‘Is that it?’
‘I haven’t finished watching it yet.’
‘But what’s the premise? How can you review films if you can’t even describe what happens in them, other than they’re about men with glasses?’
Right. She’d asked for it.
‘Well, this bloke wants 1000 people to join his club. But he doesn’t know what that club is, really, and nor do they. But they still join. And before he knows it he’s got hundreds of people who have joined him. 248 actually. And they all want to know what they’ve joined. So he’s under all this pressure and he has to come up with a reason for their very being. So he makes them all go out and make old men very happy. And then he extends it, and all his joinees have to go out and do random acts of kindness for complete strangers, each and every . . .’
I struggled to come up with something, and settled for . . .
‘. . . Friday. Yes. Fridays is when they do stuff.’
‘Why Fridays?’
‘Because that’s what day it was when he decided that.’
A thought struck me.
‘Oh. And “Good Fridays”, he calls them. On account of people doing good, on Fridays.’
In some way, subconsciously, I suppose I was seeking Hanne’s approval by telling her this. I was testing things out on her. Nudging the basic idea into her head and seeing how she’d react. I mean, I was hoping that she’d say it sounded great, and when could she watch it, and how quickly could I lend it to her? And then I’d say ‘but it’s a true story, and I’m the man who’s doing it, and I’m so glad you like it, because I’ve been so scared of telling you!’ And then we’d hug and we’d kiss and she’d join me.
But she didn’t say the first bit, so I couldn’t say the second bit.
Instead, she shrugged her shoulders and said: ‘It sounds a bit derivative to me. A bit like that Pay It Forward.’
‘What? It’s not derivative!’
‘Well, I’m just saying—’
‘How dare you say it sounds a bit derivative! And how do you mean it sounds a bit derivative?’
‘Just that it sounds like that film Pay It Forward. This teacher asks his pupils to come up with ideas that will make the world a better place, and the kid comes up with the idea of passing good deeds on. It’s that Haley Joel Osment kid. And he says that if someone does a good deed for you, then you have to do one for three other people. And when they ask you what they can do in return, you say “pay it forward”.’
‘That’s a stupid idea,’ I said, pouting. ‘I prefer mine. At least with mine, people will be doing it off their own backs. They’re not doing it to repay anyone, or because they feel obliged to because of some evil little child-actor. They’re doing it because they genuinely want to. In the . . . er . . . film, I mean.’
Hanne looked intensely concerned, and I suddenly remembered who and where I was.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so upset. It’s not like you directed it, or wrote it, is it?’ she said. ‘I think you’ve been working too hard, Dan. Let’s go for a meal. Calm you down. I think you need to relax more. You’re always working these days. We hardly see each other.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. We will. But I should go now. I should finish that Karma Army review.’
I kissed her lightly on the cheek and stood up. She’d be meeting her friend Claire in a bit, so I felt it was okay for me to leave.
‘Before you go,’ she said, ‘don’t forget it’s Jon’s wedding next week.’
‘Of course not. How could I forget?’
I’d forgotten, of course. I didn’t even know who Jon was.
‘Who’s Jon again?’
‘From work,’ said Hanne, annoyed. ‘I really want you to be there. I don’t want to go on my own. And did I tell you, Jon’s going to get you and his younger brother to be the best man?’
Eh?
‘Eh? How can we both be best man? And hang on – how am I meant to be best man? I don’t even know this Jon bloke! I can’t begin my best man speech by saying “In the five minutes since I’ve known Jon, I’ve witnessed lots of embarrassing things to tell you,” can I? Why on earth would he want me to be his best man?’
‘No, Danny. Not you and his younger brother,’ she said. ‘Ewan, his younger brother. He’s coming all the way from America.’
Again. That one works better written down than it does said out loud. The concern on Hanne’s face still wasn’t budging.
‘Go home and get some rest, Danny. You’re starting to behave a little oddly. And I really don’t like it.’
