  Momentarily confused, Percy frowned, before realising he was being as silly as the boy.

  ‘I’ve got a lesson here. I’m just waiting for someone.’

  ‘The other Kiwi?’

  ‘Amanda? No, she’s in the pool already. Another girl. We have a lesson here every week.’

  ‘So you live here?’

  ‘Only for a while.’

  A taxi pulled in. He stepped out of the way, assuming the other swim student had arrived.

  ‘A welcome party?’ said the newcomer, as she climbed out.

  Attention lost, Percy said good-bye and wandered off.

  While the Kiwi provided a very attractive distraction, Percy was looking forward to leaving the condo and finding some head space. Sal was again talking about the rental term as if he needed to move out tomorrow. The two years were very far from up, yet she kept reminding him that he should start looking for somethi
ng else. He kept reminding her that there was nowhere affordable, and no relevant jobs to be had. She would then say go back to England, and he would reply that he didn’t want to go back yet. She would ask why was he always so negative, and he replied that he wasn’t. It appeared that being apart wasn’t so different from being together.

  He didn’t miss her anymore, in the way he had. What he missed was physical company, more specifically sex, though he was forced to remind himself – not for the first time – that they had not been physical for some time before the marriage finally ended. Sal had mastered the art of falling asleep while Percy was distracted.

  Once on the bus, he settled into his seat for the short ride. With regard to the gardens, he had one hope and one hope only: that Norm wasn’t there. Since the farce Percy regarded as the Sixth Avenue Attack, he’d hardly seen him. Though at first he’d been angriest with Norm, he now felt more forgiving of him than the others. Aside from the few gushing statements made in Bread Chat, Norm had hardly said a word throughout the whole episode. He was also the sort of man who could act absurdly one day and talk as if nothing had happened the next. Even so, Percy was not yet ready to see him.

  Alighting inside the grounds, Percy walked the short distance to the café, ever alert. He scanned the immediate vicinity, but could detect no sign of the brown hypoallergenic canine or her white haired master. He relaxed, ordered his drinks and took a seat. How long ago was it that he started this custom of coffee, watermelon juice and a walk? In the great scheme of things, it was so recent it could barely count as a habit, but in this world of the expat, a place where time takes on different meaning, it felt as if he’d been doing it all his adult life. He pondered this point. He had visited the gardens on so many occasions that in some ways he really had come as often as anyone else might in their entire lifetime. He pondered further. Did that include people passing through? Because they may have no choice but to visit only once or twice, yet would come more if they could. A pleasant sensation travelled Percy’s spine, and crept across his back. It was really very nice to be thinking about nothing in particular.

  He watched as people walked by, some stopping at the café, some browsing the gift shop window opposite, others resting on the seats beneath the oil palms shading the area. It had all become so familiar to him, like his own backyard. He enjoyed the mix of local and visitor, young and old. Most of all, he loved the peace.

  ‘Hello.’

  Percy turned and looked straight into the bright eyes of Verity Sullivan.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here?’ she said, her lilting Welsh accent and husky tones making Percy feel he was being gently massaged, soft invisible fingers caressing his temple.

  ‘I often come here,’ he replied.

  ‘Do you now?’

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’

  ‘What about Cocoa?’

  ‘They won’t mind, not out here.’

  Instinctively, Percy moved back, as Verity eased her large frame into a neighbouring chair.

  ‘I’m not that big,’ she said, with a chuckle, as she arranged the skirt of her dress; burnt orange silk that made her dark hair and blue eyes appear even more striking.

  You are, Percy thought, trying hard not to gaze at her enormous bosom. Today was turning into a reminder of what he had not had in a very long time. He then wondered why she was out and about walking around in the heat. She made no secret of the fact that for a larger person, the hot climate could be a problem.

  ‘I am absolutely boiling,’ she said, as if he had spoken his thoughts, ‘I can tell you this much, when you are my size extreme heat is your enemy.’

  ‘Then why live here?’

  She laughed a little. ‘It’s not that bad, you great banana. Anyway, Norm’s gone off for a few days and the maid’s had to go back to the Philippines because her mother is dying, so I am in charge of Cocoa. I thought I might start trying to shift some of this, while they are away.’ She did not heft a breast as Percy expected, but gently patted herself with the grace of a refined woman.

  Percy’s taste in women was narrow. He only fancied attractive woman, and Verity was a beauty, but he’d always shunned excess weight. He wasn’t proud of it, nor ashamed, because he believed it was his natural preference and nothing more prejudicial. In Verity he saw things differently. From the first time he met her she’d tested his resolve on matters of girth. And now, alone with her in the Botanic Gardens café, her fabulous cleavage begging his attention, he could hardly breathe. He longed to dive in.

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Thank you. Though I don’t want to impose. You looked very happy sitting here on your own. I almost daren’t intrude. Do say if you’d rather be left in peace.’

  ‘Not at all. Have you walked yet? Or just got here?’

  ‘Bloody hell, man, do I look like I’ve been walking around the gardens already? Am I dripping in sweat and bright pink?’

  ‘I thought you might like to join me,’ he ventured.

  Verity cocked her head to one side, as if considering the prospect.

  ‘It’s fine if you’d rather not,’ he assured her, half-heartedly.

  ‘And is it fine if I’d rather?’

  ‘It is. So what would you like to drink?’

  ‘Your juice looks very tempting. I’ll have one of those, please. And perhaps a coffee, too. Espresso. You sit there, I can get it, if you look after Cocoa.’

  Percy told her to stay put and went to the counter to place the order. While he was waiting, he glanced around at her. What was it she reminded him of? Some kind of painting, or style of painting; Rubens, was it? A baroque nude, perhaps, the sort lying back on reams of fabric and surrounded by grapes. Normally, not knowing the little nuggets of information a more sophisticated education might have brought, would not have mattered to him. Today he wrestled with it; he very much wanted to match her up with something spectacular. Percy had seen images of large naked women in the Louvre, when he and Sal had taken a short trip to Paris. The break was a first attempt at reviving things, though Percy hadn’t known this fact until recently, when Sal threw it in his face during a spiteful rage about something or another. He’d always thought they’d simply enjoyed a nice holiday. Apparently not.

  Eventually, after much consideration, he decided that Verity was not like the women in those paintings. They were not nearly alluring enough, not beautiful in the way that she was. When he got back to the table, she was busy emailing and Cocoa was lying mournfully by her feet, on a shorter lead than Norm would have tied.

  ‘Sorry, Percy. I just need to send this. I’m working from home today, supposed to be, anyway. I won’t be a moment.’

  ‘Take your time,’ he said.

  ‘Could you be a doll and get me some sugar?’