That night I rented Pay It Forward. It was rubbish. Relieved that I wasn’t the new Haley Joel Osment, I emailed my joinees . . .
>To: Joinees
>From: The Leader
>Subject: The Good Fridays Agreement!
Joinees!
It is I! The Leader!
For a while now you have been asking me who or what you have joined! Well, it is time to reveal all . . .
You are . . . The Karma Army!
As a joinee you are now dutybound to undertake at least one Random Act of Kindness each and every Friday and report back to me on your actions. Henceforth, these Fridays will be known as ‘Good Fridays’, and this email represents the first step of The Good Fridays Agreement!
Those of you who believe in karma should take comfort in the fact that if what goes around really does come around, you’ll be assuring yourself a great weekend. Those of you who don’t should take comfort in the fact that you’ll be improving someone else’s weekend in whatever way you choose.
Go to it, joinees! Go to it, Karma Army!
Danny
The Leader
The joinees responded in their droves. They were very, very excited about our new direction, while I was relieved that there was now actually something for them to do while we edged closer to our thousandth member.
And oddly, although I’d only mentioned the what-goes-around-comes-around aspect of things on a whim, and because the phrase ‘karmic consequences’ was still in my mind from my meeting with Dr Spacetoad, it actually seemed to be working . . .
‘Instant karma!’ wrote Joinee Gibson. ‘I was in the pub and bought my mate a packet of crisps as my first Random Act of Kindness, and there was one of those little blue competition packets in it. He opened it, and there was £20 in there! He gave it to me, and for my second Random Act of Kindness, I bought this old man a pint with some of the profits. He was really pleased and talked to us for ages, and it turned out he’d lived on my street a few years before and knew my mum. So now they’re back in touch. I’m going to do loads more Random Acts of Kindness this week!’
Joinee Downs wrote: ‘Hello Boss. Yesterday I bought a colleague some sweets because she was upset. Today I found a tenner on a petrol station forecourt.’
And while it was great that joinees seemed to be benefiting like this, I didn’t want it to become their reason for doing the good deeds. It was about spreading good karma, but not creating good karma for selfish means. It was about sharing kindness through completely random and unexpected ways. There would be no political, religious or monetary motive for any of these deeds. All they’d gain was perhaps a warm feeling in the pit of the stomach. It would just be outrageously random, and embody the same spirit of randomness that had led those five brave joinees to Raymond Price that famous day in Hammersmith. That was pure pot luck and cherished chance, and they’d embraced what fate had presented to them. Their paths might never have crossed, and Raymond might still be stuck in London to this day.
Ah, Raymond. Where are you now? What are you doing? Are you aware of how you’ve helped kickstart the Karma Army? Do you know how many old men we went on to make very happy because of that one fateful meeting? Only the blind bad luck of you having an old address on your driving licence has stopped us from meeting.
My joinees embraced the idea of random acts of kindness like they’d been waiting to do it all their lives. All over the country, the next Friday, m
any dozens of small and unexpected events were taking place that would confuse and surprise a succession of usually wary strangers. And I delighted in reading about them.
Little things were happening everywhere. Little things that, if they happened to you, you’d tell whoever you got home to that night all about. Little things that’d make you smile. Things that would have improved your day, or put you in a better mood, or maybe far more. From the person behind you in the queue offering to carry the flatpack wardrobe you’d just bought from the shop all the way to the carpark, as Joinee Flannery of Luton tired himself out doing, to someone in a busy café giving up their precious seat because you’re looking for one, as happened in Worcester thanks to Joinee Berham.
Maybe you were the young couple surprised by Joinee James offering to help you negotiate that carpet through York town centre. Or perhaps you work in an office, and one Friday one of your colleagues walked in with cream cakes, or biscuits, or a vast trayful of teas, as seemed to be happening everywhere all of a sudden? Or maybe you were even the girl struggling in the rain at Cardiff train station who didn’t have enough change for the ticket machine and was surprised when Joinee Foley thrust a £2 coin into your hand and walked off?
And it was all happening because of Join Me. I was ecstatic.
‘The thing is,’ Joinee Flannery put in an email one night, ‘I often think to help people like this, but I never do because society deems it wrong or odd. Now I have an excuse to do it and that’s great.’
I knew what he meant. The sad thing is, I was discovering that you almost have to make a joke of being good to strangers. Up and down the country, these people doing their good deeds were doubtless being seen as slightly eccentric, when in reality and in an ideal world they should be deemed the most normal people of all.
Good deeds continued to happen on every subsequent Friday, too. While some joinees waited for opportunities to present themselves, others actively sought out good deeds to do. Joinee Whitby admitted to struggling slightly for ideas, while Joinee Saunders couldn’t stop thinking them up. I suppose this whole kindness business is just more suited to the work of a priest than that of a computer programmer. In fact, Gareth had even convinced a vicar friend of his – the Reverend David J. Meldrum – to join up, too. Now I had two vicars! Two! I made a mental note not to allow Join Me to become a mouthpiece for the Christian faith, and to try and convince two Satanists to join up in order to balance things out. Not that they’d be doing many random acts of kindness, but you know what I mean . . .
‘And it really is the randomness of all this that I’m really enjoying,’ said Joinee Saunders, when I phoned him up for a quick chat. ‘At first it was slightly awkward. I bought a box of Roses chocolates, and I was walking down the high street here in Inverness, just looking for someone to give them to. And I felt incredibly self-conscious. I almost gave them to a man in a music shop, but he looked very stem and I bottled it. I would have felt less embarrassed robbing the place.’
I laughed.
‘And I thought, “This is stupid – this is just a random and unexpected good deed. I have to do it.” So I walked on to an industrial estate where I felt more at ease, and I found this security guard sitting on his own, and I strolled up to him, and gave him the chocolates. The look on his face was amazing! And then I walked away thinking, “This is great! I could do this more often!’ And he was over the moon, and said he’d share them with the other lads!’
And that wasn’t all Gareth had done.
‘Today I was buying someone a wedding present online. And on the John Lewis website, you can type a number in, and get people’s wedding lists, with all the things they want their friends and family to get them for their wedding day. So I typed a random series of numbers in, and found the wedding list of some young couple who are getting married in the next few weeks. Sophy Moore and Mark Stephens, I think their names were. And I read their list, and bought them something that they wanted, and wrote “Courtesy of Join Me” on the card.’
‘What did you get them?’ I asked, impressed.
‘Brass numbers, for outside their house. Number 1, and number 0. I almost got them the full set, in case they ever move.’
Gareth was enjoying himself, and I was pleased to hear it. Performing these random acts of kindness, in fact, had started to mean so much to him that nowadays, whenever he was asked to give a speech or take a school assembly, he talked not about the Christian faith, but about Join Me. He didn’t even wear his dog collar to most of them, opting instead for a Join Me T-shirt.
And not wishing to be left out, and in order to lead by example, I myself did a random good deed, early one Friday lunchtime.
‘Excuse me,’ said the lady who had suddenly appeared by my side, at Mile End tube station. ‘Is this the Central Line, or the District one?’
‘It’s the Central Line,’ I said, and we both got on and sat down next to each other.
Her name was Helen and she was a social worker. She asked me what I did. And because I’d forgotten that what I actually did was watch films and play games, I told her about Join Me. Well, you never know. I was still some way off my 1000. Every little helps.
‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, after I’d told her about random acts of kindness, and making old men very happy. ‘Especially the old men bit. You should make my granddad happy, if that’s what you do!’
‘What would make him happy?’ I asked.
Helen laughed. ‘Well, he quite likes peanuts!’
So I took his address from a giggling Helen – who clearly didn’t understand the seriousness of all this – and set to work. I knew I had to work quickly in order to get my deed in place by the end of this Good Friday, and once I was in town I headed for an Internet café on Bond Street and sat myself down. I had a bunch of passport photos in my bag and a bunch of letters from joinees new and old. I found whatever email addresses I could from them and sent an urgent appeal out, telling them about this old man in Sheffield who needed us to make him happy.
And over the course of the next few days, that old Sheffield man received, in the post, completely anonymously, over eighty packets of peanuts from random joinees all over the country.
And was he happy? Yes, I believe he was.
So all was suddenly going incredibly well with Join Me. And, in fact, with me. I had found an odd kind of purpose in life. One that made me feel very good indeed. One that, in a roundabout way, I owed to a man named Raymond Price.
Sure, things with Hanne were a little rocky, but all that would settle down soon enough. Just a little more effort and the whole thing would start to run itself. People would be climbing over themselves to Join Me. I’d reach 1000 joinees and then I could be done with it.
In the meantime, I was satisfied.
Because I had created something wonderful.
* * *
Email
To: Dennis M. Hope, President, Galactic Government
From: Danny Wallace, Leader, Join Me & The Karma Army
Dear Dennis,
Hello from London again!!
I just thought I would let you know that everything is going very well with Join Me!
I now have hundreds of followers who do my bidding every Friday. I ask them to do unexpected good deeds and random acts of kindness, and then tell me about it.
The world is improving as a result!
With my best regards,
Danny Wallace
* * *
Email
To: Danny Wallace, Leader, Join Me & The Karma Army
From: Dennis M. Hope, President, Galactic Government
Dear Danny:
Thanks for the update on Join Me. Sounds like you are actively pursuing your dream.
You should continue this until you decide it is not producing the results you are looking for.
I have always found that when we pursue what we love doing that the challenge is easily accomplished.
Good luck!
Dennis M. Hope
> President – Galactic Government
* * *
CHAPTER 13
1. It came to pass that the words of Daniel were heard by a second Daniel, son of Ander.
2. And Daniel – nay, but the other one – was mending a chariot brought out from the land of the Ikeans.
I AWOKE IN the morning because my head appeared to be vibrating. My phone was under my pillow, for some reason, and a text message had arrived and wouldn’t go away.
It was from Joinee Saunders, my priest up in Inverness.
LOCAL PAPER HEARD ABOUT MY GOOD DEEDS FOR JOIN ME. THEY MAY CALL YOU FOR QUOTE. IS THAT OKAY?
I texted him back to say that it was, and within an hour I was talking to a journalist from the Inverness Courier. I answered his questions to the best of my ability, while at the same time upholding an air of mystery.
‘So what’s your full name, Danny?’
‘Oh, I’d rather just be known as Danny, if that’s all right.’
‘Er, okay. And how old are you?’
‘25.’
‘And what do you do for a living?’
‘Um . . . well . . . I don’t really want to say . . . but I used to work at Argos.’
It was true. I did. When I was 14. It was all I could think of to say. Anyway, the journalist seemed happy enough and told me he was off with a photographer to take a few pictures of Gareth now, and wished me good luck with it all.
The next day I was in the minimarket on the corner buying a few groceries when I got another text message from Gareth.
IT’S IN TODAY’S PAPER, it said.
Wow, I thought. That’s good. Joinee Saunders was definitely doing his bit throughout Scotland.
I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE IT . . ., I wrote back.
Moments later, he replied.
. . . AS THE ACTRESS SAID TO THE BISHOP.
All vicars should be like this man, I thought, and plonked my groceries on the counter. I was cooking for Hanne tonight, and I was making a little extra effort because of being so preoccupied of late. And extra effort for me means actually buying some fresh vegetables and cutting them up all by myself. I did it once in the late 90s, and it worked out quite well. Tonight I would recapture that vegetable-based magic for the benefit of my girlfriend.
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